When I tell people that I'm probably the youngest living expert on Tchaikovsky, they laugh. But it's the truth, I spend all my free time, weekends, and holidays, reading great volumes of Tchaikovsky related literature. I own two Tchaikovsky books, but have read around four or five. Or more. Some of them twice.
Tonight I was able to catch “Classical Music Alive” a radio show that dissects music, offering historical anecdotes to accompany the selections. I'm always at home when it airs, but when I do catch it, I'm so happy. I could listen to people talk about music all day long.
The episode that aired tonight was about Claude Debussy. A composer I don't ever get to hear enough of. They played his “Danse Profane,” which is gorgeous and airy. On the drive to my destination, my mind was full of Debussy, in particular an anecdote I read in my Tchaikovsky research.
It was written, that Tchaikovsky's benefactor, Madame Nadezha von Meck, the wealthy Russian widow, had Debussy as an accompanist. Supposedly, because of her accent, she called him her little 'Bussy. She traveled frequently, and I think when she was in either Italy, or France, if I'm remembering correctly, they played two hand piano pieces.
She wrote to Tchaikovsky that he played with lots of expression, and pleaded for him to write a trio for them. (He declined of course, he said that trio's were two lovely instruments and one horrible raking instrument trying to sound good—I think he meant the violin. He did later create a trio, he wrote, when the mood struck him for it. von Meck begged him so tirelessly...oh dear, that's a story for another time...)
If I am remembering well, young Debussy was in love with von Meck's daughter, Julia. It is written that when he approached von Meck to ask for her hand in marriage, she said no (probably very rudely, she was always commenting in her letters about being formidable).
At this, Debussy wept.
This story remains so fresh in my memory because it was so illustrative. It seems like something he would do, because his music is so soft, so sensitive.
After reading the story over, I wanted to say, “The poor dear!” Of course, I'm sure he recovered. Of course he recovered, he wrote some of the most lovely music and became world famous.
Earlier in the show they played his opera, “Pelleas et Melisande.” Which reminds me of another story. Over the summer, I connected with a composer up north, who was seeking a librettist. I jumped at the chance, following in the footsteps of my dear friend Foley, who recently wrote lyrics for a choral piece.
As we began our initial talks, I asked what he favored in plot lines and specifically, in the different styles. “Do you like conversational libretti, or do you like the kind that spend minutes on arias repeating a single idea, the ones that pause the action?” I asked him in an e-mail.
“Study 'Pellas et Melisande'” he wrote back.
So I did.
I listened and read, and researched and studied the work. I was so excited that I day dreamed all day about curtain calls, and furious angry letters between us, concluding in a masterpiece.
After my work, I was politely “let go” (ha) for someone more qualified. After all that study, I still can't remember a note of the opera. But it's on my list of those to see. Definitely.