On January 11, 1866, the renowned Russian mining engineer and Major General of mining affairs Ilya Tchaikovsky tried, in a letter, to persuade his son Pyotr to abandon music and take up law. ✉️
“Your passion for music is commendable, my friend, but it is a slippery path; the reward for genius often comes long, long after,” he wrote. 🎼
“Look at the poor musician Serov: working with passion, he earned silver hair, not silver coins. 💭
He labored on Judith for fourteen years, and just as long on Rogneda—and what did he gain? 🎭
Fame worth 1,500 rubles a year for as long as he lives, that is, barely enough for daily bread… 🍞
Glinka died a pauper, and our other talents are scarcely valued either. 🎻
Anyone who knows your playing and musical abilities will appreciate you even without Rubinstein—forget them and return to service… ⚖️
Still, I would advise you to pursue justice.”
Pyotr Ilyich did not heed his father’s advice; otherwise, we would never have heard Eugene Onegin, The Nutcracker, Swan Lake, the First Piano Concerto, or many other works of musical genius. 🎶
Yet who knows how Tchaikovsky’s life and art might have unfolded had a devoted and wealthy patron not appeared in it—Nadezhda von Meck. 🌿
Nadezhda Filaretovna was neither a muse, nor a lover, nor a performer, nor even a commissioner of his works. 📜
Over thirteen years of correspondence with the composer, her words of love remained scattered across letters like small flowers pressed between the pages of a herbarium. 🌸
She paid generously for Tchaikovsky’s freedom, rescued him from the drudgery of teaching, shielded him from the consequences of a disastrous marriage, and allowed him to compose whatever his soul desired. 🕊️
She gave him comfort and security for years, purchasing his inspiration not for herself, but for all of us. 🎁
And yet, she never once met her idol.
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