“
I think I shall soon turn my back on music. I feel that where I am trying to find friendship I come across either cool indifference or undisguised rejection. It can’t be helped. I am afraid of them all because of their sense of importance, their aloof inaccessibility. Now I shall tell you about myself. My mood is very low. This is why I have been silent for so long since receiving your letter. I didn’t want to moan. There is a lot of tedious work involved with correcting the score. I am afraid that I am doing this all in vain. I am never going to listen to this symphony. I am coughing a bit. At home things are miserable. All the others, apart from me, are quarrelling with each other, for some reason... I cannot do anything to help brighten their lives. My mother and my sisters are such good people, but they have very little to be cheerful about ... what tomorrow is going to bring and, essentially, nothing else. I can’t do anything to make them happier. I know that my happiness is their happiness, but I have none, just sorrow and doubts. I never allow myself, though, to worry them with my troubles. They have enough of their own. That is why at home I am jolly and energetic, play the comforter and when I can I make them laugh. Yet all the time my nerves are on edge. They are in a constant state of tension, but a couple of times I lost control. The day before yesterday, when walking down a corridor in the Conservatoire, I started to cry. I cried my heart out but it didn’t help. Yesterday, after a strict reprimand from the conductor of the cinema orchestra for an unsuccessful interlude, I started crying again. The conductor, a very nice man, thought that I had taken offence and he started to comfort me very warmly. At night I have such terrible dreams, that I wake up and can’t go back to sleep.
From a letter to B. Yavorsky