MUSICAL MEMORIES
My Mother--Her Musical Friends--I Study with Masset--His Generous
Offer--Litolff's Visit--My Mother's Musicales Develop into a
Conservatoire--Rubinstein's Anger--His Refusal to Play for the Grand
Duchess Helen--The Idols of the Musical World--A Friendly Jealousy--My
Stratagem with Liszt--Glazounoff's Kindness--The Musicless
Our great poets Pouschkin and Lermontoff admired my mother's beauty;
Yazikoff also wrote a lovely poem in which he says that
The ancient Greeks would have delighted
To kneel and worship at your feet,
To build you shrines of snowy marble,
Where clouds of fragrant incense sweet,
From golden altars night and morning,
Would rise your image fair to greet.
But my mother was not merely beautiful, she was also exceedingly kind
and very artistic. The great musician and pianist Thalberg dedicated
to her one of his lovely nocturnes, and I afterwards inherited Liszt's
kindness for her memory. In the year 1860 my mother used to invite to
our house every Thursday first-rate musicians like Nicolas Rubinstein
(as fine a pianist as his brother Anton), eminent violinists like Laub
and Wieniawski, the 'cellist Cossman, and other celebrated
instrumentalists, {139} from whom we heard, with greatest enjoyment,
examples of the finest classical music, which lasted from eight to ten.
At ten the young people were allowed to dance, and I am ashamed to say
that my young friends much preferred the second part of the evening to
the first!
[Illustration: NICOLAS RUBINSTEIN, ANTON RUBINSTEIN]
A year or two after my marriage, having (as mentioned in a previous
chapter) been ordered by my parents-in-law to accompany them to Paris,
I duly obeyed, and I think I may say that my life there was unique.
From ten in the morning till ten in the evening, I almost invariably
stayed with the old people, sitting with them in the Bois, or laying a
"Patience" (the only one I know) at home. I gained, however, one great
benefit. I managed to take daily singing lessons at the Conservatoire
at half-past eight in the morning, from the celebrated Masset, who took
great interest in my progress.
But at last my time was over, for I had to rejoin my husband and my boy
in Petrograd. When I told Professor Masset that I was taking my last
lesson, he seemed greatly surprised.
"Oh!" he said, "I guess why you are stopping your lessons. But you are
wrong. I will give you lessons gratis for two years, on condition that
you make your debut in Grand Opera. One reason why I ask high fees is
in order not to be besieged by too many pupils."
"Well," said I, "of course twenty-five francs per lesson is a large sum
for daily lessons, but that is not my reason. I am unfortunately
obliged to interrupt my studies for another reason, my husband wants me
to return home."
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The Professor looked perfectly horrified. "Your husband! Are you then
married?" he exclaimed.
"Yes, I am," I answered, "and I have a son."
"_Voilà une surprise!_" he cried. "And does your husband sing well?"
"Oh no, he does not sing at all."
"Then what does he do?"
I had to explain as well as I could my husband's position, to which
Masset impatiently retorted, "Well, I only wish I had not taken such
pains with your lessons!" which I thought more frank than polite, but
the poor Professor was disappointed to find that he had been wasting
his time on a mere amateur.
In order to practise singing without disturbing my old people, I took a
little mansarde in the same house, and, when hidden there, the
concierge had my order to say I was out. One afternoon, I went to my
piano and was studying hard Gluck's "Orpheus," when suddenly, there was
a violent knock at my door.
"Won't you let me in?" cried a voice. "Your stupid concierge insisted
that you were out, but I heard your voice, which I recognised. Let me
come in, I am Henri Litolff."
I opened the door, but I said, "You see that I have only a piano and
one chair. I cannot receive visitors."
"I will take the chair, and will accompany you," was the answer. And
then we had a charming improvised concert.
My mother's musical parties led to an important result. Struck by
their success, Nicolas Rubinstein {141} and his friend the millionaire
Tretiakoff, conceived the idea of founding a Conservatorium in Moscow.
My dear native town is very enthusiastic and generous when she realises
the importance of a great idea. A foundation for a Moscow
Conservatorium was immediately arranged, whilst Nicolas Rubinstein's
elder brother, Anton, submitted the same idea to the Grand Duchess
Helen, who at once identified herself with a similar project for
Petrograd. Thus we came to possess two Conservatoriums, with the two
brothers Rubinstein as their Principals, Anton in Petrograd, Nicolas in
Moscow, to the great adornment of both capitals.
In that enterprise the Grand Duchess Helen showed her true grandeur.
And here again, as in the question of the emancipation of the serfs,
she found a great supporter in her nephew the Grand Duke Constantine
Nicolaievitch. I should like any English travellers who visit Moscow
and Petrograd to make a point of seeing these two Conservatoriums, of
which we certainly may be proud.
I continued to be on good terms with both the Rubinsteins, and the
Grand Duchess Helen often invited Anton to her parties. But one
evening something happened which was far from pleasant. Whilst
Rubinstein was playing one of his lovely compositions, a young fellow
very "well born," but very badly brought up, began turning on his heels
muttering in an audible tone something about "Rubin, Rubin, Rubin"
(inflamed, I was told, by jealousy in connection with a young girl who
was extremely enthusiastic about the artist). Rubinstein stopped
playing and left the palace. The next {142} day he called on Baroness
Rhaden, lady-in-waiting to the Grand Duchess, and said, "The Grand
Duchess is kind enough to offer me 2000 roubles for my performances; I
must decline that payment, as also the honour of playing again at the
palace. I am quite ready to play to the Grand Duchess when she is
alone, but not otherwise."
A few days later the Grand Duchess sent for me. "Is it true," she
said, "that the bear is playing at your house every Thursday?"
"The bear! Madame, do you by chance mean Rubinstein? If so, yes, he
plays for me every Thursday."
"Well but, how do you manage to tame him? Do you know that he actually
refuses to play at my palace on any terms?"
"The only thing I can suppose, Madame, is that, although I have no
grandees to lend attraction to my receptions, my artist friends, like
Rubinstein, Wieniawski, Litolff, etc., always meet with an attentive
hearing--they are always accorded complete silence."
"Yes, but Rubinstein should understand that what occurred at the palace
the other night was quite an unfortunate and exceptional mischance."
The Grand Duchess, as she looked at me, was evidently very angry, nor
did she hasten to invite Rubinstein again. But very much later the
storm subsided, and peace was restored.
The brothers Rubinstein were, naturally, the idols of the Russian
musical world. In Petrograd it was Anton whose reputation was highest.
In Moscow Nicolas was considered the superior. A {143} friendly
jealousy on behalf of the two great musicians existed between the two
cities. Anton in his later years had a charming villa at Peterhof
where I have met also his wife and family. I remember that, at the
conclusion of a discussion on Wagner's magnificent, but lengthy, Music
Dramas, Rubinstein said he doubted whether anyone could listen to music
with real attention and enjoyment for more than two hours at a time. A
frank admission! But was he not right? He also endorsed Paganini's
dictum about the necessity of daily study. "If I do not practise one
day I notice it. If I do not practise two days, the public notice it."
One of his friends and collaborateurs was Leopold Auer, who was for so
long principal Violin Professor at the St. Petersburg Conservatoire,
and to whose eminent talent the world owes so much.
Amongst other well-known musicians whom I have known in my earlier
years, were Litolff (already mentioned, who, like Thalberg, dedicated a
composition to my mother), Ferdinand Hiller, Halevy, Stockhausen, Ole
Bull, Madame Pauline Viardot, Liszt, Tchaikovsky and others.
I knew Liszt well in Weimar, where I spent a few weeks. Once when he
called on me at the Hotel de Russie, I happened to be changing my dress
after a long walk. As I began to hurry my toilette, I heard enchanting
sounds from my piano below. Judge of my delight to be listening to
Liszt's improvisations. Instead, therefore, of hurrying, I prolonged
my change of dress to what I considered would be the extremity of my
visitor's patience. But I found him friendly and smiling, not in the
least annoyed, when {144} I at last entered the room. Indeed, he
evidently guessed why I had delayed so long, and was even amused at my
little stratagem.
Here is a letter from him:
MADAME,
Le charme et l'émotion de votre chant m'a fait complètement oublier
hier que je n'étais pas libre de mes heures aujourd'hui. Veuillez bien
m'accorder indulgence et me permettre de venir un autre jour pour vous
renouveler mes très respectueux hommages?
FR. LISZT.
It was Liszt also who introduced to me Lassen, who came every morning
to teach me his lovely songs. In Weimar, Lassen was quite an artistic
personage.
But I might ramble on for ever with such reminiscences. A few words
only about later acquaintances in London. Amongst these I think I
ought specially to mention my distinguished compatriots, Glazounoff and
Safonoff.
Tchaikovsky was also here and had fully intended to return to London,
where his glorious music had become so popular, and had indeed accepted
the invitation of an English friend to be his guest during the
forthcoming visit. His death in Petrograd occurred shortly afterwards,
to our great loss.
On one of Glazounoff's visits I had a small musical gathering, at which
the young Russian 'cellist, Varia Irmanoff, was to play her composition
"Volga" (Air Russe pour Violoncelle), which she had dedicated to me.
Unfortunately her accompanist never turned {145} up. Glazounoff,
seeing the poor girl's embarrassment, then went very quietly to the
piano and said, "I will accompany you." Very Russian in kindness and
simplicity! I was proud of him.
A few minutes later, when my other pianist, the talented Miss Vera
Margolies, came, Glazounoff seemed delighted to meet his favourite
Russian artist-friend, just returned from new successes in Paris, and
about to achieve another success at the Queen's Hall under the
direction of our great Safonoff.
I must add a few words on Mrs. Rosa Newmarch. She has rendered great
service to the artistic world in publishing her two big volumes on our
great Tchaikovsky, and her works on _The Russian Opera_ and _The
Russian Arts_, and we Russians must always think of Mrs. Rosa
Newmarch's efforts to bring about an artistic entente between Russia
and England.
Safonoff, that grand artist so well known to London orchestras and
audiences, used, in his lighter moments, to amuse us with his
inimitable six-line caricatures on the back of menu cards, or on any
handy scraps of paper.
In these later years I used frequently to meet that grand violinist
August Wilhelmj, and shall never forget the rather rare examples he
gave us of his extraordinary gift of tone, in that respect reminding me
somewhat of Laub.
I used also to meet Auer on his occasional visits here, during which he
introduced to me his celebrated pupils, Kathleen Parlow and Mischa
Elman, who have since won world-wide fame.
Ernest De Munck, the eminent Belgian {146} violoncellist, formerly
married to Carlotta Patti, I knew very well during his last residence
in Londen, and often heard him perform on his beautiful "Strad." He
had made his reputation throughout the world, and after the death in
Paris of his celebrated wife, he spent his last years in London. We
had many mutual friends in the musical world of former days.
The above are some of the _dii majori_ of the musical profession past
and present. But there is also much excellent amateur talent in
English Society, to which I have often listened with real enjoyment.
On the other hand, I must confess that some of my best friends have
shown a conspicuous absence of "music in the soul," though far from
being on that account "fit for treason's stratagems and spoils!" I
need hardly repeat my well-known story of dear Kinglake, who used to be
unutterably bored by music, and frankly admitted that, of all
instruments, he preferred the drum! His attitude was, I suppose,
somewhat like that of your celebrated Dr. Johnson, whose attention was
called at a musical party (at which no doubt he unwillingly found
himself) to a _tour de force_ of an eminent performer on the violin.
"Is it not wonderful?" said an ardent listener. "I wish, sir, it were
impossible," replied the grim Doctor.
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