In 1852 Leschetizky decided to go to Russia, and set out in September of that year.
His début at the Michael Theatre in St. Petersburg resulted in a small circle of pupils, which very soon grew into a large one. His fame as a pianist had already preceded him, and shortly after his arrival he was commanded to play before Nicholas I.
He tells of the magnificent carriage sent to convey him to the palace, of the sumptuous apartment and dainty supper to greet him when he got there and, alas, of the intolerable piano, upon which he flatly refused to play, and went home instead. Expecting to be ordered out of Russia, a little later on he received to his surprise a second invitation, accompanied this time by no beautiful carriage, and graced by only a very meagre supper served in a miserable little bedroom. But the piano was all he could wish, and he played on it so much to their Majesties' satisfaction that, his sins forgiven, bedtime discovered him once more in the gorgeous apartment of his first visit.
He was very happy in his Russian life. He had many friends, and among them Anton Rubinstein. As boys they had played together in Vienna, now as young men they were to work together in St. Petersburg. Rubinstein was concert-master at the Court of the Grand Duchess Helen, the sister of the Emperor Nicholas. Soon after Leschetizky came to Russia, Rubinstein wishing to go on tour, asked him to take his place until his return. Leschetizky agreed to do so, on the understanding that he could live in his own rooms instead of staying in the palace, and be allowed to go on with his private teaching at home. Life would have been intolerable to him had his freedom been curtailed. His duties were to arrange all the music at Court, to give singing lessons to the daughter of the Grand Duchess, and to one of her Maids of Honour—Madlle. de Fridebourg, who possessed one of the most beautiful voices he had ever heard. In 1856 he married this lady. Sixteen years later they were divorced.
Leschetizky's connection with the Grand Duchess brought him into touch with all the great artists who visited St. Petersburg. The Grand Duchess Helen was a remarkable woman, who exercised considerable influence over the political affairs of Russia and made her palace the centre of culture in the capital. Of wide sympathies and unusual intellectual gifts, she was fitted to be the leader of any sphere she might choose to rule. Men and women from all parts of Europe—military, diplomatic, artistic—visited her salon. She it was who started the Russian Imperial Musical Society which, under Rubinstein's directorship, eventually founded the Conservatoire; and it was in a large measure owing to her influence that Rubinstein, Kologrivov, and others were able to carry out their schemes for educating the people to a knowledge of good music.
St. Petersburg was very far behind the rest of Europe in regard to the status of the musical profession when Leschetizky first went there. It was not regarded as an honourable career at all, nor even as a serious study. The rich patronised it because it was fashionable; the bargeman on the river chanted his song as he went because he loved it; but its cultivation as an art was in no sense a conscious necessity of Russian life.
Outside aristocratic circles there was little or no music, scarcely any one who thought it worth while to make it his life-work. No one knew anything about the generation of young native composers then growing up. Even Glinka's popularity had waned, and Dargomijsky and Balakirev were hardly more than names. The orchestra of the Symphony Concerts—given but two or three times in the year by the Court Chapel—was made up of students, clerks, or any one who could play, and liked to spend his leisure in that way. Till 1850, when Rubinstein inaugurated the Sunday Concerts, there were no public orchestral performances outside the Court at all; and even twelve years later, when the Conservatoire was started, musical life was but just awakening, and a little knowledge of the art spreading through the city. The ignorance of people in general was incredible. Leschetizky tells an amusing story to illustrate this.
One day a rich tradesman came to one of his musical friends to ask what his terms would be for giving pianoforte lessons to his daughter. He named his price. "Well," said the tradesman, "that certainly is expensive—but does it include the black keys as well as the white?"
In a comparatively short time the condition of musical affairs improved immensely, for the people at once took advantage of the opportunity to hear and learn, and Leschetizky's popularity as a teacher increased so rapidly that very soon it became impossible for him to take all the pupils himself, and he found it necessary to train some of them to work under him as assistants.