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Tchaikovsky: A Life

by Alexander Poznansky (continued)

1877

Bearing in mind his affair with Désirée Artôt, there is every reason to believe that until the middle of the 1870s Tchaikovsky did not take his homosexuality too seriously and, as frequently is the case, did not allow himself to think that his sexual preferences were irreversible or insurmountable. Most probably he thought that he could act on his inclinations for as long as possible, but that, when it became absolutely necessary, he could simply abandon these habits.

After travelling with his brother Modest and Nikolai Konradi in early 1876, Tchaikovsky clearly realized that the emotional atmosphere surrounding his brother's relationship with his charge was unhealthy and deeply fraught with potential, if not imminent, danger. He became conscious of this on a very personal level, since he also felt an erotic attraction to the boy, and had always been a role model for his younger brothers. And so the composer resolved to end the crisis in his own way by setting an example himself.

On 19/31 August 1876 Tchaikovsky suddenly wrote to his brother: " I have decided to marry. It is inevitable. I must do this, and not only for myself, but also for you and for Anatolii, Aleksandra [their sister] and all whom I love. For you in particular! But you also, Modest, need to think seriously about this. Homosexuality and pedagogy cannot abide in harmony with one another" [1]. A month later, in a letter to Modest, he stressed this point further: "A man who, after parting with, so to speak, his own (he can be called your own) child then falls into the embraces of any passing trash, cannot be the real educator that you want and ought to become" [2]. Discussing with Modest the possibility of the three of them living together the following year, the composer touched upon another issue which no doubt had been weighing heavily on his mind: "I do not want evil tongues to wound an innocent child, about whom they would inevitably say that I am preparing him to be my own lover, moreover, a mute one, in order to elude idle talk and rumours" [3]. Contemptuous though he was of public opinion, Tchaikovsky found that he could ignore it no longer. He was never a fighter by nature, and in the end he had no choice but to yield. His sudden and impulsive decision to marry was motivated primarily by an emotion more altruistic than selfish - -a desire to ensure his relatives’ peace of mind and to retain full and mutual understanding with them without the need for reticence or deception.

Until this time Tchaikovsky had treated his homosexuality as a morally indifferent phenomenon. Now it suddenly seemed imperative to suppress it and, what is more, to advise his brother to do the same. Indeed, his customary relationship with Modest dictated that Tchaikovsky set an example of behaviour to be imitated, one that might save Modest from the danger of scandal without causing him to abandon a pupil who was so deeply loved by both brothers. That he himself would have to make certain sacrifices in this respect must no doubt have flattered the self-esteem of the composer, who may well have seen the decision as an almost heroic gesture. Nevertheless, however vigorous their intent, Tchaikovsky's preparations for marriage did not proceed without some severe setbacks. A few weeks after his sombre letters to Modest about marriage, he went to the country estate of his friend Bek-Bulatov, where he discovered a veritable homosexual bordello, and found himself infatuated with his coachman [4].

Tchaikovsky was torn by ambivalent feelings on the subject of sexuality and marriage. In a letter of 28 September/10 October1876, after referring to three homosexual encounters since his last letter, he agreed with his brother, that "it is not possible to restrain oneself, despite all one’s vows, from one's weaknesses" [5]. Moreover, at the end of the same letter he honestly confessed: "I shall not enter into any lawful or illicit union with a woman without having fully ensured my own peace and my own freedom" [6]. The "freedom" that Tchaikovsky intended to ensure obviously refers to the freedom to indulge in those "weaknesses" which could not be resisted, whatever vows one may make.

Some time later, at the end of 1876, he fell deeply in love with his conservatory student Iosif Kotek. This was a "passion" which, he admitted in a letter to Modest on 19/31 January 1877, assailed him "with unimaginable force":

I have known him for six years already. I always liked him, and on several occasions I have felt a little bit in love with him. That was almost a trial run for my love. Now I have momentum and have run right into him in the must decisive fashion. I cannot say that my love is completely pure. When he caresses me with his hand, when he lies with his head on my chest and I play with his hair and secretly kiss it, when for hours on end I hold his hand in my own and tire in the battle against the urge to fall at his feet and kiss these little feet [little and exquisite -- Tchaikovsky’s note], passion rages with me with unimaginable force, my voice shakes like that of a youth, and I speak some kind of nonsense. However I am far from desiring physical consummation. I feel that if that occurred I would cool to him. I would feel disgusted if this wonderful youth stooped to sex with an aged and fat-bellied man. How horrible this would be and how disgusting I would become to myself! It is not called for.

I need only for him to know that I love him endlessly, and for him to be a kind and indulgent despot and idol. It is impossible for me to hide my feelings for him, although I tried hard to do so at first. I saw that he noticed everything and understood me. But then can you imagine how artful I am in hiding my feelings? My habit of eating alive any beloved object always gives me away. Yesterday I gave totally myself away... I burst. I made a full confession of love, begging him not to be angry, not to feel constrained if I bore him, etc. All of these confessions were met with a thousand various small caresses, strokes on the shoulder, cheeks, and strokes across my head. I am incapable of expressing to you the full degree of bliss that I experienced by fully giving myself away.

I must tell you that yesterday was the eve of his departure for Kiev, where he is soon to give a concert. After my confession he suggested we travel out of town for supper. It was a delightful, moonlit night. I hired a carriage and we flew off. I cannot tell you the thousand details that caused me ineluctable bliss. I wrapped him up, hugged him, guarded him. He complained of the frost on the tip of his nose. I held the collar of his fur coat the whole time with my bare hand in order to warm this nose-tip, so holy for me. The freezing of my hand caused me pain and, at the same time, the sweet thought of knowing that I was suffering for him... We went to Yar and suppered in a private room. After dinner he felt sleepy and lay down on the sofa, using my knees for a pillow. Lord, what utter bliss this was! He tenderly ridiculed my expressions of affection and kept repeating that my love is not the same as that of [his boyfriend] Porubinovskii. Mine is supposedly selfish and impure. His love in selfless and pure. We spoke of the piece [Valse-scherzo] he ordered me to write for his Lenten concert. He repeated over and over that he would get angry if didn’t write this piece. We left at three o’clock [7].

It happened that around this time, in the spring of 1877, when Tchaikovsky’s passion for Kotek suddenly declined (owing to the latter's infidelity and his disfigured finger), and when another close homosexual friend Vladimir Shilovskii was getting married, Tchaikovsky received several love letters from a former conservatory student named Antonina Miliukova (1848-1917) [8]. Tchaikovsky hardly remembered Antonina, since he met her for the first time in Moscow in late May 1872, at the apartment of her brother, the staff-captain Alexander Miliukov (1840-85), whose wife Anastasia (neé Khvostova) was a close friend of the composer from his days at the School of Jurisprudence in Petersburg [9].

Antonina later admitted, both in her letters to Tchaikovsky (1880s) and in her recollections (1893), that this first meeting made an indelible impression on her, resulting in a profound affection that lasted for many years. She lent special meaning to the fact that her love arose from her attraction to Tchaikovsky’s appearance and purely human qualities, and that she was utterly ignorant of his music and growing fame in cultural circles. At Tchaikovsky’s personal invitation Antonina attended the premiere of his Cantata for the Opening of the Polytechnic Exhibition in Moscow on 30 May/11 June 1872. Their relationship, however, did not develop in the years after their first meeting, and it was only during Antonina’s studies at the conservatory that they briefly saw each other within the walls of this institution. As Antonina later wrote, she loved Tchaikovsky “secretly” for over four years. In late 1876, Antonina received a small inheritance due to the division of the family estate. This potential “dowry” was apparently the immediate incentive for taking active steps toward renewing her acquaintance with the composer [10].

On 26 March/7 April 1877, Antonina sent Tchaikovsky a written confession of her love for him [11]. Both Antonina and Tchaikovsky testified that they “began a correspondence", as a result of which the composer received her offer “of hand and heart” already in the early days of May 1877 [12].

On 20 May/1 June Tchaikovsky met Antonina. An analysis of Antonina’s surviving letters suggests that in all likelihood their personal meeting was initiated by Tchaikovsky himself. The threat of suicide, made in the last letter Antonina wrote before their meeting, cannot be considered a serious factor in Tchaikovsky’s eventual decision; in the context of the entire letter, this “threat” seems to be no more than a device in the tradition of sentimental models from so-called “letter books,” which were popular at the time and which contained samples of fictional letters for all occasions [13].

The meeting occurred in the house where Antonina was renting a room, on the corner of Tverskaia Street and Malyi Gnezdnikovskii Lane in Moscow. At the next meeting, on 23 May/4 June, Tchaikovsky made a formal proposal, promising his bride only his "brotherly" love, to which she readily agreed [14]. But Tchaikovsky chose not to mention this meeting in his letter to Modest, written on the same day. Instead he sought to explain his cooling off with regard to Kotek, and even began to see the manifestations of Providence in various coincidences that had recently happened:

You will ask about my love? It has once again fallen off almost to the point of absolute calm. And do you know why? You alone can understand this. Because two or three times I saw his injured finger in all of its ugliness! But without that I would be in love to the point of madness, which returns anew each time I am able to forget somewhat about his crippled finger. I don’t know whether this finger is for the better or worse? Sometimes it seems to me that Providence, so blind and unjust in the choice of its protégé's, deigns to take care of me. Indeed, sometimes I begin to consider some coincidences to be not mere accidents... Who knows, maybe this is the beginning of a religiosity that, if it ever takes hold of me, will do so completely, i.e., with Lenten oil, cotton-wool from the Iveron icon of the Mother of God, etc. I am sending you a photograph of myself and Kotek together. It was taken at the very peak of my recent passion" [15].

The marriage took place at Saint George’s Church in Moscow on 6/18 July 1877. The bridegroom’s witnesses were his brother Anatolii and his friend Iosif Kotek, the bride’s were her close friends Vladimir Vinogradov and Vladimir Malama. They were joined by the priest Dmitrii Razumovskii, who was also professor of history of church music at the conservatory [16].

The majority of biographical works on Tchaikovsky date the beginning of his relationship with Antonina Miliukova to early May 1877, the time of the genesis and first drafts of his opera Evgenii Onegin.  According to the composer’s own testimony in his letters to Nadezhda von Meck, an important factor in their rapid intimacy and marriage was Tchaikovsky’s fascination with the plot of Pushkin’s novel -- his sympathy for the heroine and his desire to avoid “repeating” Onegin’s cruelty towards a woman who loves him. Another significant factor was Antonina’s own insistent requests for meetings, accompanied by threats to commit suicide in case of a refusal. The fact that there remained about two weeks before the idea of the opera Evgenii Onegin took root in Tchaikovsky's mind, after being suggested by the singer Elizaveta Lavrovskaia on 13/25 May, allows one to conclude that the choice of Pushkin’s novel as the plot for an opera could have been stimulated by Tchaikovsky’s personal situation: a distant female acquaintance confessing her love in a letter [17].

From the very beginning of his married life Tchaikovsky greatly suffered from his new predicament. He quickly realized that he had made a grave mistake. Moreover, he found himself unable to accept the personality and character of his wife as well as her family and circle of friends. After 20 days of cohabitation their marriage was still not consummated [18]. It is uncertain whether Tchaikovsky had confided in his wife at the outset regarding the problem of his homosexuality or whether she may simply have disregarded such a confession. On 27 July/8 August, Tchaikovsky left Antonina for one-and-a-half months, travelling to Kamenka to stay with his sister [19].

After returning to Moscow the composer lived with his wife from 12/24 September to 24 September/6 October at their apartment on Bol'shaia Nikitskaia Street (not far from the conservatory), before leaving her for good. In the first instance, Tchaikovsky contrived to be summoned to Saint Petersburg on a fictitious errand, and thereupon he departed abroad for a considerable period of time in order to recuperate from a nervous breakdown which, as it transpires from archival documents, was faked [20].

Be that as it may, there hardly remain any doubt that his homosexuality, coupled with the psychological incompatibility on which he insisted in his correspondence, proved the ultimate cause of the break-up of his marriage. This recognition forced Tchaikovsky not only to admit that he had failed in his plan to enhance his social and personal stability. Most importantly, however, his impulsive marriage helped him to realize that his homosexuality could not be changed and had to be accepted as it was. That Tchaikovsky at some point came to think of it as "natural" follows from his use of that very term in a letter to his brother Anatolii on 13/25 February 1878 from Florence: “Only now, especially after the tale of my marriage, have I finally begun to understand that there is nothing more fruitless than not wanting to be that which I am by nature" [21].

There is not a single document from the rest of his life that can be construed as an expression of self-torment on account of his homosexuality. Some occasional expressions of nostalgia for family life are perfectly understandable in a bachelor, and have nothing to do with sexual orientation. Tchaikovsky’s eventual solution in his private life became, while often entertaining passionate and even sublime feeling for young males among his social peers, including his pupils, to gratify his physical needs by means of anonymous encounters with members of the lower classes. In between was his manservant Aleksei Sofronov ("Alyosha"), whose status changed over the years from one of bed-mate to that of a valued friend, who eventually married with Tchaikovsky’s blessing, but stayed in his household till the very end. At the end of his life the composer succeeded in creating an emotionally satisfying environment through close family relationships, and by surrounding himself with a group of admiring young men, headed by his beloved nephew Bob Davydov.

Tchaikovsky undertook several attempts at divorce between 1878 and 1880, but without success; since for a long time Antonina continued to believe in the possibility of some sort of future “reconciliation”, and refused to agree to what her husband proposed, thereby invoking his wrath, with accusations of stupidity, suspicions of “blackmail,” etc. Only in 1881 did Tchaikovsky finally abandon the idea of divorce. At this time he ceased paying his wife the pension he had promised her (it had fluctuated from 50 to 100 roubles a month) on the rounds of her erratic and unpredictable behaviour.

Antonina Miliukova’s role in Tchaikovsky’s life is no longer viewed in the one-dimensional terms that used to prevail. It is impossible to deny that she had a very negative effect on the composer’s psychological and physical state, a fact that is confirmed by Tchaikovsky’s own statements in his letters and diaries. Tchaikovsky called his wife a “terrible wound” -- he felt heavily burdened by his legal bind and sometimes even afraid of possible “disclosures” by her concerning his homosexual preferences.

Yet Tchaikovsky was also deeply concerned over the entire fiasco, and felt sincere remorse for his apparently cruel treatment of Antonina. Paradoxically, it is precisely the years from 1877 to 1880 -- the most difficult time in Tchaikovsky’s marital drama -- that stand out as one of his most productive periods in a creative sense. Subsequently Tchaikovsky was plagued with pangs of conscience: for instance in his letters to Petr Jurgenson from 1883 and 1888, where he asks his publisher to locate his abandoned spouse in order to help her materially. Tchaikovsky appreciated his wife’s musical abilities, which is evident by a series of favourable judgments found in his letters. But Tchaikovsky often perceived Antonina’s personal qualities unfairly, painting a distorted picture of her, based on his irritation at this or that trait of her character (for instance, in his letters to Nadezhda von Meck, his brothers, and others). One of Tchaikovsky’s more balanced statements in respect to his wife can be found in a letter to his sister Aleksandra, written from Rome on 8/20 November 1877: "I give full justice to her sincere desire to be a good wife and friend to me, and... it is not her fault that I did not find what I was looking for" [22]. The fact remains that, despite her ruined family life and perennial pain, not once did Antonina attempt to “avenge” her husband. On the contrary, she even embellished slightly the composer’s human image in her recollections: “No one, not a single person in the world, can accuse him of any base action.”

Until recently, most of Tchaikovsky’s biographers have recounted the details of Tchaikovsky’s marriage in a superficial and tendentious manner, always with a bias in favour of the composer. Antonina Miliukova’s own recollections, which present her side of the story, have been labelled the product of a rash and insane woman, and therefore ignored [23]. Recent archival studies have made it possible to clarify several key details relating to Antonina’s origins, and the history of the couple’s acquaintance, marriage, further relationship and her life after their separation [24].

After the composer’s death, Antonina received a pension of 100 roubles a month, which Tchaikovsky left her in his will. She moved to Petersburg and moved near to the Saint Aleksandr Nevskiii Monastery, where he was buried. Antonina’s further fate was tragic: soon after Tchaikovsky’s death she began to display signs of an emotional disorder (a mania of persecution). By 1896 the disease had worsened and Antonina moved to Kronstadt, where she sought spiritual support and a cure from the renowned miracle-worker Father John of Kronstadt. For some unknown reason the priest refused to help her. In October 1896 Antonina Miliukova ended up in the Petersburg Hospital of Saint Nicholas the Wonderworker for the emotionally disturbed. After her relative recovery, in February 1900, she was released from the hospital, only to return there in June of 1901 with a diagnosis of paranoia chronica. A month later, with the help of Tchaikovsky’s brother Anatolii, she was transferred to a more comfortable psychiatric hospital outside the city -- the Charitable Home for the Emotionally Disturbed at Udel'naia. The pension of her late husband served as payment for her room and board. Antonina spent the last ten years of her life at this institution more as a “resident” than a patient. The home provided her age with medical supervision in her old age, with attentive care by the personnel, and full living conveniences. She died of pneumonia on 16 February/1 March 1917, and was buried at the Uspenskii Cemetery in Saint Petersburg. Her grave has not survived.

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Notes:
  1. Letter 492 to Modest Tchaikovsky, 8/20 August 1876. [back]
  2. Letter 494 to Modest Tchaikovsky, 10/22 September 1876. [back]
  3. Letter 833 to Modest Tchaikovsky, 18-20 May/30 May-1 June 1878. [back]
  4. Letter 501 to Modest Tchaikovsky, 28 September/10 October 1876. [back]
  5. Ibid. [back]
  6. Ibid. [back]
  7. Letter 538 to Modest Tchaikovsky, 19/31 January 1877. [back]
  8. All surviving letters of Antonina Miliukova to Tchaikovsky have been published in full -- see V. Sokolov, Антонина Чайковская: История забытной жизни (Moscow, 1994), p. 219-251. [back]
  9. V. Sokolov, Антонина Чайковская: История забытной жизни (Moscow, 1994), p. 13-15. [back]
  10. V. Sokolov, Антонина Чайковская: История забытной жизни (Moscow, 1994), p. 16-18. [back]
  11. The letter has not been preserved, its date has been established on the basis of circumstantial data. See V. Sokolov, Антонина Чайковская: История забытной жизни (Moscow, 1994), p. 19-20. [back]
  12. V. Sokolov, Антонина Чайковская: История забытной жизни (Moscow, 1994), p. 19-24. [back]
  13. V. Sokolov, Антонина Чайковская: История забытной жизни (Moscow, 1994), p. 29-32. [back]
  14. V. Sokolov, Антонина Чайковская: История забытной жизни (Moscow, 1994), p. 33-34. [back]
  15. Letter 568 to Modest Tchaikovsky, 23 May/4 June 1877. [back]
  16. V. Sokolov, Антонина Чайковская: История забытной жизни (Moscow, 1994), p. 34. [back]
  17. See Alexander Poznansky, Tchaikovsky: The Quest for the Inner Man (New York, 1991), p. 211, and V. Sokolov, Антонина Чайковская: История забытной жизни (Moscow, 1994), p. 31. [back]
  18. Sokolov’s attempt to prove on the basis of circumstantial evidence that their marriage was consummated is by no means convincing -- see V. Sokolov, Антонина Чайковская: История забытной жизни (Moscow, 1994), p. 35. [back]
  19. For more on Tchaikovsky’s marriage, see Alexander Poznansky, Tchaikovsky: The Quest for the Inner Man (New York, 1991), p. 204-230; Alexander Poznansky, Tchaikovsky’s Last Days: A Documentary Study (Oxford, 1996), p. 12-19; V. Sokolov, Антонина Чайковская: История забытной жизни (Moscow, 1994), p. 35-56. [back]
  20. V. Sokolov, Антонина Чайковская: История забытной жизни (Moscow, 1994), p. 40-47. [back]
  21. Letter 759 to Anatolii Tchaikovsky, 13/25-14/26 February 1878. See my discussion in Tchaikovsky: The Quest for the Inner Man (p.184-185) and Tchaikovsky's Last Days (p. 9-22). cf. similar conclusions independently reached by Sokolov after his own study of the composer’s archives in Klin: “It would be a profound mistake to believe that Tchaikovsky all his life suffered from his 'anomaly'. As can be seen in his letters, in the last decades of his life he achieved a happy psychological balance -- after fruitless attempts to struggle against his nature" (V. S. Sokolov, «Письма П. И. Чайковского без купюр: неизвестные странцы элистолярий», П. И. Чайковский: Забытое и новое (Moscow, 1995), p. 121). [back]
  22. Letter 641 to Aleksandra Davydova, 8/20-9/21 November 1877. [back]
  23. N. D. Kashkin, «Из воспоминаний о П. И. Чайковском, Прошлое русской музыки: Материалы и исследования, том 1 (1920), p. 129-131. [back]
  24. Alexander Poznansky, Tchaikovsky: The Quest for the Inner Man (New York, 1991), p. 195-249; Sokolov’s admirable archival study of Miliukova’s life creates an idealized image of the composer’s wife. Sokolov failed, however, to comprehend the complexities of Tchaikovsky’s psychosexuality which inevitably led him to misinterpret the composer’s motives in marrying her and his behaviour in the events that followed. It was established by Sokolov that Antonina Miliukova was born into a family of the hereditary gentry that resided outside Moscow in the Klin region. The family traced its ancestry to the 14th century. Antonina’s parents separated in 1851, and her childhood was spent in an unfavourable emotional environment. She was brought up in a private Moscow boarding school under the supervision of her mother (1851-55), and then at her father’s Klin estate (1855-58). Together with her older brothers Aleksandr and Mikhail, and her elder sister Elizaveta (Adel), she received a standard home education, including the study of two foreign languages. From an early age Antonina enjoyed music (her father Ivan Miliukov kept a peasant orchestra). She continued her education at the Moscow Institute of Saint Elizabeth, completing the full course of study from 1858 to 1864. Here, apart from the required subjects, she took piano and voice lessons. In the 1873/74 academic year she studied at the Moscow Conservatory, where her piano teacher was Eduard Langer, and her teacher in elementary theory was Karl Albrecht. After leaving school, Antonina pursued a career in pedagogy, giving private lessons in Moscow in the 1870s, and then teaching at a school attached to the Kronstadt House of Industry in 1896. On several occasions Antonina unsuccessfully attempted to become a teacher in various other educational institutions. From 1848 to 1893 she lived in and around Moscow, and from 1893 to her death she lived in Petersburg and its suburbs. In 1887 she visited Italy. From 1880 Antonina Tchaikovsky herself lived in a free union with the lawyer Alexander Shlykov, by whom she had three children. Due to her financial vulnerability and “semi-legal” social situation, as well as the constant illnesses of both herself and her husband, Antonina surrendered all her illegitimate children to a Moscow foundling hospital, where they all died. In 1886, after a five-year silence, Antonina Miliukova presented the composer a request for material assistance, as well as a suggestion that he adopt and take in her youngest daughter, Antonina. Tchaikovsky readily agreed to support his wife financially and appointed her once again a monthly pension of 50 roubles (later increased to 100, then to 150, then lowered again to 100 roubles). He failed to respond to the idea of adopting her child, although it is known from Tchaikovsky's letters to his brother Modest and Petr Jurgenson that he sharply condemned the very fact that Antonina’s children were at a foundling hospital. Between 1885 and 1889, Antonina regularly wrote Tchaikovsky to thank him for his material support, even sending him a shirt she had sewn as a token of gratitude; she told him of her life and misfortunes (her civil husband died in 1888), asked him to increase the pension, and offered to join him again. Tchaikovsky reacted painfully not only to Antonina’s letters themselves, but also to information concerning her attempts to seek patronage from the Empress and Anton Rubinstein, in order to find a permanent teaching position. The composer considered the amount he was paying his wife to be fully adequate for a comfortable existence and viewed Antonina’s “social legitimization” as a threat to his prestige. Throughout these years Petr Jurgenson served as the mediator between husband and wife so that they could avoid personal contact. They met from time to time at concerts and operatic performances, seeing each other only from a distance. Antonina maintained that their last meeting took place in Moscow in the autumn of 1892 during a stroll in the Alexandrovskii Gardens. She recalled that Tchaikovsky walked behind her but “could not make himself speak” to her. This meeting was probably fictitious. [back]