“November 8th (20th).
“Probably you were not quite well, my little dove,[44] when you wrote to me, for a note of real melancholy pervaded your letter. I recognised in it a nature closely akin to my own. I know the feeling only too well. In my life, too, there are days, hours, weeks, aye, and months, in which everything looks black, when I am tormented by the thought that I am forsaken, that no one cares for me. Indeed, my life is of little worth to anyone. Were I to vanish from the face of the earth to-day, it would be no great loss to Russian music, and would certainly cause no one great unhappiness. In short, I live a selfish bachelor’s life. I work for myself alone, and care only for myself. This is certainly very comfortable, although dull, narrow, and lifeless. But that you, who are indispensable to so many whose happiness you make, that you can give way to depression, is more than I can believe. How can you doubt for a moment the love and esteem of those who surround you? How could it be possible not to love you? No, there is no one in the world more dearly loved than you are. As for me, it would be absurd to speak of my love for you. If I care for anyone, it is for you, for your family, for my brothers and our old Dad. I love you all, not because you are my relations, but because you are the best people in the world....”
At the end of October Tchaikovsky came to Petersburg to be present at the first performance of his Vakoula the Smith. This time the composer had not been disenchanted by his work; on the contrary, every rehearsal gave him more and more pleasure, and the hope of success increased. The appreciation shown him by the singers engaged in the work; the enthusiastic verdict of the connoisseurs who had become acquainted with the pianoforte arrangement, and of those who were able to attend the rehearsals; finally, the lavish expenditure with which the Direction was mounting the piece—everything encouraged Tchaikovsky to feel assured of great success.
Since the first production of The Oprichnik the popularity of Tchaikovsky’s name had considerably increased. Not only musicians, and those who attended the symphony concerts, but also the public—in the widest sense of the word—expected something quite out of the common. Long before November 24th (December 6th), the day fixed for the first performance of Vakoula, the tickets were already sold out.
The production had been very carefully prepared; the principals endeavoured to do their best. The overture was well received, as also the first scene. Then the enthusiasm of the audience cooled, and the succeeding numbers—with the exception of the “Gopak”[45]—obtained but scant applause. The opera failed to please; people had come to be amused, expecting something brilliant, humorous, and lively, in the style of The Barber of Seville, or Domino Noir, consequently they were disappointed. Nevertheless, the composer was recalled several times, although not without some opposition on the part of a small, but energetic, party.
Tchaikovsky himself, in a letter to Taneiev, writes as follows:—
“Vakoula was a brilliant failure. The first two acts left the audience cold. During the scene between the Golova and the Dyak there was some laughter, but no applause. After the third and fourth acts I had several calls, but also a few hisses from a section of the public. The second performance was somewhat better, but one cannot say that the opera pleased, or is likely to live through six performances.
“It is worth notice that at the dress rehearsal even Cui prophesied a brilliant success for the work. This made the blow all the harder and more bitter to bear. I must freely confess that I am much discouraged. I have nothing to complain of with regard to the mounting of the work. Everything, to the smallest details, had been well studied and prepared ... in short, I alone am in fault. The opera is too full of unnecessary incidents and details, too heavily orchestrated, and not sufficiently vocal. Now I understand your cool attitude when I played it over to you at Rubinstein’s. The style of Vakoula is not good opera style—it lacks movement and breadth.”
The opinions of the Press on the new work were very similar. No one “praised it to the skies,” but no one damned it. All expressed more or less esteem for the composer, but none were quite contented with his work.
To S. I. Taneiev.