At the moment in which Tchaikovsky left the train in which he arrived and set foot on Moscow soil, he was possessed with “the idea” of leaving again as soon as possible. This thought gradually grew into a fixed idea, under the influence of which everything that had once been dear to him—his faithful friends included—stirred in him an exaggerated feeling of resentment and, by way of reaction, caused everything which reminded him of his freedom to appear in a rosy light. In his first letters from Moscow he scarcely speaks on any other topic but the irksomeness of life there, and the delight with which he looks back to every detail of his visits to Italy, Switzerland and Brailov.
There was nothing to be done, however, until Rubinstein’s return from the Paris Exhibition, which would not be before the end of September.
“I had been anxiously awaiting his coming,” wrote Tchaikovsky to Nadejda von Meck, “because I wanted to tell him, as soon as possible, of my intention to retire from the Conservatoire. He was received with great rejoicings, and a dinner in his honour was given at ‘The Hermitage,’[65] at which I was present. In his reply to the first toast to his health, Rubinstein said he had been greatly gratified by the success of my works at his concerts, that the Conservatoire had reason to be proud of its connection with so famous a man, etc. The speech ended in an ovation to me. I need hardly tell you how painful this speech and ovation were.
“The next day I informed him of my future plans. I expected Nicholas Rubinstein to burst forth with indignation, and try to convince me that it was better for me to stay where I was. On the contrary, he listened to me laughingly, as one might to a tiresome child, and expressed his regret. He merely remarked that the Conservatoire would lose a great deal of its prestige with the withdrawal of my name, which was as good as saying that the pupils would not really suffer much by my resignation. Probably he is right, for I am a poor and inexperienced teacher—yet I anticipated greater opposition to my resignation.”
It was decided that Tchaikovsky should stay on for a month or two at the Conservatoire, in order to give his successor Taneiev time to prepare for his classes; but when it was announced that Hubert, not Taneiev, was to succeed him, he “hastened the course of events” and informed Rubinstein that he should leave Moscow early in October.
From Moscow Tchaikovsky went to St. Petersburg, which was equally unsuited to his condition of mind. The invitations to dinners, suppers, and evening parties, fatigued him and wore him out. The bad impression which Petersburg left upon him on this occasion was increased by the disappointment he experienced as regards his favourite opera, Vakoula the Smith, which was just being given at the Maryinsky Theatre.
To N. F. von Meck.
“Petersburg, October 30th (November 11th), 1878.
“Vakoula the Smith went quite smoothly and well, just as it did at the first performance; but it was very stereotyped and colourless. All the while I felt angry with one man: that was myself. Good Lord! what heaps of unpardonable mistakes there are in this opera which I alone could have made! I have done my best to neutralise the effect of all those situations which were calculated to please. If only I had held the purely musical inspiration in check, and kept the scenic and decorative effects more in view! The entire opera suffers from a plethora of details and the tiresome use of chromatic harmonies. C’est un menu surchargé de mets épicés. It contains too many delicacies and not enough simple, wholesome fare. The recent production of the opera has been a lesson to me for the future. I think Eugene Oniegin is a step in advance.”