For Peter Tchaikovsky, 1880 was a significant year in a number of ways. His wife, having finally accepted that their marriage was a sham, wrote to demand a divorce, making veiled threats to expose him if he did not comply meekly. The First Piano Concerto was beginning to bring him international recognition. Yet he was still insecure about his abilities. While visiting his patroness, Nadezhda von Meck, he reviewed her library of his compositions and exclaimed to his brother ``how imperfect it all still is, how weak, how uncraftsmanlike!'' Concerned with both the quality of his work and with the many printing errors he found, he vowed to stop writing music for a time so that he could devote himself to correcting what had already been done.
The muse would not rest, however, and within a couple of months Tchaikovsky was again writing new works. Three important ones resulted: the lively Capriccio Italien, the dramatic and ever-popular 1812 Overture, and the present one. The first two are better known to modern audiences, but it is the third that captured the composer himself. Completing it despite persistent headaches, he wrote to his publisher that he had ``unexpectedly'' composed a serenade, and added, ``Whether because it is my latest child or because in reality it is not bad, I am terribly in love with this serenade, and can scarcely wait to have it presented to the world.''
As is its wont, the world did not cooperate. It was nearly a year before he was able to hear it performed. The premiere was a great success, however, with the audience demanding a repetition of the Waltz. The work may be less well known than 1812, but it leaves the listener with no doubt that Tchaikovsky was just as talented when writing an intimate piece as with an exuberant one.
© 2000, Geoff Kuenning
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