Letter 2194 - Revision history

Tony: Added commas for clarity of meaning

2024-12-21T11:51:03Z

Added commas for clarity of meaning

← Older revision		Revision as of 13:51, 21 December 2024
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	\|Translated text={{right\|[[Paris]]<br/>10/22 January 1883}}		\|Translated text={{right\|[[Paris]]<br/>10/22 January 1883}}
	Thank you, you good person, for having written me that ever so sweet little letter. Although I am not at all depressed, and in fact am positively satisfied with life here, still when one is abroad and lonely letters from one's dearest and nearest acquire an inexpressible charm. Only why do you poison your life with {{...}}? <ref name="note1"/> Why this illness? Pray be so good as to write a jollier letter next time. I have been here for exactly a week now. I managed to find an uncommonly comfortable and nice room in a modest hotel, the window of which opens out onto a cheerful view. After settling in I sat down to work at once. My daily schedule has shaped out like this: I get up at 8 o'clock and the first thing I do is to light the fire, then I perform my ablutions in a separate little toilet-room, then I have tea and read the newspapers. At 9:30 sharp I sit down to work until lunchtime. I go to a restaurant to have lunch and afterwards take a long walk. At 2:30 I am back home, and it's work again until 6 o'clock. Then I have dinner, and in the evening it's either the theatre or flânerie [i.e. strolling in the streets], which in [[Paris]] is just as good as any theatre. I have seen some interesting productions, including the notorious ''Fédora'' by Sardou <ref name="note2"/>, in which Sarah Bernhardt gives a performance of ''absolute genius'': she would have made a staggering impression on me were it not for the fact that in this play about Russian life and mores — portrayed by the adroit but cold Frenchman Sardou — there is so much that is false. Now I have become positively convinced that ''Sarah'' is indeed a woman of genius. I also enjoyed myself a lot at the ''Comédie Française'', where I saw [[Musset]]'s wonderful "''On ne badine pas avec l'amour''" <ref name="note3"/>. After the theatre I pop into a café to drink some punch (it is very cold in [[Paris]]), and then it's back home to go to bed. All this is repeated daily with that monotony which I so like in the course of day-to-day life. I am in most wonderful spirits, as is always the case when nothing disturbs me in my work and there are no strangers to disrupt my solitude. There was, though, a big danger looming nearby, and I almost ended up having to plunge into high-society life. In the stalls at the Opéra Comique <ref name="note4"/> I heard someone calling my name in Russian. I turn round and see that it's the [[Grand Duke Konstantin Nikolayevich]]. He was extremely nice and friendly, and we spent all the intervals chatting very agreeably and cheerfully, but when he invited me to call on him I had the presence of mind to lie to him and say that I was leaving the next day. Here it is quite possible to lie in this fashion, because unless I want to, I can easily make sure that I don't bump into him anywhere		Thank you, you good person, for having written me that ever so sweet little letter. Although I am not at all depressed, and in fact am positively satisfied with life here, still when one is abroad and lonely letters from one's dearest and nearest acquire an inexpressible charm. Only why do you poison your life with {{...}}? <ref name="note1"/> Why this illness? Pray be so good as to write a jollier letter next time. I have been here for exactly a week now. I managed to find an uncommonly comfortable and nice room in a modest hotel, the window of which opens out onto a cheerful view. After settling in, I sat down to work at once. My daily schedule has shaped out like this: I get up at 8 o'clock and the first thing I do is to light the fire, then I perform my ablutions in a separate little toilet-room, then I have tea and read the newspapers. At 9:30 sharp I sit down to work until lunchtime. I go to a restaurant to have lunch and afterwards take a long walk. At 2:30 I am back home, and it's work again until 6 o'clock. Then I have dinner, and in the evening it's either the theatre or flânerie [i.e. strolling in the streets], which in [[Paris]] is just as good as any theatre. I have seen some interesting productions, including the notorious ''Fédora'' by Sardou <ref name="note2"/>, in which Sarah Bernhardt gives a performance of ''absolute genius'': she would have made a staggering impression on me were it not for the fact that in this play about Russian life and mores — portrayed by the adroit but cold Frenchman Sardou — there is so much that is false. Now I have become positively convinced that ''Sarah'' is indeed a woman of genius. I also enjoyed myself a lot at the ''Comédie Française'', where I saw [[Musset]]'s wonderful "''On ne badine pas avec l'amour''" <ref name="note3"/>. After the theatre I pop into a café to drink some punch (it is very cold in [[Paris]]), and then it's back home to go to bed. All this is repeated daily with that monotony which I so like in the course of day-to-day life. I am in most wonderful spirits, as is always the case when nothing disturbs me in my work and there are no strangers to disrupt my solitude. There was, though, a big danger looming nearby, and I almost ended up having to plunge into high-society life. In the stalls at the Opéra Comique <ref name="note4"/> I heard someone calling my name in Russian. I turn round and see that it's the [[Grand Duke Konstantin Nikolayevich]]. He was extremely nice and friendly, and we spent all the intervals chatting very agreeably and cheerfully, but when he invited me to call on him, I had the presence of mind to lie to him and say that I was leaving the next day. Here it is quite possible to lie in this fashion, because unless I want to, I can easily make sure that I don't bump into him anywhere
	I am very tired, so I can't write much. Forgive me, darling [[Anya]], and don't pay me back in my own coin: write to me frequently and write a lot. I kiss the spiders <ref name="note5"/>. Write to me at the same address. I'm expecting [[Modest]] to arrive any day now. I hug you tightly.		I am very tired, so I can't write much. Forgive me, darling [[Anya]], and don't pay me back in my own coin: write to me frequently and write a lot. I kiss the spiders <ref name="note5"/>. Write to me at the same address. I'm expecting [[Modest]] to arrive any day now. I hug you tightly.
	}}		}}
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	==Notes and References==		==Notes and References==
	<references>		<references>
	<ref name="note1">When copying this letter [[Modest Tchaikovsky]] left out some word(s) here — note by Vladimir Zhdanov in {{bib\|1951/49\| П. И. Чайковский. С. И. Танеев. Письма}} (1951), p. 215.</ref>		<ref name="note1">When copying this letter, [[Modest Tchaikovsky]] left out some word(s) here — note by Vladimir Zhdanov in {{bib\|1951/49\| П. И. Чайковский. С. И. Танеев. Письма}} (1951), p. 215.</ref>
	<ref name="note2">Victorien Sardou (1831–1908), French dramatist, a leading exponent of the ''pièce bien faite'' style of drama. His melodrama ''Fédora'' (1882) is set in Russia and was written specially for the great French tragedienne Sarah Bernhardt (1844–1923).</ref>		<ref name="note2">Victorien Sardou (1831–1908), French dramatist, a leading exponent of the ''pièce bien faite'' style of drama. His melodrama ''Fédora'' (1882) is set in Russia and was written specially for the great French tragedienne Sarah Bernhardt (1844–1923).</ref>
	<ref name="note3">Tchaikovsky was very fond of the French Romantic writer [[Alfred de Musset]] (1810–1857), and in August 1878 he had considered writing an opera ''[[Les Caprices de Marianne]]'', based on one of his plays. ''On ne badine pas avec l'amour'' ('There is No Trifling with Love') is one of Musset's ingenious ''Comédies et proverbes''.</ref>		<ref name="note3">Tchaikovsky was very fond of the French Romantic writer [[Alfred de Musset]] (1810–1857), and in August 1878 he had considered writing an opera ''[[Les Caprices de Marianne]]'', based on one of his plays. ''On ne badine pas avec l'amour'' ('There is No Trifling with Love') is one of Musset's ingenious ''Comédies et proverbes''.</ref>
	<ref name="note4">Tchaikovsky was at the ''Opéra Comique'' on 4/16 January 1883, where he heard a fine performance of [[Mozart]]'s ''Le Nozze di Figaro''. See [[Letter 2189]] to [[Nadezhda von Meck]], 3/15-5/17 January 1883.</ref>		<ref name="note4">Tchaikovsky was at the ''Opéra Comique'' on 4/16 January 1883, where he heard a fine performance of [[Mozart]]'s ''Le Nozze di Figaro''. See [[Letter 2189]] to [[Nadezhda von Meck]], 3/15-5/17 January 1883.</ref>
	<ref name="note5">"Spiders" here are "hands". This association evidently goes back to some childhood memory of the composer's. [[Anna Merkling]] had very beautiful hands, and this was something that Tchaikovsky always paid particular attention to — note by Vladimir Zhdanov in {{bib\|1951/49\| П. И. Чайковский. С. И. Танеев. Письма}} (1951), p. 207. See also {{bib\|1993/186\| Tchaikovsky. The quest for the inner man}} (1993), p. 310, for the composer's obsession with hands.</ref>		<ref name="note5">"Spiders" here are "hands". This association evidently goes back to some childhood memory of the composer. [[Anna Merkling]] had very beautiful hands, and this was something that Tchaikovsky always paid particular attention to — note by Vladimir Zhdanov in {{bib\|1951/49\| П. И. Чайковский. С. И. Танеев. Письма}} (1951), p. 207. See also {{bib\|1993/186\| Tchaikovsky. The quest for the inner man}} (1993), p. 310, for the composer's obsession with hands.</ref>
	</references>		</references>

Brett: Text replacement - "in the Klin House-Museum Archive" to "in the {{RUS-KLč}} at Klin"

2023-09-23T15:28:03Z

Text replacement - "in the Klin House-Museum Archive" to "in the {{RUS-KLč}} at Klin"

← Older revision		Revision as of 17:28, 23 September 2023
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	==Text and Translation==		==Text and Translation==
	Based on a handwritten copy in the [[Klin]] ~~House-Museum Archive~~, which may contain differences in formatting and content from Tchaikovsky's original letter.		Based on a handwritten copy in the {{RUS-KLč}} at [[Klin]], which may contain differences in formatting and content from Tchaikovsky's original letter.
	{{Lettertext		{{Lettertext
	\|Language=Russian		\|Language=Russian

Brett: 1 revision imported

2022-07-12T11:25:05Z

1 revision imported

← Older revision	Revision as of 13:25, 12 July 2022
(No difference)

Brett: Text replacement - " Кн[я" to " кн[я"

2020-04-23T13:00:00Z

Text replacement - " Кн[я" to " кн[я"

New page

{{letterhead
|Date=10/22 January 1883
|To=[[Anna Merkling]]
|Place=[[Paris]]
|Language=Russian
|Autograph={{locunknown}}
|Publication={{bib|1901/24|Жизнь Петра Ильича Чайковского ; том 2}} (1901), p. 567–568 (abridged)<br/>{{bib|1951/49|П. И. Чайковский. С. И. Танеев. Письма}} (1951), p. 215<br/>{{bib|1970/86|П. И. Чайковский. Полное собрание сочинений ; том XII}} (1970), p. 24–25
|Notes=Manuscript copy in [[Klin]] (Russia): {{RUS-KLč}} (signature omitted)
}}

==Text and Translation==
Based on a handwritten copy in the [[Klin]] House-Museum Archive, which may contain differences in formatting and content from Tchaikovsky's original letter.
{{Lettertext
|Language=Russian
|Translator=Luis Sundkvist
|Original text={{right|Париж<br/>10/22 января 1883 г[ода]}}
Спасибо тебе, хороший человек, что написала мне милейшее письмецо. Хоть я нисколько не скучаю и даже положительно доволен своим здешним житьём, — но всё же на чужбине и в одиночестве письма милых и близких людей приобретают невыразимую прелесть. Только зачем {{...}} отравляться? Зачем болеть? Извольте-ка следующее письмо более весёлое написать. Я здесь уже ровно неделя. Взял в скромном отеле необычайно удобную, милую комнату, угловую, с весёлым видом из окна, устроился и тотчас же принялся за работу. День устроился таким образом. Встаю в 8 час[ов] и прежде всего растапливаю камин, совершаю свои обливания и умывания в особенной туалетной каморочке, пью чай и читаю газеты. Ровно в 9½ ч[асов] сажусь работать вплоть до завтрака. Иду завтракать в ресторан и после совершаю большую прогулку пешком. В 2½ ч[аса] я дома, и опять работа до 6 час[ов]. Засим обед и вечером или театр, или фланирование, которое в Париже стоит всякого театра. Видел несколько интересных спектаклей, в том числе пресловутую «''Федору''» Сарду, в которой Сарра Бернар играет ''архигениально'' и произвела бы на меня потрясающее впечатление, если бы в пьесе из русских нравов, изображённых ловким, но холодным французом — Сарду, не было так много фальши и лжи. Теперь я положительно убедился, что ''Сарра'' в самом деле гениальная женщина. Большое удовольствие испытал также в «''Comédie Française''», где видел чудную «''On ne badine pas avec l'amour''» Мюссе. После театра захожу выпить пуншу в кафе (в Париже очень холодно) и потом спать домой. Всё это повторяется ежедневно с тем однообразием, которое я так люблю в порядке жизни. Расположение духа самое чудное, как всегда, когда ничто не мешает мне в работе и никакие чуждые люди не нарушают одиночества. Но мне грозила большая опасность, и чуть было не пришлось отдаться светскости. В «Opéra Comique» в креслах слышу, что кто-то зовёт меня по-русски. Оборачиваюсь и узнаю Вел[икого] кн[язя]. Конст[антина] Никол[аевича]. Он был донельзя мил и любезен, и все антракты мы проболтали очень приятно и весело, но, когда он пригласил меня к себе, я имел духу соврать, что на другой день уезжаю. Здесь солгать таким манером очень возможно, ибо если не захочу, то, конечно, нигде с ним не встречусь

Очень устал и потому пишу мало. Прости, голубушка Аня, и не плати мне той же монетой: пиши часто и много. Целую пауки. Пиши по тому же адресу. Жду на-днях Модеста. Крепко обнимаю.

|Translated text={{right|[[Paris]]<br/>10/22 January 1883}}
Thank you, you good person, for having written me that ever so sweet little letter. Although I am not at all depressed, and in fact am positively satisfied with life here, still when one is abroad and lonely letters from one's dearest and nearest acquire an inexpressible charm. Only why do you poison your life with {{...}}? <ref name="note1"/> Why this illness? Pray be so good as to write a jollier letter next time. I have been here for exactly a week now. I managed to find an uncommonly comfortable and nice room in a modest hotel, the window of which opens out onto a cheerful view. After settling in I sat down to work at once. My daily schedule has shaped out like this: I get up at 8 o'clock and the first thing I do is to light the fire, then I perform my ablutions in a separate little toilet-room, then I have tea and read the newspapers. At 9:30 sharp I sit down to work until lunchtime. I go to a restaurant to have lunch and afterwards take a long walk. At 2:30 I am back home, and it's work again until 6 o'clock. Then I have dinner, and in the evening it's either the theatre or flânerie [i.e. strolling in the streets], which in [[Paris]] is just as good as any theatre. I have seen some interesting productions, including the notorious ''Fédora'' by Sardou <ref name="note2"/>, in which Sarah Bernhardt gives a performance of ''absolute genius'': she would have made a staggering impression on me were it not for the fact that in this play about Russian life and mores — portrayed by the adroit but cold Frenchman Sardou — there is so much that is false. Now I have become positively convinced that ''Sarah'' is indeed a woman of genius. I also enjoyed myself a lot at the ''Comédie Française'', where I saw [[Musset]]'s wonderful "''On ne badine pas avec l'amour''" <ref name="note3"/>. After the theatre I pop into a café to drink some punch (it is very cold in [[Paris]]), and then it's back home to go to bed. All this is repeated daily with that monotony which I so like in the course of day-to-day life. I am in most wonderful spirits, as is always the case when nothing disturbs me in my work and there are no strangers to disrupt my solitude. There was, though, a big danger looming nearby, and I almost ended up having to plunge into high-society life. In the stalls at the Opéra Comique <ref name="note4"/> I heard someone calling my name in Russian. I turn round and see that it's the [[Grand Duke Konstantin Nikolayevich]]. He was extremely nice and friendly, and we spent all the intervals chatting very agreeably and cheerfully, but when he invited me to call on him I had the presence of mind to lie to him and say that I was leaving the next day. Here it is quite possible to lie in this fashion, because unless I want to, I can easily make sure that I don't bump into him anywhere
I am very tired, so I can't write much. Forgive me, darling [[Anya]], and don't pay me back in my own coin: write to me frequently and write a lot. I kiss the spiders <ref name="note5"/>. Write to me at the same address. I'm expecting [[Modest]] to arrive any day now. I hug you tightly.
}}

==Notes and References==
<references>
<ref name="note1">When copying this letter [[Modest Tchaikovsky]] left out some word(s) here — note by Vladimir Zhdanov in {{bib|1951/49| П. И. Чайковский. С. И. Танеев. Письма}} (1951), p. 215.</ref>
<ref name="note2">Victorien Sardou (1831–1908), French dramatist, a leading exponent of the ''pièce bien faite'' style of drama. His melodrama ''Fédora'' (1882) is set in Russia and was written specially for the great French tragedienne Sarah Bernhardt (1844–1923).</ref>
<ref name="note3">Tchaikovsky was very fond of the French Romantic writer [[Alfred de Musset]] (1810–1857), and in August 1878 he had considered writing an opera ''[[Les Caprices de Marianne]]'', based on one of his plays. ''On ne badine pas avec l'amour'' ('There is No Trifling with Love') is one of Musset's ingenious ''Comédies et proverbes''.</ref>
<ref name="note4">Tchaikovsky was at the ''Opéra Comique'' on 4/16 January 1883, where he heard a fine performance of [[Mozart]]'s ''Le Nozze di Figaro''. See [[Letter 2189]] to [[Nadezhda von Meck]], 3/15-5/17 January 1883.</ref>
<ref name="note5">"Spiders" here are "hands". This association evidently goes back to some childhood memory of the composer's. [[Anna Merkling]] had very beautiful hands, and this was something that Tchaikovsky always paid particular attention to — note by Vladimir Zhdanov in {{bib|1951/49| П. И. Чайковский. С. И. Танеев. Письма}} (1951), p. 207. See also {{bib|1993/186| Tchaikovsky. The quest for the inner man}} (1993), p. 310, for the composer's obsession with hands.</ref>
</references>