“The Oprichnik torments me. This opera is so bad that I always ran away from the rehearsals (especially of Acts iii. and iv.) to avoid hearing another note.... It has neither action, style, nor inspiration. I am sure it will not survive half a dozen performances, which is mortally vexatious.”
This prediction was not fulfilled, for by March 1st (13th), 1881, The Oprichnik was given fourteen times. This does not amount to a great deal; but when we remember that not a single new opera of the Russian school—Boris Godounov,[36] The Stone Guest, William Ratcliff, Angelo—had exceeded sixteen performances, and many had only reached eight, we must admit that The Oprichnik had more than the average success.
The third day after the performance of his opera Tchaikovsky started for Italy. Besides wishing to rest after the excitement of the last few days, he went as correspondent for the Russky Viedomosti to attend the first performance in Italy of Glinka’s A Life for the Tsar. The opera was translated into Italian by Madame Santagano-Gortshakov and, thanks to her initiative, was brought out at the Teatro dal Verme in Milan.
To M. Tchaikovsky.
“Venice, April 17th (29th), 1874.
“All day long I have been walking up and down the Piazza San Marco.... My soul was very downcast. Why? For many reasons, one of which is that I am ashamed of myself. Instead of going abroad and spending money, I ought really to have paid your debts and Anatol’s—and yet I am hurrying off to enjoy the beautiful South. The thought of my wrong-doing and selfishness has so tormented me that only now, in putting my feelings on paper, does my conscience begin to feel somewhat lighter. So forgive me, dear Modi, for loving myself better than you and the rest of mankind.
“Perhaps you will think I am posing as a benefactor. Not in the least. I know my egotism is limitless, or I should not have gone off on my trip while you had to remain at home.... Now I will tell you about Venice. It is a place in which—had I to remain for long—I should hang myself on the fifth day from sheer despair. The entire life of the place centres in the Piazza San Marco. To venture further in any direction is to find yourself in a labyrinth of stinking corridors which end in some cul-de-sac, so that you have no idea where you are, or where to go, unless you are in a gondola. A trip through the Canale Grande is well worth making, for one passes marble palaces, each one more beautiful and more dilapidated than the last. In fact, you might suppose yourself to be gazing upon the ruined scenery in the first act of Lucrezia. But the Doge’s Palace is beauty and elegance itself; and then the romantic atmosphere of the Council of Ten, the Inquisition, the torture chambers, and other fascinating things. I have thoroughly ‘done’ this palace within and without, and dutifully visited two others, and also three churches, in which were many pictures by Titian and Tintoretto, statues by Canova, and other treasures. Venice, however—I repeat it—is very gloomy, and like a dead city. There are no horses here, and I have not even come across a dog.
“I have just received a telegram from Milan. A Life for the Tsar will not be performed before May 12th (new style), so I have decided to leave to-morrow for Rome, and afterwards go on to Naples, where I shall expect to find a letter from you.”
To Anatol Tchaikovsky.
“Rome, April 20th (May 2nd), 1874.