# Anton: Chapter 20



## Huilunsoittaja (Apr 6, 2010)

Anton's life was packed-full with engagements, concerts, and numerous other things. And although he enjoyed it all thoroughly, it wasn't fully.
One of the first blows that was done to his psyche was the death of his dearest idol, Piotr Ilyich. Anton had even been with him a week before at most, discussing what music they were about to start working on next, and Anton told him of his great plans to write more operas, and more choral music as well. Piotr Ilyich was very fond of Anton, and had promoted him as much as he could.
All the Moscow Composers came to St. Petersburg to see Piotr Ilyich premiered his 6th Symphony, and it shook the music world. Most found it morose, but those who were closest to him had no criticism. Around this time, Anton grew to have a close friendship with those in St. Petersburg, namely Anatol Konstantinovich and Alexander Konstantinovich. They had been trying to gain Piotr Ilyich's favor for a long time, and were so far successful, but Anton was still closer with Piotr Ilyich, or so he thought.
His death changed everything between Anton and these 2 fellow composers though.
The news was stunning: after 9 days after the premiere, he was dead. Anton got a message to his house from Piotr Ilyich's brother in the evening on November 6. Anton didn't want to visit him while he was sick, for fear of upsetting him, but now he terribly regretted not meeting him another time. It was in this period of extreme confusion that Anton found himself nearly running to Alexander Konstantinovich.
Alexander, or Sasha as he was called by his intimates, lived in a very nice apartment in the heart of the city. Anton had visited that home several times, discussing music and various other things. Now he came in a flurry, and banged on the door. Sasha was right there to open the door. Anton immediately caught his extremely grim expression.
"It... it can't be true! I don't believe it!" Anton held up his letter.
"It is true," Sasha said gloomily, and turned away, not even asking Anton to come in. But Anton came in anyway.
"Do you know anything, anything at all about how it happened??"
"I do..."
"What?"
"It was cholera."
"Cholera! No wonder! That can kill quickly, can't it?"
"Sometimes."
"Oh if I only knew he was that ill I would have visited him immediately, maybe have given him something, I don't know, anything! I still can't believe this! This is awful, terrible! He was so good to me, so good to all of us, wasn't he so good to you too?"
Anton, in contrast to Sasha, would often go on long raves like this when in a state of emotional turmoil, spilling all his thoughts on any individual who would care. Sasha was never that character, but he was often patient with Anton, as most people were. Most pitied Anton.
"Go to his house yourself, Anton."
"Won't you go?"
"Of course not now. I can't bear to think of it."
Anton stopped talking so much but instead began pacing the room.
"Did you visit him?"
"I did."
"What was he like."
Sasha didn't respond.
Sasha had gone and sat back on the couch he had been on for the past hour, his own letter in front of him. He put his face in his hands, and mourned silently, but without tears. Anton however, was on the verge of frustrated, despairing tears.
"Please leave me alone, Anton. I want to be alone."
"Very well. We will meet again."
Anton rushed through the streets to get to Piotr Ilyich's home. There was a group of people standing outside, talking quietly, but when they saw Anton, who was still on the verge of tears, they spoke up.
"Go in, it's alright, but take care. Illness may still be in the air."
"I don't care!" Anton ran in and up the stairs to the 2nd floor. Piotr Ilyich's brothers were there, and a priest.
The next sight was too much.
On a long table, Piotr Ilyich was laid out with a black cloth over him. Candles were lit around, and an icon stood by his head.
Anton collapsed in front of the table, and broke out in terrible sobs.
"Noooo!" he cried over and over. There was no end in sight in the black tunnel his soul had stepped into.

The funeral was 3 days later. The entire city seemed to be there to watch the procession.
Anton stood with all his friends and colleagues. Sergei Ivanovich, Sergei Vasilievich, and all the other professors of the Moscow Conservatory stood a single crowd. Other musicians stood close by, particularly from the orchestras. Sasha, Anatol Konstantinovich and Nikolai Andreyevich all the others representing the St. Petersburg Conservatory were there.
What a coincidence it seemed that Piotr Ilyich died here. In the very city he had put in his will that he wanted to be buried.
It was an extremely sorrowful occasion for everyone. Anton watched as the procession of the coffin took Piotr Ilyich's body from his temporary home all the way to the Alexander Nevsky Cathedral and Monastery. A service was thus done there, and hundreds, if not thousands crowded in and around the Cathedral. The Procession, Service, and other Ceremonies took the entire day.
Anton's personal grief cannot be overstated. Although most did not cry, he did. He felt that if anyone were to cry, it was him, for all the good that Piotr Ilyich had done for him. He was eternally grateful. Piotr Ilyich was his greatest model of musical perfection, and no one else.
When it was dusk, only a few stood there by the newly filled grave. Most had left to go to Funeral dinners, and although Anton hadn't eaten almost anything the whole day, had no appetite. Before Anton realized it, the crowd had funneled down now to just him, Sasha and Anatol. All 3 of them, but particularly Anton and Sasha stared long and hard at the monument. None of them said anything for a long time, but simply felt each others presence.
"Never was there a more admirable man," Anton began. "He changed my life and the way I viewed music. But he was so kind-hearted to me. I'll never forget that."
"Anton," Sasha began slowly, "Did you understand... that Piotr Ilyich was suffering from something?"
"All musicians suffer do they not?"
"Well, yes... but his suffering was quite unique... Did you know?"
"Know what?"
"His..." but Sasha stopped, "Nevermind."
Anton looked him in the face. Sasha had tears in his eyes too.
"Do you cry for the reason I cry?" Anton asked.
"I doubt..." Sasha then crossed himself, and he and Anatol Konstantinovich, who was observing the conversation in silence, started walking away.
"Then why??" Anton called after him.
"You should never know."
Anton stared after him in confusion, but something else rose in him. A feeling he hadn't experienced in a long time, something very unpleasant.
"Then he knew Piotr Ilyich closer than me?" he thought irritatedly. "But he couldn't have! He was my dearest companion, and Sasha's only from here, not Moscow! I knew Piotr Ilyich for 12 years!"
Anton gave a new glance at the tomb.
He remembered how Piotr Ilyich sometimes sighed to himself, in exhaustion he would say, and Anton thought it had something to do with his loneliness. But could it be that after all these years he didn't really know Piotr Ilyich? But why was it a secret? And more so... why wasn't he told?
What if there was something wrong to do with Piotr Ilyich?
As was Anton's disposition, he became extremely agitated from these thoughts. Could he believe his intuition? How much of it was false? In the days that followed, more rumors arose, about how sudden and "coincidental" his death seemed. Some people even began referring to Piotr Ilyich's 6th symphony as his "Farewell Letter." Could it have been suicide?
Anton remained firmly skeptical, since he couldn't believe such a thing possible, and so to the end of his life dogmatically opposed all ill-talk of Piotr Ilyich from anyone. And this perhaps, was the first of many signs to follow of his one great and terrible weakness.
The weakness he would never realize he had.
The year following, many works and memorial concerts were dedicated to Piotr Ilyich. Anton hosted his own choral concert of Piotr Ilyich's songs, and he wrote a String Quartet too in his memory. He became much more isolated, retreating to temporary forms of relief for his mind, and continued drinking and gambling. Despite all this, he had a bright disposition for the most part, and was as kind as he always was. But he came more enigmatic than he ever was, and the Moscow composers came to talking behind his back, wondering what was happening to Anton. No one could understand him when he would sometimes remark in his whimsical moods:
"Ah well, we'll all wake up eventually from this."


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