A German Professor. Sherwood. The Baroness von S. Von Bülow. A
German Party. Joachim. The Baroness at Home.
BERLIN, _February 25, 1873_.
At Mr. P.'s we had a charming dinner the other day, which was as
sociable as possible, though we sat thirteen at table. Think what an
oversight! I believe though, that I was the only one who perceived it. I
sat next to a German professor, who is said to speak sixty-four
languages! He had a little compact head, which looked as if it were
stuffed and crammed to the utmost. I reflected a long time which of his
sixty-four languages I should start him on, but finally concluded that
as I spoke English with tolerable fluency we would confine ourselves to
that! He was perfectly delightful to talk to, as all these German
_savans_ are, and I got a lot of new ideas from him. He had been writing
a pamphlet on the subject of love, as considered in various ancient and
modern languages, and in it he proves that the passion of love used to
be quite a different thing from what it is now. All this ideality of
sentiment is entirely modern.
My friend Miss B. is playing exquisitely now, and Sherwood is going
ahead like a young giant. To-day Kullak said that Sherwood played
Beethoven's E flat major concerto (the hardest of all Beethoven's
concertos) with a perfection that he had rarely heard equalled. So much
for being a genius, for he is still under twenty, and has only been
abroad a year or two. But he studied with our best American master,
William Mason, and played like an artist before he came. But, then,
Sherwood has one enormous advantage that no master on earth can bestow,
and that is, perfect confidence in himself. There's nothing like having
faith in yourself, and I believe _that_ is the kind of faith that "moves
mountains."
At Mr. Bancroft's grand party for Washington's birthday, last Friday, he
presented me to the Baroness von S., but without telling her that I was
the person who wrote that letter about her and Wilhelmj that M.
published without my knowledge in _Dwight's Journal_. She was as
exquisite as I thought she would be, and is the most bewitching
creature! She is just such a woman as Balzac describes--like Honorine,
for instance. She has "_l'oeil plein de feu_," etc., and is grace and
sentiment personified.
She was dressed in white silk, cut square neck and trimmed with a lot of
little box-plaited ruffles round the bottom. Round her throat was a
black velvet ribbon, with a necklace of magnificent pearls fastened to
it in festoons and a diamond pendant in the middle. She greeted me with
a ceremonious bow, and began the conversation by complimenting me on an
accompaniment I had been playing. I told her I was studying music here,
and that I had been in Tausig's conservatory a year. As soon as I
mentioned him we got on delightfully, for she was his favourite pupil,
and we talked a good deal about him and Bülow. She said she had heard
Tausig play everything he ever learned, she thought, and that only a
fortnight before his death, he was at her house and played Chopin's
first Sonata. The last movement comes after the well-known Funeral March
(which forms the Adagio) and is very peculiar. It is a continual running
movement with both hands in unison, and it is played all muffled, and
with the soft pedal. Kullak thinks that Chopin meant to express that
after the grave all is dust and ashes, but the Baroness said that Tausig
thought Chopin meant to represent by it the ghost of the departed
wandering about. On this occasion, when Tausig had finished playing it,
he turned and said to her, "That seems to me like the wind blowing over
my grave." A fortnight later he was dead! I asked her if it were not
dreadful that such an artist should have died so young. The most pained
look came into her beautiful eyes, and she said, "I have _never_ been
able to reconcile myself to it."
The conversation continued in the most charming manner until von Moltke
came up to speak to her on one side and Mr. Bancroft on the other
offered his arm to lead her into the supper-room. "Did you tell her?"
whispered Mr. Bancroft. "No; how could I?" said I. "_You_ ought to tell
her." So I imagine he did tell her, as they went into supper, that I was
the young lady who had described her in the paper. I did not have a
chance to approach her again until just as I was going home. She was
standing in the door-way of an ante-room with Mr. Bancroft, wrapped in
her opera cloak and waiting for her carriage to be announced. I bade Mr.
Bancroft good-night, and as I passed her she put out her hand and said
to me with a meaning look, in her little hesitating English, "I am so
happy to have met you." I told her I owed her an apology, which I hoped
to make another time. "Oh, no," said she, smilingly, "I am very
thankful."--I suppose she meant "very much flattered," or something of
that kind.
I heard two tremendous concerts of Bülow's lately. Oh, I do hope you'll
hear him some day! He is a colossal artist. I never heard a pianist I
liked so well. He has such perfect mastery, and yet such comprehension
and such sympathy. Among other things, he played Beethoven's last
Sonata. Such a magnificent one as it is! I liked it better than the
Appassionata.
The other night I went to a party at a General von der G.'s. It was a
"dreadfully" elegant set of people--all countesses, Vons and generals'
wives. Stiff, oh, _how_ stiff! I felt as if the ladies did me a personal
favor every time they spoke to me. They were very handsomely dressed,
and wore their family jewels. There was a great deal of music, and a
certain old Herr von K. sat on a sofa and nodded his head _à la_
connoisseur, while the officers stood round and scarcely dared to wink.
The formality did not abate till we adjourned to the supper-room, when,
as is always the case in German parties, everybody's tongue suddenly
became loosed.--Germans are the happiest people _at_ supper, and the
most wretched before it, that you ever saw. Their parties are _always_
"just so." So many hours of propriety beforehand,--the ladies all by
themselves round a centre-table in one room, the young girls discreetly
sandwiched in between with their embroidery, and talking on the most
limited subjects in the most "papa, potatoes, poultry, prunes and prism"
manner--and the men in the other room playing cards. On this occasion,
when we went into supper, there was one large central table covered with
the feast, and then there were little tables standing about, whither you
could retire with your prey when you had once secured it. I got
something, and betook myself to a table in the corner, whither a young
artist, also Miss B. and an officer, the son of the celebrated General
von W., who won the battle of something, speedily followed me. The
artist, Herr Meyer, sat opposite me, and I began to jabber with him,
unmindful of the officer, as I had previously tried him on every subject
in the known world without being able to extract a reply. We gradually
collected a miscellaneous array of plates full of things, when I dropped
one of my spoons on the floor. I picked it up, laid it aside, and began
eating out of one of my other plates. Presently the officer, who had
been glaring at me all the while out of his uniform, rose solemnly and
went to the centre-table and returned. Suddenly I became aware, by my
light being obscured, that he was standing opposite me on the other side
of the table. I glanced up, and remarked that he had a spoon in his
thumb and finger. As he did not offer it, however, it did not occur to
me that it was for me, so I went on eating. After a minute I looked up
again, and he was still standing as if he were pointing a gun, the spoon
between thumb and finger. At last it dawned upon me that he had brought
it for me, so I took it out of his hand and thanked him, whereupon he
resumed his seat. I was so overcome by this unheard-of act of gallantry
on the part of an aristocrat! and an officer!! that I felt I must say
something worthy of the occasion. So after a few minutes I remarked to
him, "Everything tastes very sweet out of _this_ spoon!"--Total silence
and impassibility of countenance on his part.--Miss B., who was sitting
opposite, remarked mischievously, "That was entirely lost, my dear," and
I was so depressed by my failure that I subsided and did not try to
kindle him again.
* * *
BERLIN, _April 14, 1873_.
Colonel B. told me some weeks ago, that Kullak had told him I was ready
for the concert room, and that he would like to have me play at court.
If this is his real opinion _I_ have no evidence of it, for he knows I
am anxious to play in concert before I leave Germany, and yet he does
nothing whatever to bring me forward. It is very discouraging. In this
conservatory there is no stimulus whatever. One might as well be a
machine.
I propose to go to Weimar the last of this week. It seems very strange
that I shall actually know Liszt at last, after hearing of him so many
years. I am wild to see him! They say everything depends upon the humour
he happens to be in when you come to him. I hope I shall hit upon one
of his indulgent moments. Every one says he gives no lessons. But I hope
at least to play to him a few times, and what is more important, to hear
_him_ play repeatedly. Happy the pianist who can catch even a faint
reflection of his wonderful style!
Not long ago Mr. Bancroft invited me to drive out to Tegel, Humboldt's
country-seat, near here, with the Joachims, and so I had a three hours
conversation with _that_ idol! He is the most modest, unpretending man
possible. To hear him talk you wouldn't suppose he could play at all.
I've always said to myself that if anything would be heaven, it would be
to play a sonata with Joachim, but have supposed such a thing to be
unattainable--these master-artists are so proud and unapproachable. But
I think now it might not have been so difficult after all, he is so
lovely. Joachim was very quiet during the first part of the excursion,
and I couldn't think how I could get him to talk. At last I mentioned
Wagner, whom I knew he hated. His eyes kindled, and he roused up, and
after that was animated and interesting all the rest of the time! He
said that "Wagner was under the delusion that he was the only man in the
world that understood Beethoven; but it happened there _were_ other
people who could comprehend Beethoven as well as he,"--and indeed, it is
difficult to conceive of any one understanding Beethoven any better than
Joachim.
Joachim is quite as noble and generous to poor artists as Liszt is, and
constantly teaches them for nothing. He has the greatest enthusiasm for
his class in the Hoch Schule, and I shouldn't think that any one who
wishes to study the violin would _think_ of going any where else. They
say that Joachim possesses beautiful social qualities, also, and has the
faculty of entertaining in his own house charmingly. He brings out what
there is in every one without apparently saying anything himself.
The Baroness von S. had seemed so cordial and friendly at Mr. Bancroft's
on account of the letter you had published in _Dwight's Journal of
Music_, that I finally made up my mind to the daring act of calling on
her in order to ask her for a letter of introduction to Liszt. She lives
in a palace belonging to the Empress. There is a deep court in front of
it, with lions on the gateway. Before the door stood a soldier on guard.
As I approached, one of the Gardes du Corps (the Crown Prince's
regiment) emerged from the entrance. He was dressed all in white and
silver, with big top boots, and his helmet surmounted by a silver eagle.
He was an officer, and of course all the officers in this regiment
belong to the flower of the nobility. I was rather awed by his imposing
appearance, and advanced timidly to the doors, which were of glass, and
pulled the bell. A tall phantom in livery appeared, as if by magic, and
signed to me to ascend the grand staircase. The walls of it were all
covered with pictures. I went up, and was received by another tall
phantom in livery. I asked him "if the Frau Excellency was to be
spoken." He took my card, and discreetly said, "he would see," at the
same time ushering me into an immense ball-room, where he requested me
to be seated. It was furnished in crimson satin, there were myriads of
mirrors, and the floor was waxed. I took refuge in a corner of it,
feeling very small indeed. Those few minutes of waiting were extremely
uncomfortable, for I didn't know what she would say to my request, as I
had only seen her that one time at Mr. Bancroft's, and was not sure that
she would not regard my coming as a liberty. People are so severe in
their ideas here.
At last the servant returned and said she would receive me, and led the
way across the ball-room to a door which he opened for me to enter. I
found myself in a large, high room, also furnished in crimson, and in
the centre of which stood two pianos nestled lovingly together. The
Baroness was not there, however, and I saw what seemed to be an endless
succession of rooms opening one out of the other, the doors always
opposite each other. I concluded to "go on till I stopped," and after
traversing three or four, I at last heard a faint murmur of voices, and
entered what I suppose is her _boudoir_. There my divinity was seated in
a little crimson satin sofa, talking to an old fellow who sat on a chair
near her, whom she introduced as Herr Professor Somebody. He had a
small, well-stuffed head, and a pale, observant eye that seemed to say,
"I've looked into everything"--and I should think it _had_ by the way he
conversed.
The Baroness was attired in an olive-coloured silk, short, and
fashionably made. She was leaning forward as she talked, and toying with
a silver-sheathed dagger which she took from a table loaded with costly
trifles next her. She rose as I came in, and greeted me very cordially,
and asked me to sit down on the sofa by her. I explained to her my
errand, and she immediately said she would give me a letter with the
greatest pleasure. We had a very charming conversation about artists in
general, and Liszt in particular, in which the little professor took a
leading part. He showed himself the connoisseur he looked, and gradually
diverged from the art of music to that of speaking and reading, which he
said was the most difficult of all the arts, because the tone was not
there, but had to be made. He said he had never heard a perfect speaker
or reader in his life. He descanted at great length upon the art of
speaking, and finally, when he paused, the Baroness took my hand and
said, "Where do you live?" I gave her my address, and she said she would
send me the letter. I then rose to go, and she assured me again she
would say all she could to dispose Liszt favourably towards me. I
thanked her, and said good-bye. She waited till I was nearly half across
the next room, and then she called after me, "I'll say lots of pretty
things about you!" That was a real little piece of coquetry on her part,
and she knew that it would take me down! She looked so sweet when she
said it, standing and smiling there in the middle of the floor, the
door-way making a frame for her. A few days afterward I met her in the
street, and she told me she had enjoined it upon Liszt to be amiable to
me, "but," she added, with a mischievous laugh, "I didn't tell him you
wrote so well for the papers." Oh, she is too fascinating for
anything!--She seems just to float on the top of the wave and never to
think. Such exquisite perception and intelligence, and yet lightness!
The last excitement in Berlin was over the wedding of Prince Albrecht
(the son of the one whose funeral I saw) with the Princess of Altenburg.
When she arrived she made a regular entry into the city in a coach all
gold and glass, drawn by eight superb plumed horses. A band of music
went before her, and she had an escort all in grand equipages. As she
sat on the back seat with the Crown Princess, magnificently dressed, and
bowing from side to side, you rubbed your eyes and thought you saw
Cinderella!
WITH LISZT.