The War. German Meals. Women and Men. Tausig's Teaching. Tausig
Abandons his Conservatory. Dresden. Kullak.
BERLIN, _July 23, 1870_.
Just now the grand topic of course is this dreadful war that has just
been declared between Prussia and France, and everybody is in the
wildest state of excitement over it. It broke out so very suddenly that
it is only just one week since it has been decided upon, and ever since,
the drafting has been going on, and the streets are filled with
regiments and with droves of horses, cannon, and all the implements of
war. The trains are going out all the time packed with soldiers, and the
railroad stations are the constant scene of weeping women of all
classes, come to see the last of their dear ones. There is such a storm
of indignation against Napoleon that one hears nothing but curses
against him. I am entirely on the German side, and am anxious to see the
result, for between two such great nations, and with so much at stake,
it will be a tremendous struggle.
We are promised a holiday soon, when I shall have a let-up from
practicing, and only practice three hours a day, instead of five or six.
Don't think I am making extraordinary progress because I practice so
much. I find that the strengthening and equalizing of the fingers is a
terribly slow process, and that it takes much more time to make a step
forward than I expected. You may know how a thing _ought_ to be played,
but it is another matter to get your hands into such a training that
they obey your will. Sometimes I am very much encouraged, and feel as if
I should be an artist "immediately, if not sooner," and at others I fall
into the blackest despair. I don't know but that S. J. was in the right
of it, not to attempt anything, for it is an awful pull when you _do_
once begin to study!
I wish S. could come here and spend a winter. I am sure it would be
capital for her health. The Germans have a great idea that you must
"_stärken_ (strengthen)" yourself. So they eat every few hours. When you
first arrive you feel stuffed to bursting all the time, for you
naturally eat heartily at every meal, because, as we only eat three
times a day in America, we are accustomed to take a good deal at once.
Here they have five meals a day, and one has to learn how to take a
little at a time. But it is a pretty good idea, for you are continually
repairing yourself, and you never have such a strain on your system as
to get hungry! The German women are plump roly-polies, as a general
rule, and it is probably in consequence of this continual
"strengthening." One has full opportunity to observe their condition,
for they generally have their dress "_aus-geschnitten_ (square neck),"
as they call it, in order to save collars, and you will see them
strolling along the streets with their dresses out open in front. They
are not handsome--irregular features and muddy complexions being the
rule. The way they neglect their teeth is the worst. They are always
complimenting Americans on what they call our "fine Grecian noses," and,
in fact, since they have said so much about it, I have noticed that
nearly all Americans _have_ straight and reasonably proportioned
noses.--One sees a great many handsome _men_ on the street,
however--many more than we do at home. Perhaps it is because the
Prussian uniform sets them off so, and then their blonde beards and
moustaches give them a _distingué_ air.
From what you tell me of the shock of our respected friend---- over B.'s
travelling from the West under Mr. S.'s escort, I think the
"conventionalities" are taking too strong a hold in America, and it will
not be many years before they are as strict there as they are here,
where young people of different sexes can never see anything of each
other. I regard it as a shocking system, as the Germans manage it. Young
ladies and gentlemen only see each other in parties, and a young man can
never call on a girl, but must always see her in the presence of the
whole family. I only wonder how marriages are managed at all, for the
sexes seem to live quite isolated from each other. The consequence is,
the girls get a lot of rubbish in their heads, and as for the men, I
know not what they think, for I have not seen any to speak of since I
have been here. You can imagine that with my co-education training and
ideas, I have given Fräulein W.'s moral system a succession of shocks.
She has been fenced up, so to speak, her whole life, and, consequently,
was dumbfounded at the bold stand I take. I cannot resist giving her a
sensation once in a while, so I come out with some strong expression. Do
you know, since I've seen so much of the world I've come to the
conclusion that the New England principle of teaching daughters to be
independent and to look out for themselves from the first, is an
excellent one. I've seen the evil of this German system of never
allowing children to think for themselves. It _does_ make them so
mawkish. A girl here nearly thirty years old will not know where to buy
the simplest thing, or do without her mother any more than a baby. The
best plan is the old-fashioned American one, viz.: Give your children a
"stern sense of duty," and then throw them on their own resources.
* * *
BERLIN, _August 6, 1870_.
Until yesterday I have had no holiday, for I got into Tausig's class
finally, so I had to practice very hard. He was as amiable to me as he
ever can be to anybody, but he is the most trying and exasperating
master you can possibly imagine. It is his principle to rough you and
snub you as much as he can, even when there is no occasion for it, and
you can think yourself fortunate if he does not hold you up to the
ridicule of the whole class. I was put into the class with Fräulein
Timanoff, who is so far advanced that Tausig told her he would not give
her lessons much longer, for that she knew enough to graduate. You can
imagine what an ordeal my first lesson was to me. I brought him a long
and difficult Scherzo, by Chopin, that I had practiced carefully for a
month, and knew well. Fancy how easy it was for me to play, when he
stood over me and kept calling out all through it in German, "Terrible!
Shocking! Dreadful! O Gott! O Gott!" I was really playing it well, too,
and I kept on in spite of him, but my nerves were all rasped and excited
to the highest point, and when I got through and he gave me my music,
and said, "Not at all bad" (very complimentary for him), I rushed out of
the room and burst out crying. He followed me immediately, and coolly
said, "What are you crying for, child? Your playing was not at all bad."
I told him that it was "impossible for me to help it when he talked in
such a way," but he did not seem to be aware that he had said anything.
And now to show how we all have our troubles, and that blow falls upon
blow--I will tell you that at our last lesson Tausig informed us that he
was _not going to give another lesson to anybody_, and that the
conservatory would be shut up on the first of October!! This is the most
_awful_ disappointment to me, for just as I have worked up to the point
where I am prepared to profit by his lessons, he goes away! I suppose
that he has left Berlin by this time, or that he will very soon, but he
wouldn't tell when or where he was going, and only said that he was
going off, and did not know when he was coming back, or what would
become of him. Of course he _does_ know, but he does not want to be
plagued with applications from scholars for private lessons. I heard
that he was only going to retain two of his scholars, and that one was a
princess and the other a countess.
He is a perfect rock. I went to his house to see if I could persuade him
to give me private lessons. He came into the room and accosted me in his
sharpest manner, with "_Nun, was ist's?_ (Well, what is it?)" I soon
found that no impression was to be made on him. He only said that when
he happened to be in Berlin, if I would come and play to him, he would
give me his judgment. But I never should venture to do this, for as
likely as not he would be in a bad humour, and send me off--he is such a
difficult subject to come at. I told him I thought it was very hard
after I had come all this way, and had been at so much expense only to
have lessons from him, that I should have to go back without them. He
said he was very sorry, but that most of his scholars came from long
distances, and that he could not show any special favor to me. He asked
me why I insisted upon having lessons from him, and said that Kullak or
Bendel both teach as well as he does. The fact is, he is a capricious
genius, entirely spoiled and unregulated, and the conservatory is a mere
plaything to him. He amused himself with it for a while, and now he is
tired of it, and doesn't like to be bound down to it, and so he throws
it up. Money is no consideration to him.
It really seems almost as difficult to get a _great_ teacher in Europe
as in America. Tausig is the only celebrity who teaches, and now he has
given up. He rather advised my taking lessons of Bendel, who is a
resident artist here, and a pupil of Liszt's.
I suffered terribly over Tausig's going off. I heard of it first two
weeks ago, and couldn't sleep or anything. The only consolation I bare
is that I should have been "worn to the bone," as H. C. says, if I had
kept on with him, for all his pupils except little Timanoff, who is at
the age of plump fifteen, look as thin as rails. However--"the
bitterness of death is past!" When one is stopped off in one direction,
there is nothing for it but to turn in another. But it seems as if the
more one tried to accomplish a thing, the thicker hindrances and
difficulties spring up about one, like the dragon's teeth. I suppose I
shall end by going to Kullak. He used to be court pianist here before
Tausig and has had immense experience as a teacher. Indeed, Professor J.
K. Paine recommended me to go to him in the first place, you remember.
If I do, I hope I shall have a better fate than poor young N., whom,
also, Professor Paine recommended to go to Kullak. He could not
stand--or else _under_stand the snubbing and brow-beating they gave him
in Kullak's conservatory, and from being deeply melancholy over it, he
got desperate, and actually committed suicide!
Germans cannot understand blueness. They are never blue themselves, and
they expect you always to preserve your equanimity, and torment you to
death to know "what is the matter?" when there is nothing the matter,
except that you are in a state of disgust with everything. Moods are
utterly incomprehensible to them. They feel just the same every day in
the year.
* * *
BERLIN, _August 21, 1870_.
I suppose that C. has described to you in full our Dresden visit, and
what a lovely time we had. It was really a poetic five days, as
everything was new to both of us. We were a good deal surprised at many
things in Dresden. In the first place, the beauty of the city struck us
very forcibly, and we both remarked how singular it was that of all the
people we know who have been there no one should have spoken of it. The
Brühl'sche Terrasse is the most lovely promenade imaginable. It runs
along the bank of the Elbe River, which is here quite broad and
handsome, and I always felt myself under a species of enchantment as
soon as we had ascended the broad flight of steps that lead to it. We
always took tea in the open air, and listened to a band of music
playing. The Germans just live in the open air in summer, and it is
perfectly fascinating. They have these gardens everywhere, filled with
trees, under which are little tables and chairs and footstools; and
there you can sit and have dinner or tea served up to you. At night they
are all lighted up with gas.
It seemed like fairy land, as we sat there in Dresden. The evenings were
soft and balmy, the very perfection of summer weather. The terrace is
quite high above the river, and you look up and down it for a long
distance. The city lies to the left, below you, and the towers rise so
prettily--precisely as in a picture. This air of the culture of
centuries lies over everything, and the soft and lazy atmosphere lulls
the soul to rest. We used to walk until we came to the Belvidere, which
is a large restaurant with a gallery up-stairs running all round it.
There was a band of music, and here we sat and took our tea, and spent
two or three hours, always. The moonlight, the river flowing along and
spanned with beautiful bridges, the thousands of lamps reflected in it
and trembling across the water and under the arches, the infinity of
little steamers and wherries sailing to and fro and brilliantly lighted
up, the music, and the throngs of people passing slowly by, put one into
a delicious and bewildered sort of state, and one feels as if this world
were heaven!
The day after we arrived we went, of course, to the picture gallery, and
here I was entirely taken by surprise. Nothing one reads or hears gives
one the least idea of the magnificence of the pictures there. I never
knew what a picture was before. The softness and richness of the
colouring, and their exquisite beauty, must be seen to be understood.
The Sistine Madonna fills one with rapture. It is perfectly glorious,
and one can't imagine how the mind of man could have conceived it. One
sees what a flight it was after looking at all the other Madonnas in the
Gallery, many of which are wonderful. But this one soars above them all.
Most of the Madonnas look so stiff, or so old, or so matronly, or so
expressionless, or, at best, as in Corregio's Adoration of the Shepherds
(a magnificent picture), the rapture of the mother only is expressed in
the face. In the Sistine Madonna the virgin looks so young and
innocent--so virgin-like--not like a middle-aged married woman. The
large, wide-open blue eyes have a dewy look in them, as if they had
wept many tears, and yet such an innocence that it makes you think of a
baby whom you have comforted after a violent fit of crying. The majesty
of the attitude, and the perfect repose of the face, upon which is a
look of _waiting_, of ineffable expectancy, are very striking. Mr. T. B.
says it looked to him as though she had been overwhelmed at the
tremendous dignity that had been put upon her, and was yet lost in the
awe of it--which I think an exquisite idea. St. Sixtus, who is kneeling
on the right of the virgin, has an expression of anxious solicitude on
his features. He is evidently interceding with her for the congregation
toward whom his right hand is outstretched, for this picture was
intended to be placed over an altar. The only fault to be found with the
picture, I think, is in the face of Santa Barbara, who kneels on the
left. She looks sweetly down upon the sinners below, but with a slight
self-consciousness. The two cherubs underneath are exquisite. Their
little round faces wear an exalted look, as if their eyes fully took in
the august pair to whom they are upturned. The background of the
picture--all of the faces of angels cloudily painted--gives the
finishing touch to this astounding creation. But you must see it to
realize it.
Since my return I have finally decided to take private lessons of
Kullak. Kullak is a very celebrated teacher, and plays splendidly
himself, I am told, though he doesn't give concerts any more. He used to
be court pianist here, and has had so much experience in teaching that
I hope a good deal from him, though I don't believe he will equal our
little Tausig, capricious and ill-regulated though he is. Never shall I
forget the _iron_ way he used to stand over those girls, his hand
clenched, determined to _make_ them do it! No wonder they played so!
They didn't dare not to. He told one of the class that "it was _in_ me,
and he could knock it out of me if he had chosen to keep on with me."
And I know he could--and that is what distracts me!
But just think what a way to behave--to leave his conservatory so, at a
day's notice, in holiday time, without even informing his teachers! He
left everything to be attended to by Beringer. Many of the scholars are
very poor, and have made a great effort to get here in order to learn
his method. Off he went like a shot, because he suddenly got disgusted
with teaching, and he hasn't told a soul where he was going, or how long
he intended to remain away. He wrote to Bechstein, the great piano-maker
here, "I am going away--away--away." He wouldn't condescend to say more.
Mr. Beringer has been to his house to see him on business connected with
the conservatory, but he was flown, and his housekeeper told Beringer
that both letters and telegrams had come for Tausig, and she did not
know where to send them. Did you ever hear of such a capricious
creature? I was so provoked at him that after the first week I ceased to
grieve over his departure. One cannot rely on these great geniuses, but
I hope that, as Kullak makes a business of teaching, and not of playing,
more is to be gained from him. At any rate, he will not be off on these
long absences.
I am just studying my first concerto. It is Beethoven's C minor, and it
is extremely beautiful. Mr. Beringer tells me that two years is too
short a time to make an artist in; and indeed one does not know how
extremely difficult it is until one tries it. He plays splendidly
himself, and is to make his _début_ in the Gewandhaus in Leipsic, this
October. The best orchestra in Germany is there. Tausig has turned out
five artists from his conservatory this summer. Time will show if any of
them become first class.
Aunt H. was right in thinking that this would be one of the most
dreadful wars that ever was, though she needn't be anxious on my
account. The Prussians are winning everything, and are pushing on for
Paris as hard as they can go. They have just taken Chalons. The battles
have been _terrible_, and immense numbers have been killed and wounded
on both sides. They have really fought to the death. The spirit of the
two peoples seems to me entirely different. The French seem only to be
possessed by a mad thirst for glory, and manifest a blood-thirstiness
which is perfectly appalling. One reads the most revolting stories in
the papers about their creeping around the battle-field after the battle
is over, and killing and robbing the wounded Prussians, cutting out
their tongues and putting out their eyes. The Prussians are so on the
alert now, however, that I hope few such things can take place. One
Prussian writes that he was lying wounded upon the field of battle, and
another man was not far off in the same helpless condition, when an old
Frenchman came up and clove this other man's head with a hatchet. The
first screamed loudly for help, when a party of Prussians rushed up and
rescued him, and overtook the old man, and shot him. We hear every day
of some dreadful thing. O.'s cousin, who is just my age, and is three
years married, has lost her husband, her favorite brother is fatally
wounded with three balls and lies in the hospital, and her second
brother has a shot in each leg and they don't know whether he will ever
be able to walk again. He is a young fellow nineteen years old.
In the first days after the war was declared, I felt as if no punishment
could be too hot for Napoleon. The people just gave up everything, and
stood in the streets all day long on each side of the railroad track.
The trains passed every fifteen minutes, packed with the brave fellows
who were going off to lose their lives on a mere pretext. Then there
would be one continual cheering all along as they passed, and all the
women would cry, and the men would execrate Napoleon. The Prussians
don't seem to have any feelings of revenge, but regard the French as a
set of lunatics whom they are going to bring to reason. The hatred of
Napoleon is intense. They regard him as the leader of a people whom he
has willfully blinded, and are determined to make an end of him, if
possible. The Prussian army is such a splendid one that it is difficult
to imagine that it can be overcome. You see everybody under a certain
age is liable to be drafted, and no one is allowed to buy a substitute.
So everybody is interested. Bismarck has two sons who are common
soldiers, and all the ministers together have twelve sons in the war.
Then the King and the Crown Prince being with the army, gives a great
enthusiasm. The Crown Prince has distinguished himself, and seems to
have great military ability. The King was very angry with Prince
Friedrich Carl, because in the last battle he exposed one regiment so
that it was completely mowed down. Only two or three men escaped. But it
makes one groan for the poor Frenchmen when one sees these terrible
great cannon passing by. The largest-sized ones were ordered for the
storming of Metz, and each one requires twenty-four horses to draw it!
WITH KULLAK.