What Is Wrong With Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky

Pyotr Tchaikovsky is an exemplary Russian imperialist. From believing in Russian supremacy to writing propaganda pieces, he got it all covered.

Tchaikovsky’s imperialism is clearly visible in his correspondence, so let’s dive right in.

Tchaikovsky and Liberation of Turkish Slavs

Tchaikovsky’s emotions regarding the Russo-Turkish War perfectly mirror those of modern Russian propagandists: moving from triumph to a state of impotent rage.

The war proclamation is expected any hour now, and yesterday a very competent person told me that a manifesto is supposed to be issued today, the 12th. It is both terrifying and yet pleasing at the same time that our dear fatherland is finally resolving to uphold its dignity.

Letter from September 12, 1876

I am very concerned about the truce that the newspapers are now writing about. Could it be that we won’t be allowed to reach Adrianople?

Letter from January 18, 1876

How can a European conference discuss the terms of peace after all the sacrifices Russia has made? What an odious country England is! Wouldn’t you agree that the only politically honest state is Russia? Yes, genuinely honest, at times foolish, but nonetheless honest. Will it not eventually triumph over all of Europe in the name of this honesty? I believe it will.

Letter from February 12, 1878

The Englishmen have surpassed all levels of shamelessness. A nation that systematically poisons, corrupts, and impoverishes hundreds of millions of people in India accuses us of cruelty, calling us barbarians for liberating Turkish Slavs from oppression at the cost of incredible sacrifices. What an outrageously shameless nationality!

Letter from February 28, 1878

I wish there would be more torpedoes — to blow up all the Englishmen!

Letter from March 30, 1878

Tchaikovsky and Cultural Imperialism

In 1882, composer Anton Rubinstein wrote uverture “Russia”, which included a suite with traditional music pieces of the nations enslaved by the Russian empire. For Tchaikovsky, the mere existence of ethnic diversity in Russia is saddening:

I don’t like “Russia” at all. Only a limited, not to say stupid, person could write such nonsense. What is the point of having the Estonians, Jews and that whole procession of foreigners? Why did Rubinstein’s muse choose to illustrate the saddening ethnographic fact that Russia is somewhat diverse and hasn’t yet coalesced into a strong and unified entity?

Letter from April 24, 1882

No wonder he reffered to Ukrainians with derogatory term “Khokhol” in his correspondence:

As I was approaching this village, I noticed that the peasants I met didn’t have a usual Khokhol appearance. […] Their faces were not of Khokhol kind. […]

It’s remarkable that in the same village live the natives and yet no merging has occurred; both the Great Russian and the Khokhol while living side by side, have kept their unique traits intact.

Letter from May 12, 1879

Aleksey was his groomsman; for this purpose, he was was supposed to wear khokhol costume.

Letter from October 31, 1883

It may very well be that Kuznetsov, like many prominent persons of Khokol descent, is suffering from a somewhat exaggerated mistrust of people and a tendency to perceive ill-wishers where there are none.

Letter from January 27, 1893

There are none, besides the saddening fact that your culture still exists, Kuznetsov.

Tchaikovsky and Colonial Appropriation

Tchaikovsky appropriated and infringed on Ukrainian folklore in many of his works — at the same time as Ukrainians were banned by the Russian Empire from performing and singing in Ukrainian on stage, as well as from publishing their own music.

An example of this is Symphony №2 (used to being referred to as “Small-Russian”), written during Tchaikovsky’s stay in colonized Ukraine. It is built on Ukrainian motives, with its final part based on the folk song “Crane”.

Here Tchaikovsky casually jokes about Ukrainian servant being the real composer, demonstrating a typical imperial colonialism attitude:

You probably heard about my symphony from the newspapers; I will add from myself that it was a great success and in particular “Crane” earned the most flattering reviews. I attribute the honour of this success not to myself, but to the true composer of the said work — Pyotr Gerasimovich, who, while I was composing and playing “Crane,” constantly walked around and sang along.

Letter from February 13, 1873

Another example is his Piano Concerto №1, with its first and final parts based on ancient Ukrainian ethnic songs.

One of the most famous Tchaikovsky’s romances “Was I not like grass in the lea?” is a Russian translation of the Ukrainian folk song “Was I not a guelder rose in a meadow”.

While Ukrainians were deprived of the rights to their own heritage, Tchaikovsky was “composing” Ukrainian folk treasures and glorifying the “Great Russian Culture” with appropriated Ukrainian music, leading the world to perceive it as a Russian legacy.

Tchaikovsky and Sweet Propaganda Money

Tchaikovsky’s legacy includes opera ”Mazeppa” — pure propaganda piece based on a poem by Aleksandr Pushkin. The purpose of this opera was to discredit the figure of Ukrainian hetman Ivan Mazepa, who attempted to liberate Ukraine from the Moscow yoke.

But wait, it get’s worse: Tchaikovsky specifically asked to entrust him with ”Mazeppa” as he was expecting to get a good payment.

It starts with this ludicrously fawning letter to composer Davydov:

I have a quite delicate and awkward request for you. I fear this may be something of a sore spot for you — but if that is the case then I hope you will magnanimously forgive me.

I know that around five years ago you wrote an opera on the subject of Pushkin’s “Poltava”. The directorate of the Conservatory prevented you from completing the opera, and this was most regrettable, not just for you, but for the public. I feel and know that your opera, so far as can be judged from your romances, would have been very successful, gracious and melodious. No doubt you are only too well aware of this, and I am sure that the thought of involuntarily abandoning a work that has begun well often aggrieves and depresses you.

This is why I said that this is probably your sore spot, and once again I ask your forgiveness if I have caused you even a moment’s displeasure.

Whereupon I pose this question: do you intend to complete the opera eventually? Do you feel, as a consequence of the long interruption, an indifference towards its subject, such that even if circumstances were to change you would prefer to set about something else? In short, do you require the libretto of your opera, so much of which was done by talented writers. If not, then I ask you to let me have this libretto. I am beginning to experience tentative impulses to set about another opera, and the subject of “Poltava” is very attractive to me. Should you find it possible to fulfil my request, my gratitude would be boundless.

Letter from May 5, 1881

Later he tells his patroness that he only considers composing the opera while already working on it:

Immediately after moving, I began to compose. I don’t know if anything will come of this, but I started with music for the scene of Maria and Mazepa from Pushkin’s ‘Poltava’. If I get into it, maybe I’ll write an entire opera on this plot.

Letter from December 13, 1881

Well, it seems that writing propaganda for money is not such an “attractive subject” after all:

Corrections has exhausted me beyond measure. My aversion to the music of ‘Mazeppa’ is incomparable to anything; it’s like a nightmare, and it will take a long time before I reconcile with it.

Letter from July 18, 1883

And even the payment turns out smaller than expected. He tries to negotiate a better price with his publisher:

The price you set for ‘Mazeppa’ is far from fair, and I cannot let this go unchallenged. If I’m not mistaken, I received more than 1000 rubles from you even for ‘The Maid of Orleans.’ Four years have passed since then. How is it that my price hasn’t risen by a single kopeck in all this time? Now, when both capital theaters are competing to get the scores, parts, and piano arrangements of ‘Mazeppa’ from you, you are offering me 1000 for an opera to which I have dedicated 2 years and 3 months of diligent work.

I believe it would be fair to set the following price for ‘Mazeppa’:

For the ownership rights: 2000 rubles

For the arrangement: 100 rubles per act, so 300 rubles

For proofreading: 100 rubles

In total: 2400 rubles.

Letter from July 28, 1883

Surprisingly, writing propaganda for money did not pay off well:

How foolish it is that in the rules regarding post-performance fees there is no note stating that if a three-act opera takes an entire evening, the payment should be the same as for a four-act one. After all, ‘Mazeppa’ and ‘Eugene Onegin’ are not in three acts because they are shorter than other operas, but because such division was needed because of artistic and stage considerations. I hope to receive not 8, but 10 percent as a slight deviation from the rule though. And do you remember that when Bartzal asked for ‘Mazeppa’, I warned him that I wanted to receive as much as is customary for a four-act opera.

Letter from November 9, 1883

There is a great amount of music to discover besides cynical imperialists such as Tchaikovsky.

Next time, try Mykola Lysenko, Mykola Leontovych or Borys Lyatoshynsky — Ukrainian composers, persecuted and silenced by the Russian government, unable to openly perform and share their own Ukrainian heritage. Their music has a lot to tell. It can tell you something you can only hear from those who have heart and courage inside.