Home | Archive | In memoriam

Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky 1840–1893

A very serious loss has befallen the musical world by the sudden death, while still in the prime of life and activity, of P. I. Tschaikowsky, who, only four months ago, as the honoured representative of Russian music, visited Cambridge to receive the complimentary Degree conferred upon him by that University. He was, however, no stranger to our shores, having previously visited England in 1888 and 1889, appearing in both years as the conductor of his own compositions at the Philharmonic Society’s Concerts. And it is, perhaps, not too much to say that of all foreign contemporary composers who have been our guests, none inspired a more cordial liking than the genial and unaffected Russian whose premature removal we so deeply deplore. He was absolutely free from any affectation, and, in the fullest and best sense of the word, a thorough gentleman.

It is a curious feature about so many of the modern Russian composers that they have not come of a musical stock, and, more than that, before embracing the profession of music have embarked on other careers. This is true of Borodine, of César Cui, who was Professor of Fortification at the Engineering School of St. Petersburg, and of the subject of the present memoir. Peter Ilitsch Tschaikowsky was born on April 25, 1840, at Wotkinsk, in the Ural district, where his father held the post of engineer to the Imperial mines. When some years afterwards the latter removed to St. Petersburg to assume the directorship of the Technological Institute, his son was entered at the School of Jurisprudence in the Russian capital, and having pursued his studies in that department to a satisfactory close, he was appointed, in 1859, to a post in the Ministry of Justice. However, like Schumann, he soon discovered that the law was not his vocation, and when the new Conservatorium of Music was founded in St. Petersburg in 1862, by the energy of Anton Rubinstein, who became its first director, Tschaikowsky resigned his Government appointment and entered the new school, where he remained till 1865, studying harmony and counterpoint under Professor Zaremba and composition under Anton Rubinstein. His career as a student was highly distinguished, and in the year last-mentioned he took his diploma and won a prize medal for a cantata on Schiller’s ‘Ode to Joy.’ In the following year he accepted the invitation of Nicholas Rubinstein to join the staff of the newly founded Conservatorium at Moscow, and here for twelve years he held the Professorship of Harmony, Composition, and Musical History. The friendly relations that subsisted between him and his chief are commemorated in one of his latest works, a pianoforte trio inscribed ‘to the memory of a great artist – Nicholas Rubinstein.’ On quitting Moscow, where he had done excellent work as a teacher, Tschaikowsky devoted himself entirely to composition. As we have seen, he was somewhat late in beginning his musical education; but, once started, he soon made up for lost time by his inexhaustible productive energy. The list of his orchestral works includes no fewer than five symphonies; two pianoforte and two violin concertos – all familiar pieces in the repertory of the leading European virtuosi; several symphonic poems, one of which (‘Francesca da Rimini’) was given at the Doctor’s Concert last June; a variety of orchestral pieces (overtures, suites, marches, serenades, &c.), quartets and other chamber music, pianoforte pieces and songs, some of his best work coming under that last category. Lastly, there remain his extensive and important contributions to the stage. The ‘Voivode,’ an opera in three acts, was produced at Moscow in 1869; ‘Opritschnik,’ four acts, 1874; ‘Wakule the Smith,’ three acts, 1876; ‘Eugen Onegin,’ 1879; ‘The Maid of Orleans,’ 1881; ‘Mazeppa,’ 1884; ‘La Dame de Pique,’ 1890; and ‘Iolanthe,’ 1892, complete the list of his operas. He also composed two or three ballets and incidental music to the drama ‘Snegourotchka.’ Of all his dramatic compositions, none have attained so much success as ‘Eugen Onegin,’ founded on Poushkine’s well-known poem. It is, perhaps, the most popular Russian opera ever written, and the moderate impression it created when given in London a couple of years ago may be accounted for, in part at least, by the inadequateness of the performance.

After leaving Moscow, Tschaikowsky resided successively in a variety of places, spending a good deal of time in Italy and Switzerland. From 1878 onward, when his friend, Nicholas Rubinstein, introduced his music to the Parisian public at the Concerts in the Trocadéro during the Exhibition, he was known and appreciated in Paris. In Germany his name, of late years, has constantly figured in the programmes of orchestral and chamber concerts, and in Berlin, in particular, thanks in great measure to Dr. von Bülow, he was always sure of a cordial welcome.

The predominant characteristics of Tschaikowsky’s music have been described by Mr. Dannreuther as essentially Slavonic – fiery exultation alternating with languid melancholy, a fondness for huge outlines and barbaric gorgeousness of colour. This is no doubt true to a very considerable extent, but although Tschaikowsky undoubtedly made considerable use of national themes and rhythms in his works, and in choice of subject almost invariably drew upon the treasures of Northern literature, his wide culture and extensive acquaintance with German music inclined him to an eclecticism which in his earlier days aroused the hostility of Chauvinistic critics in Russia. ‘Eugen Onegin’ might have been written by a cultivated musician of any nationality, so free is it from local or national colour. Though somewhat severe, there is undoubtedly much truth in Rubinstein’s remarks, in his recently published ‘Conversation on Music,’ on the modern Russian school of which Tschaikowsky was, perhaps, the most distinguished representative. This school, he says, ‘on its instrumental side is the outcome of the influence of Berlioz and Liszt, and, with special reference to the pianoforte, one must add the influence of Schumann and Chopin as well. Above all this, a studied and deliberate national tendency makes itself felt. The productions of the Russian school reveal a thorough-going acquaintance with technique and a veritable mastery of colour, but, at the same time, a complete absence of design or form.’

Latterly Tschaikowsky had resided in St. Petersburg, where he enjoyed a personal popularity second to no artist throughout the length and breadth of Russia. He was an especial favourite with the Imperial family, but remained unspoiled by his social success. Thanks to the munificence of the Czar and the profits of his copyrights, he was the possessor of an handsome income, but it is stated that he has left next to nothing. Having no wife or family dependent upon him he never saved his money, but spent it freely in charity. As an instance of the chivalrous and gentlemanly feeling which was so marked a feature in his character, we may conclude this notice with the following anecdote. When M. Lamoureux, the famous French conductor, visited Russia early this year, he was entertained at a dinner in Moscow, at which some of his hosts went out of their way to institute invidious comparisons between him and von Bülow, whose name was greeted with derision and abuse. Tschaikowsky had no sympathy with this mixing up of art and politics, which was at the bottom of this demonstration, and though it involved no little courage to run counter to the popular current of Gallomania, he issued a most spirited protest in the Russian and French papers against the indecency of the attack on von Bülow, who was then lying dangerously ill, and who, whatever his faults and extravagancies, had done more than any other foreign musician to popularize Russian music outside Russia.

Musical Times, December 1893