Music-Study in Germany Part 6

Joachim is so bold! You never imagined such strokes as he gives the violin--such tones as he brings out of it. He plays these great _tours de force_, his fingers rushing all over the violin, just as Tausig dashes down on the piano. So free! And then his conception!! It is like revealing Beethoven in the flesh, to hear him.

I heard a lady pianist the other day, who is becoming very celebrated and who plays superbly. Her name is Fraulein Menter, and she is from Munich. She has been a pupil of Liszt, Tausig and Bulow. Think what a galaxy of teachers! She is as pretty as she can be, and she looked lovely sitting at the piano there and playing piece after piece. I envied her dreadfully. She plays everything by heart, and has a beautiful conception. She gave her concert entirely alone, except that some one sang a few songs, and at the end Tausig played a duet for two pianos with her, in which he took the second piano. Imagine being able to play well enough for such a high artist as he to condescend to do such a thing! It was so pretty when they were encored. He made a sign to go forward. She looked up inquiringly, and then stepped down one step lower than he. He smiled and applauded her as much as anybody. I thought it was very gallant in him to stand there and clap his hands before the whole audience, and not take any of the encore to himself, for his part was as important as hers, and he is a much greater artist. I was charmed with her, though. She goes far beyond Mehlig and Topp, though Mehlig, too, is considered to have a remarkable technique.

I regret so much that M. will have to go back to America without seeing Paris--the most beautiful city in the world! n.o.body knows how long the war is going to last. The Prussians have so surrounded Paris that it is cut off from the country, and can't get any supplies. They have eaten up all their meat, and now the French are living upon rats, dogs and cats!

Just think how horrid! They catch the rats in the Paris sewers, and cook them in champagne and eat them. (At least that is the story.) It seems perfectly inconceivable. The poor things have no milk, no salt, no b.u.t.ter and no meat. I wonder what they do with all the little babies whose mothers can't nurse them, and with young children. They will not give up, however, for they have bread and wine enough to last all winter, and they declare that Paris is too strong to be taken. Of course if the Prussians remain where they are, eventually Paris will be starved out, and will be obliged to surrender.

It is a difficult position for the Prussians, for they must either bombard the city, or starve it out. If they bombard it, they must be in a situation to begin it from all sides, or else the French will break through their lines, and establish a communication with the rest of France. Now the circle round Paris is twelve miles long, so that it would take an enormous army to keep up such a bombardment, and although the Prussian army _is_ enormous, I don't know whether it is equal to that, for the French have so much the advantage of position that they can fire down on the Prussians, and kill them by thousands. On the other hand, if they starve Paris out, the poor soldiers will have to lie out in the cold all winter, and many of them will die from the exposure.

The men are getting very restless from so many weeks of inactivity.

n.o.body knows how it is to end. The King is opposed to bombardment, for aside from the terrible loss of life it would cause, it seems too inhuman to lay such a splendid city in the dust. Fresh troops are sent on all the time, and every day the trains pa.s.s my windows packed with soldiers. It seems as if every man in Germany were being called out, and that looks like bombardment. It is a terrible time, and everybody feels restless and disturbed. One sees few soldiers on the streets except wounded ones. I often meet a young man who is wheeled about in a chair, who has had both legs cut off. The poor fellow looks so sad--and I know of another who has lost both hands and both feet.

It is curious to note the condescending att.i.tude taken by people here toward the French in this war. They never for a moment speak of them as if they were antagonists on equal ground, but always as if they were a set of fools bent on their own destruction, who must be properly chastised and restored to their equilibrium by the Germans. "_Ja!--die Franzosen!_" the Germans will say with a shrug which implies the deepest conviction of their entire imbecility. They admit, however, that the French are an "amusing people," and that "_Paris ist_ DOCH _die Welt-Stadt_. (Paris is _the_ city of the world.)"

BERLIN, _February 26, 1871_.

I am going to send you a song out of the Meistersanger, which I think is one of the most beautiful songs I've ever heard. It is called Walther's Traumlied (Walter's Dream Song). The idea of it is that he sees his love in a dream or vision as she will be when she is his wife. You must begin to sing in a dreamy way, as if you were in a trance, and then you must gradually become more and more excited until you end in a grand gush of pa.s.sion. You will be quite in the music of the future if you sing out of the Meistersanger. It is one of Wagner's greatest operas, and is very beautiful, in my opinion. It caused a grand excitement when it came out last winter.

The whole musical world is in a quarrel over Wagner. He is giving a new direction to music and is finding out new combinations of the chords.

Half the musical world upholds him, and declares that in the future he will stand on a par with Beethoven and Mozart. The other half are bitterly opposed to him, and say that he writes nothing but dissonances, and that he is on an entirely false track. I am on the Wagner side myself. He seems to me to be a great genius.--Pity he is such a moral outlaw!

Since I began this letter Paris has capitulated, and PEACE has been declared. The anxiety and suspense have lasted so long, however, that the news did not cause much excitement or enthusiasm. Nothing like that with which the capture of Napoleon was received. But that was decidedly _the_ event of the war. The politic Bismarck would not allow the troops to march triumphantly through Paris, but only permitted them to pa.s.s through as small a corner of it as was consistent with the national honour. This has caused a good deal of murmuring and discontent among the Germans.--"Our poor soldiers! after all their fatigues and hardships, they ought have been allowed the satisfaction of marching through the city!"--is the general opinion I hear expressed. However, they will probably acquiesce in Bismarck's wisdom in not triumphing over a fallen foe when they come to think it over. We are now to have six weeks of mourning for those who have been killed in the war, and then in May the army will come back in triumph. The King is to meet them at the Brandenburger Gate, and lead them up the Linden. All Berlin will be wild with excitement, and I expect it will be a great sight. The windows on Unter den Linden are already selling at enormous prices for the occasion.

The Germans, by the way, "take no stock" at all in the King's pious expressions throughout the campaign. They laugh at him greatly for calling himself victorious "by the grace of G.o.d." "Such a nonsense!"

Herr J. says, contemptuously.

BERLIN, _April 22, 1871_.

I haven't a mortal thing to say, for all the little I have done I communicated in a letter to N. S. Kullak has been praising my playing lately, but I cannot believe in it myself. I have been learning a Ballade of Liszt's. It is beautiful but very hard, and with some terrific octave pa.s.sages in it. It has the double roll of octaves in it, and this is the first time I ever learned how it was done. I am now studying octaves systematically. Kullak has written three books of them, and it is an exhaustive work on the subject, and as famous in its way as the Gradus ad Parna.s.sum. The first volume is only the preparation, and the exercises are for each hand separately. There are a lot of them for the thumb alone, for instance. Then there are others for the fourth and fifth fingers, turning over and under each other in every conceivable way. Then there are the wrist exercises, and, in short, it is the most minute and complete work. Kullak himself is celebrated for his octave playing. That I knew when I was in Tausig's conservatory, as Tausig used to tell his scholars that they must study Kullak's Octave School.

Wagner has come to Berlin for a visit, and next week he will have a grand concert, when some of his compositions are to be brought out, and he will, himself, conduct. Weitzmann says that he is a great conductor.

I heard his opera of Tannhauser the other day, and I was perfectly carried away with the overture, which I had not heard for a long time.

The orchestra played it magnificently, and I think it quite equal to Beethoven. Wagner's theory is that music is a cry of the mind, and his compositions certainly ill.u.s.trate it. All other music pales before it in pa.s.sion and intensity.

Did you read my letter to N. S. in which I told her about Alicia Hund, who composed and conducted a symphony? That is quite a step for women in the musical line. She reminded me of M., as she had just such a high-strung face. All the men were highly disgusted because she was allowed to conduct the orchestra herself. I didn't think myself that it was a very _becoming_ position, though I had no prejudice against it.

Somehow, a woman doesn't look well with a baton in her hand directing a body of men.

BERLIN, _May 18, 1871_.

Wagner has just been in Berlin, and his arrival here has been the occasion of a grand musical excitement. He was received with the greatest enthusiasm, and there was no end of ovations in his honour.

First, there was a great supper given to him, which was got up by Tausig and a few other distinguished musicians. Then on Sunday, two weeks ago, was given a concert in the Sing-Akademie, where the seats were free. As the hall only holds about fifteen hundred people, you may imagine it was pretty difficult to get tickets. I didn't even attempt it, but luckily Weitzmann, my harmony teacher, who is an old friend of Wagner's, sent me one.

The orchestra was immense. It was carefully selected from all the orchestras in Berlin, and Stern, who directed it, had given himself infinite trouble in training it. Wagner is the most difficult person in the world to please, and is a wonderful conductor himself. He was highly discontented with the Gewandhaus Orchestra in Leipsic, which thinks itself the best in existence, so the Berlinese felt rather shaky. The hall was filled to overflowing, and finally, in marched Wagner and his wife, preceded and followed by various distinguished musicians. As he appeared the audience rose, the orchestra struck up three clanging chords, and everybody shouted _Hoch!_ It gave one a strange thrill.

The concert was at twelve, and was preceded by a "greeting" which was recited by Frau Jachmann Wagner, a niece of Wagner's, and an actress.

She was a pretty woman, "fair, fat and forty," and an excellent speaker.

As she concluded she burst into tears, and stepping down from the stage she presented Wagner with a laurel crown, and kissed him. Then the orchestra played Wagner's Faust Overture most superbly, and afterwards his Fest March from the Tannhauser. The applause was unbounded. Wagner ascended the stage and made a little speech, in which he expressed his pleasure to the musicians and to Stern, and then turned and addressed the audience. He spoke very rapidly and in that child-like way that all great musicians seem to have, and as a proof of his satisfaction with the orchestra he requested them to play the Faust Overture under _his_ direction. We were all on tiptoe to know how he would direct, and indeed it was wonderful to see him. He controlled the orchestra as if it were a single instrument and he were playing on it. He didn't beat the time simply, as most conductors do, but he had all sorts of little ways to indicate what he wished. It was very difficult for them to follow him, and they had to "keep their little eye open," as B. used to say. He held them down during the first part, so as to give the uncertainty and speculativeness of Faust's character. Then as Mephistopheles came in, he gradually let them loose with a terrible crescendo, and made you feel as if h.e.l.l suddenly gaped at your feet. Then where Gretchen appeared, all was delicious melody and sweetness. And so it went on, like a succession of pictures. The effect was tremendous.

I had one of the best seats in the house, and could see Wagner and his wife the whole time. He has an enormous forehead, and is the most nervous-looking man you can imagine, but has that grim setting of the mouth that betokens an iron will. When he conducts he is almost beside himself with excitement. That is one reason why he is so great as a conductor, for the orchestra catches his frenzy, and each man plays under a sudden inspiration. He really seems to be improvising on his orchestra.

Wagner's object in coming here was to try and get his Nibelungen opera performed. It is an opera which requires four evenings to get through with. Did you ever hear of such a thing? He lays out everything on such a colossal scale. It reminded me of that story they tell of him when he was a boy. He was a great Shakespeare enthusiast, and wanted to write plays, too. So he wrote one in which he killed off forty of the princ.i.p.al characters in the last act! He gave a grand concert in the opera house here, which he directed himself. It was entirely his own compositions, with the exception of Beethoven's Fifth Symphony, which he declared n.o.body understood but himself. That rather took down Berlin, but all had to acknowledge after the concert that they had never heard it so magnificently played. He has his own peculiar conception of it.

There was a great crowd, and every seat had been taken long before. All the artists were present except Kullak, who was ill. I saw Tausig sitting in the front rank with the Baroness von S. There must have been two hundred players in the orchestra, and they acquitted themselves splendidly. The applause grew more and more enthusiastic, until it finally found vent in a shower of wreaths and bouquets. Wagner bowed and bowed, and it seemed as if the people would never settle down again. At the end of the concert followed another shower of flowers, and his Kaiser March was encored. Such an effect! After the tempest of sound of the introduction the drums came in with a sharp tat-tat-tat-tat-tat!

Then the bra.s.s began with the air and came to a crescendo, at last _blaring_ out in such a way as shivered you to the very marrow of your bones. It was like an earthquake yawning before you.

The noise was so tremendous that it was like the roaring of the surf. I never conceived of anything in music to approach it, and Wagner made me think of a giant Triton disporting himself amid the billows and tossing these great waves of sound from one hand to the other. You don't see his face, of course--nothing but his back, and yet you know every one of his emotions. Every sinew in his body speaks. He makes the instruments prolong the tones as no one else does, and the effect is indescribably beautiful, yet he complains that he never _can_ get an orchestra to _hold_ the tone as they ought. His whole appearance is of arrogance and despotism personified.

By the end of the concert the bouquets were so heaped on the stage in front of the director's desk, that Wagner had no place left big enough to stand on without crushing them. Altogether, it was a brilliant affair, and a great triumph for his friends. He has a great many bitter enemies here, however. Joachim is one of them, though it seems unaccountable that a man of his musical gifts should be. Ehlert is also a strong anti-Wagnerite, and the Jews hate him intensely.--Perhaps his character has something to do with it, for he has set all laws of honour, grat.i.tude and morality at defiance all his life long. It is a dreadful example for younger artists, and I think Wagner is depraving them. In this country everything is forgiven to audacity and genius, and I must say that if Germany can teach _us_ Music, we can teach _her_ morals!

CHAPTER IX.

Difficulties of the Piano. Triumphal Entry of the Troops. Paris.

BERLIN, _June 25, 1871_.

I have been learning Beethoven's G major Concerto lately, and it is the most horribly difficult thing I've ever attempted. I have practiced the first movement a whole month, and I can't play it any more than I can fly. If you hear Miss Mehlig play it, I trust you will take in what a feat it is. Kullak gave me a regular rating over it at my last lesson, and told me I must stick to it till I _could_ play it. It requires the greatest rapidity and facility of execution, and I get perfectly desperate over it. Kullak took advantage of the occasion to expand upon all the things an artist must be able to do, until my heart died within me. "What do you know of double thirds?" said he. I had to admit that I knew nothing of double thirds, and then he rushed down the piano like lightning from top to bottom in a scale in double thirds, just as if it were a common scale.

In one respect Kullak is a more discouraging teacher than Tausig, for Tausig only played occasionally before you, where it was absolutely necessary, and contented himself with scolding and blaming. Kullak, on the contrary, doesn't scold much, but as he plays continually before and with you, with him you see how the thing _ought_ to be done, and the perception of your own deficiencies stands out before you mercilessly.

My constant thought is, "When _will_ my pa.s.sages pearl? When _will_ my touch be perfectly equal? When _will_ my octaves be played from a lightly-hung wrist? When _will_ my trill be brilliant and sustained?

When _will_ my thumb turn under and my fourth finger over without the slightest perceptible break? When _will_ my arpeggios go up the piano in that peculiar _roll_ that a genuine artist gives?" etc., etc. All this gives a heavy heart, and so disinclines me to write that you must excuse my frequent silences.

We are having such a horrid cold summer that I sit and shiver all the time. I wish we could have a little of the hot weather you speak of. I have put on a muslin dress only once. Berlin is a very severe climate, I think.

The week before last was the triumphal entry or "Einzug" of the troops.

They all went past my window, so I had a full view of them. The Emperor had made immense preparations, for he is very proud of his army. All along the Koniggratzer Stra.s.se (the street we live in), to the Brandenburger Gate, a distance of two or three miles, were set tall poles at intervals of a few feet, connected by wreaths of green. These were painted red and white, and had gilded pinnacles; they were surmounted by the Prussian flag, which is black and white, with a black eagle in the centre. About half way down the poles was set a coat of arms, with the flags of the older German States grouped about it. As they were of different colours, the effect was very gay, and they made a triumphal path of waving banners for the troops to pa.s.s under. All along the last part of the Koniggratzer Stra.s.se, before you come to the Linden, were set the French cannon which were captured, and on them was printed the name of the place where the battle was, and one read on them "Metz, Sedan, Strasburg," etc. All up the Linden, too, the way for the soldiers was hemmed in on each side with cannon. The mitrailleuses interested me the most, because they had thirty bores in each one, and could fire as many b.a.l.l.s in succession. In this way, you see, a single cannon could _rain_ shot. Luckily the French aim so badly that they couldn't have killed half so many Prussians as they expected. On every Platz (as the Germans call the squares), were columns and statues set up, and enormous scaffolds for people to sit on, all decked out with flags and coloured cloth. In short, the whole city was got up in gala array, and looked as gay as possible.

Of course there were thousands of strangers who had come on to see it, and the streets were crowded. For about a week beforehand there was one continual stream of people going by our house, and a long line of carriages and droschkies as far as one could see, creeping along at a snail's pace behind each other. I got worn out with the noise and confusion long before the eventful day came. When it _did_ arrive, already at six o'clock in the morning, when I looked out of my window, the walls of Prince Albrecht's garden opposite were covered with boys and men, and there they had to sit until nearly twelve o'clock, with their legs dangling down, and nothing to eat or drink, before the procession came by, and _then_ it took four hours to pa.s.s! Such is German endurance, and a still more striking instance of it was shown by an orchestra stationed on the sidewalk opposite my window. There were no seats or awnings for them, and there they stood on the stones in the hot sun for fully six hours, playing every little while on those heavy French horns and trumpets. Just imagine it! I was astonished that there was no scaffold erected for them to sit on, and wondered how the poor fellows could _stand_ it.

Just before eleven o'clock the gate of Prince Albrecht's garden flew open, and out he rode, accompanied by a large suite, and they remained there awaiting the Emperor, who was to ride by on his way to meet the troops. I wish you could have seen them in their superb uniforms, seated on their magnificent horses. They looked like knights of the olden time, with their embroidered saddle-cloths and gay trappings. Preceding the Emperor came the Empress and all the ladies of the royal family in about ten carriages, each one with six horses and the Empress's with eight.

The ladies were gorgeously dressed, of course, in light coloured silks with lace over-dresses. Then came the Emperor and his escort, riding slowly and majestically along. The enthusiasm was immense as they pa.s.sed by, and they were indeed a proud sight. Bismarck, Moltke and Von Roon rode in one row by themselves. Bismarck looked very imposing in his uniform entirely of white and silver, with enormous top-boots, and a brazen helmet surmounted by a silver eagle. There was every variety of uniform, and the Crown Prince looked very handsome in his. He is a splendid-looking man, with a very soldierly bearing, and he rides to perfection.

The royal party went out to the parade ground, where they met the army, and then returned at the head of it, riding very slowly. Then, for four hours, the soldiers poured by at a very quick step. If you could have seen that _river_ of men roll along, you would have some idea of the strength of this nation. They were tall for the most part, and their helmets and guns glittered in the sun. They were dressed in their old uniforms, just as they came from the field of battle. The people showered wreaths and bouquets upon them as they pa.s.sed, and every man presented a festal appearance with his helmet crowned, a bouquet on the point of his bayonet, and flowers in his b.u.t.ton hole. The Emperor's way was literally carpeted with flowers, and his grooms rode behind him picking them up, and hanging the wreaths upon their saddle-bows.

Bismarck, Moltke and Von Roon and all the men of mark during the war were similarly favoured.

The army marched along at an astonishingly quick pace. I was surprised to see them walk so fast, heavily laden as they were with their guns and knapsacks and blankets, etc. Many of them had been marching a good part of the night to get to the place of rendezvous, and they had had a parade early in the morning. A good many of them fainted and had to be carried out of the ranks, and eight of them died! It was the hottest day we have had this summer.--I was the most interested in the Uhlanen. They were the greatest terror of the French, and were light cavalry with no arms except a large pistol and a lance. Just below the head of the lance was a little Prussian flag attached, and nearly every one was splashed with the blood of some poor Frenchman. When one looked at those terrible spikes, it seemed a most dreadful death, and I don't wonder that the French lost all courage at the sight of them. You see, being on horseback and so lightly armed, the Uhlanen could go about like lightning, and were able to appear suddenly at the most unexpected points. As I was not on the Linden I did not see the army received at the Brandenburger Gate by the four hundred young ladies dressed in white, so I can't give you any account of _that_. Bismarck, who always knows what to do, took a handful of wreaths from his saddle-bow, and flung them smilingly over among the welcoming maidens. He is a courtly creature. I was nearly dead from just looking out of my window, and listening to the continual music of the bands, and I did not get over the fatigue and nervous excitement for several days; but I was very fortunate to be able to see it from the house, for many persons who had to sit on the scaffolds were dreadfully burned, and were thrown into a fever by it. You see they weren't allowed to put up their parasols, as that obscured the view of the people behind them. I had one friend who suffered awfully with her face, and did not sleep for three nights. She said it was as if she had been burnt by fire, and the whole skin peeled off.

July 4th.--As usual, it is over a week since I began this letter, and I have just decided to start at once on a summer journey with Mrs. and Miss V. N., Mr. P. and Mrs., Mr. and Miss S. Kullak is away for his vacation, so I shall lose no lessons. We shall go first to Cologne and then to Bonn and Coblentz and down the Rhine. Perhaps we shall get as far as Heidelberg. We got one of those return tickets, which makes the journey very cheap; only you are limited to a certain time. We expect to be gone until the 1st of August. I intend to walk a great deal between the different points. Where the scenery is picturesque we shall occasionally walk from station to station. We take no baggage except a little bag (which we sling over our backs with straps), containing a change of linen and a brush and comb and tooth brush. We shall wear the same dress all the time and have our linen washed at the hotel. I thought it was a good chance for me, and as we shall be a party of embryo artists, we expect to go along in the Bohemian and happy-go-lucky style of our cla.s.s. I think of writing a novel on the way! Won't it be romantic? Only, unluckily for Miss S. and myself, we shall have no adorers, as Mr. P. and Miss V. G. are engaged, and Mr. S. is only about eighteen!

Just before the Einzug I was at a party at the Bancroft's, and was standing near a doorway talking to one of N.'s cla.s.s-mates in Harvard, when a portly gentleman pushed very rudely between us and stood there talking to Mr. Bancroft, who was on the other side of me. We gazed at him for a minute before we went on with our conversation. Presently the gentleman took his leave and bustled away. "That was the Duke of Somerset," said Mr. Bancroft to me. I was rather surprised, for I had just been thinking to myself, "What an unmannerly creature you are!"--I suppose he had come on to the Einzug.

Triumphant Berlin, by the way, is rather a contrast to Paris under the Commune. Such a horrible time as they have been having there! It is enough to make one's blood run cold to think of it. What insane barbarians they are--and the worst of it is the part the women take in it. I saw a picture of Thiers' house which they burnt down. It was a magnificent mansion, and crammed full of exquisite works of art. Mr.