Paris , 1876
Ma chere mamma,
I'm sending my best wishes to you and my sisters from my favorite city. I'm writing this letter quite late, but there happened so many things. I'm remembering my time studying at the Académie Julian and my artistic attempts. Now I'm so happy with Laurie and my dear Bess, of course. She is taken care by Juliette quite well, when I'm embracing art, such as paintings in the Louvre and operas in the Palais Garnier. It is still quite cold here in January and the snowflakes are dancing just like little ballerina.
Last night, Laurie and me went to see an performance of the opera "Carmen" by Bizet, at the Opera Comique. And it was surely no coincidence that we would meet there our Russian friend Peter (or Pjotr, as his Russian name is actually). Peter was not alone on this Europe trip, but accompanied by his brother Modest.
As much as I like Peter, Modest made a different impression. He was not only taller, but also quite more self-confident than Peter. "What a pleasure to meet American friends of the future best composer of Russia, no, actually Europe, well at least the world" he went on talking and he also told us that Peter had of course- the first prize with 1500 rubles for his opera "Vakula".
"My dear, dear Vakula" Peter sighed, "I knew he would bring happiness to me."
Luckily, the opera was to begin and so we could focus entirely on start. Peter had told us that he had also studied the vocal-piano reduction of the opera last year. And he had also played the final scene on the piano, again and again.
I reminded also Laurie playfully of the particular theatre visit for the castles at diamond lake, when Jo didn't want to take me with and I had burnt her book afterwards. Now I had Laurie for me and would now have to endure his passion for opera all alone. It was actually much more intriguing to watch Peter reacting on the performance. Celestine Galli-Marié was performing Carmen, the title role. I've never seen Peter on this way, he was struck with tears, changing from pale to blushing, it was like a whole storm of emotions in his soul. Modest even said in the break to Laurie and me: *"Rarely have I seen my brother so excited by a theatre spectacle. It seems to be one the strongest musical impressions for him."* I have to admit that I felt on a similar way. Carmen, this luring beauty, with her "Habanera" – from what I understood it was about love being like a free bird. Marmee, you needn't be worried about it. It was daring, but nothing you or father would regard as sin. It was touching how Don Jose lost himself and everything more and more, his bride, his honour, finally losing Carmen. I couldn't express it. The music of the bull fighters was cheerful, but later, when Carmen was warned from the other two women, but was ready to face her former lover to tell him that their relationship was finished, and then she was finally stabbed by Don Jose and dying in his arms in the ending….It would be certainly something for Jo and I will tell her about it later as inspiration.
And Peter? Well, I would say *"state of utter ecstasy"*. When we were finally leaving, Modest said: "Peter, *I think it is easy to predict that that for the subject of your next opera you would not choose a story about kings or gods or cardboard boyars, but something as close to life and as close to us as the sad story of Don Jose's love."*
Peter was smiling a bit, then he replied: "Well, I will choose such a love story for my next story, but I think no one should die. But for my next project, I'm choosing a tale of knights and swans. Please, could you wait a bit?"
We were waiting amazed and I tried to remember the swan project. Could it be? Finally?
When Peter returned, he had bought two photographs, one of the composer Bizet and one of Celestine. And then he wrote on the first *"Bizet — 20 January 1876"*, on the other one "gift by Peter: 20 January 1876". With a smile, he gave me the picture with Carmen. It is now on my desk, when I'm writing this letter for you.
Then we left the Opera Comique. Peter asked us to chat in a cozy café. Modest was not really delighted that he wasn't meant to stay, but then finally did surrender and went away to "a place to amuse yourself quite well…" (whatever he was referring to).
In the café, Peter sighed and said: "Ah, Paris, my favorite city! ** In this place you can do anything you like, the only impossible thing being to feel bored. You only have to go out into the boulevards for your spirits immediately to rise"**
Then, he told us that he was not only working at the moment on his "String Quartet No. 3.", but finally on a ballet. Last year, Mr. Begichev, director of the Imperial theatres, commissioned a ballet with the tentative title "The lake of the swans" from him – for 800 rubles. It should be more catchy, actually. Peter smiled a lot and he actually didn't want to say anything about it. Apparently, he has already composed the half of it and has a bit too rush, as the company of the Bolshoi ballet in Moscow is demanding the music for rehearsal.
"You see, it is about knights and fairies. And mostly about love. Intense love, just like between Romeo and Juliet, Francesca and Paolo, Carmen and Don Jose. Being terribly, madly in love. Impossible love." Peter was a bit thoughtful, as if he was also talking about himself. Laurie seemed to think the same, when he stated: "Such Spanish women are different from the French ones. You should try to compose also a Spanish Dance in your ballet. But actually, the best American woman is my wife!" he said and embraced me tenderly.
Peter seemed to be a bit distracted, when he mumbled: "Women? Yes, yes, and *I hate already the beautiful stranger who could be once my wife. I should rather marry…."*
Somehow I got the impression he was talking about a secret love. One he wouldn't share. But I would love to help him as the most dreadful illness is being lovesick – I still remember Fred Vaughn's disappointment, when I was rejecting his proposal. Do you have any helpful recipe for our Russian friend?
Peter then went on and told us about a certain French woman he actually did admire.
"Where did you met her?" Laurie asked curiously.
"In the history of France, a book by Guizot, but not only there. She is so pure, angelic, selfless and kind, when she is taking care for the unhappy, mad king – at his side, when he is sleeping peacefully."
Odette. I remembered Odette de Champdivers from our first meeting, here in Paris, when I was painting swans and talking about an opera.
The main character in Peter's ballet is named Odette, after her.
Now I'm also hoping that he would find a "Odette" in his real life. Or would he only be allowed to compose about true love, but never find happiness?
Marmee, I know it's late now and I should rather look after our Bess.
Love,
Amy.
**literal or only slightly changed quotes from original letters (whether Tchaikovsky himself or his brother Modest). Source: Tchaikovsky research
String Quartet No. 3.