XIX
Tchaikovsky arrived in Petersburg on October 10th (22nd). He was met by his brother Modeste and his favourite nephew. He was delighted with their new abode and his spirits were excellent—so long as his arrival remained unknown and he was master of his time.
One thing only depressed him: at the rehearsals the Sixth Symphony made no impression upon the orchestra. He always set store by the opinion of the musicians. Moreover, he feared lest the interpretation of the Symphony might suffer from their coldness. Tchaikovsky only conducted his works well when he knew they appealed to the players. To obtain delicate nuances and a good balance of tone he needed his surroundings to be sympathetic and appreciative. A look of indifference, a coolness on the part of any of the band, seemed to paralyse him; he lost his head, went through the work perfunctorily, and cut the rehearsal as short as possible, so as to release the musicians from a wearisome task. Whenever he conducted a work of his own for the first time, a kind of uncertainty—almost carelessness—in the execution of details was apparent, and the whole interpretation lacked force and definite expression. The Fifth Symphony and Hamlet were so long making their way merely because the composer had failed to make them effective. The same reason accounts for the failure of the orchestral ballade, The Voyevode.
Tchaikovsky was easily disenchanted with his work by the adverse opinion of others. But on this occasion his judgment remained unshaken, and even the indifference of the orchestra did not alter his opinion that this Symphony was “the best thing I ever composed or ever shall compose.” He did not, however, succeed in convincing the public or the performers. At the concert on the 16th (28th) the work fell rather flat. It was applauded and the composer was recalled; but the enthusiasm did not surpass what was usually shown for one of Tchaikovsky’s new works. The Symphony produced nothing approaching to that powerful and thrilling impression it made shortly afterwards (November 6th (18th), 1893) under Napravnik, which has since been repeated in so many other cities.
The Press did not speak of the new Symphony with as much admiration as Tchaikovsky had expected, but on the whole the notices were appreciative. The St. Petersburg Viedomosti thought “the thematic material of the work was not very original, the leading subjects were neither new nor significant. The last movement, Adagio Lamentoso, was the best.” The Syn Otechestva discovered a phrase in the first movement which recalled Gounod’s Romeo and Juliet, while Grieg was reflected in the Finale. The Novoe Vremya said: “The new Symphony is evidently the outcome of a journey abroad; it contains much that is clever and resourceful as regards orchestral colour, besides grace and delicacy (in the two middle movements), but as far as inspiration is concerned it stands far below Tchaikovsky’s other Symphonies. Only one newspaper, The Birjevya Viedomosti, spoke of the work in terms of unqualified praise, while finding fault with the composer’s conducting of the work.
The morning after the concert I found my brother sitting at the breakfast-table with the score of the Symphony before him. He had agreed to send it to Jurgenson in Moscow that very day, and could not decide upon a title. He did not wish to designate it merely by a number, and had abandoned his original intention of calling it “a programme Symphony.” “Why programme,” he said, “since I do not intend to expound any meaning?” I suggested “tragic Symphony” as an appropriate title. But this did not please him either. I left the room while Peter Ilich was still in a state of indecision. Suddenly the word “pathetic” occurred to me, and I returned to suggest it. I remember, as though it were yesterday, how my brother exclaimed: “Bravo, Modeste, splendid! Pathetic!” Then and there, in my presence, he added to the score the title by which the Symphony has always been known.[193]
I do not relate this incident in order to connect my name with this work. Probably I should never have mentioned it but for the fact that it serves to illustrate in a simple way how far the conjectures of the most enlightened commentators may wander from the truth.
Hugo Riemann, in his thematic analysis of the Sixth Symphony, sees the solution of this title in “the striking resemblance between the fundamental idea of this work and the chief subject of Beethoven’s Sonata Pathétique,” of which Tchaikovsky never dreamed:
Tchaikovsky. Beethoven.