The author sympathetically shows what a nervous, unpredictable child Peter Tchaikovsky was and how his love for music was almost greater than he could bear. Any sort of routine was impossible for him, and as a result, he could not bring himself to practice law as an adult. However, music still beckoned, and under the great Anton Rubinstein, he made progress. It was early one morning, seated at a table in the deserted dining room of an inn, that he wrote the first draft of his first symphony.
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