All language subtitles for Tchaikovsky - 1970

TEMPUS Collection presents a film by Igor TALANKIN TCHAIKOVSKY Screenplay by B. METALNIKOV Yu. NAGIBIN, I. TALANKIN Music arrangement by Dimitri TIOMKIN Director of Photography Margarita PILIKHINA Production Designers A. BORISOV, Yu. KLADIENKO Starring Innokenty SMOKTUNOVSKY Mama! What is it, Pierre? What's the matter? Oh, that music... It's inside my head! What music? There isn't any music. Be quiet, Petya. Mama's with you. Part One Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen... What are you waiting for?

You gotta stop wiggling about. You're nothing but a bully, Agafon. How does your master stand you? You talk too much. Sixteen, seventeen... Wait! Didn't you hear that? Someone's ringing. - Don't you mix me up. Seventeen. - You already said seventeen. All right then, eighteen. Good evening, professor. Good evening. He's crawling. Where have you been? Sleeping? You think anybody can sleep around here? When you play cards, you must play for money. We haven't got any money... yet.

- What? - Nothing. Well, that's not bad. Bravo! So, magician, how are your enchantments? They're coming along. - And my concerto? - It's going very well. That's fine, work! Work! And you'll find life has gone. - Were you at the club? - How on earth did you guess? I'm just clever, that's all. I'm not going to disturb you. I just came by for a moment. I still have to learn Beethoven. I see you're in excellent spirits. I'll tell you all about it later. Well, show me what you've done.

Nikolai Grigorievich, I probably can't play it because... What is it, Kolia? What's so funny? You'll never guess what happened at the club. I'd been dealt three queens and a knave. I was bluffing. And the prince was losing. So I pushed my luck a little more, and he was losing again. Sorry for having distracted you. Now I'm ready. Nikolai Grigorievich! I can't play this for you. This piece needs your hands. Please. Very well. Is that right? Don't be ridiculous. It's very nice.

Cadenza? - This won't do at all. - Why? It's much too difficult. Why the divergent octaves, when the parallel ones are much easier? There... that's much simpler. How can you speak of simplicity? This is music! But think of those who're going to play this brilliant music of yours. - But you just played it. - I? Thank you very much. Indeed I have, but that's me. The others will break their fingers. Petya, you must adapt it, using parallel octaves. I don't want to! You don't want me to play your first concerto?

No. I don't want to adapt it. Well, I will not play it this way. As you wish. Someone else will play it. Someone else? You'll never get any other artist to play it. It's not the way to write music for the pianists. My music is written for the public. Your public as well. Why must I compose music like everybody else composes? Whether it's good or bad, I must write music my way. The way of Tchaikovsky. And who is Tchaikovsky? Is he Brahms? Liszt? Allow me to ask you, what have you written?

A couple of operas that were resounding failures? A dozen pretty songs? In Russia, every man in the street writes pretty songs. Well, why don't you say something? All right, fine. Let's be serious. I'm worried about the reception your concerto will have. I don't need any more fame. Come on, why don't you say something? You don't want to speak to me, Petya? All right. But remember, you'll never find an artist to play it. I tell you this. Me, Rubinstein. What a stupid place to put a vase! Idiot!

No matter where I put it, you would have broken it. This is the way you should compose, young man! No rule says I have to. I can write like this. The head of the sugar factory, Count Scepio says that considering the amount of land planted in sugar beets you can again expect a deficit of two hundred thousand rubles. I've had enough of this "Count Swindler". The twelve in the corner. You can tell him that his services will no longer be required. From the Chancellor of his Majesty's Financial Ministry.

A refusal by the government to buy the Lyubavo-Romensk roadway. The stupidity of the government amazes me. Mister Pahulsky to see you. What is your full name, Mister Pahulsky? - Vladislav Albertovich. - My daughter, Julia. - Your bags are in the carriage? - My baggage is with me. I will go over the conditions again. In addition to playing in my trio, you will have some other duties. You will read aloud to me, play croquet and billiards with me, accompany us when we walk. The salary is 100 rubles a month and your board and room.

And if we are compatible, there will be trips abroad which should be interesting for you since you're a cultivated man. Send this to the bank and have the carriage brought around. Do these conditions suit you? You're much too kind, Madame. How could that conservatory tyrant, Mister Rubinstein, let you go? Nikolai Grigorievich is sending his regards. Is that all? I don't believe you. He told me I might do as I wished. Though he added he wasn't advising me to accept this position because it's boring to do a job that one doesn't wish to do

and not to be able to do what you want. Have you ever seen any position in which you could always do exactly what you wanted to do? July, please see if they have prepared the room for Mr. Pahulsky. Of course, mother. I'll hear you play this evening when I return. By the way, with whom have you studied? The violin with Professor Grzhymali and composition with Tchaikovsky. I wish you to play some Tchaikovsky tonight. Mesdames, Messieurs... I'm very moved to be once again in Moscow. I will never forget the magnificent Moscow audiences.

I would like to sing for you now a song by Monsieur Tchaikovsky. Madame von Meck's carriage! What prevented them from uniting their two lives? I'm not sure if it's true, but I've heard that the marriage was prevented by Nikolai Grigorievich. Does he have such enormous influence over Mister Tchaikovsky? All Moscow's music life is under his domination, and Pyotr Ilyich and he are great friends. Desiree certainly looks much older, don't you think? What a voice! It's truly extraordinary!

Her voice, yes. But to think that you'd have trailed behind that voice all over Europe! We've already had enough with Turgenev and his Madame Viardot. Our grandchildren will thank me for having saved, for Russia, the composer Tchaikovsky. In the meantime you may thank me. Without me, you'd be now in the place of her husband, Padilla, poor idiot. Go on, thank me. - Thank you. - Don't mention it. Stop here. What's wrong? You'd better go on alone to the club. No, I won't let you go home now.

Let me be! I'm a grown-up man, for heaven's sake. Will you please let me run my own life! Right now I would like to be alone, with my troubles. Petya! Alyosha! Wake up! Please, come and sit with me. I'm frightened. I'm all right now... You can go back to bed. Gentlemen! He can go to the devil, this Cui. Come and see what Laroche has written. "Swan Lake", as the other works of the composer Tchaikovsky, reveals his customary deficiency to us once again. This is the poverty of his creative imagination

resulting in monotonous themes and melodies." To the devil with Laroche! And he calls himself his friend. Why, this theme alone is worth any in the world... - Good afternoon, Professor. - Good afternoon. I'm very flattered to see that you remember me. Oh yes, of course. What are you doing now? Where are you? Circumstances did not allow me to finish my studies and I've been forced to accept a position with Madame von Meck. Oh, von Meck... For whom I've done a piano arrangement of "The Opritchnik"?

Yes, that's the one. Then perhaps... you know why she hasn't... Oh, a check. It's just in time. I really must confess I was beginning to think... - Albert... - Vladislav Albertovich. Is she originally German, von Meck? That's the name of her late husband. Her maiden name was Frolovskaya. Are you sure there hasn't been a mistake? This is a great deal of money. This is the reason Nadezhda Filaretovna preferred not to mail it but ask me to deliver it in person. Believe me, it's not simply a whim of a rich patroness,

but the appreciation of someone who truly respects your work. Your name's spoken in her house with enormous respect and love. Your music's considered above any music that's been written in Russia. If I have the good fortune to be in the confidence of the Baroness, I owe it purely to the fact that I once had the happy circumstance of being one of your pupils. She often asks me questions about your life, your habits. She is interested in everything about you. Why? Nadezhda Filaretovna wishes me to bring back a photograph of you.

Would you be so kind as to sign it for her. My photograph? "Dear Nadezhda Filaretovna! I wish to thank you for the more than generous compensation for the work so modest. It's very comforting for a musician who's faced obstacles and reversals to know that there exist a few people, of whom you are one, who genuinely and warmly appreciate your work. May I assure you of my sincere and respectful devotion. P. Tchaikovsky." Alyosha, have you ever read Pushkin's "Eugene Onegin"?

Of course I've read it. - What's it about? - It's about this unhappy love affair. Tell me the story. A master has a couple of daughters, they're Tatiana and Olga. One laughs a whole lot, it's easy to make her laugh. It's because of her that he kills him I think. Who kills? Kills who? Eugene Onegin kills the other man... I don't remember his name. And she takes her very best pen and writes to him. Who... she? Tatiana. She's mad about him. She writes him, I love you. I'll never love anybody else.

- And him? - Who? Eugene Onegin. Alyosha! Are you asleep again? Why asleep? I'm just trying to remember. He's real funny. He's always saying "Three cards"... Then the poor man starts to drink. Do you like it? Especially when it's quiet. It's nice. It's so sad and beautiful. Because when it gets loud, Nikolai Grigorievich plays better than you. And which part do you like best? Which passage? Ah... there... Sing it for me. Well, let's see... You tempter... so treacherous... I'm glad you like my music.

With your ear for music, you should have been a music critic. - Whatever you want. - Let's go to lunch. - What have you got there? - A letter for you. - From the Baroness von Meck? - No, someone called Miliukova. Who's she? Do we owe her money? I don't think so. It smells of perfume. Well, read it. I was so worried for a second. "My dear Pyotr Ilyich. I know it's not proper, for a girl to write a man first. But I cannot live without you. I realize that I love you in a way I've never loved anyone..."

It could be a letter from Tatiana to Onegin. "When I was at the Conservatory, learning to play the piano, I admired you even then, but I never would have dared approach you." She must be a hunchback or ugly. "I die of sorrow, longing to see you..." I wonder what she really looks like? "...I die of desire to be near you, to speak to you. I cannot live without you which is perhaps why I may kill myself." Oh Lord! "Will you let me see you? May I kiss you just once,

so that I might have that memory to carry into death!" What foolishness. Why have you brought me here? Just what is this whole thing all about anyway? We'll just watch her from the carriage, that's all. Well, where is she then? I'm surprised myself. She sleeps only two hours after lunch. Her mother lives with her. They have a little country house, some land and woods around it. They'd be happy to sell it. - Let's leave. - Oh, please wait. They must be some of those terrorists.

They're looking for a place to plant a bomb. There she is... She's coming. - Where is she? Here? - No. Over there. Alyosha, will you let me have a look? Move aside. But she's carrying a parasol. I can't see her face at all. Believe me, she's got a face. She has everything else too. Tell the coachman to follow her. Halt! Didn't you hear me say halt? Where are you going? Don't move! You're under arrest! So you maintain that you hired a carriage and drove to the Second Koroviy Street in order to... What did you say a minute ago?

In order to watch a certain young person who is the object of the tender affections of one of my friends. One of your friends... A certain young person... And then the bomb will explode! Tell me the truth. - All right. It's I! - What do you mean? I? I mean, the friend. Whose friend are you? What's the name? Tchaikovsky, Pyotr Ilyich. But a minute ago you said that was your name. Please, my God!.. I'm going to send you over to the district headquarters. They know what to do with your kind.

It was me who wanted to see this young person. What person? For me, it was very important, believe me. Yes, we'll admit that. And that you're a professor at Moscow's Conservatory, that's the truth, too. Yes? Yes, of course. That doesn't connect. What do you mean? If I may make my report, sir. This man is who he says he is, Professor Tchaikovsky. You see. And you took me for the devil knows who. I'm sorry, Professor, just put yourself in my place, sir. These are pretty terrible times. It's impossible to tell by just looking.

Those revolutionaries come from the best families and the students. In a word, the nobility. Do you really think I look like a revolutionary? THE FOURTH SYMPHONY "Dedicated to my best friend. I know, Nadezhda Filaretovna, that you would never consent to having a work dedicated to you. If it would displease you to see your name in the symphony's dedication, I can simply write "Dedicated to my best friend". Thus it will be only you and I who know to whom the symphony is dedicated.

I also wish to tell you that, quite unexpectedly for me, I find myself married. I cannot tell you precisely whether or not I am happy, but, as God is my witness, I am full of the best intentions towards my life companion." Good afternoon, Vladislav Albertovich. How was your journey? Excellent. I have an absolutely astonishing piece of news for you. - Pyotr Ilyich is married. - Yes, I know. Everybody in Moscow is simply astounded. Pyotr Ilyich told nobody, not even Rubinstein. Only one of his brothers was invited to the wedding.

And nobody knows where the young couple went afterwards. I'm sorry. I would have liked to present my congratulations. And what kind of a woman is his wife? The only thing anybody knows is that she studied at the Conservatory. Professor Languiere hardly remembers her. He says, pardon, that she's stupid. Of course, you were only too willing to believe him. What makes you think Languiere is more intelligent than Pyotr Ilyich? Why couldn't Pyotr Ilyich, with his sensitive perception, be capable of discerning a refined and spiritual nature?

You astonish me very much. I'm sorry, but I only repeated what many are saying. Never repeat gossip to me! Intelligence is not the most important thing in a woman. If she really loves Pyotr Ilyich sincerely, if she can bring him tranquility, all of us should be happy for him. Petya! Stop! Oh, my Lord! Is that the way you hold the woman you adore? This is the triumph of your love! It's a happy ending! What are you doing? We'll run through it again. All ready? What's that? Petya! Where have you been?

- Hello, Kolia. - Hello. Excuse me, will you? This is a lie! Pushkin was right. There cannot be a happy end. There cannot be! Pyotr Ilyich, let's go home. Antonina Ivanovna will be worried. Never pronounce that name in my presence! Do you hear? Never! That's just the wine talking. Oh God, why do you drink so much? Don't touch me! Pyotr Ilyich, please, let's go home. Stop following me! Stop it or I'll beat you. Here we are. Ladies and gentlemen! The newlyweds! At last! May I present my wife.

Pyotr Petrovich. How do you do. May I present Mister Laroche. How are you? Kashkin. My very best wishes! We have come here again, Dear ladies and gentlemen, Look how fair she is and bright. What a wonderful moment! You now, Petya, are a man! Show us your beautiful bride. You're a rose, you're a rose, You're a rose, belle Antonina... Petya! Why aren't you eating? I'm afraid my stomach will be upset. May I give you one more? Do you like pastries? Antonina Ivanovna loves pastries.

Why have you given up your music? Antonina Ivanovna is not sure of her musical skills, and she won't settle for second rate. Very wise. That's right, gentlemen, you know... I'd like to propose a toast to the hosts who've been so kind to us. Thank you, Pyotr Ilyich! Antonina Ivanovna! What do you think of Antonina Ivanovna? Well, she's very nice... I never thought Pyotr Ilyich was as clever as that. Why do you give my Petya such awful reviews? Petya, my congratulations! I won't any more.

May I ask you what kind of music pleases you the most? All music. Of course I like Petya's the best, but I like other kinds too. The one I prefer among the new things is "The Little Tiger". Perfectly sweet, isn't it? Stop it. That hurts! What are you laughing about? Petya was trying... to kick me under the table, but instead he kicked Laroche. Ladies and gentlemen! Your attention, please. Your attention, please. I would like to propose a toast now. For a long time we have known, respected and loved our Pyotr Ilyich.

But how can one compare what we feel towards him with the love given to Pyotr Ilyich by the adorable Antonina Ivanovna. And may this love be a new creative inspiration for him. And may the harmony of their hearts create new harmonies in music, music... which will... which... Pyotr Ilyich! I'm coming. Who the devil can it be at this hour of the night? Never get any peace around here. My God! What's happened? Agafon! Get Nikolai Grigorievich! Nikolai Grigorievich! Oh, God! Oh, it's so bad!

God will punish you... I'm a fool. I didn't watch him close enough. Petya! What's happened? I won't go back there. Agafon, brandy, quick! You better get the doctor! Petya... Part Two I asked not to be disturbed. I beg your pardon, Madame, but Mister Rubinstein has arrived. Hello, Nikolai Grigorievich. What's happened? Nothing's happened, don't get upset, for God's sake. The reason I've come is to talk to you about Pyotr Ilyich. Yes, come this way. I'm listening to you.

Pyotr Ilyich has asked me to look after his divorce. I have spoken to that woman and at first she stubbornly refused and then asked for 10,000 rubles. Unfortunately, neither Pyotr Ilyich, nor we his friends have never had that much money. Nor will we ever have it. Which is why I've had the impertinence... And Pyotr Ilyich will be rid of this unhappy situation? Yes, of course. Oh God, how simple it is. What's the matter? You cannot imagine what he means to me: Pyotr Ilyich... or rather his music.

I want to weep when I hear his music. I want to die from an unspoken sadness. A sadness I must hold close to me, because one's best self is in it, which is being destroyed every hour by everyday life. I know, you're probably thinking now it's just a whim of a silly woman, of a hysterical millionairess. But I have known poverty, Nikolai Grigorievich. I was not born to luxury. There was a time when I had to nourish a family on 20 kopecks a day. I was married off at the age of sixteen.

And I spent my best years dealing with mumps, measles, colds... I even had to handle my husband's affairs because he was helpless running his business, he was a weak person. But all that was only the material side. And I've tried so hard to find my ideal in life... I've yearned for spiritual intimacy. And now that I've found it... I shall not give it up to anyone. I will do anything to make sure that Pyotr Ilyich is free and happy. To see that he is free to do his work. Nadezhda Filaretovna, you are an amazing person.

I admire you and respect you. Good afternoon, Nikolai Grigorievich. Well, how are we progressing? - Slowly. - What do you mean, slowly? There's a difficult passage here. The composer's made it too hard. All these divergent octaves. It would have been easier if they were parallel. What is it, Nikolai Grigorievich? It's nothing. I'm not ready to die yet. Pyotr Ilyich didn't write this for the convenience of lazy students. Don't be offended. Listen how I shall play this concerto Thursday in Paris.

And remember, this piece will become the favorite of virtuosos. I am telling you this. Me! Rubinstein! To die in Paris. To come all this way for that. It's absurd. You've got money these days. Shall we drink to the dear departed? There's a nice cafe nearby. I've settled down for good in Paris. As they say, a prisoner of the boulevards... Yes, when you stop and think, it's so strange! There was a man, impetuous, noisy, a man who really loved life, generous, enjoying... Oh pardon, having an eye for the ladies,

well-known throughout the world, and suddenly pschtt... an empty place. Nothing remains of interpretive artists. There's memory of him, his school, his disciples, his pupils. All the new things he brought to music. Cold comfort, my friend. His pupils, disciples, his school... Nikolai Grigorievich would've scrapped everything for another day of life. I would do the same thing with my criticism, as well. And so would you... with all your compositions. Perhaps with those I've written, yes, but not with my future work, no.

Are you hoping to create something that will let you defeat death? I've already told you... Go away. What? This is my Maniunya, alias Therese. She can't speak a word of Russian. Let's drink to God's servant Nikolai. Guerman, what has happened to you? Why do you need Paris with its boulevards and all this?.. What have you got against my Maniunya? And how is she different from your von Meck? Oh, I'm sorry... I forgot she isn't as rich, is she? Today you won't succeed in offending me.

Couldn't you have waited until tomorrow? I've never set eyes on Baroness von Meck and I never will. I see what you mean... You are Dante and she is Beatrice. And with all your intelligence... Come back home to Russia. I beg you. Everything is all right. I love this city. Living here makes me feel constantly nostalgic for Russia, I find travelling abroad very restful, but I could never live anywhere but Russia. You're a lucky man. But the Russian writer, Ivan Turgenev will probably be taken back to Russia, like poor Nikolai Grigorievich,

in a plain wooden box on a baggage train. And how I would like to go home, to see with my own eyes what is going on there. Things are going badly at home, Ivan Sergeyevich. To kill our Sovereign, our Emperor! What are our young people coming to? Pyotr Ilyich, I agree, all that is dreadful. But the terrorists have acted only from the highest and purest motives. How can you unite purity and bloodshed? Who knows, we may be on the threshold of something important, a threshold you and I might have trouble crossing,

but this new generation may see something across this threshold that even my writer's imagination cannot foresee. God will provide. Go away! What's the matter with you? I'll give you something you won't like! Just take a look at yourself! A loafer! Who is going to replace Nikolai Grigorievich at the conservatory? The whole musical Moscow will miss him. Suppose you were suggested to take over his responsibilities? Never! That's not my affair. I would say that is your duty now.

The late Nikolai Grigorievich was often accusing me of not having a sense of public duty. But I'm not good at arguing with people. Of all that persuading, insisting and demanding. I can't do that. For instance, my opera "The Maid of Orleans" is opening in St. Petersburg, and I'm staying on here because I want to escape the turmoil. And how do you feel? Are you satisfied with The Maid of Orleans? Of all the music I have written, this is the best. Why have you stopped reading? Go on.

Why should I go on? They're only saying awful things. Well, that's fine. Let's hear what these awful things are. Well, if you want to hear such trash, it's up to you. "'The Maid of Orleans' is the poorest of all Tchaikovsky's operas. Most irritating is the thinness and unimportance of the musical forms. The themes strike one with their emptiness, their lack of taste, their middle-class sentimentality." Listen, this is interesting. "Anyone who is convicted of stealing soap

must immediately wash with it until it disappears." - Give me my pince-nez. - How should I know where it is? All right, I'll try to read it without my glasses. I'm not going to let you ruin your eyes. - How dare you! - I dare! You can fire me if you don't like it. Some idiots write trash and others... If they tried composing music, you'd see what I'd write about them... Don't take it so much to heart, dear Pyotr Ilyich. What do you care what these spiteful people think?

You know very well that you are a great composer, and that your music will live long after they have disappeared. No, Nadezhda Filaretovna, I'm afraid the truth is that I'm finished. I'm dissatisfied with my old work and don't know any new way. Each time I seem to discover a path which will lead me to something new, it turns out to be a dead end. This feeling will pass, my dear. You're just tired. You must rest. My God! Oh, merciful God... You seem to know how to feel my distress,

and to come to my aid at the most difficult period of my life. It's nothing more than distance that separates us from each other. We have long become nearly the same being. In your music we have found this intimacy we know. In this sense I have no rival. In that domain it is I who reign supreme. Pyotr Ilyich, I wonder if you've ever been in love? I don't believe so. You love your music much too much to be able to love any woman. How can I answer you... Yes, and no... If you put that question differently -

Have I known the full happiness of love... then I would answer, no. No. No. But if you were to ask, if I have known the full power of love, its immeasurable strength, its driving force... then I would say, yes! Yes! Yes! Don't you feel it in my music? Sometimes I'm convinced that music only increases man's unhappiness because it shows more than anything that happiness can exist. A happiness that is magnificent and real. It taunts you because it cannot be reached. When I first heard that you had gotten married... I felt something was torn from my heart.

It made me feel so bitter, and when I found out you were unhappy with this woman, I rejoiced. I hated that woman. But I would have hated her a thousand times more if you'd been happy with her. You see I'm not so fine and unselfish as you thought I was. Yes, you are amazing. You are marvelous. No one's been closer to me than you ever before. I'd like to make some sacrifice to show how devoted I am, to repay you somehow for everything you've done for me. Is there anything I can do?

Be happy. I don't ask for anything more than I already have. I want no change in our relationship. What I feel when I think of you, belongs to me, and I can find within myself the solution to any difficulty. Come here. Here you will find a house where no one will disturb you, where you can rest and find your inspiration once again. Mama, is it true you've never seen Pyotr Ilyich? That you don't know him at all? It's true I've never seen him, but even so I feel I know him well.

But wouldn't you like to meet him? Don't lean over like that, you'll fall in! Matryona, who was here? Madame von Meck was here. - With whom? - She was alone. Oh! Thank you. "I can no longer think of you as a myth. I want to see you, the real you, a man who is infinitely dear to me. I have the right because I love you as no one else loves you." Pyotr Ilyich, can we serve lunch? What did you say? Lunch? "Today, we are having a celebration in your honour. Come, my dear, my invaluable friend. I am expecting you."

This is all foolishness. It's absurd! How can she lose her head like this? Good Lord! You'd do better to shut up. You're never going to lose your head. Julia, you know perfectly well how I feel about Nadezhda Filaretovna. I can't bear watching her torture herself over that... There are other things you've no trouble bearing. How long have you been planning to talk to my mother about us? The only thing you're good for is to hate Tchaikovsky silently because he doesn't take your so-called compositions seriously.

- Julia, that's unfair. - Be quiet, you failure! Running away like this! In the middle of the night. And what for? Travelling, travelling, dragging around... All our lives! Gypsies! That's what we are! But al least Gypsies have horses. And now we have insulted a very important lady. Why? Because she wants only the best for us, She says: "Live quietly. Don't worry about a thing. Just write your music, and I will listen to it. I don't want anything else from you, just let me take care of you."

But we are too proud. We don't need anything. Nothing! Not peace, nor love, or shelter, or home. Try to understand. What she expects from me, I can't give her. I can't wait for the moment we can leave, Have the carts gotten here? Yes, but the drivers want their money right now, and I... No. They'll begin to drink and then break everything. They can wait. Is my mother still out walking? She's saying goodbye. A letter from Mister Tchaikovsky. Here. It's for you. "Dear Vladislav Albertovich,

I have received your letter telling me that Nadezhda Filaretovna is ill, weak, depressed, and that she cannot write herself. For nothing in the world would I wish her to suffer because of me, but would it not be possible for you and Julia Karlovna to act as go-betweens? I have tried to establish, with your help, a correspondence with Nadezhda Filaretovna, but each of your letters has been nothing more than a polite refusal. Apparently, Nadezhda Filaretovna has completely given up interest in me.

She has always seemed to me the perfect human being and I cannot conceive of inconstancy in a demi-Goddess. I thought that the universe might crumble into dust rather than Nadezhda Filaretovna might change her feelings towards me. I know that Nadezhda Filaretovna is practically ruined, and I am happy that, precisely now, when I have ceased to receive her help, I can convey to her the full extent of my gratitude. A gratitude without bound, and completely inexpressible in words. I shall remember her until my last breath,

and I shall bless her. If she shows any desire to know what I am doing, tell her that I have returned, safe and sound, from my travels in Europe and am working on 'The Queen of Spades', an opera based on Pushkin." Vladislav Albertovich, has the mail come? Nadezhda Filaretovna, my dear, is it possible that you still hope? Don't you realize that this man no longer needs your help now, and so has completely lost interest in you? When I first came into your employ, you told me something I still remember,

you said that among the many servants of the Arts, there were very few who were worthy of admiration and love. You've created an idol for yourself, to whom you've devoted your life. As soon as he has known fame, he forgot about you. Fame is a matter of fashion. There was a time when people preferred Zagoskin to Gogol. And who reads him now? You know, time puts things into perspective. It'll always be a mystery to me how you, with your knowledge of people, could write for 13 years to that man and not realize

that he is completely selfish and egotistical. Yes, one can live side by side for 13 years and be mistaken about someone. I am talking about you, Vladislav Albertovich. You have understood nothing, not the character of Pyotr Ilyich, nor his music, nor the nature of our relations. Which is why you will go down in history as Pahulsky and he as Tchaikovsky. Don't be afraid, for God's sake. I have no intention of harming you. I've come to beg a favor. It would be easy for you to make me happy

without it costing you anything. I've been told that you can foretell three winning cards. Can you? It was but a joke, I swear! Who jokes about this? I must know if these three cards will always work. For whom are you keeping this secret? Your grandchildren? But they are already rich. Too rich to know the true value of money. I know its value. The secret of the three cards won't be wasted. Don't refuse my request! Reveal your secret to me. What good can it do you? You selfish witch!

I will make you talk! The old woman! You? What are you doing here? Why are you laughing like that? You witch, you have driven me mad! What do you want of me? You want my life? Take it! Vladislav Albertovich! Hello! - Good day. - How nice to see... Vladislav Albertovich, what's the matter? Why hasn't Nadezhda Filaretovna answered my letters? She's been taken ill with an incurable mental illness. My God! It happened so suddenly! But why? You ask why? Doesn't it even enter your mind that you might be the one to blame?

Vladislav Albertovich! Listen to me. What has made you think during all these years that you have the right to abuse the trust and love of everyone? Do you think your music forgives you everything? There is a God. And there will be justice. And God will punish you! What is it? I have never in my life felt so well and happy. I'm satisfied with my symphony. There's only some work to do on the end... But perhaps I shall rewrite it. Perhaps... I don't know. Perhaps I will... I don't know.

You may go, Alyosha. I need to be alone. Pyotr Ilyich died eight days after that concert. Directed by Igor TALANKIN Screenplay by B. METALNIKOV Yu. NAGIBIN, I. TALANKIN Music arrangement by composer and conductor Dimitri TIOMKIN Director of Photography Margarita PILIKHINA Production Designers A. BORISOV, Yu. KLADIENKO Sound by Yu. RABINOVICH, V. SHMELKIN Cast Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky Innokenty SMOKTUNOVSKY Nadezhda Filaretovna von Meck Antonina SHURANOVA Alyosha Yevgeny LEONOV Desiree Maya PLISETSKAYA

Nikolai Rubinstein Vladislav STRZHELCHIK Julia von Meck Alla DEMIDOVA Pahulsky Kirill LAVROV Guerman Laroche Yevgeny YEVSTIGNEYEV Miliukova - Lilia YUDINA Turgenev - Bruno FREINDLIKH