Clara Schumann and Joachim. The American Minister's.The Museum. The Conservatory. The Opera.Tausig. Christmas.
Clara Schumann and Joachim. The American Minister's.The Museum. The Conservatory. The Opera.Tausig. Christmas.
BERLIN,December 12, 1869.
I heard Clara Schumann on Sunday, and on Tuesday evening, also. She is a most wonderful artist. In the first concert she played a quartette by Schumann, and you can imagine how lovely it was under the treatment of Clara Schumann for the piano, Joachim for the first violin, De Ahna for the second, and Müller for the 'cello. It was perfect, and I was in raptures. Madame Schumann's selection for the two concerts was a very wide one, and gave a full exhibition of her powers in every kind of music. The Impromptu by Schumann, Op. 90, was exquisite. It was full of passion and very difficult. The second of the Songs without Words, by Mendelssohn, was the most fairy-like performance. It is one of those things that must be tossed off with the greatest grace and smoothness, and it requires the most beautiful and delicate technique. She played it to perfection. The terrific Scherzo by Chopin she did splendidly, but she kept the great octave passages in the bass a little too subordinate, I thought, and did not give it quite boldly enough for my taste, though it was extremely artistic. Clara Schumann's playing is very objective. She seems tothrow herself into the music, instead of letting the music take possession of her. She gives you the most exquisite pleasure with every note she touches, and has a wonderful conception and variety in playing, but she seldom whirls you off your feet.
At the second concert she was even better than at the first, if that is possible. She seemed full of fire, and when she played Bach, she ought to have been crowned with diamonds! Suchnobleplaying I never heard. In fact you are all the time impressed with the nobility and breadth of her style, and the comprehensiveness of her treatment, and oh, if youcouldhear herscales! In short, there is nothing more to be desired in her playing, and she has every quality of a great artist. Many people say that Tausig is far better, but I cannot believe it. He may have more technique and more power, but nothing else I am sure. Everybody raves over his playing, and I am getting quite impatient for his return, which is expected next week. I send you Madame Schumann's photograph, which is exactly like her. She is a large, very German-looking woman, with dark hair and superb neck and arms. At the last concert she was dressed in black velvet, low body and short sleeves, and when she struck powerful chords, those large white arms came down with a certain splendor.
As for Joachim, he is perfectly magnificent, and has amazingpower. When he played his solo in that second Chaconne of Bach's, you could scarcely believe it was only one violin. He has, like Madame Schumann, the greatest variety of tone, only on the violinthe shades can be made far more delicate than on the piano.
I thought the second movement of Schumann's Quartette perhaps as extraordinary as any part of Clara Schumann's performance. It was very rapid, verystaccato, andpianissimoall the way through. Not a note escaped her fingers, and she played with so much magnetism that one could scarcely breathe until it was finished. You know nothing can be more difficult than to play staccato so very softly where there is great execution also. Both of the sonatas for violin and piano which were played by Madame Schumann and Joachim, and especially the one in A minor, by Beethoven, were divine. Both parts were equally well sustained, and they played with so much fire—as if one inspired the other. It was worth a trip across the Atlantic just to hear those two performances.
The Sing-Akademie, where all the best concerts are given, is not a very large hall, but it is beautifully proportioned, and the acoustic is perfect. The frescoes are very delicate, and on the left are boxes all along, which add much to the beauty of the hall, with their scarlet and gold flutings. Clara Schumann is a great favorite here, and there was such a rush for seats that, though we went early for our tickets, all the good parquet seats were gone, and we had to get places on theestrade, or place where the chorus sits—when there is one. But I found it delightful for a piano concert, for you can be as close to the performer as you like, and at the same time see the faces of the audience. I saw ever so many people that I knew, and we kept bowing away at each other.
Just think how convenient it is here with regard to public amusements, for ladies can go anywhere alone! You take a droschkie and they drive you anywhere for five groschen, which is about fifteen cents. When you get into the concert hall you go into thegarde-robeand take off your things, and hand them over to the care of the woman who stands there, and then you walk in and sit down comfortably as you would in a parlour, and are not roasted in your hat and cloak while at the concert, and chilled when you go out, as we are in America. Their programmes, too, are not so unconscionably long as ours, and, in short, their whole method of concert-giving is more rational than with us. I always enjoy the garde-robe, for if you have acquaintances you are sure to meet them, and you have no idea how exciting it is in a foreign city to see anybody you know.
———
BERLIN,December 19, 1869.
I suppose you are muttering maledictions on my head for not writing, but I am so busy that I have no time to answer my letters, which are accumulating upon my hands at a terrible rate. This week I have been out every night but one, so that I have had to do all my practicing and German and Harmony lessons in the day-time; and these, with my daily hour and a half at the conservatory, have been as much as I could manage.
On Monday I went to a party at the Bancroft's, which I enjoyed extremely. It was a very brilliantaffair, and the toilettes were superb. At the entrance I was ushered in by a very fine servant dressed in livery. A second man showed me the dressing-room, where my bewildered sight first rested on a lot of Chinamen in festive attire. I could not make out for a second what they were, and I thought to myself, "Is it possible I have mistaken the invitation, and this is a masquerade?" Another glance showed me that they were Chinese, and it turned out that Mr. Burlingame, the Chinese Minister, was there, and these men were part of his suite. The ladies and gentlemen had the same dressing-room, which was a new feature in parties to me, and as we took off our things the servant took them and gave us a ticket for them, as they do at the opera. I should think there were about a hundred persons present. There were a great many handsome women, and they were beautifully dressed and much be-diamonded and pearled. Corn-colour seemed to be the fashion, and there were more silks of that colour than any other.
Mr. Burlingame seemed to be a very genial, easy man. I was not presented to him, but stood very near him part of the time. He looks upon the introduction of the Chinese into our country as a great blessing, and laughs at the idea of it being an evil. He says that the reason railroads can't be introduced into China is because the whole country is one vast grave-yard, and you can't dig any depth without unearthing human bones, so that there would be a revolution on the part of the people if it were done now, but it will gradually be brought about. He travelswith a suite of forty attendants, and says he has got all his treaties here arranged to his wishes, and that Prussia has promised to follow the United States in everything that they have agreed on with China. He is going to resign his office in a year and go back to America, where he wants to get into politics again. Mr. Bancroft introduced many of the ladies to the Chinese, one of whom could speak English, and he interpreted to the others. It was very quaint to see them all make their deep bows in silence when some one was presented to them. They were in the Chinese costume—Turkish trousers, white silk coats, or blouses, and red turbans, and their hair braided down their backs in a long tail that nearly touched their heels.
On Thursday I went to Dr. A.'s to dinner. He seems to be a very influential man here, and is a great favorite with the Americans. He has a great big heart, and I suspect that is the reason of it. Mrs. A., too, is very lovely. I saw there Mr. Theodore Fay, who used to be our minister in Switzerland, and who is also an author. He is very interesting, and the most earnest Christian I ever met. He has the tenderest sympathies in the world, and in a man this is very striking. He has a high and beautiful forehead, and a certain spirituality of expression that appeals to you at once and touches you, also. At least he makes a peculiar impression onme. There is something entirely different about him from other men, but I don't know what it is, unless it be his deep religious feeling, which shines out unconsciously.
Last week I made my first visit to the Museum. Itis one of the great sights of Berlin, but it is so immense that I only saw a few rooms. In fact there are two Museums—an old and a new. I was in the new one. It is a perfect treasure house, and the floors alone are a study. All are inlaid with little coloured marbles, and every one is different in pattern. One of the most beautiful of the rooms was a large circular dome-roofed apartment round which were placed the statues of the gods, and in the centre stood a statue in bronze of one of the former German kings in a Roman suit of armour. Half way up from the floor ran round a little gallery in which you could stand and look down over the railing, and here were placed on the walls Raphael's cartoons, which are fac-similes of those in the Vatican, and are all woven in arras. They are very wonderful, and you feel as if you could not look at them long enough. The contrast is impressive as you look down and see all the heathen statues standing on the marble floor, each one like a separate sphinx, and then look up and see all the Christian subjects of Raphael. The statues are so cold and white and distant, and the pictures are so warm and bright in colour. They seem to express the difference between the ancient and the modern religions. We went through the rooms of Greek and Roman statues, of which there is an immense number, and on the walls are Greek and Italian landscapes, all done by celebrated painters.
We had to pass through these rooms rather hastily in order to get a glimpse of the "Treppen Halle," which is the place where the two grand stair-casesmeet that carry you into the upper rooms of the Museum. This is magnificent, and is all gilding and decoration. An immense statue stands by each door, and on the wall are six great pictures by Kaulbach, three on each side. "The Last Judgment," of which you're seen photographs, is one of them. I ought to go to the Museum often to see it properly, but it is such a long distance off that I can't get the time. Berlin is a very large city, and the distances are as great as they are in New York.
At the last "Reading" at the conservatory the four best scholars played last. One of them was an American, from San Francisco, a Mr. Trenkel, but who has German parents. He plays exquisitely, and has just such a poetic musical conception as Dresel, but a beautiful technique, also. He is a thorough artist, and he looks it, too, as he is dark and pale, and very striking. I always like to see him play, for he droops his dark eyes, and his high pale forehead is thrown back, and stands out so well defined over his black brows. His expression is very serious and his manner very quiet, and he has a sort of fascination about him. He is a particular favorite of Tausig's.
After he played, came a young lady who has been a pupil of Von Bülow for two years. She plays splendidly, and I could have torn my hair with envy when she got up, and Ehlert went up to her and shook her hand and told her before the whole school that she had "realtalent." After her camemyfavorite, little Fräulein Timanoff, who sat down and did still better. She is a little Russian, only fifteen, and is still in shortdresses. She has almost white hair, it is so light, and she combs it straight back and wears it in two long braids down her back, which makes her look very childish. It is really wonderful to see her! She takes her seat with the greatest confidence, and plays with all the boldness of an artist.
Almost all the scholars in Tausig's class are studying to play in public, and I should think he would be very proud of all those that I have heard. There are many scholars in the conservatory, but he teaches only the most advanced. He only returned to Berlin on Saturday, and I have not yet seen him, though I am dying to do so, for all the Germans are wild over his playing. The girls in his class are mortally afraid of him, and when he gets angry he tells them they play "like a rhinoceros," and many other little remarks equally pleasing.
———
BERLIN,January 11, 1870.
Since my last letter I have been quite secluded, and have seen nothing of the gay world. I have been to the opera twice—once to "Fantaska," a grand ballet, and the second time to "Trovatore." The opera house here is magnificent, and I would that I could go to it every week. It is extremely difficult to get tickets to it, as the rich Jews manage to get the monopoly of them and the opera house is crowded every night. It is the most brilliant building, and so exquisitely painted! All the heads and figures of the Muses and portraits of composers and poets which decorate it, areso soft and so beautifully done. The curtain even is charming. It represents the sea, and great sea monsters are swimming about with nymphs and Cupids and all sorts of things, and one lovely nymph floats in the air with a thin gauzy veil which trails along after her. The scenery and dresses are superb, and I never imagined anything to equal them. The orchestra, too, plays divinely.
The singing is the only thing which could be improved. The Lucca, who is the grand attraction, is a pretty little creature, but I did not find her voice remarkable. The Berlinese worship her, and whenever Lucca sings there is a rush for the tickets. Wachtel and Niemann are the star singers among the men. Niemann I have not heard, but Wachtel we should not rave over in America. I am in doubt whether indeed the Germans know what the best singing is. They have most wonderful choruses, but when it comes to soloists they have none that are really great—like Parepa and Adelaide Phillips; at least, that is my judgment after hearing the best singers in Berlin, though as the voice is not my "instrument," I will not be too confident about it. Everything else is so far beyond what we have at home that perhaps I unconsciously expect the climax of all—the solo singing, to be proportionally finer also.
They have beautiful ballet-dancers here, though. There is one little creature named Fräulein David, who is a wonderful artist. She does such steps that it turns one's head to see her. She is as light as down, and so extremely graceful that when you watch herfloating about to the enchanting ballet music, it is too captivating. There were four other dancers nearly as good, who were all dressed exactly alike in white dresses trimmed with pink satin. They would come out first, and dance all together, sometimes separately and sometimes forming a figure in the middle of the stage. Then suddenly little David, who was dressed in white and blue, would bound forward. The others would immediately break up and retire to the side of the stage, and she would execute a wonderfulpas seul. Thenshewould retire, and the others would come forward again, and so it went. It was perfectly beautiful. Finally they all danced together and did everything exactly alike, though little David could always bend lower, and take the "positions" (as we used to say at Dio Lewis's,) better than all the rest.
On Friday I am going to hear Rubinstein play. I suppose he will give a beautiful concert, as he and Bülow, Tausig and Clara Schumann are the grand celebrities now on the piano, Liszt having given up playing in public. After our lesson was over yesterday, Ehlert took his leave, and left us to wait for TAUSIG—my dear!—who was to hear us each play. He came in very late, and just before it was time to give his own lesson. He is precisely like the photograph I sent you, but is very short indeed—too short, in fact, for good looks—but he has a remarkably vivid expression of the eyes. He came in, and, scarcely looking at us, and without taking the trouble to bow even, he turned on me and said, imperiously, "Spielen Sie mir Etwas vor. (Play something forme.)" I got up and played first anEtude, and then he asked for the scales, and after I had played a few he told me I "had talent," and to come to his lessons, and I would learn much. I went accordingly the next afternoon. There were two girls only in the class, but they were both far advanced. I had never heard either of them play before. The second one played a fearfully difficult concerto by Chopin, which I once heard from Mills. It is exquisitely beautiful, and she did it very well. From time to time Tausig would sweep her off the stool, and play himself, and he is indeed a perfect wonder! If, as they say, Liszt's trill is "like the warble of a bird," his is as much so. It is not surprising that he is so celebrated, and I long to hear him in concert, where he will do full justice to his powers. He thrills you to the very marrow of your bones. He is divorced from his wife, and I think it not improbable that she could not live with him, for he looks as haughty and despotic as Lucifer, though he has a very winning way with him when he likes. His playing is spoken of assans pareil.
I spent a very pleasant Christmas. The family had a pretty little tree, and we all gave each other presents. It was charming to go out in the streets the week before. The Germans make the greatest time over Christmas, and the streets are full of Christmas trees, the shops are crammed with lovely things, and there are little booths erected all along the sidewalks filled with toys. They have special cakes and confections that they prepare only at this season.
Tausig and Rubinstein. Tausig's Pupils. The Bancrofts. AGerman Radical.
Tausig and Rubinstein. Tausig's Pupils. The Bancrofts. AGerman Radical.
BERLIN,February 8, 1870.
I have heard both Rubinstein and Tausig in concert since I last wrote. They are both wonderful, but in quite a different way. Rubinstein has the greatest power andabandonin playing that you can imagine, and is extremely exciting. I never saw a man to whom it seemed so easy to play. It is as if he were just sporting with the piano, and could do what he pleased with it. Tausig, on the contrary, is extremely restrained, and has not quite enthusiasm enough, but he is absolutelyperfect, and plays with the greatest expression. He is pre-eminent in grace and delicacy of execution, but seems to hold back his power in a concert room, which is very singular, for when he plays to his classes in the conservatory he seems all passion. His conception is so very refined that sometimes it is a little too much so, while Rubinstein is occasionally too precipitate. I have not yet decided which I like best, but in my estimation Clara Schumann as a whole is superior to either, although she has not their unlimited technique.
This was Tausig's programme:
Tausig's octave playing is the most extraordinary I ever heard. The last great effect on his programme was in the Rhapsody by Liszt, in an octave variation. He first played it sopianissimothat you could only just hear it, and then he repeated the variation and gave it tremendouslyforte. It was colossal! His scales surpass Clara Schumann's, and it seems as if he played with velvet fingers, his touch is so very soft. He played the great C major Sonata by Beethoven—Moscheles' favorite, you know. His conception of it was not brilliant, as I expected it would be, but very calm and dreamy, and the first movement especially he took verypiano. He did it most beautifully, but I was not quite satisfied with the last movement, for I expected he would make a grand climax with those passionate trills, and he did not. Chopin he plays divinely, and that little Bourrée of Bach's that I used to play, was magical. He played it like lightning, and made it perfectly bewitching.
Altogether, he is a great man. But Clara Schumann always puts herselfen rapportwith you immediately. Tausig and Rubinstein do not sway you as she does, and, therefore, I think she is the greater interpreter, although I imagine the Germans would not agree with me. Tausig has such a little hand that I wonder he has been able to acquire his immense virtuosity. He is only thirty years old, and is much younger than Rubinstein or Bülow.
The day after Tausig's concert I went, as usual, to hear him give the lesson to his best class of girls. I got there a little before the hour, and the girls were in the dressing-room waiting for the young men to be through with their lesson. They were talking about the concert. "Was it not beautiful?" said little Timanoff, to me; "I did not sleep the whole night after it!"—a touch of sentiment that quite surprised me in that small personage, and made me feel some compunctions, as I had slept soundly myself. "I have practiced five hours to-day already," she added. Just then the young men came out of the class-room and we passed into it. Tausig was standing by the piano. "Begin!" said he, to Timanoff, more shortly even than usual; "I trust you have brought me a studythistime." He always insists upon a study in addition to the piece. Timanoff replied in the affirmative, and proceeded to open Chopin'sEtudes. She played the great A minor "Winter Wind" study, and most magnificently, too, starting off with the greatest brilliancy and "go." I was perfectly amazed at such a feat from such a child, and expected that Tausig wouldexclaim with admiration. Not so that Rhadamanthus. He heard it through without comment or correction, and when Timanoff had finished, simply remarked very composedly, "So! Have you taken thenextEtude, also?" as if the great A minor were not enough for one meal! It is eight pages long to begin with, and there is no let-up to the difficulty all the way through. Afterward, however, he told the young men that he "could not have done it better" himself.
Tausig is so hasty and impatient that to be in his classes must be a fearful ordeal. He will not bear the slightest fault. The last time I went into his class to hear him teach he was dreadful. Fräulein H. began, and she has remarkable talent, and is far beyond me. She would not playpianoenough to suit him, and finally he stamped his foot at her, snatched her hand from the piano, and said: "Willyou playpianoor not, for if not we will go no farther?" The second girl sat down and played a few lines. He made her begin over again several times, and finally came up and took her music away and slapped it down on the piano,—"You have been studying this for weeks and you can't play a note of it; practice it for a month and then you can bring it to me again," he said.
The third was Fräulein Timanoff, who is a little genius, I think. She brought a Sonata by Schubert—the lovely one in A minor—and by the way he behaved Tausig must have a particular feeling about that particular Sonata. Timanoff began running it off in her usual nimble style, having practiced it evidentlyevery minute of the time when she was not asleep, since the last lesson. She had not proceeded far down the first page when he stopped her, and began to fuss over the expression. She began again, but this time with no better luck. A third time, but still he was dissatisfied, though he suffered her to go on a little farther. He kept stopping her every moment in the most tantalizing and exasperating manner. If it had been I, I should have cried, but Timanoff is well broken, and only flushed deeply to the very tips of her small ears. From an apple blossom she changed to a carnation. Tausig grew more and more savage, and made her skip whole pages in his impatience. "Play here!" he would say, in the most imperative tone, pointing to a half or whole page farther on. "This I cannot hear!—Go on farther!—It is too bad to be listened to!" Finally, he struck the music with the back of his hand, and exclaimed, in a despairing way, "Kind, es liegt eine Seele darin. Weiss du nicht es liegt eineSEELEdarin? (Child, there's a soul in the piece. Don't you know there is asoulin it?)" To the little Timanoff, who has no soul, and who is not sufficiently experienced to counterfeit one, this speech evidently conveyed no particular idea. She ran on as glibly as ever till Tausig could endure no more, and shut up the music. I was much disappointed, as it was new to me, and I like to hear Timanoff's little fingers tinkle over the keys, "Seele" or no "Seele." She has a most accurate and dainty way of doing everything, and somehow, in her healthy little brain I hardly wish forSeele!
Last of all Fräulein L. played, and she alone suited Tausig. She is a Swede, and is the best scholar he has, but she has such frightfully ugly hands, and holds them so terribly, that when I look at her I cannot enjoy her playing. Tausig always praises her very much, and she is tremendously ambitious.
Tausig has a charming face, full of expression and very sensitive. He is extremely sharp-sighted, and has eyes in the back of his head, I believe. He is far too small and too despotic to be fascinating, however, though he has a sort of captivating way with him when he is in a good humor.
I was dreadfully sorry to hear of poor Gottschalk's death. He had a golden touch, and equal to any in the world, I think. But what a romantic way to die!—to fall senseless at his instrument, while he was playing "La Morte." It was very strange. If anything more is in the papers about him you must send it to me, for the infatuation that I and 99,999 other American girls once felt for him, still lingers in my breast!
On Saturday night I went for the first time to hear the Berlin Symphony Kapelle. It is composed only of artists, and is the most splendid music imaginable. De Ahna, for instance, is one of the violinists, and he is not far behind Joachim. We have no conception of such an orchestra in America.[A]The Philharmonic of New York approaches it, but is still a long way off. This orchestra is so perfect, and plays with such precision,that you can't realize that there are any performers at all. It is just a great wave of sound that rolls over you as smooth as glass. As the concert halls are much smaller here, the music is much louder, and every man not only playspianoandfortewhere it is marked, but he draws thetoneout of his violin. They have the greatest pathos, consequently, in the soft parts, and overwhelming power in the loud. Where great expression is required the conductor almost ceases to beat time, and it seems as if the performers took itad libitum; but they understand each other so well that they play like one man. It istooecstatic! I observed the greatest difference in the horn playing. Instead of coming in in a monotonous sort of way as it does at home, and always with the same degree of loudness, here, when it is solo, it begins round and smooth and full, and then gently modulates until the tone seems to sigh itself out, dying away at last with a little tremolo that is perfectly melting. I never before heard such an effect. When the trumpets come in it is like the crack of doom, and you should hear the way they play the drums. I neverwassatisfied with the way they strike the drums in New York and Boston, for it always seemed as if they thought the parchment would break. Here, sometimes they give such a sharp stroke that it startles me, though, of course, it is not often. But it adds immensely to the accent, and makes your heart beat, I can tell you. They played Schubert's great symphony, and Beethoven's in B major, and I could scarcely believe my own ears at the difference between this orchestra andours. It is as great as between—— and Tausig.
BERLIN,March 4, 1870.
Tausig is off to Russia to-day on a concert tour, and will not return until the 1st of May. Out of six months he has been in Berlin about two and a half! However, as I am not yet in his class it doesn't affect me much, but I should think his scholars would be provoked at such long absences. That is the worst of having such a great artist for a master. I believe we are to have no vacation in the summer though, and that he has promised to remain here from May until November without going off. Ehlert and Tausig have had a grand quarrel, and Ehlert is going to leave the conservatory in April. I am very sorry, for he is an admirable teacher, and I like him extremely.
We had another Musical Reading on Sunday, at which I played, but all the conservatory classes were there, and all the teachers, with Tausig, also, so it was a pretty hard ordeal. The girls said I turned deadly pale when I sat down to the piano, and well I might, for here you cannot play any thing that the scholars have not either played themselves or are perfectly familiar with, so they criticise you without mercy. Tausig plays so magnificently that you know beforehand that a thing can never be more than comparatively good in his eyes. Fräulein L. is the only one of his pupils that plays to suit him. I do not like her playing so much myself, because it sounds as if she had tried to imitate him exactly—which she probably does. It does not seem spontaneous, and she is an affected creature. They all think 'the world' of her at the conservatory,and I suppose sheisquite extraordinary; but I prefer Fräulein Timanoff—"die kleine Person," as Tausig calls her—and she is, indeed, a "little person." On Sunday Fräulein L. played the first part of a Sonata by Chopin, and Tausig was quite enchanted with her performance. I thought he was going to embrace her, he jumped up so impetuously and ran over to her. He declared that it could not be better played, and said he would not hear anything else after that, and so the school was dismissed, although several had not played that expected to do so.
Tausig has one scholar who is a very singular girl—the Fräulein H. I mentioned to you before, who has studied with Bülow. She is half French and half German, and speaks both languages. She is full of talent and cannot be over eighteen, but she is the most intense character, and is a perfect child of nature. One can't help smiling at everything she does, because she goes at everything so hard and so unconsciously. When the other girls are playing she folds her arms and plays with her fingers against her sides all the time, and when her turn comes she seizes her music, jumps up, and rushes for the piano as fast as she can. She hasn't the least timidity, and on Sunday when Tausig called out her name he scarcely got the words out before she said, "Ja," to the great amusement of the class (for none of us answered to our names) and ran to the piano.
She sat down with the chair half crooked, and almost on the side of it, but she never stopped to arrange herself, but dashed off a prelude out of herown head, and then played her piece. When she got through she never changed countenance, but was back in her seat before you could say "Jack Robinson." She is as passionate as Tausig, and so they usually have a scene over her lesson. He is always either half amused at her or very angry, and is terribly severe with her. When he stamps his foot at her she makes up a face, and the blood rushes up into her head, and I believe she would beat him if she dared. She always plays as impetuously as she does everything else, and then he stops his ears and tells her she makes too much "Spectakel" (his favorite expression). Then she begins over again two or three times, but always in the same way. He snatches the music from the piano and tells her that is enough. Then the class bursts out laughing and she goes to her seat and cries. But she is too proud to let the other girls see her wipe her eyes, and so she sits up straight, and tries to look unconcerned, but the tears trickle down her cheeks one after the other, and drop off her chin all the rest of the hour. By the time she has had a piece for two lessons she comes to the third, and at last she has managed to tone down enough, and then she plays it splendidly. She is a savage creature. The girls tell me that one time she sat down to the piano (a concert-grand) with such violence as to push the instrument to one side, and began to play with such vehemence that she burst the sleeve out of her dress behind! She is going to be an artist, and I told her she must come to America to give concerts. She said "Ja," and immediately wanted to know where I lived, so shecould come and see me. I think she will make a capital concert player, for she is always excited by an audience, and she has immense power. I am a mere baby to her in strength. Perhaps when she is ten years older she will be able to restrain herself within just limits, and to put in the light and shade as Fräulein L. does.
Since I last wrote I have been to hear Rubinstein again. He is the greatest sensation player I know of, and, like Gottschalk, has all sorts of tricks of his own. His grand aim is to produce aneffect, so it is dreadfully exciting to hear him, and at his last concert the first piece he played—a terrific composition by Schubert—gave me such a violent headache that I couldn't hear the rest of the performance with any pleasure. He has a gigantic spirit in him, and is extremely poetic and original, but for an entire concert he is too much. Give me Rubinstein for a few pieces, but Tausig for a whole evening. Rubinstein doesn't care how many notes he misses, provided he can bring out his conception and make it vivid enough. Tausig strikeseverynote with rigid exactness, and perhaps his very perfection makes him at times a little cold. Rubinstein played Schubert's Erl-König, arranged by Liszt,gloriously. Where the child is so frightened, his hands flew all over the piano, and absolutely made it shriek with terror. It was enough to freeze you to hear it.
Last week I went to a party at Mrs. Bancroft's in honour of Washington's birthday, and had a lovely time, as I always do when I go there. Bismarck waspresent, and wore a coat all decorated with stars and orders. He is a splendid looking man, and is tall and imposing. No one could be kinder than Mr. Bancroft. He and Mrs. Bancroft live in a beautiful house, furnished in perfect taste and full of lovely pictures and things, and they entertain most charmingly. They seem to do their utmost for the Americans who are in Berlin, and I am very proud of our minister. His reputation as our national historian, together with his German culture and early German associations, all combine to render him an admirable representative of our country to this haughty kingdom, and I hear that he is very popular with its selfsatisfied citizens. As for Mrs. Bancroft, one could hardly be more elegant, or better suited to the position. Mr. Bancroft is passionately fond of music, and knows what good music is,—which is of course an additional title tomyhigh opinion!
The other day Herr J. called for me to go and take a walk through the Thier-Garten, and see the skating. It was the first time I had been there, though it is not far from us, and I was delighted with it. It is the natural forest, with beautiful walks and drives cut through it, and statues here and there. We went to see the skating, and it was a lovely sight. The band was playing, and ladies and gentlemen were skating in time to the waltz. Many ladies skate very elegantly, and go along with their hands in their muffs, swaying first to one side and then to the other. It is grace itself. Carriages and horses pranced slowly around the edge of the pond, and at last the Prince and PrincessRoyal came along, drawn by two splendid black horses.
The carriage stopped and they got out to walk. "Now," said I to Herr J., "you must take off your hat"—for everybody takes off his hat to the Crown Prince. As they passed us he did take it off, but blushed up to his ears, which I thought rather odd, until he said, in a half-ashamed tone, "That is the first time in my life that I ever took off my hat to a Prince." "Well, what did you do it for?" said I. "Because you told me to," said he. He is such a red hot republican, that even such a little act of respect as this grated upon him! I only told him in fun, any way, but I was very much amused to see how he took it. He always raves over the United States, and says we are the greatest country in the world. He is a strange man, and you ought to hear his theory of religion. He sets the Bible entirely aside—like most German cultivated men. We were talking of it one night, and he said, "We won't speak of thatblockheadPeter, stupid fisherman that he was! but we will pass on to Paul, who was a man of some education." David, he calls "that rascal David, etc." Of course, I hold to my own belief, but I can't help laughing to hear him, it sounds so ridiculous. The world never had any beginning, he says, and there is no resurrection. We live only for the benefit of the next generation, and therefore it is necessary to lead good lives. We inherit the result of our father's labours, and our children will inherit ours. So we shall go on until the human race comes to a state of perfection. "And then what?" said I. Oh—then, he didn't know. Perhaps the world would explode, and go off in meteors. "Wedoknow," said he, "that there are lost stars. Occasionally a star disappears and we can't tell what has become of it; and perhaps the earth will become a wandering star, or a comet. The intervals between the stars are so great as to admit of a world wandering about—and there is no police in those regions, I fancy," concluded he, with a shrug of his shoulders. "Do you reallybelievethat, Herr J.?" I asked. "Oh," said he, "we won't speak aboutbeliefs. Now we arespeculating!" He is a delightful companion, and I think he is scrupulously conscientious. Though he does not profess the Christian faith, he acts up to Christian principles.
Opera and Oratorio in Berlin. A Typical American. PrussianRudeness. Conservatory Changes. Easter.
Opera and Oratorio in Berlin. A Typical American. PrussianRudeness. Conservatory Changes. Easter.
BERLIN,March 20, 1870.
On Wednesday the Bancrofts most kindly called for me to go to the opera with them. They came in their carriage, with two horses and footmen, so it was very jolly, and we bowled rapidly through Unter den Linden (the Broadway of Berlin), in rather a different manner from the pace I usually crawl along in a droschkie. They had fine opera glasses, of course, and we took our seats just as the overture was about to begin, so that everything was charming except that instead of Lohengrin, which we had expected to hear, they had changed the opera to Faust, which I had heard the week before. Faust is, however, a fascinating opera, and it is beautifully given here, albeit the Germans stick to it that it is Gounod's Faust and not Goethe's.
Since I have come here I have a perfect passion for going to the opera, for everything is done in such superb fashion, and they have the orchestra of the Symphony Kapelle, which is so splendid that it could not be better. It is a pity the singers are not equally good, but I don't believe Germany is the land of great voices. However, the men sing finely, and the prima donnas have much talent, andactbeautifully. The prima donna on this occasion was Mallinger, the rival of Lucca. She is especiallygood as Margaretta. Niemann and Wachtel are the great men singers. Wachtel was formerly a coachman, but he has a lovely voice. His acting is not remarkable, but Niemann is superb, and he sings and acts delightfully. He is very tall and fair, with light whiskers, and golden hair crowning a noble head, in truth a regular Viking. When he comes out in his crimson velvet mantle and crimson cap, with a white plume, and begins singing these delicious love songs to Margaretta, he is perfectly enchanting! He and Mallinger throw themselves into the long love scene which fills the third act, and act it magnificently. It was the first time I ever saw a love scene well done. The fourth act is most impressive. The curtain rises, and shows the interior of a church. The candles are burning on the altar, and the priests and acolytes are standing in their proper order before it. The organ strikes up a fugue and all the peasants come in and kneel down. Then poor Margaretta comes in for refuge, but when she kneels to pray a voice is heard which tells her that for her there is no refuge or hope in heaven or earth.
This scene Mallinger does so well that it is nature itself. When the voice is heard she gives a shriek, totters for a moment, and then falls upon the floor senseless, and O,sonaturally that one is entirely carried away by it. The organ takes up the fugue, and the curtain drops. The contrast between the two acts makes it all the more effective, for in the third it is all love and flowers and languishing music, and in the fourth one is suddenly recalled to the sanctity and severity of the church; also, after the orchestra this subdued fugue onthe organ makes a very peculiar impression. In the fifth act Margaretta is in prison, and Faust and Mephistopheles come to rescue her. This is a powerful scene, for at first she hesitates, and thinks she will go with them, and then her mind wanders, and she recalls, as in a vision, the happy scenes of earlier days. They keep urging her, and try to drag her along with them, but at last she breaks free from them and cries, "To Thee, O, God, belongs my soul," and falls upon her straw pallet, and dies. Then the scene changes, and you see four angels gradually floating up to heaven, supporting her dead body, while the chorus sings:
This ends the opera, which is very exciting throughout. I am going to read the original as soon as I know a little more German, so that I shan't have to read with a dictionary. I am just getting able to read Goethe without one, and think he is the most entrancing writer. There never could have been a man who understood women so well as he! His female characters are perfectly captivating, but he is not very flattering to his own sex, and generally makes them, in love, (what they are) weak and vacillating.
I met a very agreeable young countryman at a dinner the other day—a Mr. P.—and a great contrast to any of Goethe's ill-regulated heroes. He was the typical American,I thought. Wide awake, bright, with a sharp eye to business, very republican, with a hearty contempt for titles and a great respect for women, practical and clear-headed. When the wine was passed round he refused it, and said he had never drunk a glass of wine or touched tobacco in his life. I was so amused, for he looked so young. I said to myself, "probably you are just out of college, and are travelling before you settle down to a profession." After a while he said something about his wife. I was a little surprised, but still I thought "perhaps you have only been married a few months." A little further on he mentioned his children. I was still more surprised, but thought he couldn't have more than two; but when Mrs. B. asked him how many he had, and he said "three living and two dead," adding very gravely, "I have been twice left childless," I could scarcely help bursting out laughing, for I had thought him about twenty-one, and these revelations of a wife and numerous family seemed too preposterous!—But it was very nice to see such a model countryman, too. It is such men that make the American greatness.
After dinner I went with my hostess to hear Mendelssohn's Oratorio of St. Paul. It is a great work, a little tedious as a whole, but with wonderfully beautiful numbers interspersed through it. There are several lovely chorales in it. I was disappointed in the performance, though, for in the first place there is no organ in the Sing-Akademie, and I consider the effect of the organ and the drums indispensable to an oratorio; and in the second, the solos all seemed to me indifferently sung. The choruses were faultless, however. Theyunderstand how to drill a chorus here! Next Friday I am going to Haydn's "Jahreszeiten," which I never happened to hear in Boston.
Germany is a great place for birds and flowers. All winter long we have quantities of saucy-looking little sparrows here, and they have the most thievish expression when they fly down for a crumb. I sometimes put crumbs on my window-sill, and in a short time they are sure to see them. Then they stand on the edge of a roof opposite, and look from side to side for a long time, the way birds do. At last they make up their minds, swoop down on the sill, stretch their heads, give a bold look to see if I am about, and then snatch a crumb and fly off with it. They never can get over their own temerity, and always give a chirp as they fly away with the crumb; whether it is a note of triumph over their success, or an expression of nervousness, I cannot decide. One cold day I passed a tree, on every twig of which was a bird. They were holding a political meeting, I am sure, for they were all jabbering away to each other in the most excited manner, and each one had his breast bulged out, and his feathers ruffled. They were "awfully cunning!"
On Tuesday I went out to Borsig's greenhouse. He is an immensely rich man here, who makes a specialty of flowers. He lives some way out of Berlin, and has the largest conservatories here. The inside of the portico which leads into them is all covered with ivy, which creeps up on the inside of the walls, and covers them completely. When we came within, the flowerswere arranged in perfectbanksall along the length of the greenhouse, so that you saw one continuous line of brilliant colours, and oh—the perfume! The hyacinths predominated in all shades, though there were many other flowers, and many of them new to me. Camelias were trained, vine fashion, all over the sides of the greenhouse, and hundreds of white and pink blossoms were depending from them. All the centre of the greenhouse was a bed of rich earth covered with a little delicate plant, and at intervals planted with azalea bushes so covered with blossoms that one could scarcely see the leaves. At one end was a very large cage filled with brilliant birds, and at the other was a lovely fountain of white marble—Venus and Cupid supported on three shells. But I was most struck by the tree ferns, which I had never before seen. They were perfectly magnificent, and were arranged on the highest side of the greenhouse with many other rare plants most artistically mingled in. After we had finished looking at the flowers we went into a second house, where were palm trees, ferns, cacti and all sorts of strange things growing, but all placed with the same taste. It was a beautiful sight, and I never had any idea of the garden of Eden before. I must try and bring home a pot of the "Violet of the Alps." It is the most delicate little flower, and looks as if it grew on a high, cold mountain.
BERLIN,April 1, 1870.
To-day is April Fool's day, and the first real month of spring is begun. I have not fooled anybody yet, but as soon as dinner is ready, I shall rush to the window and cry, "There goes the king!" Of course they will all run to see him, and then I shall get it off on the whole family at once. I shall wait until the "kleiner Hans," Frau W.'s son, comes home. I call him the "Kleinen" in derision, for in reality he is immense. I have been very much struck with the height of the people here. As a rule they are much taller than Americans, and sometimes one meets perfect giants in the streets. The Prussian men are often semi-insolent in their street manners to women, and sometimes nearly knock you off the sidewalk, from simply not choosing to see you. I suppose this arrogance is one of the benefits of their military training! Theywillhave the middle of the walk where the stone flag is laid, no matter whatyouhave to step off into!
I went to hear Haydn's Jahreszeiten a few evenings since, and it is the most charming work—such a happy combination of grave and gay! He wrote it when he was seventy years old, and it is so popular that one has great difficulty in getting a ticket for it. Thesalonwas entirely filled, so that I had to take a seat in theloge, where the places are pretty poor, though I went early, too. The work is sung like an oratorio, in arias, recitatives and choruses, and is interspersed with charming little songs. It represents the four seasons of the year, and each part is prefaced by a little overture appropriateto the passing of each season into the next. The recitatives are sung by Hanna and Lucas, who are lovers, and by Simon, who is a friend of both, apparently. The autumn is the prettiest of the four parts, for it represents first the joy of the country people over the harvests and over the fruits. Then comes a splendid chorus in praise of Industry. After that follows a little love dialogue between Hanna and Lucas, then a description of a hunt, then a dance; lastly the wine is brought, and the whole ends with a magnificent chorus in praise of wine. The dance is too pretty for anything, for the whole chorus sings a waltz, and it is the gayest, most captivating composition imaginable. The choruses here are so splendidly drilled that they give the expression in a very vivid manner, and produce beautiful effects. All the parts are perfectly accurate and well balanced. But the solo singers are, as I have remarked in former letters, for the most part, ordinary.
I took my last lesson of Ehlert yesterday. I am very sorry that he and Tausig have quarrelled, for he is a splendid teacher. He has taught me a great deal, and precisely the things that I wanted to know and could not find out for myself. For instance, those twists and turns of the hands that artists have, their way of striking the chords, and many other little technicalities which one must have a master to learn. He always seemed to take great pleasure in teaching me, and I am most grateful to him for his encouragement. I think Tausig behaves very strangely to be off for such a long time. He does not return until the first of May, and all this month we are to be taught by one of his best scholars until hecomes back and engages another teacher. He has just given concerts at St. Petersburg, and I am told that at a single one he made six thousand rubles. They are in an immense enthusiasm there over him.
Last night I went with Mr. B. to hear Bach's Passion Music. Anything to equal that last chorus I never heard from voices. I felt as if it ought to go on forever, and could not bear to have it end. That chorale, "O Sacred Head now wounded," is taken from it, and it comes in twice; the second time with different harmonies and without accompaniment. It is the most exquisite thing; you feel as if you would like to die when you hear it. But the last chorus carries you straight up to heaven. It begins:
It represents the rest of our Saviour after the stone had been rolled before the tomb, and it isdivine. Everybody in the chorus was dressed in black, and almost every one in the audience, so you can imagine what a sombre scene it was. This is the custom here, and on Good Friday, when the celebrated "Tod Jesu" by Graun, is performed, they go in black without exception.
———
BERLIN,April 24, 1870.
I thought of you all on Easter Sunday, and wondered what sort of music you were having. I did not go to the English church, as is my wont, but to theDom, which is the great church here, and is where all the court goes. It is an extremely ugly church, and much like one of our old Congregational meeting-houses; but they have a superb choir of two hundred men and boys which is celebrated all over Europe. Haupt (Mr. J. K. Paine's former master) is the organist, and of course they have a very large organ. I knew, as this was Easter, that the music would be magnificent, so I made A. W. go there with me, much against her will, for she declared we should get no seat. The Germans don't trouble themselves to go to church very often, but on a feast day they turn out in crowds.
We got to the church only twenty minutes before service began, and I confess I was rather daunted as I saw the swarms of people not only going in but coming out, hopeless of getting into the church. However, I determined to push on and see what the chances were, and with great difficulty we got up stairs. There is a lobby that runs all around the church, just as in the Boston Music Hall. All the doors between the gallery and the lobby were open, and each was crammed full of people. I thought the best thing we could do would be to stand there until we got tired, and listen to the music, and then go. Finally, the sexton came along, and A. asked him if he could not give us two seats; he shrugged his shoulders and said, "Yes, if you choose to pass through the crowd." We boldly said we would, although it looked almost hopeless, and then made our way through it, followed by muttered execrations. At last the sexton unlocked a door,and gave us two excellent seats, and there was plenty of room for a dozen more people; but I don't doubt he frightened them away just as he would have done us if he could. He locked us in, and there we sat quite in comfort.
At ten the choir began to sing a psalm. They sit directly over the chancel, and a gilded frame work conceals them completely from the congregation. They have a leader who conducts them, and they sing in most perfect time and tune, entirely without accompaniment. The voices are tender and soft rather than loud, and they weave in and out most beautifully. There are a great many different parts, and the voices keep striking in from various points, which produces a delicious effect, and makes them sound like an angel choir far up in the sky. After they had finished the psalm the organ burst out with a tremendous great chord, enough to make you jump, and then played a chorale, and there were also trombones which took the melody. Then all the congregation sang the chorale, and the choir kept silence. You cannot imagine how easy it is to sing when the trombones lead, and the effect is overwhelming with the organ, especially in these grand old chorales. I could scarcely bear it, it was so very exciting.
There was a great deal of music, as it was Easter Sunday, and it was done alternately by the choir and the congregation; but generally the Dom choir only sings one psalm before the service begins, and therefore I seldom take the trouble to go there. The rest of the music is entirely congregational, and they onlyhave trombones on great occasions. We sat close by the chancel, and the great wax candles flared on the altar below us, and the Lutheran clergyman read the German so that it sounded a good deal like Latin. I was quite surprised to see how much like Latin Germancouldsound, for it has these long, rolling words, and it is just as pompous. Altogether it made a strange but splendid impression. I thought if they had only had their choir in the chancel, and in white surplices, it would have been much more beautiful, but perhaps the music would not have sounded so fine as when the singers were overhead. The Berlin churches all look as if religion was dying out here, so old and bare and ill-cared for, and so few in number. They are only redeemed by the great castles of organs which they generally have; and it is a difficult thing to get the post of organist here. One must be an experienced and well-known musician to do it. They sing no chants in the service, but only chorales.
To-night is the last Royal Symphony Concert of this season, and of course I shall go. This wonderful orchestra carries me completely away. It is too marvellous how they play! such expression, suchélan!I heard them give Beethoven's Leonora Overture last week in such a fashion as fairly electrified me. This overture sums up the opera of Fidelio, and in one part of it, just as the hero is going to be executed, you hear the post-horn sound which announces his delivery. This they play so softly that you catch it exactly as if it came from a long distance, and you cannot believeit comes from the orchestra. It makes you think of "the horns of elf-land faintly blowing."
Tausig is expected back this week, and he has indeed been gone long enough. He is going to give a lesson every Monday to the best scholars who are not in his class, and as I stand at the head of these I hope to have a lesson from him every week. This would suit me better than two, as he is so dreadfully exacting, and it will give me time to learn a piece well. Then I should have my regular lesson beside from Mr. Beringer, or whoever he appoints to take Ehlert's place. Beringer, who is a young man about twenty-five years old, has turned out a capital teacher, and I am learning much with him. He plays beautifully himself, and is a great favorite of Tausig's. He has been with him so long that he teaches his method excellently, and gives me pieces that he has studied with him. I believe he is to come out at the Gewandhaus, in Leipsic, in October, and after that he will settle in London.