Читать книгу The Life & Letters of Peter Ilich Tchaikovsky - Chaikovskii Modest - Страница 8

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Peter Ilich was four and a half years old when Fanny came to be governess to Nicholas and his cousin Lydia, and on the first day his mother had to yield to his tearful entreaties to share the lessons of the elder children. Henceforward he always learnt with them, and resented being excused any task on the grounds of his youth. He was wonderfully quick in overtaking his fellow-pupils, and at six could read French and German fluently. He learnt Russian with a tutor.

From the beginning, Fanny was especially attracted by her youngest pupil; not only because he was more gifted and conscientious than the others, nor because he was more docile than Nicholas, but because in all the child’s ways there was something original and uncommon, which exercised an indefinable charm on everyone who came in contact with him.

In looks he did not compare favourably with Nicholas, and was never so clean and tidy. His clothes were always in disorder. Either he had stained them in his absent-mindedness, or buttons were missing, or his hair was only half-brushed, so that by the side of his spruce and impeccable brother he did not show to advantage at first sight. But when the charm of his mind, and still more of his heart, had time to work, it was impossible not to prefer him to the other children. This sympathetic charm, this gift of winning all hearts, Tchaikovsky retained to the last day of his life.

To my inquiry in what way the boy’s charm showed itself most, our old governess replied:—

“In no one particular thing, but rather in all his ways and actions. At lessons no child was more industrious or quicker to understand; in playtime none was so full of fun. When we read together none listened so attentively as he did, and when on holidays I gathered my pupils around me in the twilight and let them tell tales in turn, no one could improvise so well as Peter Ilich. I shall never forget these precious hours of my life. In daily intercourse we all loved him, because we felt he loved us in return. His sensibility was extreme, therefore I had to be very careful how I treated him. A trifle wounded him deeply. He was brittle as porcelain. With him there could be no question of punishment; the least criticism or reproof, that would pass lightly over other children, would upset him alarmingly.”

The weak and unhappy always found in him a staunch protector. Once he heard with indignation that someone was intending to drown a cat. When he discovered the monster who was planning this crime, he pleaded so eloquently that pussy’s life was saved.

Another proof of his compassion for the suffering was his extraordinary sympathy for Louis XVII. Even as a grown man his interest in the unhappy prince survived. In 1868 he bought a picture representing him in the Temple, and had it framed. This picture, and the portrait of Anton Rubinstein, remained for a long while the only adornments of his walls.

The boy was also influenced by that enthusiastic patriotism—not without a touch of Chauvinism—which characterised the reign of Nicholas I. From this early period dates that exclusive affection for everything Russian which lasted his whole lifetime. Sometimes his love for his country was shown in a very droll way. Fanny used to relate the following story:—

THE HOUSE IN WHICH TCHAIKOVSKY WAS BORN, AT VOTINSK

“Once, during the recreation hour, he was turning over the pages of his atlas. Coming to the map of Europe, he smothered Russia with kisses and spat on all the rest of the world. When I told him he ought to be ashamed of such behaviour, that it was wicked to hate his fellow-men who said the same ‘Our Father’ as himself, only because they were not Russians, and reminded him that he was spitting upon his own Fanny, who was a Frenchwoman, he replied at once: ‘There is no need to scold me; didn’t you see me cover France with my hand first?’”

Continuing her reminiscences, Fanny said:—

“As our leisure hours were few, I insisted on devoting them to physical exercise; but often I met with some opposition from Pierre, who would go straight from his lessons to the piano. Otherwise he was obedient, and generally enjoyed romping with his sisters. Left to himself, he preferred to play the piano, or to read and write poetry.”

In the autumn of 1846 his half-sister Zinaïda left the Catharine Institute, in St. Petersburg, and, her education being finished, returned to live at home. With the arrival of this pretty and lively school-girl the house became even merrier and brighter than before. To the boy’s imagination, the new-comer seemed a visitant from a fairy world.

In February, 1848, Ilia Tchaikovsky retired with the rank of major-general. He was anxious to get an appointment as manager of private mines, and with this object in view left Votinsk, with all his family, for a long visit to Moscow. As it was intended on their arrival to send Lydia and the elder boys to school, Fanny now took leave of her friends for good. Not until forty-four years had elapsed did she renew her acquaintance with the family in the person of Peter Ilich.

Besides Fanny’s reminiscences, which form so valuable an addition to the biography of Tchaikovsky, she also preserved the books in which her favourite pupil set down his thoughts in leisure hours; more often than not in the form of verse. The old lady could not be persuaded to let these relics leave her keeping, but she willingly made extracts from them.

These manuscript books naturally contain nothing of real artistic or literary value, but they are not the less interesting on that account. They show the origin and give the explanation of Tchaikovsky’s artistic tendency, and are not merely interesting from a biographical point of view, but as documents in which we may study the evolution of genius. These childish verses prove a precocious desire for expression, before the right medium had been discovered. Here the future musician is knocking at the wrong door.

There are two copy-books and a few loose pages. The handwriting, although not beautiful, is well formed and firm. The pages show traces of carelessness. They would have been very differently written, had they been intended for other eyes than his own. We find here a miscellany of verses, extracts, rough copies of letters, attempts to draw houses, odd words and phrases, all jotted down without any connection.

The first book opens with a translation from a French reading-primer, L’éducation maternelle. It bears the date 1847, with a French signature, and is followed by several poems, of which two are in Russian and the rest in French. They may be divided into three groups: the poems relating to God; those which have a patriotic tendency; and those which display his sympathy for the weak and suffering and his love of animals.

The first poem, dated 1847, is called:

L’ENFANT PARLE À SON ANGE GARDIEN

Tez ailes dorées ont volé chez moi(?) Ta voi m’a parler O! que j’étais heureuse Quant tu venait chez moi Tes ailes son blanc et pur aussi Viens encore une foix Pour parler de Dieu puissant!

Later on come some notes headed: “La force, l’activité.” “Il avait dans sa vie la force et l’activité!”

When we recollect the ebullient activity of Peter Ilich’s musical career, and his unflagging energy, we cannot help giving to these fortuitous entries, if not a predictive significance, at least that of a conscious homage to the qualities he most admired.

His patriotic ardour found vent in four poems, dated 1847, of which the following is a specimen:

Terre! apresent tu est loin de moi Je ne te voi plus, o patrie cherie! Je t’embrasse. O! pays adorée Toi, oh Russie aimé Vien! vien! aupre de moi Toi, place où je suis né Je te salut! oh, terre cherie Longtemps quand je suis né Je n’avais ni memoire, ni raison Ni de dons pour parler Oh, je ne savais pas que ma Patrie est Russie!

He also attempted an historical essay in verse on Joan of Arc, whom he had learnt to know from Masson’s Les Enfants célèbres. It is entitled:

THE HEROINE OF FRANCE

On t’aime, on ne t’oublie pas

Heroïne si belle!

Tu as sauvé la France

Fille d’un berger!

Mais qui fait ces actions si belles!

Barbare anglais vous ont tuée,

Toute la France vous admire

Tes cheveux blonds jusqu’à tes genoux

Ils sont très beau

Tu étais si célèbre

Que l’ange Michel t’apparut.

Les célèbres on pense à eux

Les mechants on les oublie!

After 1848 there are no more poetical effusions, perhaps because Fanny was no longer there to preserve such documents; but more probably because the boy had just begun to discover in music a new medium for the expression of his sentiments.

At Votinsk there were no musicians, with the exception of a few indifferent amateur pianists. The mother sang a little, but only played the piano for her children to dance to; at least, from the time of her marriage, we never hear of a more serious répertoire. No other member of the household could do even as much. Unfortunately Fanny was not at all musical, so that the place of music master to the future composer fell to the lot of an inanimate object—an orchestrion which his father brought home with him after a visit to St. Petersburg.

This orchestrion was a superior one, with a varied programme. Peter Ilich himself considered that he owed his first musical impressions to this instrument, which he was never tired of hearing. A composition by Mozart had a particular fascination for him, and his passionate worship of this master dates from this period of childhood, when Zerlina’s “Aria,” or any melody from Don Juan, played by the orchestrion, awoke in him “a beatific rapture.” Thanks to this instrument, he first became acquainted with the music of Bellini and Donizetti, so that even the love of Italian opera, which he cherished all his life, may be said to have originated in the same way.

Very early in life he displayed a remarkable ear and quick musical perception. No sooner had he acquired some rudimentary knowledge from his mother, than he could repeat upon the piano all he heard on the orchestrion. He found such delight in playing that it was frequently necessary to drag him by force from the instrument. Afterwards, as the next best substitute, he would take to drumming tunes upon the window-panes. One day, while thus engaged, he was so entirely carried away by this dumb show that he broke the glass and cut his hand severely. This accident led his parents to reflect upon the child’s incurable tendency and consider the question of his musical education. They decided to engage as pianoforte teacher a young lady called Marie Markovna Palchikov. This was about a year after Fanny’s arrival. Where this teacher came from, and how far she understood her business, we cannot say. We only know she came on purpose to teach Peter Ilich, who kept a pleasant recollection of her. But she cannot entirely have satisfied the requirements of the future composer, because already in 1848 he could read at sight as easily as she did. Nor can her knowledge of musical literature have been extensive, for her pupil could not remember a single item in her repertory.

We know from Fanny’s own testimony that the boy spent every spare moment at the piano, and that she did her utmost to prevent it. A musician’s life did not offer to her mind a radiant prospect. She took more pleasure in her pupil’s literary efforts, and called him in fun “the juvenile Poushkin.” She also observed that music had a great effect upon his nervous system. After his music lesson, or after having improvised for any length of time, he was invariably overwrought and excited. One evening the Tchaikovskys gave a musical party at which the children were allowed to be present. At first Peter Ilich was very happy, but before the end of the evening he grew so tired that he went to bed before the others. When Fanny visited his room she found him wide awake, sitting up in bed with bright, feverish eyes, and crying to himself. Asked what was the matter, he replied, although there was no music going on at the time: “Oh, this music, this music! Save me from it! It is here, here,” pointing to his head, “and will not give me any peace.”

Occasionally a Polish officer visited Votinsk. He was an excellent amateur and played Chopin’s “Mazurkas” particularly well. His coming was a red-letter day for Peter Ilich. Once he learnt two mazurkas all by himself, and played them so charmingly that the officer kissed him when he had done. “I never saw Pierre so radiantly happy as that day,” says Fanny.

This is all I have been able to glean with regard to Peter Ilich’s musical development at this period of his life.