“I sit down to the piano regularly at nine o’clock in the morning, and Mesdames les Muses have learned to be on time for that rendezvous.”

–Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky

Thank goodness the Muses were punctual! This concert beautifully captures a five-year window of this illustrious composer’s life and highlights some of the most beloved works from three different genres.

Despite showing considerable musical talent at an early age, Russia’s lack of formal music conservatories led Tchaikovsky’s parents to send him to boarding school to prepare for a life of civil service. At age 22, he quit his secure civil post to enroll in the first class of the new St. Petersburg Conservatory. He studied with Anton Rubinstein and, after completion, went to work as a theory teacher for Anton’s brother, Nikolai, at the even newer Moscow Conservatory. Though he never enjoyed teaching, working with Nikolai Rubinstein afforded him a valuable ally for the promotion of his early compositions. Rubinstein conducted the premieres of almost all of Tchaikovsky’s orchestral works for a fifteen-year period, which included the first four symphonies and most of his stand-alone pieces (e.g., Francesca da Rimini and March Slav).

Waltz from Eugene Onegin

Reactions to Tchaikovsky’s first attempts at opera ranged from lukewarm to terrible, which compelled him to destroy two of them. He was understandably reticent when a friend suggested the Pushkin verse novel Eugene Onegin, but after rereading it and realizing its potential, he began to work on it at once.

The story centers around Tatyana and her love for the cold and uncaring Onegin. Act II opens with a magnificent ball, and this waltz is heard. It is not only appealing to listen to, but it is also a pivotal point in the opera. This orchestra-only music is unchanged from the opera, which has a chorus plus a few stand-alone lines by Onegin and his friend, Vladimir Lensky. After the first main section, a men’s chorus sings about taking a break from hunting to attend the ball (you’ll hear hunting horns), followed by a women’s chorus in a minor key, griping about the men always being gone on hunting trips.

Lensky, who is engaged to Tatyana’s sister Olga, had insisted that Onegin come along to the ball. Onegin dances with Tatyana, but becomes peeved at overhearing gossip about them being an item. He lashes out at Lensky and his weapon of choice: dancing and flirting with Olga. And it works a little too well, as the flirting enrages Lensky. As the main theme returns, you can hear the building tension as Lensky’s temper escalates to the point of challenging a duel. The dance comes to a tumultuous, irreconcilable end.

Piano Concerto No. 1

In addition to conducting, Nikolai Rubinstein was also a celebrated pianist, and Tchaikovsky had him specifically in mind as the soloist while composing his first piano concerto. Tchaikovsky played it for him at the end of 1874, but Rubinstein shocked Tchaikovsky by sitting in stony silence. Tchaikovsky wrote:

“Do you know the awkward and ridiculous sensation of putting before a friend a meal which you have cooked yourself, which he eats—and then holds his tongue? Oh, for a single word, for friendly abuse, for anything to break the silence! For God’s sake, say something! But Rubinstein never opened his lips.”

When he did eventually open his lips, he told Tchaikovsky in no uncertain terms that the concerto was so intolerable and unplayable that it should be destroyed. Luckily for us, Tchaikovsky didn’t listen! The premiere was instead carried out by Hans von Bülow in Boston to great acclaim; so much so that afterwards Bülow immediately booked a second performance for five days later and, within the year, toured it throughout Europe.

This concerto’s iconic opening begins with heralding horns ushering us into the lush and irresistible string melody with colossal chords on the piano. The soloist, beginning as an accompanist, was unheard of and certainly would have upset Rubinstein. The second movement’s beautiful theme starts on the flute, which was Tchaikovsky’s secondary instrument while at the conservatory. The rapid, joyous, dancing finale is not only a showcase for the soloist but also keeps the orchestra (and the conductor!) on their toes.

Symphony No. 4

In May of 1877, almost four years after the piano concerto, Tchaikovsky began both Eugene Onegin and the Fourth Symphony. Before the completion of both works, two new and hugely impactful relationships significantly altered his life.

In July of 1877, Tchaikovsky made a snap decision to marry his former student Antonina in a short-sighted effort to counteract the true rumors about his homosexuality. And as quickly as the decision was made, it was also regretted. The relationship was never consummated, and after six weeks of desperately avoiding his new wife, he attempted suicide by walking into the cold Moscow River. He survived, and after recovering, he never lived with Antonina again. He also never succeeded at securing a divorce, eventually resigning to being legally married until death.

A few months before those dire straits, Tchaikovsky received the first letter of what would become a fourteen-year correspondence with a new patron, Nadezhda von Meck. She provided a generous salary that was fifteen times his original civil service income, thus enabling him to resign his unfulfilling teaching post and focus full-time on composing. Despite her unusual stipulation that they never meet and that her letters be destroyed after reading (again, luckily for us, he didn’t listen!), she proved to be not just a reliable financial supporter but also a trusted confidant and dear friend.

Tchaikovsky dedicated his Fourth Symphony to Meck and corresponded with her throughout its composition, detailing each movement to her. Tchaikovsky wrote: “The introduction is the seed of the whole symphony: This is fate, this is the fateful force which prevents the impulse to happiness from attaining its goal….It is invincible, and you will never overcome it.” This defeatist attitude is felt in the agitated and never truly even-keeled dance. Though the melody is impassioned, it is always falling, and its accompaniment stutters along, wrong-footed.

For the second movement, he told Meck: “This is that melancholy feeling which comes in the evening when, weary from your labor, you are sitting alone, you take a book—but it falls from your hand. There comes a whole host of memories. You both regret the past, yet do not wish to begin your life again. Life has wearied you….It’s sad and somehow sweet to

immerse yourself in the past.” This imagery utilizes melancholy-toned instruments paired with an upbeat middle section of sweet reminiscences.

The third movement was likened to “the first phases of intoxication… a picture of drunken peasants” coupled with a contrasting middle section where “…somewhere in the distance, a military procession” parades by.

Though the fourth movement’s rambunctious opening is emphatically exuberant, not all is joyful: “No sooner have you managed to forget yourself and to be carried away by the spectacle of the joys of others, then irrepressible fate again appears….” After completion, he wrote to Meck to apologize for his depressive headspace during its composition. And of the movement’s exhilarating ending, his narration sagely states, “Do not say that everything in this world is sad. Joy is a simple but powerful force. Rejoice in the rejoicing of others.”

– Program notes by Caroline M. Anderson