“I am in love with Frolovskoe. The neighbourhood is a paradise after Maidanovo. It is, indeed, so beautiful that when I go out for half an hour’s walk in the morning, I feel compelled to extend it to two hours.... I have not yet begun to work, excepting at some corrections. To speak frankly, I feel as yet no impulse for creative work. What does this mean? Have I written myself out? No ideas, no inclination? Still I am hoping gradually to collect material for a symphony.
“To-day we were to have sown seeds and planted flowers in the beds in front of the house. I was looking forward to it with such pleasure, but the rain has hindered us. By the time you arrive all our seeds will be in.”
To the Grand Duke Constantine Constantinovich.
“Frolovskoe, May 30th (June 11th), 1888.
“Your Highness,—I am very glad you were not offended by my remarks, and thank you most heartily for your explanations in reference to them.[131] In matters of versification I am only an amateur, but have long wished to become thoroughly acquainted with the subject. So far, I have only reached the stage of inquiry. Many questions interest me to which no one seems able to give a clear and decided reply. For instance, when I read Joukovsky’s translation of the Odyssey, or his Undine, or Gniedich’s version of the Iliad, I suffer under the intolerable monotony of the Russian hexameter as compared with the Latin (I do not know the Greek), which has strength, beauty, and variety. I know that the fault lies in the fact that we do not use the spondee, but I cannot understand why this should be. To my mind we ought to employ it. Another question that greatly occupies me is why, as compared with Russian poetry, German verse should be less severe in the matter of regular rhythm and metre. When I read Goethe I am astonished at his audacity as regards metrical feet, the cæsura, etc., which he carries so far that, to an unpractised ear, many of his verses scarcely seem like verse. At the same time, the ear is only taken by surprise—not offended. Were a Russian poet to do the same, one would be conscious of a certain lameness. Is it in consequence of the peculiar qualities of our language, or because tradition allows greater freedom to the Germans than to us? I do not know if I express myself correctly; I only state that, as regards regularity, refinement, and euphony, much more is expected from the Russian than from the German poet. I should be glad to find some explanation of this....”