I recollect having made two discoveries at this time which filled me with astonishment. The first was that the two ideas “brother Peter” and “work” were not necessarily opposed; the second, that besides pleasant and interesting music, there existed another kind, exceedingly unpleasant and wearisome, which appeared nevertheless to be the more important of the two. I still remember with what persistency Peter Ilich would sit at the piano for hours together playing the most “abominable” and “incomprehensible” preludes and fugues.... My astonishment knew no bounds when he informed me he was writing exercises. It passed my understanding that so charming a pastime as music should have anything in common with the mathematical problems we loathed. Outwardly Peter Ilich’s life underwent one remarkable change. Of all his friends and acquaintances he now only kept up with Apukhtin and Adamov.
Besides his work for Zaremba’s classes, Tchaikovsky devoted many hours to the study of the classical composers. Yet, in spite of all this, his official work still remained the chief aim of his existence. During the summer of 1862 he was more attentive to his official duties than before, because in the autumn a desirable vacancy was expected to occur, to which he had every claim, so that it was important to prove to his chief, by extra zeal and diligence, that he was worthy of the post. His labour was wasted; the place was not bestowed upon him. His indignation at being “passed over” knew no bounds, and there is little doubt that this incident had a great deal to do with his resolution to devote himself entirely to music. The last ties which bound him to the bureaucratic world snapped under the strain of this act of “injustice.”
Meanwhile several changes had taken place in the family life of the Tchaikovskys. Their aunt Madame Schobert had left them. Nicholas had received an appointment in the provinces. Hyppolite was in the navy and had been sent on a long voyage. The family was now reduced to four members—the father, Peter Ilich, and the twins. The latter, deprived of their aunt’s care, found in their brother more than ever both a tutor and a guardian.
Tchaikovsky’s third letter to his sister, dated September 10th (22nd), 1862, brings us to a still more advanced phase of his transformation. His official work has now taken quite a subordinate position, while music is regarded as his speciality and life-work, not only by himself, but by all his relatives.
“I have entered the newly-opened Conservatoire,” he says, “and the course begins in a few days. As you know, I have worked hard at the theory of music during the past year, and have come to the conclusion that sooner or later I shall give up my present occupation for music. Do not imagine I dream of being a great artist.... I only feel I must do the work for which I have a vocation. Whether I become a celebrated composer, or only a struggling teacher—’tis all the same. In any case my conscience will be clear, and I shall no longer have any right to grumble at my lot. Of course, I shall not resign my present position until I am sure that I am no longer a clerk, but a musician.”
He had relinquished social gaiety. “I always have my midday meal at home,” he wrote at this time, “and in the evening I often go to the theatre with father, or play cards with him.” Soon he had not even leisure for such distractions. His musical studies were not restricted to two classes in the week, but began to absorb almost all his time. Besides which he began to make new friends at the Conservatoire—mostly professional musicians—with whom he spent the rest of his leisure.
Among these, Laroche plays so important a part in Tchaikovsky’s artistic and intimate life that it is necessary to say something of his personality before proceeding further.
