A MUSICAL TEA-PARTY AT THE HOUSE OF JOHN SPRIGGINS.
I once more introduce my readers to the scenes of my active, musical
life, with an invitation to accompany me to a musical tea-party. My
object is, in a short and entertaining manner, to remove very common
prejudices; to correct mistaken ideas; to reprove the followers of mere
routine; to oppose to malicious cavilling the sound opinions of an
experienced teacher; to scourge dogmatic narrow-mindedness; and in this
way to advance my method of instruction.
* * * * *
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
JOHN SPRIGGINS _(jovial and narrow-minded, a member of
an ancient musical family)._
MRS. SPRIGGINS _(irritable, envious, and malicious)._
LIZZIE, _their daughter, 13, years old (lively and pert)._
SHEPARD, _her piano-teacher (very laborious)._
DOMINIE, _a piano-master (very stern)._
EMMA, _his daughter, a pianist (silent and musical)._
MRS. SPRIGGINS (_to Dominie_). So this is your daughter who is to give a
concert to-morrow? She is said to have less talent than your eldest
daughter. With her, they say, nothing requires any labor.
DOMINIE. You must ask my eldest daughter herself about that. I have
hitherto held the opinion that both of them played correctly, musically,
and perhaps finely, and yet both differently: that is the triumph of a
musical education. But this cheap comparative criticism is already too
thoroughly worn out. Pray what else have you on your mind?
MRS. S. Have you not yet sent your younger daughter to school? They say
your eldest could neither read nor write at fourteen years of age.
DOMINIE. My daughters always have a private teacher in the house, in
connection with whom I instruct them in music, in order that their
literary education shall occupy fewer hours, and that they shall have
time left for exercise in the open air to invigorate the body; while
other children are exhausted with nine hours a day at schools and
institutes, and are obliged to pay for this with the loss of their
health and the joyousness of youth.
MRS. S. It is very well known that your daughters are obliged to play
the whole day long.
DOMINIE. And not all night too? You probably might explain their skill
in that way. I am astonished that you have not heard that too, since
you have picked up so many shocking stories about me and my daughters.
MRS. S. (_dismisses the subject, and asks suddenly_). Now just how old
is your daughter Emma?
DOMINIE. She is just sixteen years and seven weeks old.
MRS. S. Does she speak French?
DOMINIE. Oui, elle parle Français, and in musical tones, too,--a
language which is understood all over the world.
MRS. S. But she is so silent! Does she like to play?
DOMINIE. You have given her no opportunity to speak, she is certainly
not forth-putting. For the last two years she has taken great pleasure
in playing.
MRS. S. You acknowledge, then, that formerly you had to force her to it?
DOMINIE. In the earlier years of her natural development, as she was a
stranger to vanity and other unworthy motives, she certainly played, or
rather pursued her serious studies, chiefly from obedience and habit.
Does your daughter of thirteen years old always practise her exercises
without being required to do so? Does she like to go to school every
day? Does she always sew and knit without being reminded of it?
MRS. S. (_interrupting_). Oh, I see you are quite in love with your
daughters! But they say you are terribly strict and cruel in the musical
education of your children; and, in fact, always.
DOMINIE. Do you suppose I do this from affection? or do you infer it,
because they have proved artists, or because they look so blooming and
healthy, or because they write such fine letters, or because they have
not grown crooked over embroidery, or because they are so innocent,
unaffected, and modest? or--
MRS. S. (_irritably_). We will drop that subject. But I must give you
one piece of good advice. Do not make your daughter Emma exert herself
too much, as you have done with your eldest daughter.
DOMINIE. If that is so, Mrs. Spriggins, it seems to have agreed with her
very well.
MRS. S. (_vehemently_). But she would have been better--
DOMINIE. If she had not played at all? That I can't tell exactly, as I
said yesterday. Well, you are satisfied now with Emma's state of health?
MRS. S. It is of no use to advise such people as you.
DOMINIE. I have always devoted myself to my business as a teacher, and
have daily taken counsel with myself about the education of my
daughters, and of other pupils whom I have formed for artists; and, it
must be acknowledged, I have done so with some ability.
MRS. S. (_not attending to him, but turning to Emma_). But does it not
make your fingers ache to play such difficult music?
DOMINIE. Only when her teacher raps her on the knuckles, and that I
never do.
(_Emma looks at the parrot which is hanging in the parlor, and
strokes the great bull-dog._)
JOHN SPRIGGINS (_entering with his daughter Lizzie_). Herr Dominie, will
you be so good as to hear our daughter Lizzie play, and advise us
whether to continue in the same course. Music is, in fact, hereditary in
our family. My wife played a little, too, in her youth, and I once
played on the violin; but my teacher told me I had no talent for it, no
ear, and no idea of time, and that I scraped too much.
DOMINIE. Very curious! He must have been mistaken!
JOHN S. But I always was devotedly fond of music. My father and my
grandfather, on our estate, often used to play the organ for the
organist in church, and the tenants always knew when they were playing.
My father used often to tell that story at table. Ha, ha! It was very
droll!
DOMINIE. Curious!
JOHN S. Well, to return to my violin. I gave it up after a year, because
it seemed rather scratchy to me, too.
DOMINIE. Curious! Probably your ear and your taste had become more
cultivated.
JOHN S. Afterwards, when I accepted an office, my wife said to me, "My
dear, what a pity it is about your violin." So I had it restrung, and
took a teacher. It seems as if it were only yesterday.
DOMINIE (_casting down his eyes,--the servant brings ice_). That was very
curious!
JOHN S. But the government horn-player thought he could not get on in
duets with me.
DOMINIE. Curious! So you were obliged to play only solos? But to return
to your daughter. Will you be good enough to play me something, Miss
Lizzie?
MRS. S. (_condescendingly, in a low voice_). She is a little timid and
embarrassed at playing before your daughter Emma.
EMMA. You really need not be so.
MRS. S. Bring "Les Graces" by Herz, and Rosellen's "Tremolo."
LIZZIE. But, mamma, I have forgotten that piece by Herz, and I have not
learned the "Tremolo" very well yet. That is always the way with me. Mr.
Shepard says I may console myself: it was always the same with his other
scholars. He says I shall finally make my way. But Mr. Shepard is so
strict. Are you very strict, Herr Dominie?
MRS. S. Why, my child, you have heard me say so before. Herr Dominie is
the very strictest--but (_playfully_) he will not acknowledge it.
DOMINIE. There is one thing you must allow, Mrs. Spriggins,--that my
pupils always take pleasure in my lessons; and that must be the case
because their progress is evident and gives them delight, and every
thing is developed in the most natural way.
MRS. S. (_less sharply_). We won't discuss that; but how are your
daughters able to play so many pieces to people, and moreover without
notes, if they have not been obliged to practise all day long, and if
you have not been very cruel with them, while my Lizzie cannot play a
single thing without bungling?
DOMINIE. Allow me, madam, it must be the fault of Mr. Shep--
MRS. S. No, no! you must excuse me, but we don't permit any reflections
on our Mr. Shepard: he is very particular and unwearied.
DOMINIE. It does not depend entirely upon that, but--
JOHN S. Upon my honor, it is marvellous to see how talented pupils
always seem to flock to _you_. It is easy to teach such! Ha, ha! You
must not forget, however, that my grandfather played on the organ. Now,
Lizzie, sit down and play something.
(_She chooses a cavatina from "The Pirates," with variations. The
introduction begins with _e_ flat in unison. Lizzie strikes _e_ in
unison and the same in the bass, and exclaims: "There, mamma,
didn't I tell you so? I don't remember it now." Mr. Shepard enters,
steps up hastily, and puts her finger on _e_ flat._)
SHEPARD. Pardon me, Herr Dominie, I will only set her going: it makes
her a little confused to play before such connoisseurs; she loses her
eyesight. Don't you see, Lizzie, there are three flats in the signature?
JOHN S. Courage now! Aha! Lizzie can't get at the pedal, the bull-dog
is lying over it. John, take him out.
(_After the removal of the bull-dog, Lizzie plays as far as the
fourth bar, when she strikes _c_ sharp instead of _c_, and stops._)
MRS. S. Never mind, begin again. Herr Dominie is pleased to hear that:
he has gone through it all with his own children.
(_Lizzie begins again at the beginning, and goes on to the eighth
bar, where she sticks fast._)
SHEPARD. Don't make me ashamed of you, Lizzie. Now begin once more: a
week ago it went quite tolerably.
(_Lizzie begins once more, and plays or rather scrambles through
it, as far as the eighteenth bar; but now it is all over with her,
and she gets up._)
DOMINIE. Skip the introduction, it is too difficult: begin at once on
the theme.
JOHN S. (_to his wife_). We will go away and leave the gentlemen alone.
By and by, gentlemen, we will talk about it further over a cup of tea.
(_Lizzie refuses to play._)
DOMINIE. Mr. Shepard, let Lizzie play a few scales or some chords; a few
finger exercises, or some easy dance without notes.
SHEPARD. She has nothing of that kind ready. You see I always take up
one piece after another, and have each one played as well as I can; she
repeats the difficult parts, I write the proper fingering over them, and
am very particular that she does not use the wrong fingers. I have taken
a great deal of pains, and quite worn myself out over the lessons.
Lizzie does the same, and practises her pieces two hours a day;
but--but--
(_Lizzie goes away with Emma._)
DOMINIE. Mr. Shepard, with the best intentions in the world, you will
never accomplish your end. Even if Miss Lizzie is only to play as an
amateur, and is not intended for any thing higher, for which in fact she
has not sufficient talent, you must pay some attention beforehand to the
acquirement of a correct tone, and get rid of this robin-red-breast
touch; and you must then endeavor, by scales and exercises of every
kind, to give to her hands and fingers so much firmness, decision, and
dexterity, that she can master her pieces, at least with a certain
distinct tone and a tolerable touch. You are not less in error in the
choice of her pieces, which are far too difficult,--a fault of most
teachers, even with the most skilful pupils. The pieces which your
pupils are to execute should be below their mechanical powers; for,
otherwise, the struggle with difficulties robs the player of all
confidence in the performance, and gives rise to stumbling, bungling,
and hurry. The mechanical powers should be cultivated by studies and
exercises, in preference to pieces, at least to those of certain famous
composers, who do not write in a manner adapted to the piano; or who, at
any rate, regard the music as of more importance than the player. This
may apply even to Beethoven, in the higher grade of composition; for his
music is full of danger for the performer. The only course which can
ever lead to a sure result, without wearying both pupil and parent, and
without making piano-playing distasteful, is first to lay a foundation
in mechanical power, and then to go on with the easier pieces by Hünten
and Burgmüller. If you try to produce the mechanical dexterity essential
for piano performance by the study of pieces, except with the most
careful selection, you will waste a great deal of time and deprive the
pupil of all pleasure and interest; and the young Lizzie will be much
more interested in the hope of a husband than in the satisfaction of
performing a piece which will give pleasure to herself and her friends.
There can be no success without gradual development and culture, without
a plan, without consideration and reflection,--in fact, without a
proper method. How can there be any good result, if the pupil has to try
at the same time to play with a correct touch, with the proper
fingering, in time, with proper phrasing, to move the fingers rightly,
to gain familiarity with the notes, and to avoid the confusion between
the treble and the bass notes,--and in fact has to struggle with every
thing at once? And what vexations! what loss of time without success!
(_Shepard listened with attention, and a light seemed to dawn upon
him._)
(_Dominie and Shepard go in to tea._)
MRS. S. Well, gentlemen, have you come to any conclusion? Is not Lizzie
a good pupil? She is obliged to practise two hours every day, however
tired she may be. Do you think we should continue in the same course,
Herr Dominie?
SHEPARD. Herr Dominie has called my attention to some points which will
be of use to me.
DOMINIE. Only a few trifles.
JOHN S. After tea will not Miss Emma play to us?
EMMA. The piano is very much out of tune, some of the keys stick, the
action is too light, and the instrument generally is not calculated for
the successful execution of any thing.
JOHN S. I beg your pardon: it was considered by everybody a very fine
instrument when we bought it, sixteen years ago. We had a great bargain
in it at the time, for we purchased it of a neighbor who had improved it
very much by use. Mr. Shepard will confirm what I say, Miss.
(_Emma bows her head thoughtfully, and looks at Shepard
suspiciously._)
JOHN S. My violin has very much improved during the last twenty years.
On my honor, if Lizzie were a boy, she should learn to play on the
violin, to keep it in the family. Ha, ha, ha!
DOMINIE. That would be curious!
(_Dominie wishes to take leave with his daughter._)
MRS. S. (_condescendingly_). I hope you will come to see us again soon.
The next time Lizzie will play you Rosellen's "Tremolo;" and Miss Emma
must play us a piece too.
DOMINIE. You are extremely kind! (_Takes leave._)