Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1929-10-20
BY JOSEPH LOREN KELLY.


was expected from London for his peace con-
ference with President Hoover. A bitter fight
was raging within congressional walls on Cap
itol Hill over the tariff. A cable told Of the
death of Stresemann, Germany's premier.
thought of these things in the presence Of
the little old lady had come to see, for she,
six years before in Russia, had experienced
momentous things had watched great events
unfurl at her very small feet.
"Your uncle?" I said.
yes" she took me up in a voice that re-
minded me of soft music, Peter did great
things ard he died In the prime of life"
NINE NJ NEUTRALITY-SUSPICIOUS. and I were
discussing her uncle Tchaikovsky, Rus
sia's greatest composer, the Swinburne of mod
ern music. the master of orchestral color. the
Hermit of the Kiln.
Nine Korsakon when she spoke those words,
"Peter did great things" might have been the
only person In the room--a queen reminiscing.
She turned bit in her chair as she spoke
and for the first time since had entered the
room seemed to fully realize that was there
with her. She surveyed me up and down as
though convincing herself that was a safe
person with whom to trust her words about
RussiaS greatest composer and her uncle.
White hair-siIver wilite-with wavy swathe
of the faintest gold rolling back from the center
Of her forehead-al done in the precise dress
ing of Victorian days. Her hair was the first
thing you noticed. Eyes a bit tired looking, but
blue like China dolls; nose not too regular
and striking you as being bit out Of proper
ton with the delicate lines of her temples and
jaws: small, delicate, thin-lined mouth a
chin that probably did more to write "aristoc-
racy" over her face than any other feature; an
almost girIish figure whose outline was rendered
more girlish by a simple faun-colored crepe
de chine dress: pearl gray stockings: black
patent-leather slippers. Add to this. small thin,
white hands showing years of drawing room
use; string of pearls falling over her bosom,
and you have q mental picture Of the niece Of
Russia,s greatest composer; the woman whose
almost constant association with The Hermit
of the Kiln" did more than any other to inf1u-
ence Tchaikovsky In his work.
She moved her chair a trifie 20 more squarely
face me.
0PETER understood because In q good
many ways he was as effeminate as any
She spoke with certain restraint You felt
she feared veEging ON the boastful Of bringing
herself to the front rather than her uncle.
She went on:
HE was most affectionate, very retiring"
and she looked up ut me. You know they
called him the hermit Of the Kim that's be-
cause he always sought aloneness. His work
was everything 10 him. He lived music. His
every glance or movement was musical"
mime. Korsakon," interrupted, when dii
your uncle work on his compositions?"
I'm the morning." she said after slight and
nervous hesitation. He never worked ct night
Sometimes In the late afternoon he would sit
down at his piano, but never at night When
he worked he lived in world by himself. One
would think he was in mortal combat with an
imaginary opponent.
sUoRx kr1nv ate ro1vv
out while ON long walks into the country. He
loved to walk. And on these walks music would
NY through his head constantly. He had the
reputation of being perfect master Of orches-
trial color. Peter was a poet first, musician
afterwaTd"
She got up remarking that 1t seemed chilly.
She went to the window overlooking the square
and pressed on the sill IT thought perhaps IL
was open a bit,n she said coming back to her
chair
"I remember once" she continued as though
speaking to herself. Peter gave concert in
Moscow. Among those who attended was Leo
TOlstOi, the great writer, you know" and she
turned her eyes on me. "Tolstoi sat with me in
the orchestra" Peter was directing his AN
dante" or maybe it was his 1872 Marclle."
Anyway Tolstoi fairly rose In his seat at times
and only his perfect control restrained him from
shouting aloud He was very fond Of my uncle
and his work"
THE rain that mad been falling in misty
drizzle suddenly was whipped into q real
storm by q west wind. Nine. Korsakon sat with
her back to the window. Ny back also was to
the window. sudden dash Of rain against the
pane made us both start
That's almost Hike Peters music" she said.
One never knew when they were going 70 be
startled by burst of color"
WAS your uncle married" asked The sud-
denness Of the question startled her.
"Only for few days" she replied. TT was