Dinner-Party and Reception at Mr. Bancroft's. Auction at Tausig's
House. A German Christmas. The Joachims.
BERLIN, _October 2, 1871_.
This week I have been to a dinner-party at the Bancroft's. There were
several eminent Germans there, and I was taken out by Bötticher, the
Herr who has arranged all the casts in the Museum, and who knows
everything about Art. He couldn't speak a word of English, so we
_Germaned_ it. We talked about Sappho all through dinner, and he gave me
several details about that young woman which I did not know before. As
C. used to say, we had one of those dinners "such as you read about in
the Arabian Nights," topping off with a glass of my favourite Tokay,
which, I regret to say, I so prolonged the pleasure of drinking, that
finally the signal was given to adjourn to the drawing-room, and I was
obliged to leave my glass standing half full, to be swallowed by the
waiter as soon as my back was turned. Sad, but true!
On another evening, at a Bancroft reception, I talked with a Miss R.,
who was charming. She is twenty-two or three, I should think, very
pretty and extremely elegant, and with the most delicious way of
speaking you can imagine. Such softness of manner and such a
delightfully pitched voice, and then along with this perfect repose,
such a vivid way of describing things! I was immensely taken with her,
and was delighted to have her for a countrywoman. She gave me a
wonderful account of the Island of Java. I had a lot of questions to ask
her, for you remember how persistently I read that book by a naturalist
(Wallace) who went to Java in search of the Bird of Paradise. Miss R. is
so extremely intelligent, and yet so unassuming; and then this high-bred
manner.--I did not have time to hear her talk half enough, and,
unfortunately, her party went away the next day.
The other day was an auction in poor little Tausig's house, and all his
furniture was sold. It was very handsome, all of solid oak, beautifully
carved. He had spent five thousand thalers on it. His wardrobe was sold,
too, and I don't know how many pairs of his little boots and shoes were
there, his patent leather concert boots among others. His little velvet
coat that he used to wear went with the rest. I saw it lying on a chair.
I came home quite ill, and was laid up two days. It was the fatigue, I
suppose, and miserable reflections. I wanted to buy a picture, but they
were all sold in a lot. He had excellent ones of all the great
composers, down to Liszt and Wagner, hanging over his piano in the room
where he always played. Kullak deplores Tausig's death very deeply. He
had visited him in Leipsic two days before he was taken ill, and said no
one would have dreamed that Tausig was going to die, he looked so well.
Kullak said Tausig was one of the three or four great _special_
pianists. "Who will interpret to us so again?" said he; and I echoed,
sadly enough, "Who, indeed?"
Kullak, by the way, is a wonderfully _finished_ teacher. He is a great
friend of Liszt's, and Liszt has taught him a good many things. I doubt,
however, how M. will fare with him, if she is only going to be here a
year. My experience is that it takes fully a year to get started under a
first class master. These great teachers won't take a pupil raw from
America, still less trouble themselves with a scholar who cannot
immediately comprehend. I have written her to-day a three-sheet letter
in which I have set forth the disadvantages of Germany in a sufficiently
forcible manner to prevent her feeling disappointed if she still insists
upon the journey. I have come to the conclusion that I am no criterion
as to other people's impressions. Unless people have an enthusiasm for
art I don't see the least use in their coming abroad. If they cannot
appreciate the _culture_ of Europe, they are much better off in America.
There is no doubt whatever that as to the _comfort_ of every-day life,
we are a long way ahead of every nation, unless perhaps the English,
whom, however, I have not seen.
* * *
BERLIN, _December 25, 1871_.
To-day is Christmas-day, and I have thought much of you all at home, and
have wondered if you've been having an apathetic time as usual. I think
we often spend Christmas in a most shocking fashion in America, and I
mean to revolutionize all that when I get back. So long a time in
Germany has taught me better. Here it is a season of universal joy, and
_everybody_ enters into it. Last night we had a Christmas tree at the
S.'s, as we always do. We went there at half past six, and it was the
prettiest thing to see in every house, nearly, a tree just lighted, or
in process of being so. As a separate family lives on each floor, often
in one house would be three trees, one above the other, in the front
rooms. The curtains are always drawn up, to give the passers-by the
benefit of it. They don't make a fearful undertaking of having a
Christmas tree here, as we do in America, and so they are attainable by
everybody. The tree is small, to begin with, and nothing is put on it
except the tapers and bonbons. It is fixed on a small stand in the
centre of a large square table covered with a white cloth, and each
person's presents are arranged in a separate pile around it. The tree is
only lighted for the sake of beauty, and for the air of festivity it
throws over the thing.--After a crisp walk in the moonlight (which I
performed in the style of "Johnny-look-up-in-the-air," for I was engaged
in staring into house-windows, so far as it was practicable), we sat
down to enjoy a cup of tea and a piece of cake. I had just begun my
second cup, when, Presto! the parlour doors flew open, and there stood
the little green tree, blossoming out into lights, and throwing its
gleams over the well-laden table. There was a general scramble and a
search for one's own pile, succeeded by deep silence and suspense while
we opened the papers. Such a hand shaking and embracing and thanking as
followed! concluding with the satisfactory conviction that we each had
"just what we wanted." Germans do not despise the utilitarian in their
Christmas gifts, as we do, but, between these and their birthday
offerings, expect to be set up for the rest of the year in the
necessaries of life as well as in its superfluities. Presents of
stockings, under-clothes, dresses, handkerchiefs, soaps--nothing comes
amiss. And every one _must_ give to every one else. That is LAW.
I have just heard a young artist from Vienna who made a great impression
on me. His name is Ignaz Brühl. He is quite exceptional, and has not
only a brilliant technique, but also a peculiar and beautiful
conception.--But the best concert I have heard this season was one given
by Clara Schumann a week ago last Monday. She was assisted by Joachim
and his wife, and _that_ galaxy is indeed unequalled. Frau Joachim sings
deliciously. Not that her voice is so remarkable. You hear such voices
all the time. But she manages it consummately, and sings German songs as
no one but a German _could_ sing them. Indeed I never heard any woman
approach her in unobtrusive yet perfect art. She does not take you by
storm, and when I first came here I did not think much of her, but every
time I hear her I am struck with how exquisite it is. Every word takes
on a meaning, and on this account I think you have to understand the
language before you can realize the beauty of it. One of her songs was
Schumann's "Spring Song," with that rapid _agitato_ accompaniment, you
know.--She came out and started off in it with a half breath and a
tremor just like a bird fluttering up out of its nest, and then went up
on a portamento with _such_ abandon!--like the bird soaring off in its
flight. I never _shall_ forget that effect! Of course it carried you
completely away.
Beside singing so admirably she is a beauty--a sort of baby beauty--and
when she comes out in a pale pink silk, contrasting with her dark hair
and revealing her imperial neck and arms, she is ravishing. I've been
told she wasn't anything remarkable when Joachim married her. No doubt
dwelling with such a genius has developed her. They say that Joachim has
had such a happy life that he wants to live forever! He certainly does
overtop everything. On this occasion he played Beethoven's great
Kreutzer Sonata for violin and piano, with Clara Schumann, and I thought
it the _most magnificent performance I ever heard_! I perfectly adore
Joachim, and consider him the wonder of the age. It is simple ecstasy to
listen to him.