Tchaikovsky: The Man Revealed by John Suchet
After reading The Brothers Karamazov and War and Peace, and the novellas The Death of Ivan Ilych and Notes from Underground, I was thinking about that other great Russian artist of the 19th century, and one of my favorite composers, Pytor Tchaikovsky. War and Peace in particular put me in mind of Tchaikovsky as the 1812 battle of Borodino is the climax of that novel, the same battle that Tchaikovsky commemorates in his 1812 Overture.
I was also thinking about the plight of homosexual men in the nineteenth century: Thomas Mann (1875 – 1955), Death in Venice; A. E. Housman (1859-1936), the subject of Stoppard’s The Invention of Love; and Henry James (1843 – 1916), The Aspern Papers; who was a near contemporary of Tchaikovsky (1840 – 1893).
Tchaikovsky was born in a rural village east of Moscow. His father was the manager of an iron works which was the reason for the town existing. He was close to his older brother, Nikolai, although eventually formed a closer bond with a younger brother, Modest, who was also homosexual. The family moved to St. Petersburg, then moved again to a different small village east of Moscow. As a boy Tchaikovsky was enrolled in a school in St. Petersburg designed to prepare students for a career in civil service. Although showing interest in music at a young age his family was not musical, and it wasn’t until Tchaikovsky had graduated and begun a career in civil service that he decided on composing as a career.
As a young man (1863) he enrolled in a music conservatory run by Anton Rubinstein in St. Petersburg. He was a diligent student showing promise, if not brilliance. When he graduated, Anton recommended Tchaikovsky to a professorship position at a music conservatory in Moscow run by Anton’s brother, Nikolai. Tchaikovsky moved to Moscow (1865) and taught at the conservatory for twelve years.
His first symphony (1868), the Romeo and Juliet overture (1869) and his first string quartet (1871) were popular and began to give him renown. His several attempts at operas were less successful, until he produced his one great opera, Eugene Onegin (1878), which came just after his first piano concerto (1874) and about the same time as his fourth symphony (1877). The 1812 Overture (1880) was commissioned to celebrate the completion of a church, the Cathedral of Christ the Savior in Moscow, which was itself built to commemorate the battle of Borodino. The Serenade for Strings came the same year. Swan Lake (1876) was his first ballet score but was not particularly successful until it was revived decades after Tchaikovsky’s death. The Sleeping Beauty (1889) and the Nutcracker (1892) came in the last years of his life. The Nutcracker Suite was enormously popular (no surprise), although the full ballet was not a great success at first. His great sixth symphony was the last piece he composed (1893). He died at age 53 only a few days after the premiere.
Most of what we know of Tchaikovsky’s life comes from two sources. After Pyotr’s death, his brother, Modest, wrote a biography. As it was intended to celebrate a man who by this time was a national hero, adherence to the strict truth was not Modest’s primary aim, and in particular, Modest suppressed any mention of his brother’s sexuality. The second source is a vast collection of correspondence. However, this is in the control of Russian archivists who have withheld, to this day, much of this material, and heavily redacted what they have published, again, removing any references to Tchaikovsky’s sexuality.
But there are other sources. Modest wrote a second work, an autobiography, which includes much information about his brother because they were close. Modest didn’t expect that there would be much interest in his own autobiography so thankfully he felt free to be more open and honest. Secondly, although a great deal of primary correspondence has been withheld or censored, there is still also other correspondence, often from sources that the archivists originally missed, that has been made public and avoided the censor. From this, Tchaikovsky scholars have been able to create a decent account of the man, with still many holes and elisions left to be filled in.
So yes, Tchaikovsky was gay. As I was reading, my husband asked me if I’d gotten to the gay stuff yet and I answered “Yes, it comes early and often.” Beginning in his school days (an all boys school so perhaps not unexpectedly) he had love affairs and infatuations with other boys. As a teacher he had favorites among the conservatory students. During his many trips around Europe for vacations and music tours he often solicited sex from male prostitutes. He had a few long lasting affairs but nothing like a healthy relationship of peers. He spent his entire life ashamed by sexual desires that he considered a weakness that could be overcome if he were only strong enough, or a sickness akin to a disability.
He also considered his sexual activities to be a liability to his career, particularly as he became more famous. This led to one of the strangest episodes of his life. Out of the blue, in 1877, Tchaikovsky received a letter from Antonina Milyukova, a woman who had been a former student at the conservatory. Antonina professed a long-standing, heretofore secret, passionate love for Tchaikovsky and offered herself in marriage. This episode coincided with Tchaikovsky’s composing of Eugene Onegin which includes a scene where the heroine writes a letter to a man professing love, which the man rebuffs. Tchaikovsky decided to meet Antonina, and did then, within several months, disastrously, marry her. They were together three months, with Tchaikovsky frequently absent, before he called it off. She wouldn’t grant a divorce, though, which was difficult in nineteenth century, Orthodox Christian Russia, and so Tchaikovsky remained technically married until his death. Antonina died in 1917 of pneumonia.
The other great story of Tchaikovsky’s life is his singular relationship with Nadezhda von Meck. Nadezhda was married to an engineer. At her urging he founded a railway company at just the time that the railway was taking off in Russia and the family became very wealthy. As a widow, Nadezhda became a philanthropist of the music conservatory in Moscow where Tchaikovsky taught. Eventually she came to know Tchaikovsky’s music and, in 1876, began to support him directly, both with a monthly stipend and with occasional additional amounts when necessary. With her support, Tchaikovsky was able to resign his teaching position and devote himself to his composition full time.
The only stipulation in Nadezhda’s support is that she wished never to meet Tchaikovsky in person. Tchaikovsky was happy to agree. Instead, the two carried out a voluminous and intimate correspondence, thousands of letters over more than a decade. Nadezhda also offered her country estate to Tchaikovsky when she was away, and he enjoyed the palatial rooms and the servants. Occasionally when traveling Nadezhda would rent a room nearby her own for Tchaikovsky to occupy. They met face to face only once, accidentally. Nadezhda had invited Tchaikovsky to stay in her guest house while she would be at home in the main house. They worked out a careful schedule of when either of them would be out on the grounds so they could avoid each other. But one afternoon Tchaikovsky was out walking later than he should have, and Nadezhda came home for dinner earlier than she was expected and they came upon each other. They didn’t speak. Tchaikovsky nodded and raised his hat. Mortified he thought he had ruined the relationship but Nadezhda was charmed by the encounter and his behavior, although insisting that it mustn’t happen again. The relationship ended in 1890 when Nadezhda wrote a letter saying she could no longer continue the financial support. It may be that she was less wealthy than she believed, or perhaps her children resented the gifts to a stranger. She included a check for a year’s stipend in advance. Tchaikovsky responded graciously. By this time he was receiving an additional (smaller) monthly stipend from the Tsar.
Tchaikovsky died of complications induced from cholera in 1893, at age 53. The story of his death has become obscured by rumor and speculation. Was it suicide? Was he forced to take poison to cover up a scandal? What’s the secret program of the gloomy fourth movement of the Sixth Symphony? Like most conspiracy theories, I suspect the simplest account is also the truth: cholera, not poison, contracted through reckless behavior not a deliberate death wish.
There are several Tchaikovsky biographies available. I bought this one sight-unseen, ordering it through my local bookstore. The author, John Suchet, is an English journalist and the host of a morning classical music radio program. He’s also the author of books on Beethoven. I wanted to choose a recent biography (this is from 2018) and I wanted to be sure the author wouldn’t elide the material about Tchaikovsky’s sexuality. I was surprised when it arrived to see that the book is rather thin on text and filled with pictures. The numerous photos of Tchaikovsky and his family and friends were welcome. There are also reproductions of set designs from his ballets and operas, and manuscripts and cover pages to his scores. But I was disappointed in the text. There’s very little musical analysis. He relies greatly on other more scholarly sources. There’s a lot of breezy speculation ending with, “we can’t be sure.” Every chapter ends with a cliffhanger like a cheap novel. It’s very annoying. In the end I wish I had chosen the 1991 biography by Alexander Poznansky titled Tchaikovsky: The Quest for the Inner Man.