“My dear Emilie Karlovna,—Your exceedingly malicious criticism of The Enchantress not only failed to annoy me, but awoke my gratitude, for I wanted to know your opinion. I had even thought of asking you if you would go to see the play itself and give me your impressions. My conception and vision of the type of Natasha differs entirely from yours. Of course, she is a licentious woman; but her spell does not consist merely in the fact that she can win people with her fine speeches. This spell might suffice to draw customers to her inn—but would it have power to change her sworn enemy, the Prince, into a lover? Deep hidden in the soul of this light woman lies a certain moral force and beauty which has never had any chance of development. This power is love. Natasha is a strong and womanly nature, who can only love once, and she is capable of sacrificing all and everything to her love. So long as her love has not yet ripened, Natasha dissipates her forces, so to speak, in current coin; it amuses her to make everyone fall in love with her with whom she comes in contact. She is merely a sympathetic, attractive, undisciplined woman; she knows she is captivating, and is quite contented. Lacking the enlightenment of religion and culture—for she is a friendless orphan—she has but one object in life—to live gaily. Then appears the man destined to touch the latent chords of her better nature, and she is transfigured. Life loses all worth for her, so long as she cannot reach her goal; her beauty, which, so far, had only possessed an instinctive and elementary power of attraction, now becomes a strong weapon in her hand, by which, in a single moment, she shatters the opposing forces of the Prince—his hatred. Afterwards they surrender themselves to the mad passion which envelops them and leads to the inevitable catastrophe of their death; but this death leaves in the spectator a sense of peace and reconciliation. I speak of what is going to be in my opera; in the play everything is quite different. Shpajinsky quite understands my requirements, and will carry out my intentions in delineating the principal characters. He will soften down the hardness of Natasha’s manières d’être, and will give prominence to the power of her moral beauty. He and I—you too, later, if only you will be reconciled to this rôle—will so arrange things that in the last act there shall not be a dry eye in the audience. This is my own conception of this part, and I am sure it must please you, and that you will not fail to play it splendidly. My enthusiasm for The Enchantress has not made me unfaithful to the desire, so deeply rooted in my soul, to illustrate in music those words of Goethe’s: ‘The eternal feminine draws us onward.’ The fact that the womanly power and beauty of Natasha’s character remain so long hidden under a cloak of licentiousness, only augments the dramatic interest. Why do you like the part of Traviata or of Carmen? Because power and beauty shine out of these two characters, although in a somewhat coarser form. I assure you, you will also learn to like The Enchantress.”
To M. Tchaikovsky.
“Maidanovo, April 26th (May 8th), 1885.
“The business connected with Cherevichek has ended very well. Vsievolojsky put an end to the irresolution of the so-called management and ordered the opera to be produced in the most sumptuous style. I was present at a committee at which he presided, when the mounting was discussed. They will send Valetz, the scene-painter, to Tsarskoe-Selo, so that he may faithfully reproduce some of the rooms in the palace. I am very pleased.”
To P. Jurgenson.