To Modeste Tchaikovsky.
“Bâle, December 19th (31st), 1902.
“ ... I have nothing to write about but fits of weeping. Really it is surprising that this phenomenal, deadly home-sickness does not drive me mad. Since this psychological phase grows stronger with every journey abroad, in future I shall never travel alone, even for a short time. To-morrow this feeling will give place to another (scarcely?) less painful emotion. I am going to Montbeillard, and I must confess to a morbid fear and horror, as though I were entering the kingdom of the dead and the world of those who had long since vanished.”
To his brother, Nicholas Ilich Tchaikovsky.
“Paris, December 22nd (January 3rd), 1892.
“ ... I wrote to Mlle. Fanny from Bâle to let her know the time of my arrival, so that she should not be upset by my unexpected appearance. I reached Montbeillard at 3 p.m. on January 1st (new style), and went straight to her house. She lives in a quiet street in this little town, which is so quiet that it might be compared to one of our own Russian ‘district’ towns. The house contains but six rooms—two on each floor—and belongs to Fanny and her sister. Here they were born, and have spent their whole lives. Mlle. Fanny came to the door, and I knew her at once. She does not look her seventy years, and, curiously enough, has altered very little on the whole. The same high-coloured complexion and brown eyes, and her hair is not very grey. She has grown much stouter. I had dreaded tears and an affecting scene, but there was nothing of the sort. She greeted me as though we had not met for a year—joyfully and tenderly, but quite simply. It soon became clear to me why our parents, and we ourselves, were so fond of her. She is a remarkably clever, sympathetic creature, who seems to breathe an atmosphere of kindliness and integrity. Naturally we started upon reminiscences, and she recalled a number of interesting details from our childhood. Then she showed me our copybooks, my exercises, your letters and mine, and—what was of the greatest interest to me—a few dear, kind letters from our mother. I cannot tell you what a strange and wonderful feeling came over me while listening to her recollections and looking over these letters and books. The past rose up so clearly before me that I seemed to inhale the air of Votinsk and hear my mother’s voice distinctly.... When she asked me which of my brothers I loved best, I replied evasively that I was equally fond of them all. At which she was a little indignant, and said that, as my playmate in childhood, I ought to care most for you. And truly at that moment I felt I loved you intensely, because you had shared all my youthful joys. I stayed with her from three until eight o’clock, without noticing how time went. I spent the whole of the next day in her society....
“She gave me a beautiful letter from my mother, in which she writes of you with special tenderness. I will show it to you. The two sisters do not live luxuriously—but comfortably. Fanny’s sister also lived a long time in Russia, and does not speak the language badly. Both of them still teach. They are known to the whole town, for they have taught all the educated people there, and are universally loved and respected. In the evening I embraced Fanny when I took leave of her, and promised to return some day....”
To Modeste Tchaikovsky.
“Paris, January 4th (16th), 1892.
“ ... After my brilliant concert in Brussels I returned here yesterday. The orchestra was very good, but not highly disciplined. I was very cordially received, but this did not make things any easier for me. I suffered equally from agitation and the anguish of home-sickness. During the interval Gevaert, as President of the Artists’ Benevolent Association, made a speech before the assembled orchestra, in which he thanked me on behalf of this society. As the concert was given in aid of a charity, I declined to accept any fee, which touched the artists very deeply.”