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