“These are my frank opinions upon these gentlemen. What a sad phenomenon! So many talents from which—with the exception of Rimsky-Korsakov—we can scarcely dare to hope for anything serious. But this is always our case in Russia: vast forces which are impeded by the fatal shadow of a Plevna from taking the open field and fighting as they should. But all the same, these forces exist. Thus Moussorgsky, with all his ugliness, speaks a new idiom. Beautiful it may not be, but it is new. We may reasonably hope that Russia will one day produce a whole school of strong men who will open up new paths in art. Our roughness is, at any rate, better than the poor, would-be-serious pose of a Brahms. The Germans are hopelessly played out. With us there is always the hope that the moral Plevna will fall, and our strength will make itself felt. So far, however, very little has been accomplished. The French have made great progress. True, Berlioz has only just begun to be appreciated, ten years after his death; but they have many new talents and opponents of routine. In France the struggle against routine is a very hard matter, for the French are terribly conservative in art. They were the last nation to recognise Beethoven. Even as late as the forties they considered him a madman or an eccentric. The first of French critics, Fétis, bewailed the fact that Beethoven had committed so many sins against the laws of harmony, and obligingly corrected these mistakes twenty-five years later.
“Among modern French composers Bizet and Délibes are my favourites. I do not know the overture Patrie, about which you wrote to me, but I am very familiar with Bizet’s opera Carmen. The music is not profound, but it is so fascinating in its simplicity, so full of vitality, so sincere, that I know every note of it from beginning to end. I have already told you what I think of Délibes. In their efforts towards progress the French are not so rash as our younger men; they do not, like Borodin and Moussorgsky, go beyond the bounds of possibility.”
V
To N. F. von Meck.
“San Remo, January 1st (13th), 1878.
“Returning to San Remo, I found a mass of letters and your telegram. This time I actually heard from you the first intelligence of Radetzky’s victory.[56] Thank you for the good news and all your wishes. Whatever may chance, the year before me can bring nothing worse than the last. At any rate the present leaves nothing to be desired, except for my unhappy disposition, which always exaggerates the evil and does not sufficiently rejoice in the good. Among my letters was one from Anatol, who writes a great deal about my wife and the whole unhappy affair. All goes well, but directly I begin to think over the details of a past which is still too recent, my misery returns. I have also received a letter from the committee of the Russian section of the Paris Exhibition, which has made me regret my refusal. My conscience still pricks me. Is it not foolish and egotistical on my part to decline the office of delegate? I write this to you, because I am now in the habit of telling you everything....”
To N. G. Rubinstein.
“San Remo, January 1st (13th), 1878.
“ ... From Albrecht’s telegram, which I found here on my return from Milan, I gather that you are vexed with me for having declined to act as delegate. Dear friend, you know me well; could I really have helped the cause of Russian music in Paris? You know how little gift I have for organising. Added to which there is my misanthropical shyness, which is becoming a kind of incurable malady. What would have been the result? I should only worry myself to death with both the French and the Russian rabble, and nothing would be carried out. As regards myself, or any personal profit it might bring me, it will be sufficient to say that, without exaggeration, I would rather be condemned to penal servitude than act as delegate in Paris. Were I in a different frame of mind, I might agree that the visit could be of use to me; but not at present. I am ill, mentally and physically; just now I could not live in any situation in which I had to be busy, agitated, and conspicuously before the world.... Now as regards the symphony (No. 4) I despatched it to you from Milan on Thursday. Possibly it may not please you at first sight, therefore I beg you not to be too hasty in your judgment, but only to write me your opinion after you have heard it performed. I hope you will see your way to bringing it out at one of the later concerts. It seems to me to be my best work. Of my two recent productions—the opera and the symphony—I give decided preference to the latter.... You are the one conductor in all the world on whom I can rely. The first movement contains one or two awkward and recurrent changes of time to which I call your special attention. The third movement is to be played pizzicato; the quicker the better, but I do not quite know how fast it is possible to play pizzicato.”
To S. I. Taneiev.