If I add to the names of N. Rubinstein, Albrecht, Jurgenson, and Kashkin, two fellow-students already mentioned—Laroche and Hubert—the list of Tchaikovsky’s intimate friends is complete. This little circle was destined to give unfailing support to the growing reputation of the composer, and to remain in the closest personal relations with him to the end of his life. Amid these friends he found encouragement and sympathy at the time when he stood most in need of them.
II
Tchaikovsky left St. Petersburg early in January, 1866.
At this time his letters show his depth of tenderness for his own people, his first feelings of loneliness in the strange city, his indifference to his surroundings, and finally his gradual attachment to Moscow, which ended in being “the dearest town in the world.”
To Anatol and Modeste Tchaikovsky.
“3.30 p.m., January 6th (18th).
“My dear Brothers,—My journey, although sad, is safely over. I thought about you the whole way, and it grieved me to think that lately I had overshadowed you with my own depression, although I fought hard against it. Do not, however, doubt my affection, even if I do not always show it outwardly. I am staying at the Hotel Kokorev. I have already seen Rubinstein and been introduced to two directors of the Musical Society. Rubinstein was so pressing in his invitation to me to live with him that I could not refuse, and shall go there to-morrow.... I hug you both. Do not cease to love me. Give my remembrances to everyone. Write! I will write again soon. I have just written to Dad. You must also do so.”
To the same.
“Moscow, January 10th (22nd).
“Dear Brothers,—I am now living with Nicholas Rubinstein. He is a very kind and sympathetic man. He has none of his brother’s unapproachable manner, but in other respects he is not to be compared with Anton—as an artist. I have a little room next to his bedroom, and, truth to tell, I am afraid the scratching of my pen must disturb him after he goes to bed, for our rooms are only divided by a thin partition. I am very busy (upon the orchestration of the C minor overture composed during the summer). I sit at home nearly all day, and Rubinstein, who leads rather an excitable life, cannot sufficiently marvel at my industry. I have been to both theatres. The opera was very bad, so for once I did not get as much artistic enjoyment from it as from the play.... I have hardly made any new acquaintances except Kashkin, a friend of Laroche’s and a first-rate musician, whom I have got to know very well indeed.