My mother's musical parties led to an important result. Struck by their success, Nicolas Rubinstein and his friend the millionaire Tretiakoff, conceived the idea of founding a Conservatorium in Moscow. My dear native town is very enthusiastic and generous when she realises the importance of a great idea. A foundation for a Moscow Conservatorium was immediately arranged, whilst Nicolas Rubinstein's elder brother, Anton, submitted the same idea to the Grand Duchess Helen, who at once identified herself with a similar project for Petrograd. Thus we came to possess two Conservatoriums, with the two brothers Rubinstein as their Principals, Anton in Petrograd, Nicolas in Moscow, to the great adornment of both capitals.
In that enterprise the Grand Duchess Helen showed her true grandeur. And here again, as in the question of the emancipation of the serfs, she found a great supporter in her nephew the Grand Duke Constantine Nicolaievitch. I should like any English travellers who visit Moscow and Petrograd to make a point of seeing these two Conservatoriums, of which we certainly may be proud.
I continued to be on good terms with both the Rubinsteins, and the Grand Duchess Helen often invited Anton to her parties. But one evening something happened which was far from pleasant. Whilst Rubinstein was playing one of his lovely compositions, a young fellow very "well born," but very badly brought up, began turning on his heels muttering in an audible tone something about "Rubin, Rubin, Rubin" (inflamed, I was told, by jealousy in connection with a young girl who was extremely enthusiastic about the artist). Rubinstein stopped playing and left the palace. The next day he called on Baroness Rhaden, lady-in-waiting to the Grand Duchess, and said, "The Grand Duchess is kind enough to offer me 2000 roubles for my performances; I must decline that payment, as also the honour of playing again at the palace. I am quite ready to play to the Grand Duchess when she is alone, but not otherwise."
A few days later the Grand Duchess sent for me. "Is it true," she said, "that the bear is playing at your house every Thursday?"
"The bear! Madame, do you by chance mean Rubinstein? If so, yes, he plays for me every Thursday."
"Well but, how do you manage to tame him? Do you know that he actually refuses to play at my palace on any terms?"
"The only thing I can suppose, Madame, is that, although I have no grandees to lend attraction to my receptions, my artist friends, like Rubinstein, Wieniawski, Litolff, etc., always meet with an attentive hearing—they are always accorded complete silence."
"Yes, but Rubinstein should understand that what occurred at the palace the other night was quite an unfortunate and exceptional mischance."
The Grand Duchess, as she looked at me, was evidently very angry, nor did she hasten to invite Rubinstein again. But very much later the storm subsided, and peace was restored.
The brothers Rubinstein were, naturally, the idols of the Russian musical world. In Petrograd it was Anton whose reputation was highest. In Moscow Nicolas was considered the superior. A friendly jealousy on behalf of the two great musicians existed between the two cities. Anton in his later years had a charming villa at Peterhof where I have met also his wife and family. I remember that, at the conclusion of a discussion on Wagner's magnificent, but lengthy, Music Dramas, Rubinstein said he doubted whether anyone could listen to music with real attention and enjoyment for more than two hours at a time. A frank admission! But was he not right? He also endorsed Paganini's dictum about the necessity of daily study. "If I do not practise one day I notice it. If I do not practise two days, the public notice it." One of his friends and collaborateurs was Leopold Auer, who was for so long principal Violin Professor at the St. Petersburg Conservatoire, and to whose eminent talent the world owes so much.