The concerto opens with a striking theme, Allegro non troppo e molto maestoso, in D-flat major, 3-4, familiar to music-lovers of all tastes the world over. The strings take it up after some brief preluding, and it is then repeated, with rhythmic modification, by the solo piano. There is a piano cadenza, and the theme comes back by way of the strings, minus double-basses, against an ascending obbligato from the piano. For reasons best known to himself, Tschaikowsky never allows this imposing theme to return to the scene.
The “blind beggar tune” is the name often applied to the piano theme serving as chief subject of the main section of the first movement (Allegro con spirito, B-flat minor). Tschaikowsky heard it sung on a street in Kamenko and he wrote to his patroness-friend, Mme. von Meck: “It is curious that in Russia every blind beggar sings exactly the same tune with the same refrain. I have used part of this refrain in my piano concerto.” Horns and woodwind discourse the second subject (Poco meno mosso, A-flat major) before the solo instrument turns to it.
The song-like first theme of the second movement (Andantino semplice, D-flat major, 6-8) is given out first by the flute, with the oboe and clarinets bringing in the second subject against a bassoon accompaniment. The Prestissimo middle section in F major, has the spirit of a scherzo. A waltz enters the scheme by way of violas and ’cellos. Tschaikowsky’s brother, Modeste, insisted the theme of this waltz derived from a French song the brothers Tschaikowsky used to sing and whistle in their boyhood days.
The Rondo-like finale develops from three themes, the first of which, a lively dance in Cossack style, is given out by the piano. A further folk-like quality is observable in the second theme, and the violins later chant the third of the finale’s themes. In the brisk Coda the Cossack-like first theme is given the dominant role.
SYMPHONIES
Symphony in F minor, No. 4, Opus 36
At first sight, this symphony arouses no “cherchez la femme” mystery. Seemingly, the lady is not far to seek. In fact, Tschaikowsky throws off the search in his dedication. The lady is Madame Nadia Filaretovna von Meck. She was his loyal confidante and benefactress. The least Tschaikowsky could do was to dedicate a symphony to her. Comfort and encouragement in the form of checks and adulatory letters from Mme. von Meck saw the sorrowing Slav through many bleak periods.
The association has been called “the most amazing romance in musical history.” That the “romance” was purely platonic does not make it any the less “amazing.” Whatever Mme. von Meck’s secret hopes and longings, Tschaikowsky shrank from carrying the liaison beyond epistolary scope. Mme. von Meck resigned herself to an advisory role of patroness-friend, and played it nobly. The world reveres her for it. “Our symphony,” Tschaikowsky wrote to her, communicating his intention to dedicate the Fourth to her. “I believe you will find in it echoes of your deepest thoughts and feelings.”
What Tschaikowsky meant, of course, was “my deepest thoughts and feelings.” The plural possessive, “ours,” is gallant rather than collaborative. Even so, he could with more truth than courtesy have written to another woman, Antonina Ivanovna Miliukov, in similar style. Antonina was Tschaikowsky’s wife in a domestic farce lasting two weeks. The whole episode—spanning a wild sequence of engagement, marriage, flight in the night, attempted suicide, separation—nestles snugly in the period of the symphony’s origin. Antonina would have understood the words “our symphony.” Only fate and brother Anatol saved it from becoming Tschaikowsky’s obituary. Not that it was Antonina’s fault. Far from it. But no psychological analysis of the Fourth can be complete without her.