The Brussels Conservatoire. Steiniger. Excursion to Kleinberg.
Giving a Concert. Fräulein Timm.
PYRMONT, _August 15, 1874_.
Deppe has got back from Brussels, and, as you may imagine, he had much
to tell about his flight into the world, particularly as he had also
been to London. He had a delightful time with the professors of the
Brussels Conservatoire, who were all extremely polite to him, and he
heard some talented young pupils. There was one girl about seventeen,
whom he said he would give a good deal to have as _his_ pupil, so gifted
is she, though her playing did not suit him in many respects. He said he
could have made some severe criticisms, but he refrained--partly because
he felt the uselessness of it, partly because he says "it _is_
extraordinary how amiable one gets when _young ladies_ are in question!"
He was very enthusiastic over the violin classes. "What a bow the
youngsters do draw!" he exclaimed. Dupont, the great piano teacher in
Brussels, must be a man of considerable "_esprit_," judging from the two
of his compositions that I am familiar with--the "Toccata" and the
"Staccato." I used to hear a good deal about him from his pupil Gurickx,
whom I met in Weimar. Certainly Gurickx played magnificently, and with a
_brio_ I have rarely heard equalled. He is like an electric battery.
Quite another school, however, from Deppe's--the severe, the chaste and
the classic! Extreme _purity of style_ is Deppe's characteristic, and
not the passionate or the emotional. For instance, he has scarcely given
me any Chopin, but keeps me among the classics, as he says on that side
my musical culture has been deficient. He says that Chopin has been "so
played to death that he ought to be put aside for twenty years!"--But if
Chopin were really sympathetic to him he could never say _that_! The
truth is, the modern "problematische Natur" has no charms for a
transparent and simple temperament like his.
Steiniger has been playing most beautifully lately. She has given two
concerts of her own here, and has played at another. Then she rehearsed
with orchestra Mozart's B flat major concerto--the most difficult
concerto in the world, and oh, _so_ exquisite! Though I had long wished
to do so, I never had heard it before, and as I listened I felt as if I
never could leave Deppe until I could play _that_! I wish you could have
heard it. It is sown with difficulties--enough to make your hair stand
on end! Steiniger played it with an ease and perfection truly
astonishing. The notes seemed fairly to run out of her fingers for fun.
The last movement was Mozart all over, just as merry as a cricket!--I
doubt whether anybody can play this concerto adequately who has not
studied with Deppe. The beauty of his method is that the greatest
difficulties become play to you.
I love to see Deppe direct the orchestra when Steiniger plays a concerto
of Mozart. His clear blue eyes dance in his head and look so sunny, and
he stands so light on his feet that it seems as if he would dance off
himself on the tips of his toes, with his bâton in his hand! He is the
incarnation of Mozart, just as Liszt and Joachim are of Beethoven, and
Tausig was of Chopin. He has a marvellously delicate musical
organization, and an instinct how things ought to be played which
amounts to second sight. Fräulein Steiniger said to him one day: "Herr
Deppe, I don't know why it is, but I can't make the opening bars of this
piece sound right. It doesn't produce the impression it ought." "I know
why," said Deppe. "It is because you don't strike the chord of G minor
before you begin,"--and so it was. When she struck the chord of G minor,
it was the right preparation, and brought you immediately into the mood
for what followed. It _fixed_ the key.
Aside from music, Deppe, like all artists, has the most childlike
nature, and I think Mozart is so peculiarly sympathetic to him because
he has such a simple and sunny temperament himself. We made a beautiful
excursion the other day in carriages, through the hills, to a little
village far distant, where we drank coffee in the open air. Deppe, who
knows every foot of the ground about Pyrmont, which he has frequented
from his youth up, kept calling our attention to all the points of the
scenery over and over again with the greatest delight, quite forgetting
that he repeated the same thing fifty times. "That little village over
there is called Kleinberg. It has a school and a church, and the
pastor's name is Koehler," he would say to me first. Then he would
repeat it to every one in our carriage. Then he would stand up and call
it over to the carriage behind us. Then when he had got out he said it
to the assembled crowd, and as I walked on in advance with Fräulein
Estleben, the last thing I heard floating over the hill-top was, "The
pastor's name is Koehler,"--so I knew he was still instructing some one
in the fact. "I wonder how often Deppe has repeated that?" I said to
Fräulein Estleben. "At least fifty times," said she, laughing. "I'm
going back to him and ask him once more what the name of the pastor is."
So I went back, and said, "By the way, Herr Deppe, what did you say the
name of the pastor of that village is?" "_Koehler_," said dear old
Deppe, with great distinctness and with such simple good faith that I
felt reproached at having quizzed him, though the others could scarcely
keep their countenances, as they knew what I was after.
I have been preparing for some time to give a concert of Chamber Music
in the salon of the hotel here, and expect it to take place a week from
to-day. My head feels quite _lame_ from so much practicing, the
consequence, I suppose, of so much listening. I am to play a Quintette,
Op. 87, in E major, by Hummel, for piano and strings, and a Beethoven
Sonata, Op. 12, in E flat, for violin and piano, and the other
instruments will play a Quartette by Haydn in between. It is a beautiful
little programme, I think--every piece perfect of its kind. If I succeed
in this concert as I hope, I shall probably listen to Deppe's implorings
and remain under his guidance another season. Deppe believes that one
_must_ go through successive steps of preparation before one is fitted
to attack the great concert works. I've found out (what he took good
care not to tell me in the beginning!) that his "course" is three
years!! and you can't hurry either him or his method. Your fingers have
got to grow into it.--I do not at all regret, with you, not having
hitherto played in concert; on the contrary, I think it providential
that I did not. You see, you and I started out with wholly impracticable
and ridiculous ideas. We thought that things could be done quickly.
Well, they _can't_ be done quickly and be worth anything. One must keep
an end in view for years and gradually work up to it. The length of time
spent in preparation has to be the same, whether you begin as a child
(which is the best, and indeed the only proper way), or whether you
begin after you have grown up. It is a ten years' labour, take it how
you will.
* * *
PYRMONT, _August 15, 1874_.
My concert came off yesterday evening, and Deppe says it was a complete
success. I did not play any solos, after all, though I had prepared some
beautiful ones, for Deppe said the programme would be too long, and he
was not quite sure of my courage. "You'd be frightened, if you were a
_Herr Gott_!" said he; but, contrary to my usual habit, I wasn't
frightened in the least, and I think I did as well as such a shaky,
trembly concern as I, could have expected, particularly as my hands are
two little fiends who _won't_ play if they don't feel like it, do what I
will to make them!--My programme was _à la_ Joachim (!)--only three
pieces of Chamber Music:--
1. Quintette, Op. 87, E major, Hummel.
2. Quartette, G major, Haydn.
3. Sonata for piano and violin, Op. 12, E flat. Beethoven.
Deppe arranged the whole thing most practically. We had a large _salle_
in the Hotel Bremen which was admirably proportioned, and a new grand
piano from Berlin. Deppe had only so many chairs placed as he had given
out invitations, and the consequence was that every chair was filled,
and there were no rows of empty seats. My "public" was very musical and
critical, and there were so many good judges there that I wonder I
wasn't nervous; but a sort of inspiration came to me at the moment.
The musicians who accompanied me were exceedingly good ones for such a
place as Pyrmont, and my strictly _classic_ selections were received
with great favour by the audience! That quintette of Hummel's is a most
charming composition--so flowing and elegant--and one can display a good
deal of virtuosity in the last part of it. I played first and last, and
the quartette in between was performed by the stringed instruments
alone. After I had finished the quintette, Deppe, who was at the extreme
end of the hall, sent me word that I was "doing famously, and that he
was delighted," and this encouraged me so that my sonata went
beautifully, too. When it was over, ever so many people came up and
congratulated me, and Fräulein Timm, Deppe's head teacher in Hamburg,
even complimented me on my "extraordinary facility of execution." I
couldn't help laughing at that, with my stubborn hand which never will
do anything, and which only the most intense study has schooled--but in
truth I was quite surprised myself at the plausible way in which it went
over all difficulties! Quite a number of Deppe's scholars were present,
all of them critics and several of them beautiful pianists. Two nice
American girls, sisters, from the West, came on from Berlin on purpose
for my concert. They helped me dress, and presented me with an exquisite
bouquet. One of them is taking lessons of Deppe, and the other has a
great talent for drawing, and has been two years studying in Berlin. She
says she has only made a "beginning" now, and that she wishes to study
"indefinitely" yet.--So it is in Art! I think her heads are excellent
already.
After the concert was over, Deppe gave me a little champagne supper,
together with Fräuleins Timm, Steiniger, and these two young ladies.
When he poured out the wine he said he was going to propose a toast to
two ladies; one of them, of course, was myself, "and the other," said
he, "is in America, namely, the friend of Fräulein Fay, whom I judge to
be a woman of genius, so truly and rightly does she feel about art (I've
translated H's letters to him), and so nobly has she sympathized with
and stood by Fräulein Fay.--To Mrs. A., whose acquaintance I long to
make!"--You may be sure I drank to _that_ toast with enthusiasm. Ah, it
was a pleasant evening, after so many years of fruitless toil! The fat
and jolly old landlord came himself to put me into the carriage and to
say that everybody in the audience had expressed their pleasure and
gratification at my performance. I rather regret now that I did not play
my solos, but perhaps it is just as well to leave them until another
time. I have "sprung over one little mound"--to use Deppe's simile--and
got an idea of the impetus that will be necessary to "carry me over the
mountain."
* * *
PYRMONT, _September 4, 1874_.
After the unwonted exaltation of the success of my little concert, I
have been suffering a corresponding reaction, partly because Fräulein
Timm, Deppe's Hamburg assistant, with whom I am now studying, began her
instructions, as teachers always do, by chucking me into a deeper slough
of despond than usual. Consequently, I haven't been very bright, though
I am gradually coming up to the surface again, for I'm pretty hard to
drown!
Fräulein Timm belongs to the single sisterhood, but is one of the fresh
and placid kind, and as neat as wax. She's got a great big brain and a
remarkable gift for teaching, for which she has a _passion_. I quite
adore her when she gets on her spectacles, for then she looks the
personification of Sagacity! She has been associated with Deppe for
years in teaching, and "keeps all his sayings and ponders them in her
heart." Indeed, she knows his ideas almost better than he does himself,
and carries on the whole circle of pupils that he left in Hamburg when
he came to Berlin. Every now and then he runs down to see how they are
getting on, gives them all lessons, reviews what they have done, and
brings Fräulein Timm all the new pieces he has discovered and fingered.
She also comes occasionally to Berlin to see him, takes a lesson every
day, fills herself with as many new ideas as possible, and then returns
to her post. Together, they form a very strong pair, and I think it a
capital illustration of your theory that men ought to associate women
with them in their work, and that "men should _create_, and women
_perfect_."
Deppe makes Fräulein Timm and Fräulein Steiniger his partners and
associates in his ideas, and the consequence is they add all their
ingenuity to impart them to others. This spares him much of the tedious
technical work, and leaves him free for the higher spheres of art, as
they take the beginners and prepare them for him. _He_ has made _them_
magnificent teachers, and they employ their gifts to further _him_. I
don't doubt that through them his method will be perpetuated, and even
if he should die it would not be lost to the world. On the other hand,
he has given them something to live for.--Curious that the
_practicalness_ of this association with women doesn't strike the
masculine mind oftener!
So I am going down to Hamburg to study for a time with this Fräulein
Timm, as I think she will develop my hand quicker than Deppe, even.
Deppe has always urged me to it, but I never would do it, as I did not
know her personally, and did not wish to leave him. Now that I have
tried her, however, I find he was right, as he _always_ is! At present
she is throwing her whole weight upon my wrist, which I hope will get
limber under it! She has an obstinacy and a perseverance in sticking at
you that drive you almost wild, but make you learn "lots" in the end. I
think my grand trouble all these years has been a stiff wrist and a
heavy arm. I have borne down too heavily on wrist and arm, whereas the
whole weight and power must be just in the tips of the fingers, and the
wrist and arm must be quite light and free, the hand turning upon the
wrist as if it were a pivot.
Pyrmont is an exquisite little place, and I regret to leave it. At first
I almost perished with loneliness, but now that I have a few
acquaintances here I am enjoying it. It is a fashionable watering place,
but chiefly visited by ladies. There are about a hundred women to one
man! The first week I was here I lived at a Herr S.'s, but finding it
too expensive I looked up another lodging and am now living with a jolly
old maid. I like living with old maids. I think they are much neater
than married women, and they make you more comfortable. As the season is
now over, this one's house is quite empty, and it is exquisitely kept. I
took two rooms in the third story, small but very cozy, and with a
lovely view of the hills.
We have just had the loveliest illumination I ever saw. It was one
Sunday evening--"Golden Sunday" they call it here, though why they
_should_ call it so, I know not. I accepted the information, however,
without inquiry into first causes, and went out in the evening to
promenade in the Allée with the rest. The Allée is not all on a level,
but descends gradually from the springs to a fountain which is at the
opposite end. Rows and rows of Japanese lanterns were festooned across
the trees. As you walked down the path, you saw the festoons one below
the other. The fountain was illuminated with gas jets behind the water.
You could not see the water till you got close up, and at a distance
only the rows of gas jets were apparent. As you neared it, however, the
watery veil seemed flung over them, like the foamy tulle over a bride.
It was very fascinating to look at, and I kept receding a few paces and
then returning. As I receded, the watery veil would disappear, and as I
approached it would again take form. It reminded me of some people's
characters, of which you see the bright points from the first, and think
you know them so well, but when you draw closer, even in the moments of
greatest intimacy, you always feel a veil between you and them--a thin,
impalpable something which you cannot annihilate, even though you may
see _through_ it.
We walked up and down the Allée a long time listening to the orchestra,
which was playing. The magnificent great trees looked more beautiful
than ever, with their lower boughs lit up by the lanterns, and their
upper ones disappearing mysteriously into shadow. At last the tapers in
the lanterns burned out one after another, the avenue was wrapped in
gloom, and we finished this poetic evening in the usual prosaic manner
by returning home and going to bed!