“Dear Friend,—Wolf has sent me the letter from that American gentleman who has arranged for my engagement. It is so easy and profitable that it would be foolish to lose this opportunity of an American tour, which has long been one of my dreams. This explains my telegram to you yesterday. In America, the news that I could not go, because my right hand was disabled, reached them by cable, and they were very much upset. Now they are awaiting an answer—yes or no.”
To the same.
“January 17th (29th), 1891.
“Dear Soul,—Send me immediately my Legend for chorus, and the Liturgy and other church works, with the exception of the Vespers. I must make a selection for the American festival.[155] Have you the Children’s Songs in Rahter’s edition? I want the German text for the Legend.”
At the close of January Tchaikovsky went to St. Petersburg. Early in February he had to conduct at a concert in aid of the school founded by the Women’s Patriotic League. This annual concert drew a fashionable audience, who only cared for the singing of such stars as Melba and the De Reszkes. Consequently Tchaikovsky’s Third Suite merely served to try their patience.
His reception on the 9th, at the performance of Hamlet (at the Michael Theatre), was equally poor. But he was agreeably surprised at the individual criticisms of his music which reached his ears. “I am not averse from your idea of publishing “the Hamlet music,” he wrote to Jurgenson, “for it pleased, and everyone is delighted with the March.”
Meanwhile the Direction of the Imperial Opera were discussing the opera and ballet which Tchaikovsky had been commissioned to compose. For the former, Herz’s play, King René’s Daughter—translated into Russian by Zvanstiev—was chosen; and for the ballet, Casse-Noisette (“The Nut-cracker”). Neither of these subjects awoke in Tchaikovsky that joy of creation he had experienced while composing The Sleeping Beauty and Pique Dame. There were several reasons for this. The Casse-Noisette subject did not at all please him. He had chosen King René’s Daughter himself, but he did not know as yet how the libretto would suit him. He was also annoyed with the Direction because they had engaged foreign singers, and were permitting them to sing in French and Italian at the Russian Opera. Thirdly, in view of the American tour, he did not feel master of his time, and really had no idea how he should get through so much music by December, 1891. Finally, he was very deeply mortified.
The source of his vexation lay in the fact that after its thirteenth performance Pique Dame was unexpectedly withdrawn until the autumn, although almost all the tickets had been secured beforehand for at least another ten performances. No definite reason was assigned for this action, which was the outcome of mere caprice on the part of some unknown person. Tchaikovsky’s anxiety was aggravated by the fear that his favourite work might disappear altogether from the repertory. He suspected that its withdrawal was ordered at the desire of the Emperor, who—so he fancied—did not like the opera. Anyone else would have discovered the real reason by the medium of inquiry, but Tchaikovsky was prevented from speaking of it in Petersburg “by pride and fear,” as he wrote to Jurgenson, “lest people should think I was regretting the royalty; and, on their part, the members of the operatic Direction carefully avoided mentioning the subject to me.” After a while he poured out his heart in a letter to Vsievolojsky, who, in reply, entirely reassured him as to his fears. The Emperor, he said, was very pleased with Pique Dame, and all that Tchaikovsky composed for the opera in Petersburg awakened a lively interest in the Imperial box. “Personally, I need not ‘lay floral tributes’ before you,” he concludes, “for you know how greatly I admire your talents.... In Pique Dame your dramatic power stands out with startling effect in two scenes: the death of the Countess and Hermann’s madness. I think you should keep to intimate drama and avoid grandiose subjects. Jamais, au grand jamais, vous ne m’avez impressioné comme dans ces deux tableaux d’un réalisme saissisant.”
Comforted by this letter, Tchaikovsky set to work upon his new ballet, Casse-Noisette. “I am working with all my might,” he wrote to his brother from Frolovskoe, “and I am growing more reconciled to the subject. I hope to finish a considerable part of the first act before I go abroad.”
Early in March he left Frolovskoe and travelled to Paris, viâ St. Petersburg.