ballroom! The whole place was alive with a dancing crowd of fairies,
gnomes, flowers, butterflies, and dryads, who flitted past in a
bewildering whirl of ever changing color. All the women wore little
black masks, which gave them a most coquettish appearance. The men were
not masked, but their costumes were fully as artistic. As I watched the
glittering throng moving to the strains of a fascinating waltz which
came floating out from behind a grove of evergreens on the stage, I
could easily fancy I was in fairyland.
Just as we were about to cross the hall Fräulein Hartmann caught me by
the arm.
"I've torn my gown," she said in a hurried, excited manner, as she
held up the ragged ruffle on the edge of her train. "I must go to the
dressing-room and fix it. Will you tell my aunt? And oh! please say it
may take twenty minutes or--or a half-hour."
I looked at her in surprise. Her cheeks were flushed brilliantly, and I
would have given much to have seen the expression of her eyes, which her
mask half hid.
"Why, if you would let me help you----" I began, but she interrupted,
pressing my arm tighter.
"Let me go alone, please, _kleine Amerikanerin_." Her voice was pleading
and oddly intense. "It's only such a short time--and, believe me, there
is nothing wrong, _really_. I shall thank you always."
Before I had an opportunity to reply she had slipped away in the crowd.
To say I was amazed were to put it mildly. I was dumfounded. Two points
alone seemed clear in my mind: first, that Fräulein Hartmann had no idea
of spending a half-hour in sewing on a few inches of ruffle; second,
that whatever her motive for remaining away might be, it was "nothing
wrong"; her frank, sweet nature utterly forbade such an idea.
Rather troubled, I caught up quickly with the others of the party and
entered the box to find Lieutenant Blum and Lieutenant Linder waiting.
They looked surprised at seeing me alone, and I hastily explained the
situation. Lieutenant Linder then suggested that we three take a stroll
about the hall, and we started off, I talking very rapidly, in the hope
of turning their attention from the Fräulein's continued absence. I
would not have been a woman had I not myself been a bit curious about
her. We made a tour of the room and at length came to the head of a
flight of stairs. I declared that I was dying of curiosity to discover
what lay at the foot, so we descended and found ourselves in the very
midst of a forest. On every side extended paths lined with trees whose
branches met above in arches. At the end of one of the paths we saw
a log hut. Above, through interlaced branches, shone a silver moon. I
could not help exclaiming at the beauty of the illusion.
There were countless little arbors and retreats where couples were
sitting out dances. We had just started to turn down the path to the
right, when I caught sight of a rose-colored dress in one of these
arbors. A step farther and I saw that the girl leaning against the bench
was Fräulein Hartmann. Her head was thrown back in a characteristic
attitude and her lips were parted, as though eagerly listening to
the words of her companion. He--for of course it was a man--was a
broad-shouldered fellow, with a smooth face and a sword-cut on his
forehead. Bending forward, he looked up intently into the face of the
girl, talking very earnestly, very rapidly, as if pleading a case under
pressure of time.
Quick as a flash I wheeled about and faced the others, for the path was
only broad enough for us to proceed in single file. I declared this walk
stupid; the hut was the only thing really worth seeing; whereupon my
bodyguard, although laughing at the capriciousness of my sex, obediently
followed. How long I lingered about that wretched hut I can't say. At
last, when every pretext was gone, I made my way back again upstairs.
What a sigh of relief I gave when we reached the box, for there sat
Fräulein Hartmann, smiling in her sweet, plaintive fashion, and talking
to her aunt and Herr Doktor with the utmost self-possession. A moment
later we had whirled away among the dancers, and I did not have an
opportunity to exchange a word with her alone.
At twelve o'clock the orchestra stopped playing for an hour and supper
was served. Half of the people had been eating and drinking the entire
evening, for tables had been spread in the boxes from the opening of the
ball. This did not, however, seem to make any difference in the keenness
of their appetites now. We had a very jolly time in our box, for beside
the _pensionnaires_ were several Americans. Among them were Mr. and Mrs.
Albert Sterner. You are doubtless familiar with the delightful work
of Mr. Sterner. He has won considerable reputation, especially for his
illustrations. Both he and his wife added much merriment to the party,
for they are very entertaining. The ball began again at one, but no one
thought of going home till four o'clock. We left Lieutenant Linder still
dancing.
"This lasts till five," he explained, as he took us to our carriage. "I
shall get a cup of coffee at the restaurant, change to my uniform, and
be ready for _Dienst_ (service) at six. I really haven't time to go to
bed."
I captured two very pretty souvenirs of the occasion, one of which you
shall have to decorate your den. Every one who went down on the floor
wore a favor made of blue ribbon, fastened with a gold head of Folly.
Lieutenant Linder and Herr Martens both presented me with theirs, and
in spite of acquiring a habit for greediness, I smilingly accepted
both, with a thought for you. They will look extremely well tacked to an
American wall.
I did so wish for a word with Fräulein, but she drove home alone
with her aunt. As I wrote you, I only see her at table, and so any
conversation of a confidential character is out of the question. She is
not a girl to practise deception, unless forced by circumstances, hence
I fancy that there is something of a serious nature behind her action.
Evidently the handsome young man with the sword-cut is the key to the
mystery! Very likely she is in love with him, instead of with that
disagreeable Blum. Were she an American girl it would not take her long
to throw over the uniform and marry the man she loves; as it is, with
her family and _an officer_ weighing the balance on the opposite side of
the scales, I fear the student's chances are not the most favorable.
_After Supper._
At my last lesson Thuille informed me that he and Tasso were going
hunting on Saturday. Would I pardon him if he gave me my lesson in his
hunting costume? Accordingly to-day he appeared in a wonderful green
shirt striped with white, and open at the neck. His jacket, short
trousers and gaiters were of some rough cloth, and the effect was
decidedly unprofessional.
The train left directly after the lesson, and Tasso was evidently quite
alive to the fact, for instead of sleeping under the desk as he usually
does, he roamed about restlessly during the entire hour, and finally
became so importunate that his master unceremoniously put him out. I had
taken in a practice piece scored for wood-wind and horn, including bass
clarinet and contra-fagott. The ideas on which I had written the part
for bass clarinet were suggested by that bit for the instrument in the
third act of "Siegfried" where Brünnhilde is wakened by the all-powerful
kiss. Unfortunately my result was not what might have been called an
unqualified success. In one measure I had put a rest at the second beat,
after writing two notes. This immediately attracted Thuille's attention.
"Why, you've left him hanging in the air! Poor fellow, he's hanging in
the air between heaven and earth!" he said laughing, but not unkindly. I
thought I ought to laugh too, so I joined in, nervously. It is queer how
much more humorously these things strike one after a lesson than at the
time they actually happen.
"This is the way he would have to play that," continued the professor.
He puckered up his mouth, held his fingers exactly as the player would,
squinted at my score with his head on one side, and blew two notes,
"Poom! Poom!" Then he took the imaginary instrument suddenly away while
his mouth seemed to be forming the same tone. He looked so funny that
this time I could not help laughing heartily, and I saw my mistake at
once.
Later we came to a horn passage, and in place of the mildly flowing
chords in half-notes which I had written he substituted eighth-note
phrases. "I thought that would be too fast," said I, in self-defence.
"Study modern scores!" he exclaimed. "Study modern horn parts! But
don't forget the classics either; and never study Schumann or Brahms for
orchestral writing. They were both poor scorers."
I sometimes wish he employed similes in his explanations; they have such
a way of sticking in my head and making me remember. I recall now an
especially vivid one which Chadwick once made to his orchestral class:
"Here you have your instruments of the orchestra just like so many
colors on a palette," he said. "You combine different ones just as you
mix your colors, to obtain a desired effect. Your task is to make a
complete, finished picture. Choose your subject and go ahead, but take
care to select your materials wisely."
If you remember, Professor John K. Paine has also a fondness for
illustrating his point in this manner, only he chooses literature
instead of art as the source from which to draw his comparisons. I can
see us now sitting side by side in that dingy little room in Vaughan
House before the new music room existed, taking notes on his lectures,
and can hear him saying, "Beethoven is the Shakespeare of music." Do
you remember the day when Miss R---- brought her dog into the class, and
Professor Paine, after peering at it mildly over his glasses from
his seat behind the table, made some witty remark about the increased
interest in his lectures which now drew the very beasts to hear him? And
later, how kindly but firmly he insisted that Miss R---- leave her pet
at home hereafter, inasmuch as he had already punctuated his paper on
Haydn, and he did not consider the assistance of the dog, who broke in
every now and then with sharp barks, at all necessary.
As soon as the lesson was over I hurried home, for _Mütterchen_ and I
had seats for the _Zauberflöte_ that evening. We had an early supper
in our rooms, for the opera began at half-past six. I had not heard a
Mozart opera since last September, when the Mozart-cycle was held in the
Residenz Theatre. Then I enjoyed _Cosi fan tutte_, with Fritzi Scheff
as Despina. The Residenz Theatre is an ideal place to hear Mozart. It
is only large enough to seat eight hundred persons, and the orchestra
sounds most effective. The Hof Theatre is too large for the production
of Mozart's operas. After one act of the _Zauberflöte_ I began to find
the orchestra thin and somewhat monotonous. When the music is really so
beautiful, it seems a pity not to give it under the best conditions.
Fräulein Hartmann and her aunt sat just across from us in the balcony. I
hoped that we might all walk home together, but when we met at the door
afterwards there was Lieutenant Blum, important and self-satisfied,
waiting to escort them.
Good night now, my dear.
_Fasching-Dienstag_ (_Shrove Tuesday_).
München gone mad! München with dignity thrown to the winds and cavorting
in the dress of a clown! München laughing, dancing, fairly shrieking
with pure glee! The misty atmosphere through which one always views the
distant majesty of the Maximileum as one looks down Maximilian-strasse
is curiously filled with a new sort of snowflake, a tiny, square atom
which may be red or green or the most vivid of yellows. The sidewalks
are packed with a half-crazed throng, some in vari-colored costumes,
others in street dress, but all pelting one another with confetti, while
the street itself is crowded with slow-moving lines of carriages whose
occupants join no less wildly in the fun. And all this because it is the
last day of the carnival.
My first glimpse of the frolic to come was afforded me on Saturday. I
was deep in the midst of a canonic imitation when there came a knock on
the door and in burst Karl, radiant, his cheeks aglow with excitement.
He was dressed in a wonderful costume, which consisted of a loose white
shirt with black silk pompons down the front, white trousers, a gigantic
white ruff about the neck and a high pointed hat.
"_Bin ich nicht nett, gnädiges Fräulein?_" (Am I not fine?) he cried,
kissing my hand with mock deference and prancing about the study. "Just
wait till you see me to-morrow! Then I am to have a grand mustache and
all kinds of red and green designs painted on my cheeks!"
He grinned with delight at the thought of these cannibalistic
decorations, which, however, struck me as more appropriate for a circus
than a Sunday promenade.
To-day _Mütterchen_, the Baroness, Herr Martens, and I took a carriage
before the house at two o'clock. One's first carnival is not a thing to
be taken calmly and I was all excitement, staring to right and left, and
craning my neck in my endeavor not to miss anything. On every corner
we passed stood old women and men with little pushcarts full of
bright-colored bags of confetti or baskets of _Luft-Schlangen_ (long
paper streamers done up in small rolls, to be thrown through the
air like those we have at the Harvard Class Day exercises around the
statue). For ten pfennigs (two and one-half cents) one could obtain a
generous supply, and following the Baroness' suggestion, we stocked the
carriage well.
We found the streets already so crowded that we were forced to proceed
very slowly towards Max-Joseph-Platz. Just as we reached the post-office
a horn blew sharply, policemen hurriedly pushed back the crowd, and the
First and Second Cavalry regiment officers came galloping by us and
on down the street between the two long lines of carriages. Their
appearance was most grotesque. Dressed as clowns, in suits of black or
white, their painted faces made them all look alike. With snapping whips
they urged on their horses at full speed. The excited animals seemed to
enjoy the fun as much as their riders, and shook their gayly ribboned
manes proudly.
Hardly had we started again, for our carriage had come to a halt to let
them pass, when I heard a familiar voice cry, "Hola!" and as I turned
to see who was shouting, a handful of confetti was thrown straight in
my face. For a moment I was angry, for the sensation of eyes and mouth
suddenly full of paper is not conducive to amiability. Then, realizing
the absurdity of losing my temper at such a time, I dived my hand into
a bag to retaliate on my antagonist. Before I could discover him another
shot landed in the back of my neck and over my hat a _Luft-Schlange_
came floating.
"Caught you that time, _gnädiges Fräulein_," said a voice, and I met the
laughing glance of Karl, who jumped on the step of our carriage and rode
along with us. His white costume was sadly soiled, but he had fulfilled
all his promises as to the horrible wonder of a painted mustache and
streaked cheeks. A North American Indian could not have improved on him.
"I've ridden up and down five times already," he said, as he jumped off
to pay a similar visit to some friends just across.
"There's Lou and the girls," I cried, catching sight of a carriage in
the opposite line coming up the street as we went down. Having learned
my lesson I was not slow to put it in practice, for standing up in the
carriage I pelted them mercilessly, Herr Martens supplying me with
a fresh bag every time I needed one, and the Baroness joining
enthusiastically in the attack.
It was not a one-sided battle, for the girls were quick to return our
shots, and the aim of the little Italian count who was with them was
excellent. You should have seen our carriage when they were finally out
of range. The floor, up to our shoe-tops, was filled with confetti; our
jackets were covered with it, and from the shoulders of the driver,
from our hats, from the sides of the carriage hung countless brilliant
streamers.
At the big statue we turned and came back. When we finally succeeded in
reaching the post-office we found a most exciting thing taking place.
A company of clowns on horseback, whom we recognized as the cavalry
officers who had earlier passed us, were forming in line at the farther
end of the Platz. Suddenly they set off with brisk canter, swung around
the statue of Max Joseph, and dashed at full speed up the high flight
of stairs leading to the opera house! They came back rushing down the
driveway. The horses were almost beside themselves with excitement, for
their officers leaning far forward, brandished their whips, dug in their
spurs, and urged on the beasts by frantic shouts and exclamations, while
the crowd of onlookers cheered wildly. It was a thrilling sight, and I
watched them breathlessly. I could not help feeling that at any moment
one of these half-crazed creatures, now flecked with foam, might
lose his balance and fall backwards down the steps crushing his
rider beneath, and so I gave a relieved sigh as I saw the men at last
dismount, give their quivering steeds to an orderly, and adjourn to the
café opposite. Just then the Baron and Herr Doktor, who were walking,
came up to our carriage.
"We'll take you into the café for a moment," said the Baron. "It is apt
to grow rather rough there later, but you must get a glimpse of another
side of the carnival."
Accordingly, well barricaded by the gentlemen, we quietly entered the
café and took the only vacant table which stood in a retired corner.
Here again the officers had undisputed possession of the place. They
were laughing, dancing and singing in a boisterous though not at all in
an offensive fashion. Meanwhile an orchestra in the centre of the room
played some lively music.
"Your selection pleaseth me but poorly," declaimed a tall fellow with a
blue ruff about his neck, as he tapped on the shoulder of the director.
"Why not soothe our ears with a ditty akin to this?" whistling one of
the popular student airs. He seized the baton and mounted the platform,
rapping sharply on the rack. The players, entering into the spirit of
the thing, followed him perfectly. This was not so simple a matter as
it sounds, for he conducted with a ridiculous exaggeration of all the
mannerism, gestures and poses of Weingartner. It was very cleverly done
and set every one into roars of laughter, especially when the fellow
insisted on a _pianissimo_ passage. Then he would tilt back his head,
wave his left hand with that curious droop of the finger-tips so
characteristic of the great conductor, and nonchalantly beat time with
his stick at an angle directed towards heaven.
No sooner had he finished and returned with low bows of mock modesty to
his place, than an officer in the corner jumped on top of a table and,
stein in hand, began singing. The crowd, who had gathered around him,
joined in the refrain, clinking their mugs together, for of course every
one was drinking beer--_ça va sans dire_. If an officer chanced to
be without any, he made his way to a table where some onlookers were
sitting, and with a courteous "beg pardon," and a graceful raising of
the pointed cap, helped himself to the largest stein from under the very
nose of its owner, and walked serenely off. No one seemed to mind
this, the original possessor of the beer least of all, for he laughed
heartily, and ordered the waiter to bring him a fresh supply. The
established rule of the carnival is to take everything in the greatest
good humor and let the spirit of fun prevail.
"To your very good health! May you live long, be prosperous, and
see many carnivals!" said another fellow as he helped himself to a
stranger's wine and raised the glass to his lips.
"That's Count von E----," said the Baroness in a whisper, as he set down
the glass, bowing gravely. "I should know his peculiar walk anywhere."
"It was certainly most interesting," said I, as after watching the
frolic for half an hour we walked out into Perusia-strasse.
"You don't have anything half as jolly in America, do you?" said Herr
Martens, with a tone of superiority in his voice. Whenever any one
addresses me with that inflection my spread-eagleism is aroused. I
immediately began to dilate on America and the American. This time I
chose as my theme "Fourth of July," which of all our celebrations
seemed nearest akin to this, and my glowing description of the manifold
features of Independence Day caused the carnival to seem like a
children's festival.
Did I write you that the Americans in the _pension_ opposite were to
give a St. Valentine's party? Owing to illness it was postponed to the
evening of _Fasching Dienstag_. Accordingly we finished our day by a
dance and general frolic with the girls, which was one of the jolliest
things I have been to this year. This letter is so full of frivolity
that to tell you of my doings in a musical way seems most incongruous,
so I will save all such items for my next.
As ever, dear Cecy,
M.
VII
_March 3, 10.30 P. M._
I have just returned from the _Moderner Abend_ at the Kaim Saal, and am
so excited that to go calmly to bed and to sleep is an impossibility. I
don't know when I have enjoyed anything as much. The concert, as you
may have judged by the name, was made up of compositions by living
composers. Stavenhagen arranged it and all the numbers but one were
played for the first time. Here is the program:
1. Singspiel Overture Edgar Istel.
First time!
2. _Ein Zweigespräch_, Tone-poem. Max Schillings.
(For solo violin, solo 'cello, and small orchestra.)
[Richard Rettich--Heinrich Warnke.]
First time!
3. Scene and Monologue of
Lukas from the Opera _Der Conegidor_ Hugo Wolf.
[Anton Dressler.]
First time!
4. _Klavierkonzert_ (op. 6) in B flat minor Felix vom Rath.
[Anna Langenhan-Hirzel.]
5. III. Act of _Gugeline_ Ludwig Thuille.
[Gugeline, Agnes Stavenhagen. The Prince, Franz Bergen.]
First time!
The names in brackets are those of the soloists. For some reason or
other the order was altered. Thuille's piece and Hugo Wolf's changed
places. Edgar Istel, who conducted his own overture, is a tall,
broad-shouldered, fine-looking young fellow, and a pupil of Thuille.
I am in doubt as to his nationality for he certainly looks too well
groomed for a German. The Schillings piece was a lovely, sustained
thing. That man certainly knows how to write for the 'cello! We heard
his opera _Ingwelde_ last week, and remarked the same thing then. The
third number was, however, _the_ number of the evening. I wish I could
describe to you the enchanting beauty of this music from _Gugeline_--its
delicacy, freshness, and tenderness. And yet withal there is no
semblance of insipidity about it, for in spite of the dominance of
fanciful, graceful motifs the music every now and then assumes a more
passionate tinge, as though an undercurrent of deeper feeling flowed
beneath its charming surface. Agnes Stavenhagen, the wife of the
director, sang with great niceness. Thuille has a trick of ending a
phrase by a jump to a high _pianissimo_ note, and she rendered this most
effectively.