“Venice, December 12th (24th), 1877.
“To-day I have received the pleasant news that Modeste and his nice pupil are coming to join me. The boy’s father (Konradi) has only consented to this arrangement on condition that I will go to some place where the climate is suitable for his son. He suggests San Remo, where there are plenty of comfortable hotels and pensions.... I have had a letter from my brother Anatol, which was very comforting. They are just as fond of me as ever at Kamenka; I am quite at rest on this score. I had a fancy that they only pitied me, and this hurt me very deeply! Lately I have begun to receive letters from them ... but my brother has reassured me that all the folk at Kamenka—a group of beings who are very, very dear to me—have forgiven me, and understand I acted blindly, and that my fault was involuntary.”
To N. F. von Meck.
“Milan, December 16th (28th), 1877.
“I only arrived here at four o’clock, and after a short walk in the charming town went to the theatre in the evening. Unfortunately, not to La Scala, which was closed to-night, but to Dal Verme, where four years ago A Life for the Tsar was produced. This evening Ruy Blas, by Marcetti, was given. This opera has made a stir in Italy for some years, so I hoped to hear something interesting. It proved, however, to be a dull, commonplace imitation of Verdi, but lacking the strength and sincere warmth which characterise the coarse, but powerful, works of this composer. The performance was worse than mediocre. Sometimes it awoke sad thoughts in my mind. A young queen comes upon the stage, with whom everyone is in love. The singer who took this part seemed very conscientious and did her utmost. How far she was, however, from resembling a beautiful, queenly woman who has the gift of charming every man she sets eyes upon! And the hero, Ruy Blas! He did not sing so badly, but instead of a handsome young hero, one saw—a lackey. Not the smallest illusion! Then I thought of my own opera. Where shall I find a Tatiana such as Poushkin dreamed of, and such as I have striven to realise in music? Where is the artist who can approach the ideal Oniegin, that cold-hearted dandy, impregnated to the marrow of his bones with the fashionable notion of ‘good tone’? Where is there a Lensky, that youth of eighteen, with the flowing locks and the gushing and would-be-original manners of a poetaster à la Schiller? How commonplace Poushkin’s charming characters will appear on the stage, with all its routine, its drivelling traditions, its veterans—male and female—who undertake without a blush to play the parts of girl-heroines and beardless youths! Moral: it is much pleasanter to write purely instrumental music which involves fewer disappointments. What agony I have had to go through during the performance of my operas, more especially Vakoula! What I pictured to myself had so little resemblance to what I actually saw on the stage of the Maryinsky Theatre! What an Oxane, what a Vakoula! You saw them?
“After the opera to-night there was a very frivolous ballet with transformation scenes, a harlequin, and all manner of astonishing things; but the music was dreadfully commonplace. At the same time it amused while the opera performance irritated me. Yet Ruy Blas is an excellent operatic subject.
“From Venice I carried away a charming little song. I had two pleasant musical experiences while in Italy. The first was in Florence. I cannot remember whether I told you about it before. One evening Anatol and I suddenly heard someone singing in the street, and saw a crowd in which we joined. The singer was a boy about ten or eleven, who accompanied himself on a guitar. He sang in a wonderfully rich, full voice, with such warmth and finish as one rarely hears, even among accomplished artists. The intensely tragic words of the song had a strange charm coming from these childish lips. The singer, like all Italians, showed an extraordinary feeling for rhythm. This characteristic of the Italians interests me very much, because it is directly contrary to our folksongs as sung by the people.”
To N. F. von Meck.
“San Remo, December 20th, 1877 (January 1st, 1878).
“I have found an abode in the Pension “Joli”; four poorly furnished rooms which form a little separate flat at a comparatively low rent.