A Rising Organist. Kullak. Von Bülow's Playing. A Princely Funeral.
Wilhelmj's Concert. A Court Beauty.
BERLIN, _July 1, 1872_.
Since I have been here X. has gradually developed into a great organ
player, and I fancy he is now one of the first organ virtuosi in the
world. His musical activity is immense, and I don't doubt he will be one
of the great musical authorities here by the time he is a few years
older. He is a good-hearted little demon, the incarnation of German dirt
and good humour, and he pretends to be desperately devoted to me. Last
Sunday he was at M.'s and went home with us afterward. Generally I go in
front with A. or Herr J. and let X. give his arm to M., but this time I
accorded him the honour of taking it myself. He is about a foot shorter
than I am, but he trotted along by my side in a state of high
satisfaction, and asked me what he should play at this concert. I told
him he might play the G Minor Prelude and Fugue, as I had just taken it,
"_but_," said I, "mind you play it well, for I shall study it very hard
during the next fortnight, and I shall know if you strike one false
note. I'll allow you six faults, but if you make one more I'll beat
you." This amused him highly, but he said, "It is a very complicated
fugue, and it isn't so easy to play it perfectly, with all the pedal
passages. What will you do for me if I come off without making _one_
fault?" I told him there was plenty of time to think about that, and I
didn't believe he could. I have no doubt that he _will_ play it
magnificently, but I love to plague him. I wish that his department were
secular rather than church music, for if he were only a conductor of an
orchestra, or something of that sort, he could give me many a lift. He
doesn't dare play the piano any more since I played to him a few times.
He used nearly to kill me with his extemporizations, for he has no
memory, and so he always had to extemporize. I generally went off into a
secret convulsion of laughter when he went bang! bang! Donner and
Blitz!--splaying all over the key-board. It was the funniest thing I
ever heard, and when I heard him burst forth in such grand style on the
organ, I was perfectly amazed, and couldn't reconcile it with his piano
playing at all. He is a great reader, of course, and can transpose at
sight, and all that sort of thing. I've known him to play accompaniments
at sight in a great concert in the Dom and transpose them at the same
time!
July 6.--You ask me why I gave up going to the Wiecks in Dresden this
summer.--Because they make everybody begin at the very beginning of
their system and go through it before they give them a piece, and at my
stage of progress that would be losing time. They think nobody can teach
touch but themselves, but Kullak is a much greater musician, and I
should not be willing to exchange him for Fräulein Wieck, who does not
begin to equal him in reputation. Much as Kullak enrages me, I have to
admit that he is a great master, and that he is thoroughly capable of
developing artistic talent to the utmost. He makes Miss B. so provoked
that she had very strong thoughts of going to Stuttgardt. The Stuttgardt
conservatorium is so crowded that it is very difficult to get admission.
Lebert (Mehlig's master,) sent word on her writing to enquire, that he
would only take her on condition that she brought him a letter from
Kullak authorizing her leaving him, as Kullak was a personal friend of
his own, and so great an artist, that only the most important reasons
could justify her giving up his instructions! Of course that put the
stopper on any such movement.
I've always forgotten to describe Bülow's playing to you, and it is now
so long since I heard him that my impressions of it are not so vivid. He
has the most forcible style I ever heard, and phrases wonderfully. It is
like looking through a stereoscope to hear him. All the points of a
piece seem to start out vividly before you. He makes me think of
Gottschalk a little, for he is full of his airs. His expression is proud
and supercilious to the last degree, and he looks all round at his
audience when he is playing. He always has two grand pianos on the
stage, one facing one way, and one the other, and he plays alternately
on both. His face seems to say to his audience, "You're all cats and
dogs, and I don't care what you think of my playing." Sometimes a look
of infinite humour comes over it, when he is playing a rondo or anything
gay. It is very funny. He has remarkable magnetic power, and you feel
that you are under the sway of a tremendous will. Many persons find
fault with his playing, because they say it is pure intellect (_der
reine Verstand_) but I think he has too much passion to be called purely
intellectual. Still, it is always passion controlled. Beethoven has been
the grand study of his life, and he plays his sonatas as no one else
does.
If he goes to America next winter, you _must_ hear him thoroughly,
_coûte que coûte_. So I advise you to be saving up your pennies, and be
sure to get a place near the piano so that you can see his face, for it
is a study. I always sit in the second or third row here.
* * *
BERLIN, _October 27, 1872_.
This week has been quite an eventful one. It began on Monday with the
funeral of Prince Albrecht, the youngest brother of the Emperor, and it
was a very imposing spectacle. I was in hopes that Mr. B. would send me
a card of admission to the Dom, where the services were to be held, but
as he didn't, I was obliged to content myself with a sight of the
procession and general arrangement outside. I took my stand on a wagon
with H., and we got an excellent view. There was a roadway built of wood
from the royal Castle to the Dom, carpeted with black, over which the
procession was to pass. We waited about an hour before it came along,
but we were pretty well amused by the gorgeous equipages and liveries of
the different diplomatic corps which dashed past.
We were on the opposite side of the canal which separated us from the
square in front of the Dom. On the right of the Dom is the Castle, and
the Museum is on the left. All this square was surrounded by military,
for as Prince Albrecht was a Field-Marshal, the funeral had a military
character. They were beautifully arranged, the cavalry on one side and
the infantry on the other, and the different uniforms were contrasted
with each other so as to make the best effects in colour. Both horses
and men stood as if they were carved out of marble, with the greatest
precision of position. A little before eleven the royal carriages rolled
past from the palace to the Castle, with their occupants. Presently the
bells began to toll, and exactly at eleven the procession started. The
Gardes du Corps, which is the Crown Prince's regiment, preceded the
coffin, dressed in white and silver uniforms, with glittering brass
helmets surmounted by silver eagles. The coffin itself was borne on a
catafalque, and drawn by eight horses covered with black velvet
trappings. It was yellow, and was surmounted by a crown of gold. On it
was laid the Prince's sword, helmet, etc., and some flowers. I was too
far away to distinguish the personages that followed. Of course the
Emperor was nearest, and all were on foot. Behind the coffin the
Prince's favorite horse was led, saddled and bridled. All the servants
of his household walked together in silver liveries and with large
triangular hats with long bands of crape hanging down behind. The band
played a chorale, "Jesus, my Refuge," and the bells kept tolling all the
while. At the door of the Dom, the procession was received by the
clergy officiating. The coffin was so heavy that it was rolled down a
platform of boards put up for the purpose. Then it was lifted by sixteen
bearers, the glittering cortége closed round it, and they all swept it
at the open portal.
We waited until the end of the service, as it was a short one, in order
to hear the eight rounds of firing by the artillery. It was interesting
to see how exactly they all fired the instant the signal was given.
First the musketry on one side, and then the musketry on the other, in
answer to it. The officers galloped and curveted about on their fiery
steeds, and finally, the cannon went boom--boom. The sharp crack of the
rifles made you start, but the sullen roar of the cannon made you
shudder. It gave you some idea of a battle.
Tuesday night I went to a concert given by a new star in the musical
world, a young violinist named Wilhelmj. He is only twenty-six years
old, and is already said to be one of the greatest virtuosi living,
perhaps _the_ greatest of the romantic school, for Joachim belongs to
the severe classic. All the artists and critics and many of the
aristocracy turned out to hear him. It was his first appearance in
Berlin, and as I looked round the audience and picked out one great
musician after another, I fairly trembled for him. Joachim and de Ahna
were both present, among others, and my adorable Baroness von S. swept
in late, looking more exquisite than ever in black lace over black silk,
with jet ornaments, and her lovely hair curled and done up high on her
aristocratic little head. She was all in mourning for the Prince, even
to a black lace fan with which she occasionally shaded her eyes, so that
her peach-bloomy cheek was just to be discerned through it. She is a
charming pianist herself, I've heard, and is a great patroness of music
and musicians, especially of the "music of the future," and its
creators. I see her at all the concerts. When her face is in perfect
repose she has the most charming expression and a sort of celestial look
in her deep-set blue eyes. She is what the French call _spirituelle_,
and the Germans _geistreich_, but we've no word in our language that
just describes her.
Well, as I was saying, my head got quite dizzy with thinking what a
trial it was to play before such an audience, but Wilhelmj seemed to
differ from me, for he came confidently down the steps with the
dignified self-poise of an artist who is master of his instrument, and
who knows what he can do. He is extremely handsome, with regular
features, massive overhanging forehead, and with an expression of power
and self-containment. He looked a perfect picture as he stood there so
quietly and played. He hadn't gone far before he made a brilliant
cadenza that took down the house, and there was a general burst of
applause. His _tone_ (which is the grand thing in violin-playing) was
magnificent, and his technique masterly. He didn't play with that
tenderness of feeling and wonderful variety of expression that Joachim
does, but it was as if he didn't care to affect people in that way. It
made me think of Tausig on the piano. He played with the greatest
intensity and _aplomb_, and the strings seemed actually to seethe.
People were taken by storm. The second piece was a concerto by Raff.
Wilhelmj was in the midst of the Andante, and was sawing our hearts with
every saw of his bow, when suddenly a string snapped under the strain of
his passionate fingers. He instantly ceased playing, and retired up the
steps to the back of the stage to put on another string. Unfortunately
he had not brought along an extra one in his pocket, and had to borrow
one from one of the orchestra. Weitzmann, who in his youth was himself
an eminent concert violinist, was amazed at Wilhelmj's temerity. "What
_rashness_," exclaimed he, "and the G string, too!" (one of the most
important). After a pause Wilhelmj came down and began again, but the
string was so out of tune that he retired a second time. He must have
been furious inwardly, one would think, and at his _Berlin_ début, too!
but he came down the third time with the utmost imperturbability, and
got through the concerto. The whole effect of the concert was spoiled,
though, and he had also to change the solos he had intended playing, so
as to avoid the G string as much as possible. Instead of the lovely
Chopin Nocturne in D flat (his own arrangement), he played an Aria by
Bach. He did it so wonderfully that I was really startled.--I never
shall forget the _nuances_ he put into his trill. But at his second
concert, where he _did_ give the Nocturne, it was evident that the
romantic is his great forte, and on a first appearance, and before his
large and critical audience, he should have been heard in that
_genre_.[D]