Tausig and Rubinstein. Tausig's Pupils. The Bancrofts. A German
Radical.
BERLIN, _February 8, 1870_.
I have heard both Rubinstein and Tausig in concert since I last wrote.
They are both wonderful, but in quite a different way. Rubinstein has
the greatest power and _abandon_ in playing that you can imagine, and is
extremely exciting. I never saw a man to whom it seemed so easy to play.
It is as if he were just sporting with the piano, and could do what he
pleased with it. Tausig, on the contrary, is extremely restrained, and
has not quite enthusiasm enough, but he is absolutely _perfect_, and
plays with the greatest expression. He is pre-eminent in grace and
delicacy of execution, but seems to hold back his power in a concert
room, which is very singular, for when he plays to his classes in the
conservatory he seems all passion. His conception is so very refined
that sometimes it is a little too much so, while Rubinstein is
occasionally too precipitate. I have not yet decided which I like best,
but in my estimation Clara Schumann as a whole is superior to either,
although she has not their unlimited technique.
This was Tausig's programme:
1. Sonate Op. 53, Beethoven.
2. a. Bourrée, Bach.
b. Presto Scherzando, Mendelssohn.
c. Barcarole Op. 60, }
d. Ballade Op. 47, } Chopin.
e. Zwei Mazurkas Op. 59 u 33,}
f. Aufforderung zum Tanz, Weber.
3. Kreisleriana Op. 16, 8 Phantasie Stücke, Schumann.
4. a. Ständchen von Shakespeare nach Schubert, } Liszt.
b. Ungarische Rhapsodie, }
Tausig's octave playing is the most extraordinary I ever heard. The last
great effect on his programme was in the Rhapsody by Liszt, in an octave
variation. He first played it so _pianissimo_ that you could only just
hear it, and then he repeated the variation and gave it tremendously
_forte_. It was colossal! His scales surpass Clara Schumann's, and it
seems as if he played with velvet fingers, his touch is so very soft. He
played the great C major Sonata by Beethoven--Moscheles' favorite, you
know. His conception of it was not brilliant, as I expected it would be,
but very calm and dreamy, and the first movement especially he took very
_piano_. He did it most beautifully, but I was not quite satisfied with
the last movement, for I expected he would make a grand climax with
those passionate trills, and he did not. Chopin he plays divinely, and
that little Bourrée of Bach's that I used to play, was magical. He
played it like lightning, and made it perfectly bewitching.
Altogether, he is a great man. But Clara Schumann always puts herself
_en rapport_ with you immediately. Tausig and Rubinstein do not sway you
as she does, and, therefore, I think she is the greater interpreter,
although I imagine the Germans would not agree with me. Tausig has such
a little hand that I wonder he has been able to acquire his immense
virtuosity. He is only thirty years old, and is much younger than
Rubinstein or Bülow.
The day after Tausig's concert I went, as usual, to hear him give the
lesson to his best class of girls. I got there a little before the hour,
and the girls were in the dressing-room waiting for the young men to be
through with their lesson. They were talking about the concert. "Was it
not beautiful?" said little Timanoff, to me; "I did not sleep the whole
night after it!"--a touch of sentiment that quite surprised me in that
small personage, and made me feel some compunctions, as I had slept
soundly myself. "I have practiced five hours to-day already," she added.
Just then the young men came out of the class-room and we passed into
it. Tausig was standing by the piano. "Begin!" said he, to Timanoff,
more shortly even than usual; "I trust you have brought me a study
_this_ time." He always insists upon a study in addition to the piece.
Timanoff replied in the affirmative, and proceeded to open Chopin's
_Etudes_. She played the great A minor "Winter Wind" study, and most
magnificently, too, starting off with the greatest brilliancy and "go."
I was perfectly amazed at such a feat from such a child, and expected
that Tausig would exclaim with admiration. Not so that Rhadamanthus. He
heard it through without comment or correction, and when Timanoff had
finished, simply remarked very composedly, "So! Have you taken the
_next_ Etude, also?" as if the great A minor were not enough for one
meal! It is eight pages long to begin with, and there is no let-up to
the difficulty all the way through. Afterward, however, he told the
young men that he "could not have done it better" himself.
Tausig is so hasty and impatient that to be in his classes must be a
fearful ordeal. He will not bear the slightest fault. The last time I
went into his class to hear him teach he was dreadful. Fräulein H.
began, and she has remarkable talent, and is far beyond me. She would
not play _piano_ enough to suit him, and finally he stamped his foot at
her, snatched her hand from the piano, and said: "_Will_ you play
_piano_ or not, for if not we will go no farther?" The second girl sat
down and played a few lines. He made her begin over again several times,
and finally came up and took her music away and slapped it down on the
piano,--"You have been studying this for weeks and you can't play a note
of it; practice it for a month and then you can bring it to me again,"
he said.
The third was Fräulein Timanoff, who is a little genius, I think. She
brought a Sonata by Schubert--the lovely one in A minor--and by the way
he behaved Tausig must have a particular feeling about that particular
Sonata. Timanoff began running it off in her usual nimble style, having
practiced it evidently every minute of the time when she was not
asleep, since the last lesson. She had not proceeded far down the first
page when he stopped her, and began to fuss over the expression. She
began again, but this time with no better luck. A third time, but still
he was dissatisfied, though he suffered her to go on a little farther.
He kept stopping her every moment in the most tantalizing and
exasperating manner. If it had been I, I should have cried, but Timanoff
is well broken, and only flushed deeply to the very tips of her small
ears. From an apple blossom she changed to a carnation. Tausig grew more
and more savage, and made her skip whole pages in his impatience. "Play
here!" he would say, in the most imperative tone, pointing to a half or
whole page farther on. "This I cannot hear!--Go on farther!--It is too
bad to be listened to!" Finally, he struck the music with the back of
his hand, and exclaimed, in a despairing way, "_Kind, es liegt eine
Seele darin. Weiss du nicht es liegt eine_ SEELE _darin_? (Child,
there's a soul in the piece. Don't you know there is a _soul_ in it?)"
To the little Timanoff, who has no soul, and who is not sufficiently
experienced to counterfeit one, this speech evidently conveyed no
particular idea. She ran on as glibly as ever till Tausig could endure
no more, and shut up the music. I was much disappointed, as it was new
to me, and I like to hear Timanoff's little fingers tinkle over the
keys, "Seele" or no "Seele." She has a most accurate and dainty way of
doing everything, and somehow, in her healthy little brain I hardly wish
for _Seele_!
Last of all Fräulein L. played, and she alone suited Tausig. She is a
Swede, and is the best scholar he has, but she has such frightfully ugly
hands, and holds them so terribly, that when I look at her I cannot
enjoy her playing. Tausig always praises her very much, and she is
tremendously ambitious.
Tausig has a charming face, full of expression and very sensitive. He is
extremely sharp-sighted, and has eyes in the back of his head, I
believe. He is far too small and too despotic to be fascinating,
however, though he has a sort of captivating way with him when he is in
a good humor.
I was dreadfully sorry to hear of poor Gottschalk's death. He had a
golden touch, and equal to any in the world, I think. But what a
romantic way to die!--to fall senseless at his instrument, while he was
playing "_La Morte_." It was very strange. If anything more is in the
papers about him you must send it to me, for the infatuation that I and
99,999 other American girls once felt for him, still lingers in my
breast!
On Saturday night I went for the first time to hear the Berlin Symphony
Kapelle. It is composed only of artists, and is the most splendid music
imaginable. De Ahna, for instance, is one of the violinists, and he is
not far behind Joachim. We have no conception of such an orchestra in
America.[A] The Philharmonic of New York approaches it, but is still a
long way off. This orchestra is so perfect, and plays with such
precision, that you can't realize that there are any performers at all.
It is just a great wave of sound that rolls over you as smooth as glass.
As the concert halls are much smaller here, the music is much louder,
and every man not only plays _piano_ and _forte_ where it is marked, but
he draws the _tone_ out of his violin. They have the greatest pathos,
consequently, in the soft parts, and overwhelming power in the loud.
Where great expression is required the conductor almost ceases to beat
time, and it seems as if the performers took it _ad libitum_; but they
understand each other so well that they play like one man. It is _too_
ecstatic! I observed the greatest difference in the horn playing.
Instead of coming in in a monotonous sort of way as it does at home, and
always with the same degree of loudness, here, when it is solo, it
begins round and smooth and full, and then gently modulates until the
tone seems to sigh itself out, dying away at last with a little tremolo
that is perfectly melting. I never before heard such an effect. When the
trumpets come in it is like the crack of doom, and you should hear the
way they play the drums. I never _was_ satisfied with the way they
strike the drums in New York and Boston, for it always seemed as if they
thought the parchment would break. Here, sometimes they give such a
sharp stroke that it startles me, though, of course, it is not often.
But it adds immensely to the accent, and makes your heart beat, I can
tell you. They played Schubert's great symphony, and Beethoven's in B
major, and I could scarcely believe my own ears at the difference
between this orchestra and ours. It is as great as between---- and
Tausig.
* * *
BERLIN, _March 4, 1870_.
Tausig is off to Russia to-day on a concert tour, and will not return
until the 1st of May. Out of six months he has been in Berlin about two
and a half! However, as I am not yet in his class it doesn't affect me
much, but I should think his scholars would be provoked at such long
absences. That is the worst of having such a great artist for a master.
I believe we are to have no vacation in the summer though, and that he
has promised to remain here from May until November without going off.
Ehlert and Tausig have had a grand quarrel, and Ehlert is going to leave
the conservatory in April. I am very sorry, for he is an admirable
teacher, and I like him extremely.
We had another Musical Reading on Sunday, at which I played, but all the
conservatory classes were there, and all the teachers, with Tausig,
also, so it was a pretty hard ordeal. The girls said I turned deadly
pale when I sat down to the piano, and well I might, for here you cannot
play any thing that the scholars have not either played themselves or
are perfectly familiar with, so they criticise you without mercy. Tausig
plays so magnificently that you know beforehand that a thing can never
be more than comparatively good in his eyes. Fräulein L. is the only one
of his pupils that plays to suit him. I do not like her playing so much
myself, because it sounds as if she had tried to imitate him
exactly--which she probably does. It does not seem spontaneous, and she
is an affected creature. They all think 'the world' of her at the
conservatory, and I suppose she _is_ quite extraordinary; but I prefer
Fräulein Timanoff--"_die kleine Person_," as Tausig calls her--and she
is, indeed, a "little person." On Sunday Fräulein L. played the first
part of a Sonata by Chopin, and Tausig was quite enchanted with her
performance. I thought he was going to embrace her, he jumped up so
impetuously and ran over to her. He declared that it could not be better
played, and said he would not hear anything else after that, and so the
school was dismissed, although several had not played that expected to
do so.
Tausig has one scholar who is a very singular girl--the Fräulein H. I
mentioned to you before, who has studied with Bülow. She is half French
and half German, and speaks both languages. She is full of talent and
cannot be over eighteen, but she is the most intense character, and is a
perfect child of nature. One can't help smiling at everything she does,
because she goes at everything so hard and so unconsciously. When the
other girls are playing she folds her arms and plays with her fingers
against her sides all the time, and when her turn comes she seizes her
music, jumps up, and rushes for the piano as fast as she can. She hasn't
the least timidity, and on Sunday when Tausig called out her name he
scarcely got the words out before she said, "_Ja_," to the great
amusement of the class (for none of us answered to our names) and ran to
the piano.
She sat down with the chair half crooked, and almost on the side of it,
but she never stopped to arrange herself, but dashed off a prelude out
of her own head, and then played her piece. When she got through she
never changed countenance, but was back in her seat before you could say
"Jack Robinson." She is as passionate as Tausig, and so they usually
have a scene over her lesson. He is always either half amused at her or
very angry, and is terribly severe with her. When he stamps his foot at
her she makes up a face, and the blood rushes up into her head, and I
believe she would beat him if she dared. She always plays as impetuously
as she does everything else, and then he stops his ears and tells her
she makes too much "_Spectakel_" (his favorite expression). Then she
begins over again two or three times, but always in the same way. He
snatches the music from the piano and tells her that is enough. Then the
class bursts out laughing and she goes to her seat and cries. But she is
too proud to let the other girls see her wipe her eyes, and so she sits
up straight, and tries to look unconcerned, but the tears trickle down
her cheeks one after the other, and drop off her chin all the rest of
the hour. By the time she has had a piece for two lessons she comes to
the third, and at last she has managed to tone down enough, and then she
plays it splendidly. She is a savage creature. The girls tell me that
one time she sat down to the piano (a concert-grand) with such violence
as to push the instrument to one side, and began to play with such
vehemence that she burst the sleeve out of her dress behind! She is
going to be an artist, and I told her she must come to America to give
concerts. She said "_Ja_," and immediately wanted to know where I lived,
so she could come and see me. I think she will make a capital concert
player, for she is always excited by an audience, and she has immense
power. I am a mere baby to her in strength. Perhaps when she is ten
years older she will be able to restrain herself within just limits, and
to put in the light and shade as Fräulein L. does.
Since I last wrote I have been to hear Rubinstein again. He is the
greatest sensation player I know of, and, like Gottschalk, has all sorts
of tricks of his own. His grand aim is to produce an _effect_, so it is
dreadfully exciting to hear him, and at his last concert the first piece
he played--a terrific composition by Schubert--gave me such a violent
headache that I couldn't hear the rest of the performance with any
pleasure. He has a gigantic spirit in him, and is extremely poetic and
original, but for an entire concert he is too much. Give me Rubinstein
for a few pieces, but Tausig for a whole evening. Rubinstein doesn't
care how many notes he misses, provided he can bring out his conception
and make it vivid enough. Tausig strikes _every_ note with rigid
exactness, and perhaps his very perfection makes him at times a little
cold. Rubinstein played Schubert's Erl-König, arranged by Liszt,
_gloriously_. Where the child is so frightened, his hands flew all over
the piano, and absolutely made it shriek with terror. It was enough to
freeze you to hear it.
Last week I went to a party at Mrs. Bancroft's in honour of Washington's
birthday, and had a lovely time, as I always do when I go there.
Bismarck was present, and wore a coat all decorated with stars and
orders. He is a splendid looking man, and is tall and imposing. No one
could be kinder than Mr. Bancroft. He and Mrs. Bancroft live in a
beautiful house, furnished in perfect taste and full of lovely pictures
and things, and they entertain most charmingly. They seem to do their
utmost for the Americans who are in Berlin, and I am very proud of our
minister. His reputation as our national historian, together with his
German culture and early German associations, all combine to render him
an admirable representative of our country to this haughty kingdom, and
I hear that he is very popular with its selfsatisfied citizens. As for
Mrs. Bancroft, one could hardly be more elegant, or better suited to the
position. Mr. Bancroft is passionately fond of music, and knows what
good music is,--which is of course an additional title to _my_ high
opinion!
The other day Herr J. called for me to go and take a walk through the
Thier-Garten, and see the skating. It was the first time I had been
there, though it is not far from us, and I was delighted with it. It is
the natural forest, with beautiful walks and drives cut through it, and
statues here and there. We went to see the skating, and it was a lovely
sight. The band was playing, and ladies and gentlemen were skating in
time to the waltz. Many ladies skate very elegantly, and go along with
their hands in their muffs, swaying first to one side and then to the
other. It is grace itself. Carriages and horses pranced slowly around
the edge of the pond, and at last the Prince and Princess Royal came
along, drawn by two splendid black horses.
The carriage stopped and they got out to walk. "Now," said I to Herr J.,
"you must take off your hat"--for everybody takes off his hat to the
Crown Prince. As they passed us he did take it off, but blushed up to
his ears, which I thought rather odd, until he said, in a half-ashamed
tone, "That is the first time in my life that I ever took off my hat to
a Prince." "Well, what did you do it for?" said I. "Because you told me
to," said he. He is such a red hot republican, that even such a little
act of respect as this grated upon him! I only told him in fun, any way,
but I was very much amused to see how he took it. He always raves over
the United States, and says we are the greatest country in the world. He
is a strange man, and you ought to hear his theory of religion. He sets
the Bible entirely aside--like most German cultivated men. We were
talking of it one night, and he said, "We won't speak of that
_blockhead_ Peter, stupid fisherman that he was! but we will pass on to
Paul, who was a man of some education." David, he calls "that rascal
David, etc." Of course, I hold to my own belief, but I can't help
laughing to hear him, it sounds so ridiculous. The world never had any
beginning, he says, and there is no resurrection. We live only for the
benefit of the next generation, and therefore it is necessary to lead
good lives. We inherit the result of our father's labours, and our
children will inherit ours. So we shall go on until the human race comes
to a state of perfection. "And then what?" said I. Oh--then, he didn't
know. Perhaps the world would explode, and go off in meteors. "We _do_
know," said he, "that there are lost stars. Occasionally a star
disappears and we can't tell what has become of it; and perhaps the
earth will become a wandering star, or a comet. The intervals between
the stars are so great as to admit of a world wandering about--and there
is no police in those regions, I fancy," concluded he, with a shrug of
his shoulders. "Do you really _believe_ that, Herr J.?" I asked. "Oh,"
said he, "we won't speak about _beliefs_. Now we are _speculating_!" He
is a delightful companion, and I think he is scrupulously conscientious.
Though he does not profess the Christian faith, he acts up to Christian
principles.