The Thier-Garten. A Military Review. Charlottenburg.Tausig. Berlin in Summer. Potsdam and Babelsberg.
The Thier-Garten. A Military Review. Charlottenburg.Tausig. Berlin in Summer. Potsdam and Babelsberg.
BERLIN,June 5, 1870.
We've had the vilest possible weather this spring, but Berlin looks perfectly lovely now. There are a great many gardens attached to the houses here. Everything is in bloom, and is laden with the scent of lilacs and apple blossoms. The streets are planted with lindens and horse chestnut trees, and on the fashionable street bordering on the Thier-Garten, all the houses have little lawns in front, carpeted with the most dazzling green grass, and rising out of it are solid banks of flowers. The shrubs are planted according to their height, close together, and one behind the other, and as they are all in blossom you see these great masses of colour. It is like a gigantic bouquet growing up before you.
The Thier-Garten is perfectly beautiful. It is so charming to come upon this unfenced wood right in the heart of an immense city, with roads and paths cut all through it, and each over-arched with vivid green as far as the eye can reach. When you see the gay equipages driving swiftly through it, and ladies and gentlemen glancing amid the trees on horseback, it is very romantic.
Frau W.'s brother, "Uncle S." as I call him,announced the other day that he was going to take us to Charlottenburg. I had often been told that I must go there and see the "Mausoleum," but as you know I never ask for explanations, this did not convey any particular idea to my mind, and I started out on this excursion in my usual state of blissful ignorance. We took two droschkies for our party, and meandered slowly through the Thier-Garten and along the Charlottenburg road till we arrived at our point of destination. This was announced from afar by an absurd statue poised on one toe on the top of the castle which stands in front of the park containing the Mausoleum.
The first thing we did on alighting was to go into a little beer garden close by to take coffee. It was a perfect afternoon, and the trees and flowers were in all their June glory. We sat down around one of those delightful tables which they always have under the trees in Germany. The coffee was soon served, hot and strong, and Uncle S. took out a cigar to complete his enjoyment. Then we began to stroll. We went through a gate into the grounds surrounding the castle, and after passing through the orangery emerged into a garden, which soon spread into a beautiful park filled with magnificent trees, and with beds of flowers cut in the smooth turf for some distance along the borders of the avenues. We turned to the right (instead of to the left, which would have brought us directly to the Mausoleum) in order to see the flowers first, then the river, and then come round by the pond where the carp are kept.
The Germans certainly understand laying out parks to perfection. They are nottoorigidly kept, and there is an air of nature about everything. This Charlottenburg park is a particularly fascinating one. A dense avenue borders the River Spree, which is broad at this point, and flows gloomily and silently along. The branches of the trees overhang the stream, and also lock together across the walk, forming a leafy avenue before and behind you. We met very few people, scarcely any one, in fact, and the songs of the birds were the only sounds that broke the all-pervading calm. The path finally left the river, and we came out on an open spot, where was a pretty view of the castle through a little cut in the trees. We sat down on a bench and looked about us for awhile, and then went up on the bridge which crosses the pond where the carp are kept. The Germans always feed these carp religiously, and that is a regular part of the excursion. The fish are very old, many of them, and we saw some hoary old fellows rise lazily to the surface and condescend to swallow the morsels of cake that we threw them. They were evidently accustomed to good living, and, like all swells, considered it only their due!
At last we came gradually round towards the Mausoleum. An avenue of hemlocks led to it—"Trauer-Bäume (mourning-trees)," as the Germans call them, and it was an exquisite touch of sentiment to makethisavenue of these dark funereal evergreens. At first you see nothing, for the avenue is long, and you turn into it gay and smiling with the influence of the birds,the trees, and the flowers fresh upon you. But the drooping boughs of the sombre hemlocks soon begin to take effect, and the feeling that comes over one when about half way down it is certainly peculiar. It seems as if one were passing between a row of tall and silentsentinelswatching over the abode of death!
Involuntarily you begin repeating from Edgar Poe's haunting poem:
And so, too, doesyoureye become fixed upon a door at the end ofthisvista, which comes nearer and nearer until finally the Mausoleum takes form round it in the shape of a little Greek temple of polished brown marble. A small flower garden lies in front of it, and it would look inviting enough if one did not know what it was. Two officials stand ready to receive you and conduct you up the steps.
Within these walls a royal pair lie buried—King Friedrich Wilhelm III. and his beautiful wife, Luisa, who so calmly withstood the bullying of Napoleon I. and for whom the Prussians cherish such a chivalrous affection. They are entombed under the front portion of the temple, and two slabs in the pavement mark their resting places. These are lit from above by awindow in the roof filled with blue glass, which throws a subdued and solemn light into the marble chamber. You walk past them to the other end of the temple, which is cruciform in shape, go up one step between pillars, and there, in the little white transept, lie upon two snowy marble couches the sculptured forms of the dead king and queen side by side. Though this apartment is lit by side windows of plain glass high up on the walls, so that it is full of the white daylight, yet the blueish light from the outer room is reflected into it just enough to heighten the delicacy of the marble and to bestow on everything an unearthly aspect.
Queen Luisa was celebrated for her beauty, and the sculptor Rauch, who knew and adored her, has breathed it all into the stone. There she lay, as if asleep, her head easily pressing the pillow, her feet crossed and the outlines of her exquisite form veiled but not concealed by the thin tissue-like drapery. It covered even the little feet, but they seemed to define themselves all the more daintily through the muslin. There is no look of death about her face. She seems more like a bonny "Queen o' the May," reclining with closed eyes upon her flowery bed. The statue has been criticised by some on account of this entire absence of the "beauté de la mort." There is no transfigured or glorified look to it. It is simply that of a beautiful woman in deep repose. But it seems to me that this is a matter of taste, and that the artist had a perfect right to represent her as he most felt she was. The king's statue is clothed in full uniform, and helooks very striking, too, lying there in all the dignity of manhood and of kingship, with the drapery of his military cloak falling about him. His features are delicate and regular, and he is a fit counterpart to his lovely consort. Against the back wall an altar is elevated on some steps, and there is an endless fascination in leaning against it and gazing down on those two august forms stretched out so still before you. On either side of the statues are magnificent tall candelabra of white marble of very rich and beautiful design, and appropriate inscriptions from the German Bible run round the carved and diapered marble walls. Altogether, this garden-park, with its river, its Mausoleum, its avenue of hemlocks, and its glorious statues of the king and queen, is one of the most exquisite and ideal conceptions imaginable. As we returned it was toward sunset. The evening wind was sighing through the tall trees and the waving grasses. An indefinable influence hovered in the air. The supernatural seemed to envelop us, and instinctively we hastened a little as we retraced our steps.
When we emerged from the hemlock avenue Uncle S., I thought, seemed rather relieved, for the contemplation of a future life is not particularly sympathetic to him! After he had asked me if I did not think the Mausoleum "sehr schön(very beautiful)," and had ascertained that Ididthink so, he restored his equilibrium by taking out another cigar, which he lighted, and we leisurely made our way through the garden to our droschkies and drove home. It was quite dark as we were coming through the Thier-Garten, and itseemed like a forest. The stars were shining through the branches overhead, and their soothing light gave the last poetic touch to a lovely day.
———
BERLIN,June 26, 1870.
Last week the Emperor of Austria was here, and they had a parade in his honour. The B.'s took me in their carriage to see it. We drove to a large plain outside the city, and there we saw a mock battle, and all the manœuvers of an army—how they advance and retreat, and how they form and deploy. There was a continual fire of musketry and artillery, and it was very exciting. The enemy was only imaginary, but the attacking party acted just as if there were one, and at last it ended with the taking by storm, which was done by the attacking party rushing on with one continued cheer, or rather yell, from one end of the lines to the other. Then they all broke up, the bands played the Russian Hymn, the King and the Emperor mounted horses and led off a great body of cavalry, and away we all clattered home—carriages and horses all together. It was a great sight, and I enjoyed it very much.
I am going to play before Tausig next Monday, and have been studying very hard. He praised me very much the last time, and said he would soon take me into his regular class; but he is such a whimsical creature that one can't rely on him much. Two of the girls have almost finished their studies with him, and soon are going to give concerts. I am playingScarlatti, which he isawfullyparticular with, and expect to have my head taken off. Two of his scholars are playing the same pieces that I am, and he told one of them that she played "like a nut-cracker." He is very funny sometimes. The other day one of the young men played the Pastoral Sonata to him. Tausig gave a sigh, and said, "Thisshouldbe a garden of roses, but, as you play it, I see only potato plants." Scarlatti is charming music. He writesen suitelike Bach, and is still more quaint and full of humour.
I find Berlin very pleasant, even in summer. Most of the better houses are made with balconies or bow windows, and around each one they will have a little frame full of earth in which is planted mignonette, nasturtiums, geraniums, etc., which trail over the edge, and as you look up from the street it seems as if the houses were festooned with flowers. On many of them woodbine is trained so that every window is set in a deep green frame. All the nice streets have pretty little front yards in which roses are planted, and I never saw anything like them. The branches are cut to one thick, straight stem, which is tied to a stick. They grow very tall, and each one is crowned with a top-knot of superb roses. Every yard looks like a little orchard of roses, and they are of every imaginable shade of colour. Every American who comes here must be struck with the want of beauty in the cities he has left at home; and it is really shameful, that when our people are so much better off, and when such immense numbers of them see this European culture every year, still they do not introduce the samethings into our country. Take Fifth Avenue or Beacon Street, for example, and one won't see anything the whole length of them but a little green grass and an occasional woodbine, whereas here they would be adorned with flowers and all sorts of contrivances to make them beautiful.
On Thursday a little party of three, including myself, was made up to take me out to Potsdam. The Museum, Charlottenburg and Potsdam, are, as Mr. T. B. says, "the three sights of Berlin." I have written you of the first two, and you shall now have the third. Potsdam is sixteen miles from here, and it took about as long to go there by train as it does from Boston to Lynn. It is the royal summer residence. On arriving we bought a large quantity of cherries and then seated ourselves in a carriage to drive through the city to Charlottenhof. Here we got out and walked into a superb park, filled with splendid old trees. The first thing we saw was a beautiful little building in the Pompeian style. This was where Humboldt used to stay with the last king and queen in summer. We went into it and found it the sweetest little place you can imagine. When we opened the door, instead of a hall was a little court with a fountain in it and two low, broad staircases (of marble, I think) sweeping up to the main story. The walls were delicately tinted and frescoed all round the borders with Pompeian devices. The windows were of some sort of thin transparent stained glass, through which the light could penetrate easily, and were also in the Pompeian fashion, with chariots, and horses, andgoddesses, etc. The rooms all opened into each other, but we were obliged to go through them so hastily that I could not look at them much in detail. The walls were covered with lovely pictures, and there were tables inlaid with precious marbles and all sorts of beautiful things. We saw the table and chair where the king always sat, just as he had left it, with his papers and drawings; and the queen's boudoir, with her writing materials and her sewing arrangements. From her window one looked out on a fountain at the right, and on the left was a long arcade covered with vines which led to a garden of roses.
We opened a door and passed through this arcade, and, after looking at the flowers, went on through the park until we came to another house, which was Pompeian, also, or Greek, I couldn't exactly tell which. It was built only to bathe in. The floors were all of stone, and it was as cool and fresh as could be. The bath itself was a large semi-circular place into which one went down by steps. It was large enough to swim in. Those old peoples understood pretty well how to make themselves comfortable, didn't they? There was an ancient bath-tub there, set upon a pedestal, made of some precious stone, which Humboldt had appraised at half a million of thalers. Outside was a lovely little garden, of course, and one of the prettiest things I saw was a quantity of those flowers which only grow in cool, moist places, sheltered under an awning. The awning was circular, and stretched down to the ground on three sides, so that one could only see the flowers by standing just in front. There were anynumber of lady-slippers of every shade, each mottled exquisitely with a different colour, and behind them rose other flowers in regular gradation, and all of brilliant tints. It seemed as if they were all nestling under a great shaker bonnet, and they looked as coy and bewitching as possible. I thought it was a charming idea.
After we left this place we went on until we came to Sans Souci, which was built simply for the benefit of the orange trees—to give them a shelter in winter. At least, this was the pretext. It has a most dazzling effect in the sunshine as you look at it from below. Terrace rises above terrace, and at the top is this airy white building rising lightly into the sky, with galleries and towers, groups of statuary, colonnades, fountains, flowers, and every device one can imagine to make it look as much like a fairy palace as possible. The great burly orange trees stand in rows in the gardens in large green pots. Many of them were in blossom, and cast their heavy perfume on the air. You couldn't turn your eyes any where thatsomethingwas not arranged to arrest and surprise them. Here I saw another way of training roses. Running along on the green turf was a certain low growing variety, the branches of which they pin to the earth with a kind of wooden hair-pin, so that it does not show. They thus lie perfectly flat, and the grass isliterally"carpeted" with them. It was lovely. After we had sufficiently admired the exterior of the palace, we ascended the flights of steps which lead up the terraces, and went into it. Outside were the long gallerieswhere the orange trees stand, and then we passed into the large and noble rooms. First came the one which is devoted to Raphael's pictures. Copies of them all hang upon the walls. After we had gazed at them a long time, we looked at the other apartments, all of which were furnished in some extraordinary way, but I glanced at them too hastily to retain any recollection of them. I only remember that one was all of malachite and gold.
The next thing we did was to go over the palace originally named "Sans Souci," where Frederick the Great lived. We saw the benches—ledges rather—on which his poor pages had to sit in the corridor, and which were purposely made so narrow in order to prevent their falling asleep while on duty. The armchair in which he died is there, and the bust of Charles XII still stands on the floor at the foot of the statue of Venus, where Frederick placed it in derision, because Charles was a woman-hater. I think it was a very small piece of malice on Frederick's part, and in fact he had such a bad heart that none of his relics interested me in the least.
After we had seen everything we went to a little restaurant at the foot of Sans Souci, where we drank beer and coffee and ate cake seated round a little table under the trees. This fashion that the Germans have of eating out of doors in summer is perfectly delightful, I think. I laid in a fresh stock of cherries, though I had already eaten an immense quantity, but they looked so nice, piled in little pyramids upon a vine leaf, like the cannon balls at the Cambridge arsenal,that there was no resisting them. I've thought of you ever since the cherry season began. They are so extremely cheap here, that two groschens (about six cents) will buy as many as two persons can eat at one time. We drove from Sans Souci to Fingstenberg, which is only a place to see a view of the country. The landscape was perfectly flat, but it had the charm of quiet cultivation. It was green with beautiful trees, and the river wound along dotted with white sails, and there were wind-mills turning in every direction. After we left Fingstenberg we drove down to an inn where we ordered dinner, and this also was served out of doors. It was about six o'clock in the evening, and we were all very hungry, so we enjoyed this part of the programme very much.
When we had finished our cutlet and green peas we got into the carriage again, and drove to Babelsberg. This is a little retreat which belongs to the queen, and where the royal family sometimes passes a few weeks in summer. We walked through a noble park where the ground swelled upward on our left and sloped downward on our right. After following the windings of the road for a long distance, we at last arrived at the little castle, perched upon a hill-side and embowered in trees. A smart looking maid showed us through it, and I was more impressed here than by all I had previously seen. As Balzac says, "People who talk about a house 'being like a palace' should see one first,"—although, as Herr J. observed, "Babelsberg is not a palace, but is more like the home of an English nobleman." It is just a quiet little retreat,but the beauty with which everything is arranged is quite indescribable. Every window is planned so that you cannot look out without having something exquisite before you. Here it will be a little mosaic of rare flowers; there a fountain, etc. And then the bronzes, the pictures, the rare old pieces of glass and china, the thousand curious and beautiful objects of art that one must see over and over again to be able really to take in. In these castles, too, there are no end of little nooks and crannies where two or three persons, only, can sit and talk. Dainty little recesses made for enjoyment.
I walked into the grand salon and imagined an elegant assemblage of people in it, with all the means of entertainment at hand. It was a circular room, and large enough to dance the German in very comfortably. We went up stairs and through the different apartments. I went into the Princess Royal's room, and "surveyed my queenly form" in the superb mirror, and arranged my veil by her toilette glass—which I envied her, I assure you, for it shone like silver. We saw the cane of Frederick the Great, with a lion couchant on it—the one which he shook on some occasion and frightened somebody—(now you know, don't you?) Last of all we went up into the tower, and after climbing the dizzy staircase, we stood on the balconies for a long time, and looked over the splendid park about the country. Altogether, I was enchanted with Babelsberg, and nothing will suit me now but to have it for the retreat of my old age. I think I shall apply to be a servant there, for it must be a delightfulsituation. The royal family is only a short time there, and the servants have this exquisite habitation, which is always kept in perfect order, all the rest of the year, and have nothing to do but show visitors over it and take in half thalers!
After we left Babelsberg we took a carriage and drove to the station, where we got into the cars about half-past nine, and went back to Berlin. Herr J. had made himself extremely agreeable, and had exerted himself the whole day on our behalf. We had a most perfect time of its kind, and I enjoyed every minute of it, but came back in the worst of spirits, as I generally do. It seems so hard that one can never get togetherallthe elements of perfect happiness! Here in Babelsberg everything was so lovely that one could scarcely believe that there had ever been a "Fall." It seemed as if peoplemustbe happy there, and yet I'm told that the queen is very unhappy. I suppose because she has such a faithless old husband.
The War. German Meals. Women and Men. Tausig'sTeaching. Tausig Abandons his Conservatory.Dresden. Kullak.
The War. German Meals. Women and Men. Tausig'sTeaching. Tausig Abandons his Conservatory.Dresden. Kullak.
BERLIN,July 23, 1870.
Just now the grand topic of course is this dreadful war that has just been declared between Prussia and France, and everybody is in the wildest state of excitement over it. It broke out so very suddenly that it is only just one week since it has been decided upon, and ever since, the drafting has been going on, and the streets are filled with regiments and with droves of horses, cannon, and all the implements of war. The trains are going out all the time packed with soldiers, and the railroad stations are the constant scene of weeping women of all classes, come to see the last of their dear ones. There is such a storm of indignation against Napoleon that one hears nothing but curses against him. I am entirely on the German side, and am anxious to see the result, for between two such great nations, and with so much at stake, it will be a tremendous struggle.
We are promised a holiday soon, when I shall have a let-up from practicing, and only practice three hours a day, instead of five or six. Don't think I am making extraordinary progress because I practice so much. I find that the strengthening and equalizing of the fingersis a terribly slow process, and that it takes much more time to make a step forward than I expected. You may know how a thingoughtto be played, but it is another matter to get your hands into such a training that they obey your will. Sometimes I am very much encouraged, and feel as if I should be an artist "immediately, if not sooner," and at others I fall into the blackest despair. I don't know but that S. J. was in the right of it, not to attempt anything, for it is an awful pull when youdoonce begin to study!
I wish S. could come here and spend a winter. I am sure it would be capital for her health. The Germans have a great idea that you must "stärken(strengthen)" yourself. So they eat every few hours. When you first arrive you feel stuffed to bursting all the time, for you naturally eat heartily at every meal, because, as we only eat three times a day in America, we are accustomed to take a good deal at once. Here they have five meals a day, and one has to learn how to take a little at a time. But it is a pretty good idea, for you are continually repairing yourself, and you never have such a strain on your system as to get hungry! The German women are plump roly-polies, as a general rule, and it is probably in consequence of this continual "strengthening." One has full opportunity to observe their condition, for they generally have their dress "aus-geschnitten(square neck)," as they call it, in order to save collars, and you will see them strolling along the streets with their dresses out open in front. They are not handsome—irregular features and muddy complexions being the rule. Theway they neglect their teeth is the worst. They are always complimenting Americans on what they call our "fine Grecian noses," and, in fact, since they have said so much about it, I have noticed that nearly all Americanshavestraight and reasonably proportioned noses.—One sees a great many handsomemenon the street, however—many more than we do at home. Perhaps it is because the Prussian uniform sets them off so, and then their blonde beards and moustaches give them adistinguéair.
From what you tell me of the shock of our respected friend—— over B.'s travelling from the West under Mr. S.'s escort, I think the "conventionalities" are taking too strong a hold in America, and it will not be many years before they are as strict there as they are here, where young people of different sexes can never see anything of each other. I regard it as a shocking system, as the Germans manage it. Young ladies and gentlemen only see each other in parties, and a young man can never call on a girl, but must always see her in the presence of the whole family. I only wonder how marriages are managed at all, for the sexes seem to live quite isolated from each other. The consequence is, the girls get a lot of rubbish in their heads, and as for the men, I know not what they think, for I have not seen any to speak of since I have been here. You can imagine that with my co-education training and ideas, I have given Fräulein W.'s moral system a succession of shocks. She has been fenced up, so to speak, her whole life, and, consequently, was dumbfounded at the bold stand I take. I cannot resistgiving her a sensation once in a while, so I come out with some strong expression. Do you know, since I've seen so much of the world I've come to the conclusion that the New England principle of teaching daughters to be independent and to look out for themselves from the first, is an excellent one. I've seen the evil of this German system of never allowing children to think for themselves. Itdoesmake them so mawkish. A girl here nearly thirty years old will not know where to buy the simplest thing, or do without her mother any more than a baby. The best plan is the old-fashioned American one, viz.: Give your children a "stern sense of duty," and then throw them on their own resources.
———
BERLIN,August 6, 1870.
Until yesterday I have had no holiday, for I got into Tausig's class finally, so I had to practice very hard. He was as amiable to me as he ever can be to anybody, but he is the most trying and exasperating master you can possibly imagine. It is his principle to rough you and snub you as much as he can, even when there is no occasion for it, and you can think yourself fortunate if he does not hold you up to the ridicule of the whole class. I was put into the class with Fräulein Timanoff, who is so far advanced that Tausig told her he would not give her lessons much longer, for that she knew enough to graduate. You can imagine what an ordeal my first lesson was to me. I brought him a long and difficult Scherzo, by Chopin, that I had practicedcarefully for a month, and knew well. Fancy how easy it was for me to play, when he stood over me and kept calling out all through it in German, "Terrible! Shocking! Dreadful! O Gott! O Gott!" I was really playing it well, too, and I kept on in spite of him, but my nerves were all rasped and excited to the highest point, and when I got through and he gave me my music, and said, "Not at all bad" (very complimentary for him), I rushed out of the room and burst out crying. He followed me immediately, and coolly said, "What are you crying for, child? Your playing was not at all bad." I told him that it was "impossible for me to help it when he talked in such a way," but he did not seem to be aware that he had said anything.
And now to show how we all have our troubles, and that blow falls upon blow—I will tell you that at our last lesson Tausig informed us that he wasnot going to give another lesson to anybody, and that the conservatory would be shut up on the first of October!! This is the mostawfuldisappointment to me, for just as I have worked up to the point where I am prepared to profit by his lessons, he goes away! I suppose that he has left Berlin by this time, or that he will very soon, but he wouldn't tell when or where he was going, and only said that he was going off, and did not know when he was coming back, or what would become of him. Of course hedoesknow, but he does not want to be plagued with applications from scholars for private lessons. I heard that he was only going to retain two of his scholars, and that one was a princess and the other a countess.
He is a perfect rock. I went to his house to see if I could persuade him to give me private lessons. He came into the room and accosted me in his sharpest manner, with "Nun, was ist's?(Well, what is it?)" I soon found that no impression was to be made on him. He only said that when he happened to be in Berlin, if I would come and play to him, he would give me his judgment. But I never should venture to do this, for as likely as not he would be in a bad humour, and send me off—he is such a difficult subject to come at. I told him I thought it was very hard after I had come all this way, and had been at so much expense only to have lessons from him, that I should have to go back without them. He said he was very sorry, but that most of his scholars came from long distances, and that he could not show any special favor to me. He asked me why I insisted upon having lessons from him, and said that Kullak or Bendel both teach as well as he does. The fact is, he is a capricious genius, entirely spoiled and unregulated, and the conservatory is a mere plaything to him. He amused himself with it for a while, and now he is tired of it, and doesn't like to be bound down to it, and so he throws it up. Money is no consideration to him.
It really seems almost as difficult to get agreatteacher in Europe as in America. Tausig is the only celebrity who teaches, and now he has given up. He rather advised my taking lessons of Bendel, who is a resident artist here, and a pupil of Liszt's.
I suffered terribly over Tausig's going off. I heardof it first two weeks ago, and couldn't sleep or anything. The only consolation I bare is that I should have been "worn to the bone," as H. C. says, if I had kept on with him, for all his pupils except little Timanoff, who is at the age of plump fifteen, look as thin as rails. However—"the bitterness of death is past!" When one is stopped off in one direction, there is nothing for it but to turn in another. But it seems as if the more one tried to accomplish a thing, the thicker hindrances and difficulties spring up about one, like the dragon's teeth. I suppose I shall end by going to Kullak. He used to be court pianist here before Tausig and has had immense experience as a teacher. Indeed, Professor J. K. Paine recommended me to go to him in the first place, you remember. If I do, I hope I shall have a better fate than poor young N., whom, also, Professor Paine recommended to go to Kullak. He could not stand—or elseunderstand the snubbing and brow-beating they gave him in Kullak's conservatory, and from being deeply melancholy over it, he got desperate, and actually committed suicide!
Germans cannot understand blueness. They are never blue themselves, and they expect you always to preserve your equanimity, and torment you to death to know "what is the matter?" when there is nothing the matter, except that you are in a state of disgust with everything. Moods are utterly incomprehensible to them. They feel just the same every day in the year.
BERLIN,August 21, 1870.
I suppose that C. has described to you in full our Dresden visit, and what a lovely time we had. It was really a poetic five days, as everything was new to both of us. We were a good deal surprised at many things in Dresden. In the first place, the beauty of the city struck us very forcibly, and we both remarked how singular it was that of all the people we know who have been there no one should have spoken of it. The Brühl'sche Terrasse is the most lovely promenade imaginable. It runs along the bank of the Elbe River, which is here quite broad and handsome, and I always felt myself under a species of enchantment as soon as we had ascended the broad flight of steps that lead to it. We always took tea in the open air, and listened to a band of music playing. The Germans just live in the open air in summer, and it is perfectly fascinating. They have these gardens everywhere, filled with trees, under which are little tables and chairs and footstools; and there you can sit and have dinner or tea served up to you. At night they are all lighted up with gas.
It seemed like fairy land, as we sat there in Dresden. The evenings were soft and balmy, the very perfection of summer weather. The terrace is quite high above the river, and you look up and down it for a long distance. The city lies to the left, below you, and the towers rise so prettily—precisely as in a picture. This air of the culture of centuries lies over everything, and the soft and lazy atmosphere lulls the soul to rest.We used to walk until we came to the Belvidere, which is a large restaurant with a gallery up-stairs running all round it. There was a band of music, and here we sat and took our tea, and spent two or three hours, always. The moonlight, the river flowing along and spanned with beautiful bridges, the thousands of lamps reflected in it and trembling across the water and under the arches, the infinity of little steamers and wherries sailing to and fro and brilliantly lighted up, the music, and the throngs of people passing slowly by, put one into a delicious and bewildered sort of state, and one feels as if this world were heaven!
The day after we arrived we went, of course, to the picture gallery, and here I was entirely taken by surprise. Nothing one reads or hears gives one the least idea of the magnificence of the pictures there. I never knew what a picture was before. The softness and richness of the colouring, and their exquisite beauty, must be seen to be understood. The Sistine Madonna fills one with rapture. It is perfectly glorious, and one can't imagine how the mind of man could have conceived it. One sees what a flight it was after looking at all the other Madonnas in the Gallery, many of which are wonderful. But this one soars above them all. Most of the Madonnas look so stiff, or so old, or so matronly, or so expressionless, or, at best, as in Corregio's Adoration of the Shepherds (a magnificent picture), the rapture of the mother only is expressed in the face. In the Sistine Madonna the virgin looks so young and innocent—so virgin-like—not like a middle-aged married woman. The large,wide-open blue eyes have a dewy look in them, as if they had wept many tears, and yet such an innocence that it makes you think of a baby whom you have comforted after a violent fit of crying. The majesty of the attitude, and the perfect repose of the face, upon which is a look ofwaiting, of ineffable expectancy, are very striking. Mr. T. B. says it looked to him as though she had been overwhelmed at the tremendous dignity that had been put upon her, and was yet lost in the awe of it—which I think an exquisite idea. St. Sixtus, who is kneeling on the right of the virgin, has an expression of anxious solicitude on his features. He is evidently interceding with her for the congregation toward whom his right hand is outstretched, for this picture was intended to be placed over an altar. The only fault to be found with the picture, I think, is in the face of Santa Barbara, who kneels on the left. She looks sweetly down upon the sinners below, but with a slight self-consciousness. The two cherubs underneath are exquisite. Their little round faces wear an exalted look, as if their eyes fully took in the august pair to whom they are upturned. The background of the picture—all of the faces of angels cloudily painted—gives the finishing touch to this astounding creation. But you must see it to realize it.
Since my return I have finally decided to take private lessons of Kullak. Kullak is a very celebrated teacher, and plays splendidly himself, I am told, though he doesn't give concerts any more. He used to be court pianist here, and has had so much experience in teachingthat I hope a good deal from him, though I don't believe he will equal our little Tausig, capricious and ill-regulated though he is. Never shall I forget theironway he used to stand over those girls, his hand clenched, determined tomakethem do it! No wonder they played so! They didn't dare not to. He told one of the class that "it wasinme, and he could knock it out of me if he had chosen to keep on with me." And I know he could—and that is what distracts me!
But just think what a way to behave—to leave his conservatory so, at a day's notice, in holiday time, without even informing his teachers! He left everything to be attended to by Beringer. Many of the scholars are very poor, and have made a great effort to get here in order to learn his method. Off he went like a shot, because he suddenly got disgusted with teaching, and he hasn't told a soul where he was going, or how long he intended to remain away. He wrote to Bechstein, the great piano-maker here, "I am going away—away—away." He wouldn't condescend to say more. Mr. Beringer has been to his house to see him on business connected with the conservatory, but he was flown, and his housekeeper told Beringer that both letters and telegrams had come for Tausig, and she did not know where to send them. Did you ever hear of such a capricious creature? I was so provoked at him that after the first week I ceased to grieve over his departure. One cannot rely on these great geniuses, but I hope that, as Kullak makes a business of teaching, and not of playing, more is to be gained from him. At any rate, he will not be off on these long absences.
I am just studying my first concerto. It is Beethoven's C minor, and it is extremely beautiful. Mr. Beringer tells me that two years is too short a time to make an artist in; and indeed one does not know how extremely difficult it is until one tries it. He plays splendidly himself, and is to make hisdébutin the Gewandhaus in Leipsic, this October. The best orchestra in Germany is there. Tausig has turned out five artists from his conservatory this summer. Time will show if any of them become first class.
Aunt H. was right in thinking that this would be one of the most dreadful wars that ever was, though she needn't be anxious on my account. The Prussians are winning everything, and are pushing on for Paris as hard as they can go. They have just taken Chalons. The battles have beenterrible, and immense numbers have been killed and wounded on both sides. They have really fought to the death. The spirit of the two peoples seems to me entirely different. The French seem only to be possessed by a mad thirst for glory, and manifest a blood-thirstiness which is perfectly appalling. One reads the most revolting stories in the papers about their creeping around the battle-field after the battle is over, and killing and robbing the wounded Prussians, cutting out their tongues and putting out their eyes. The Prussians are so on the alert now, however, that I hope few such things can take place. One Prussian writes that he was lying wounded upon the field of battle, and another man was not far off in the same helpless condition, when an old Frenchman came up and clove this other man's head with a hatchet. The firstscreamed loudly for help, when a party of Prussians rushed up and rescued him, and overtook the old man, and shot him. We hear every day of some dreadful thing. O.'s cousin, who is just my age, and is three years married, has lost her husband, her favorite brother is fatally wounded with three balls and lies in the hospital, and her second brother has a shot in each leg and they don't know whether he will ever be able to walk again. He is a young fellow nineteen years old.
In the first days after the war was declared, I felt as if no punishment could be too hot for Napoleon. The people just gave up everything, and stood in the streets all day long on each side of the railroad track. The trains passed every fifteen minutes, packed with the brave fellows who were going off to lose their lives on a mere pretext. Then there would be one continual cheering all along as they passed, and all the women would cry, and the men would execrate Napoleon. The Prussians don't seem to have any feelings of revenge, but regard the French as a set of lunatics whom they are going to bring to reason. The hatred of Napoleon is intense. They regard him as the leader of a people whom he has willfully blinded, and are determined to make an end of him, if possible. The Prussian army is such a splendid one that it is difficult to imagine that it can be overcome. You see everybody under a certain age is liable to be drafted, and no one is allowed to buy a substitute. So everybody is interested. Bismarck has two sons who are common soldiers, and all the ministers together have twelve sons in the war. Then the King and the Crown Prince being with the army, gives a greatenthusiasm. The Crown Prince has distinguished himself, and seems to have great military ability. The King was very angry with Prince Friedrich Carl, because in the last battle he exposed one regiment so that it was completely mowed down. Only two or three men escaped. But it makes one groan for the poor Frenchmen when one sees these terrible great cannon passing by. The largest-sized ones were ordered for the storming of Metz, and each one requires twenty-four horses to draw it!
Moving. German Houses and Dinners. The War. The Captureof Napoleon. Kullak's and Tausig's Teaching.Joachim. Wagner. Tausig's Playing.German Etiquette.
Moving. German Houses and Dinners. The War. The Captureof Napoleon. Kullak's and Tausig's Teaching.Joachim. Wagner. Tausig's Playing.German Etiquette.
BERLIN,September29, 1870.
I must request you in future to direct your letters to No. 30 Königgrätzer Strasse, as we move in three days. The people who live on the floor under us wouldn't bear my practicing for five or six hours daily, and so Frau W. has looked up another lodging. The German houses are about as uncomfortable as can be imagined. Only the newest ones have gas and water-works, or even the ordinary conveniences thateveryhouse has with us. No carpets on the floors, stiff, straight-backed chairs, precious little fire in cold weather, etc. The rooms have no closets, and one always has to have a great clumsy wardrobe with wooden pegs in it, instead of hooks, so that when you go to take down one dress all the others tumble down, too. In short, the Germans are fifty years behind us. Of course the rich people have superb houses, but I speak now of people in ordinary circumstances. I often look back upon the solid comfort of the Cambridge houses. I think people understand there pretty well how to live. I shall relish a good dinner when I come home, for this is the land where what we call "familydinners" are unknown. They havepartsof meals five times a day, but never a complete one. The meat is dreadful, and I never can tell what kind of an animal it grows on. They give me two boiled eggs for supper, so I manage to live, but O!hasbeefsteak vanished into the land of dreams? andisturkey but the figment of my disordered imagination? They have delicious bread and butter, but "man cannot live by bread alone." Mr. F. says that whereheboards they give him "pear soup, and cherry soup, and plum soup!"
Everything here is saddened by this fearful war. You have no idea how frightful it is. The men on both sides are just being slaughtered by thousands. Haven't the Prussians made a magnificent campaign I declare, I think it is marvellous what they have done. The French haven't had the smallest success, and have had to give up one tremendous stronghold after another. It is expected that Metz will surrender in about eight days. It is a terrific place, and was believed to be impregnable. Over and over again the poor French have tried to cut through the Prussian army, and just so often they have been beaten back into the city. Finally they will have to give over. Their generals must be shameful, for they have fought to the death, but they can't make any headway against these formidable Prussians. The German papers say that the French fire too high, for one thing. They are not such practiced marksmen as the Germans, and their balls fly over the enemy's heads. The French are a savage people, however, and cruelty runs in theirveins. One reads the most awful things, but for the credit of human nature it is to be hoped that the worst of them are not true.
I believe I have not written to you since the capture of the Emperor Napoleon, which of course you heard of as soon as it happened. The Germans, as you may imagine, were completely carried away with the glorious news, and could scarcely believe in their own good fortune. On the 3d of September, when I came out to breakfast, Frau W. called out to me from behind the newspaper, with a face all ablaze with triumph and excitement, "Der Kaiser Napoleon ist gefangen. (The Emperor Napoleon is taken.)" "No!" said I, for it did not seem possible that anything so great and unexpectedcouldhave happened. "It istrue" said she; "look at this paper, which I just sent out for." The instant I saw that Frau W. had been guilty of the unwonted extravagance of purchasing the morning paper, it became clear to me that Napoleonmusthave been taken prisoner. Generally we do not get the paper till it is a day old, when Frau W. brings it carefully home from her brother's in her capacious bag. He subscribes for it, and after his family have perused it, she borrows it for our benefit—an economical arrangement upon which she frequently congratulates herself.
I fancy there was little work done or business transactedthatday in Berlin! After I had finished my coffee, I went and stood by the window and watched the people pour through the streets. Everybody streamed up Unter den Linden past the palace, theirfaces full of joy. The street boys took an active part in the general jollification, and were as ubiquitous as boys always are when anything extraordinary is going on. They conceived the brilliant idea of climbing up on the equestrian statue of Frederick the Great, which is just opposite the palace windows. The Crown Princess, who was looking out, immediately had it announced to them that he who got to the top first should receive a silver cup and some pieces of money. That was all the boys needed. Away they went, struggling and tumbling over each other like a swarm of bees. At last one little urchin secured the coveted position, and was afterward called up to the palace window to receive the prize.—If the Crown Princess, by the way, were more given to such little acts of generosity, she would be more popular by far, for the Germans sniff at her for being too economical. They are the closest possible economisers themselves, but they despise the trait in foreigners!
At night there was a grand illumination in honour of the victory, and of course we all went to see it. Such a time as we had! The whole city was blazing with light, and all the large firms had put up something brilliant and striking before their places of business. Stars, eagles, crosses (after the celebrated "iron cross" of Prussia), beside countless tapers, were burning away in every direction, and all the carriages and droschkies in Berlin were slowly crawling along the streets, much impeded by the dense throng of pedestrians crowding through. All the private houses were lit up with tapers, and thousands of flags were flying. Over every public building and railroadstation, and on all the public squares were transparencies in which the substantial form ofGermaniaflourished extensively, leaning upon her shield, and gazing sentimentally into vacancy. But I always enjoy "Germania." It seems a sort of recognition of the feminine element.
We were in a droschkie, like other people, taking the prescribed tour round by the Rath-Haus (City-Hall), and were frequently brought to a stand-still by the crush. At such times we were the target for all the small boys standing in our neighbourhood. The "Berlinger Junge" is almost as famous for his talent for repartee as the Paris "Gamin." "Do be careful!" said one to me; "you will certainly tumble out, your carriage is going so fast." This was intended as a double sarcasm, for in the first place we were not in a carriage at all, but in a second-class droschkie, and in the second place we had been standing stock still for half an hour, and there was no prospect of getting started for half an hour more. Many more such little speeches were addressed to us which we pretended not to hear, though we were secretly much amused.—It was a strange sort of feeling to be put in the streets at night with this glare of light, these crowds of people, and this suppressed excitement in the air. I thought it gave some idea of the Day of Judgment.
The women are tremendously patriotic and self-sacrificing, and they seem to be throwing themselves heart and soul into the war. With the catholicity of the female sex, however, they could not help taking a peep at theFrenchprisoners when they came on, but wentto the station to see them arrive, and bestowed many little hospitalities upon them in the way of cigars, luncheon, etc., at all of which the papers were patriotically indignant, and indulged in many sarcasms on the "warm and sympathetic" reception given by the German women to their enemies. Quite as many women go into nursing as was the case in our own war. I know one young lady who spends her whole time in the hospitals among the wounded soldiers, who are all the time being sent on in ambulances. Her name is Fräulein Hezekiel, and she has received a decoration from the Government.
Just after I wrote you last I went to Kullak, as I told you I should, and engaged him to give me one private lesson a week. He looks about fifty, and is charming. I am enchanted with him. He plays magnificently, and is a splendid teacher, but he gives me immensely much to do, and I feel as if a mountain of music were all the time pressing on my head. He is so occupied that I have to take my lesson from seven to eight in the evening.
Tausig's conservatory closes on the first of October, and I feel very sorry, for my three grand friends, Mr. Trenkel, Mr. Weber and Mr. Beringer, are all going away, and I shall be awfully lonely without them. Weber is very handsome, and has the most splendid forehead I think I ever saw. He composes like an angel, besides being remarkably clever in every way. He will be famous some day, I know, and he belongs to the Music of the Future. Beringer is poetic, passionate and vivid. He has golden hair and golden eyes, I may say, for they are of a peculiar light hazel,almost yellow, but with a warmth and sunniness, and often a tenderness of expression that is extremely fascinating. Weber cannot speak English, and as he is from Switzerland, he speaks an entirely different dialect from the Berlinese, so that it took me some time to understand him. He is a perfect child of nature, and has a great deal of humour. He and Beringer are devoted friends, and are about my age. Trenkel is older. He has the blackest hair and eyes, and a dark Italian skin. He is intellectual and highly cultured, and at the same time such a very peculiar character that he interested me greatly. Most of his life has been spent in America: first in Boston, where he seems to know everybody, and afterwards in San Francisco, whither he is about to return. He has been studying with Tausig for two years, and is a heavenly musician, though he hasn't Beringer's great technique and passion. His conception is more of the Chopin order, extremely finely shaded and "filed out," as the Germans have it.
It was so pleasant to have these three musical friends, who all play so much better than I, as they often met and made lovely music in my little room. Weber and Beringer took tea with us only yesterday evening. Weber was in one of his good moods, and played to Beringer and me his most beautiful compositions for ever so long. We settled ourselves comfortably, one in two chairs, the other on the sofa, and enjoyed it. The Andante out of a great sonata he is composing, is perfectly lovely. It is entirely original, and different from any music I have ever heard. Then heplayed the second movement of his symphony, and it is the most exquisitemorceauyou can imagine. I asked him to compose a little piece for me, and so yesterday morning he sat down and wrote seven mazurkas, one after the other. Whether he actually gives me one is another matter, for, like all geniuses, he is not very prodigal with his gifts, and is not very easy to come at. But I would like to have even four bars written by him, for he is so individual that it would be worth keeping.
Weber looks perfectly charming when he plays. He never glances at the keys, but his large blue eyes gaze dreamily into vacancy, and his noble brow stands out white and lofty. His conception is extremely musical, but as he only practices when he feels like it (as he does everything else), he doesn't come up to the other two. Tausig burst out laughing at him at his last lesson. That individual, by the way, came back as suddenly as he went off, but announced that he would give no more lessons except to these favoured three. All the rest of us had to go begging. It didn't make so much difference to me, as I had already gone to Kullak, who is now the first teacher in Germany, as all the greatest virtuosi have given up teaching.
Kullak himself is a truly splendid artist, which I had not expected. He used to have great fame here as a pianist, but I supposed that as he had given up his concert playing he did not keep it up. I found, however, that I was mistaken. His playing does not suffer in comparison with Tausig's even, whom I have so often heard. Why in the world he has not continuedplaying in public I can't imagine, but I am told that he was too nervous. Like all artists, he is fascinating, and full of his whims and caprices. He knows everything in the way of music, and when I take my lessons he has two grand pianos side by side, and he sits at one and I at the other. He knows by heart everything that he teaches, and he plays sometimes with me, sometimes before me, and shows me all sorts of ways of playing passages. I am getting no end of ideas from him. I have enjoyed playing my Beethoven Concerto so much, for he has played all the orchestral parts. Just think how exciting to have a great artist like that play second piano with you! I am going to learn one by Chopin next.
Kullak is not nearly so terrible a teacher as Tausig. He has the greatest patience and gentleness, and helps you on; but Tausig keeps rating you and telling you, what you feel only too deeply, that your playingis"awful." When Tausig used to sit down in his impatient way and play a few bars, and then tell me to do it just so, I used always to feel as if some one wished me to copy a streak of forked lightning with the end of a wetted match. At the last lesson Tausig gave me, however, he entirely changed his tone, and was extremely sweet to me. I think he regretted having made me cry at the previous lesson, for just as I sat down to play, he turned to the class and made some little joke about these "empfindliche Amerikanerinnen(sensitive Americans)." Then he came and stood by me, and nothing could have been gentler than his manner. After I had finished, he sat down and playedthe whole piece for me, a thing he rarely does, introducing a magnificent trill in double thirds, and ending up with some peculiar turn in which he allowed his virtuosity to peep out at me for a moment. Only for a moment though, for he is much too proud and has too much contempt forSpectakelto "show off," so he suppressed himself immediately. It was as if his fingers broke into the trill in spite of him, and he had to pull them up with a severe check. Strange, inscrutable being that he is!
———
BERLIN,October 13, 1870.
My room in our new lodging is a charming one. Quite large, and a front one, and there is novis-á-vis. We look right over across the street into Prince Albrecht's Garden. It is very uncommon to have such a nice outlook, particularly in Berlin. But it is so long since I have lived among trees that at first it affected my spirits dreadfully. As I sit by my window and hear the autumn wind rushing through them, and see all the leaves quivering and shaking, and think that they have only a few short weeks more to sway in the breeze, it makes me wretched. I suppose that we shall now have two months of dismal weather.
I wish you were here to counsel me over my dresses. I have just bought two—one for a street dress, and the other for demi-evening toilette, but heaven only knows when they will be done, or how they will fit! You ought to see the biases of the dresses here! They all go zig-zag. The Berlin dressmakers are abominable.Mrs.——, of the Legation, told me that when she first came here she cried over every new dress she had made, and I could not sufficiently rejoice last winter that I had got all my things before I sailed. M. E., too, who gets all her best things from Paris, told M. she was never so happy as when her mother sent her over an "American dress."—"They aresocomfortable andsosatisfactory," said she.
Yesterday I took my fourth lesson of Kullak. He plays much more to me than Tausig did, and I am surprised to see how much I have got on in four weeks. Tausig didn't deign to do more than play occasional passages, and we had only one piano in the room where he taught. But at Kullak's there are two grand pianos side by side. He sits at one and I at the other, and as he knows everything by heart which he teaches, as I told you, he keeps playing with me or before me, so that I catch it a great deal better. Sometimes he will repeat a passage over and over, and I after him, like a parrot, until I get itexactlyright. He has this excessively finished and elegant fantasia style of playing, like Thalberg or De Meyer. He has great fame as a teacher, and is perhaps more celebrated in this respect than Tausig, but I was with Tausig too short a time to judge personally which teaches the best.
This war is perfectly awful. The men are simply being slaughtered like cattle. New regiments are all the time being sent on. The Prussians have taken over two hundred thousand prisoners, to say nothing of the killed and wounded. But they lose fearful numbers themselves also. It is expected in a few daysthat Metz will surrender. It is a tremendous stronghold, and contains an army of fifty thousand men. But isn't it extraordinary how disastrous the war has been to the French? They had an immense army of several hundred thousand men. And then they had all the advantages of position. The Prussians have had to fight their way through all these strong defences one after another. They will soon bombard Paris. As Herr S. says, this war is a disgrace to the governments. He says that they ought to have united against it (America included), and to have said that on such an unjust pretext they would not permit it. I read the other day a most touching letter that was found on the dead body of a common soldier from his old peasant father. He said, "What have we poor people done that thelieber Gottvisits us with such fearful judgments? When I got thy letter, my dear son, saying that thou art safe come out of the last battle with thy brother, I fell on my knees and thanked God for His goodness." Then he goes on to describe the joy of his mother and sister and sweetheart, and how he read his letter to all the neighbours, "who rejoiced much at thy safety," and his hope and confidence that his son would return alive to his old father. But in a few days his son fell in another battle, desperately wounded. He was carried to the house of a lady who did all she could for him, but he died, and she sent this letter to the paper. Do you get many of the anecdotes in the American papers? Such as that of the three hundred and two horses which, at the usual signal after the battle that called the regimentstogether, came back riderless? I think that was very touching in the poor things.[C]Or have you heard of the Frenchman who, when informed that the Emperor was taken prisoner, coolly replied: "Moi aussi!" But these are already old stories, and you have doubtless heard them. I think one of the worst incidents of the war is that bomb that fell into a girls' school at Strasbourg. When one thinks of innocent young girls having their eyes torn out, and being killed and wounded, it seems too terrible.—I always pity the poor horses so much. At the surrender of Sedan, the French forgot to detach them from the cannon, and to give them food and drink. Finally, frantic with thirst, they broke themselves loose and rushed wildly through the streets. It was said that any body could have a horse for the trouble of catching him.
———
BERLIN,November 25, 1870.
I went last week to hear Joachim, who lives here, and is giving his annual series of quartette soirees. Oh! he is a wonderful genius, and the sublimest artist I have yet heard. I am amazed afresh every time I hear him. He draws the most extraordinarytonefrom his violin, and such a powerful one that it seems sometimes as if several were playing. Then his expressionis so marvellous that he holds complete sway over his audience from the moment he begins till he ceases. He possesses magnetic power to the highest degree.
On Saturday night I went to a superb concert given for the benefit of the wounded. The royal orchestra played, and as it was in the Sing-Akademie, where the acoustic is very remarkable, the orchestral performance seemed phenomenal. Generally, this orchestra plays in the opera house, which is so much larger that the effect is not so great. The last thing they played was the "Ritt der Walküren," by Wagner. It was the first time it was given in Berlin, and it is a wonderful composition. It represents the ride of the Walküre-maidens into Valhalla, and when you hear it it seems as if you could really see the spectral horses with their ghostly riders. It produces the most unearthly effect at the end, and one feels as if one had suddenly stepped into Pandemonium. I was perfectly enchanted with it, and everybody was excited. The "bravos" resounded all over the house. Tausig played Chopin's E minor concerto in his own glorious style. He did his very best, and when he got through not only the whole orchestra was applauding him, but even the conductor was rapping his desk with his bâton like mad. I thought to myself it was a proud position where a man could excite enthusiasm in the hearts of these old and tried musicians. As a specimen of his virtuosity, what do you say to the little feat of playing the running passage at the end, two pages long, andwhich was written for both hands in unison, in octaves instead of single notes?—Gigantic! [Later Kullak gave this great concerto to my sister to study, and as she was struggling with its difficulties he said: "Ah yes, Fräulein, when I think of the time and labour I spent over that concerto in my youth, I could weeptears of blood!"]—ED.
Yesterday evening I went to a party at the house of a relative of the M.'s. Madame de Stael was right in saying that etiquette is terribly severe in Germany. It is downright law, and everybody is obliged to submit to it. What other people in the world, for example, would insist on your coming at eight and remaining until nearly four in the morning, when the party consists of a dozen or twenty people, almost all of them married and middle-aged, or elderly? I nearly expire of fatigue and ennui, but they would all take it so ill if I didn't go, that there is no escape. Last night I came home with such a dreadful nervous headache from sheer exhaustion, that I could scarcely see. You know in a dancing party the excitement keeps one up, and one doesn't feel the fatigue until afterward. But to sit three mortal hours before supper, and keep up a conversation with a lot of people much older than yourself in whom you have not the slightest interest, and in a foreign language, when you wouldn't be brilliant in your own, and then another long three hours at the supper table, and thenstillan hour or so afterwards, to an American mind is terrible! I always groan in spirit when I think how comfortably I used to jump into the carriage at nine o'clock, in Cambridge,go to the party, and come home at half-past eleven or twelve. These long parties are what the Germans call being "gemüthlig(sociable and friendly)." The French would call them "assommant," and they would be entirely in the right.