On January second, 1877, Peter Tchaikovsky chided[2] his brother Modeste for not being a better correspondent.

I don’t know if you still remember my existence. I happen to be your own brother. I hold the position of professor at the Moscow Conservatoire and have written several compositions: operas, symphonies, overtures and so on.[3] There was a time when you condescended[4] to take an interest in me. We even took a trip abroad together last year, which has left an unforgettable memory in my heart.

You often used to write frequent[5] charming and interesting letters to me. But now it all seems to me nothing but a sweet dream. Oh, yes—you have forgotten me and don’t want to know me any more! But I am not like you. In spite of my antipathy[6] toward keeping up correspondence, in spite of being very tired (it is midnight now), here I am sitting writing to you to remind you of my feelings of great love for you. And so, dear brother, I wish you a Happy New Year, health, happiness, and success very soon in all your new ventures[7]...

As for me, dear brother, the holidays passed idly[8] and not very happily. I wanted to work but was disturbed by friends. And now my relative Misha Assiere is on leave and staying with me. I must say, he is a very nice and sweet boy and I, dear brother, stay home with him every evening...

Before the holidays I became friendly, dear brother, with the writer Count[9] Leo Tolstoy and have a very nice letter from him. And he listened, dear brother, to my first string quartet and during the Andante he shed real tears which, dear brother, makes me very proud.[10]

And you, my dear brother, do not be so presumptuous[11] to forget that I, dear brother, am a “bird” of certain importance.

And now, good-bye my dear brother.

Your furious brother, Peter Tchaikovsky.