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MEMORIES OF A
MUSICAL LIFE
[Illustration: WILLIAM MASON IN 1899]
Memories of a
Musical Life
by
William Mason
[Illustration: colophon]
NEW YORK
THE CENTURY CO.
MCMII
Copyright, 1900, 1901, by
THE CENTURY CO.
_Published October, 1901._
THE DEVINE PRESS.
TO
MY DAUGHTER
MINA MASON VAN SINDEREN
AT WHOSE REQUEST
THESE MEMORIES
HAVE BEEN WRITTEN
CONTENTS
PAGE
EARLY DAYS IN NEW ENGLAND 3
Lowell Mason's Career 7
First Beethoven Symphony in America 8
Musical Conventions 9
Early Musical Training 10
Webster and Clay 11
First Public Appearance 18
Leopold de Meyer 19
"Father Heinrich" 22
An Embarrassing Experience 25
STUDENT LIFE ABROAD 27
Meeting with Meyerbeer 28
Liszt's Feat of Memory 31
First Meeting with Liszt 33
Arrival at Leipsic 34
Moscheles, Beethoven, and Chopin 36
The Intimacy of Moscheles and Mendelssohn 37
Schumann 38
Schumann's "Symphony No. 1, B Flat" 39
Schumann's Absent-mindedness 42
Moritz Hauptmann 44
A Visit to Wagner 48
Wagner on Mendelssohn and Beethoven 51
A Wagner Autograph 55
Moscheles 57
Joseph Joachim 62
Schumann's "Concerto in A Minor" 63
Carl Mayer 65
Dreyschock 66
Prince de Rohan's Dinner 71
Chopin, Henselt, and Thalberg 75
Anton Schindler, "Ami de Beethoven" 79
Schindler and Schnyder von Wartensee 82
First London Concert 84
WITH LISZT IN WEIMAR 86
Accepted by Liszt 88
The Altenburg 93
How Liszt Taught 97
"Play It Like This" 99
Liszt in 1854 101
His Fascination 102
Liszt's Indignation 103
Objects to my Eye-glasses 106
A Musical Breakfast 108
Liszt's Playing 110
Liszt and Pixis 117
Liszt Conducting 119
Liszt's Symphonic Poems--Rehearsing "Tasso" 121
Extracts from a Diary 122
Opportunities 126
Brahms in 1853 127
Nervous before Liszt 128
Dozing while Liszt Played 129
"Lohengrin" for the First Time in Leipsic 132
In Stuttgart--Hotel Marquand 135
The Schumann "Feier" in Bonn, 1880 136
Brahms's Pianoforte-playing 137
A Historical Error Corrected 141
More about Liszt's Wonderful Sight-reading 142
Liszt's Moments of Contrition 144
Peter Cornelius 145
Some Famous Violinists 147
Remenyi 151
Some Distinguished Opera-singers 153
Henriette Sontag 154
Johanna Wagner 156
Mme. de la Grange 157
"Der Verein der Murls" 158
The Wagner Cause in Weimar 159
Raff in Weimar 161
Dr. Adolf Bernhard Marx 165
Berlioz in Weimar 168
Entertaining Liszt's "Young Beethoven" 171
Rubinstein's Opposition to Wagner 174
AT WORK IN AMERICA 183
Touring the Country 184
"Yankee Doodle" and "Old Hundred" 187
Settling down to Teach 191
Theodore Thomas at Twenty 195
Thomas as Conductor 197
Karl Klauser, Musical Director at Miss Porter's School 202
Louis Moreau Gottschalk 205
Propaganda for Schumann's Music 209
Sigismond Thalberg 210
Pedal and Pedal Signs--Why not Dispense with the Latter? 215
Pedal Study for the Pianoforte 219
Rubinstein and the Autograph-hunter 221
Evolution in Musical Ideas--Beethoven Pianoforte Recitals 226
Rubinstein's Favorite Seat at a Pianoforte Recital 227
Bach's "Triple Concerto" and "Les Agrements" 229
A Significant Autograph from Rubinstein 234
Rubinstein, Paderewski, and "Yankee Doodle" 236
Meetings with Von Bulow 238
Edvard Grieg 241
Rates of Tempo--The Present Time Compared with Fifty Years Ago 243
Electrocuting Chopin 244
Tempo Rubato 246
Unusual Pupils--Transposing--Positive and Relative Pitch 247
Appledore, Isles of Shoals 251
MUSIC IN AMERICA TO-DAY 259
APPENDIX 273
INDEX 297
The author acknowledges the efficient collaboration of Mr. Gustav
Kobbe in preparing these Memories for publication, and also the
valuable assistance of his son-in-law, Mr. Howard van Sinderen.
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
William Mason in 1899 _Frontispiece_
From a photograph by Gessford & Van Brunt.
FACING PAGE
William Mason as a Boy 12
From a daguerreotype.
William Mason at the Age of Eighteen 20
From a daguerreotype.
Autograph of I. Moscheles 32
Autograph of Robert Schumann 38
Autograph of Mme. Schumann 44
Autograph of Moritz Hauptmann 48
Autograph of Richard Wagner 56
Autograph of Joseph Joachim 64
Autograph of Anton Schindler 80
Liszt in Middle Life 88
Drawn by George T. Tobin from a photograph of uncertain date.
The Altenburg, Liszt's House at Weimar 96
Autograph of Vieuxtemps 144
Autograph of Ole Bull 150
Autograph of Henriette Sontag 164
Autograph of Hector Berlioz 168
Autograph of Ferdinand Laub 180
The Mason-Thomas Quartet 196
Theodore Thomas about Twenty-four Years Old 200
From a photograph by Duchochois & Klauser.
Autograph of Moreau Gottschalk 208
Autograph of Sigismond Thalberg 212
Autograph of Anton Rubinstein 232
Autograph of I. J. Paderewski 236
Autograph of Hans von Bulow 240
Autograph of Edvard Grieg 244
Interior of Studio in Steinway Building, New York 248
Autographs of the Kneisel Quartet 262
Lowell Mason 277
From a daguerreotype.
MEMORIES
OF A MUSICAL LIFE MEMORIES
OF A MUSICAL LIFE
EARLY DAYS IN NEW ENGLAND
I am the third son of Lowell Mason of Medfield, Massachusetts, and of
Abigail Gregory of Westborough, Massachusetts, his wife, and I was born
in Boston on January 24, 1829. My father was in the seventh generation
from Robert Mason, who was born in England about the year 1590. In 1630
Robert came to America, and was probably one of John Winthrop's company,
landing at Salem on the twelfth day of June of that year. Thomas Mason,
the elder son of Robert, went to Medfield to live in the second year of
the settlement of the town. His marriage with Margery Partridge, on
April 23, 1653, was the first marriage to be entered upon the town
records; and the homestead lands, which he acquired by grant from the
town, have ever since remained in possession of some member of the Mason
family. Thomas and two of his sons were killed by the Indians under
Monaco on February 21, 1676, when Medfield was burned. The line was
continued through Ebenezer, a third son, born at Medfield, September 12,
1669; Thomas, a son of Ebenezer, born at Medfield, April 23, 1699;
Barachias, son of Thomas, born at Medfield, June 10, 1723, who was
musical and who taught singing; and Johnson, son of Barachias, born at
Medfield, August 7, 1767. Johnson was the father of Lowell Mason, who
was born at Medfield, January 8, 1792. On January 8, 1892, the one
hundredth anniversary of my father's birth was celebrated at Medfield,
under the auspices of the Historical Society of that place. In the
address delivered by the president of the society, a period of his life
was touched upon concerning which but little had heretofore been
published. The address will be interesting to those who are interested
in him and in the work which he accomplished, and is printed, by
permission, in an appendix to these memories.
The difference between Boston and New York as musical centers is largely
due to my father. He made Boston a self-developing musical city. New
York has received its musical culture from abroad.
My father manifested a remarkable fondness for music at an early age.
His parents did not intend that he should take up music as a profession,
but his talent was not neglected. In 1812, before he was twenty, he
heard of an opening in a bank in Savannah, Georgia, and having secured
the position, he went there. After business hours he continued his
studies in music with an instructor named F. L. Abel, under whom he made
rapid progress. He soon attempted composition, his first efforts being
hymn-tunes and anthems. He arranged a collection consisting of a group
of selections from William Gardiner's "Sacred Melodies," to which he
added some of his own compositions. For this collection he vainly
endeavored to find a publisher in Philadelphia and Boston, until chance
brought to Savannah a Boston organ-builder, W. M. Goodrich, who had come
to set up an organ. He induced my father to go to Boston in person, with
the result that the work was submitted to Dr. G. K. Jackson, the
organist of the Handel and Haydn Society, and received his approval. It
was published in 1822, with the title, "The Boston Handel and Haydn
Society's Collection of Music," and was an instant success, finding its
way into singing-schools and church choirs throughout New England. Some
of my father's hymn-tunes have become famous. It has been said that his
missionary hymn, "From Greenland's Icy Mountains," has been sung in more
languages than any other sacred tune. Among the many popular tunes which
he composed are "Boylston," "Hebron," "Olivet," and "Bethany"; and one
of his collections of sacred melodies brought him in over a hundred
thousand dollars in royalties.
LOWELL MASON'S CAREER
The success of my father's first venture led him to leave Savannah and
settle in Boston. Then, as now, the Handel and Haydn Society was largely
recruited from church choirs, but in those days its concerts were few,
and these were almost entirely devoted to church music. Rarely was a
"work" offered to the public. Outside the realm of church music, the
society's repertory consisted of "The Messiah", "The Creation" (and more
frequently fragments from these), the "Dettingen Te Deum" by Handel, and
the "Intercession" by M. P. King, who has long since been forgotten. For
five years my father was president of the society, and served as musical
director, the special employment of a conductor not having been
authorized until 1847.
Meanwhile he was constantly aiming at the introduction of popular
education in music. It was through his efforts--and strenuous efforts
they were--that music was introduced into the Boston public schools. To
bring this about he first taught classes of children free of charge, and
gave concerts to illustrate the practicability of his plans. When
finally musical education was made a part of the Boston public-school
system, the city council refused to make any appropriation for it, and
he served as instructor for a year gratuitously, beginning work in 1837
in the Hawes Grammar School, South Boston. The experiment was a complete
success. Music was generally introduced into the public schools, and my
father was made superintendent of the department. The seeds he sowed
then are still bearing fruit. This was part of his labor which created
in Boston a self-developing musical activity. While Dr. Samuel G. Howe
was engaged in organizing the Perkins Institution for the Blind in 1832,
at his request my father devised a system of musical instruction for the
blind.
FIRST BEETHOVEN SYMPHONY IN AMERICA
About 1830 an English musician, Mr. George James Webb, settled in
Boston. He was a gentleman of high culture, thoroughly educated in
music, played the organ well, and was a good vocal teacher. His talents
and his personal charm were promptly recognized. My father became
intimate with him, and in 1833, with the cooperation of certain
influential gentlemen of Boston, they founded the Boston Academy of
Music, my father taking charge of the special department of church
music, while Mr. Webb devoted himself chiefly to secular music and
voice-culture. Instrumental concerts were also given at the academy, and
there, on February 10, 1841, occurred the first performance in America
of a Beethoven symphony, the Fifth, which was played by an orchestra of
twenty-three, under the direction of Henry Schmidt.
MUSICAL CONVENTIONS
My father originated the idea of assembling music-teachers in classes.
In 1838, when the experiment was not more than three years old, one
hundred and thirty-four teachers, representing ten States, assembled at
the academy. From these assemblages grew the musical conventions which
my father held throughout New England and in some of the other States.
Choir-singers and other musically inclined people from the towns lying
within the surrounding district would gather at a central point, and he
would hold a musical convention lasting for several days, drilling the
singers in church music, but also, where he found sufficient
advancement, in music of a higher order. The Worcester festivals may be
traced to these conventions.
EARLY MUSICAL TRAINING
I had shown my fondness for music at a very early age. When I was a
child, my father was the organist of the Bowdoin Street Congregational
Church in Boston, of which Lyman Beecher had been the pastor. When I was
seven years old, he placed me unexpectedly on the organ-bench at a
public service, and while the choir sang the tune of "Boylston", I
played the accompaniment. Up to this time I had had but little
instruction in pianoforte-playing. My mother used to sit by me and guide
me in the way of careful practising, and thus I had acquired
considerable facility for those days, though now I have a feeling of
compassion for any one who had to listen to me.
I became useful to my father as an accompanist, and when he went to
musical conventions he took me along with him, and I would play the
piano accompaniments while he conducted.
WEBSTER AND CLAY
It was at about this time that my father took me with him on a trip to
Providence. In those days the entrance to the cars was from the side,
and we took seats nearly opposite the door. My father called my
attention to a very dignified and impressive-looking man in the front
corner of the car, saying: "William, the gentleman in the corner is
Daniel Webster. Go over and wish him good morning." I promptly obeyed,
and marching over to him, said, "Good morning, Daniel Webster." He asked
my name, and I replied, saying my father was "over there," and then he
exchanged greetings with my father. I was somewhat awed by his great
dignity, and remember very well his piercing eyes.
About the year 1842 I went to Maysville, Kentucky, to stay with the
family of my uncle, Mr. E. F. Tucker. My health had not been good, and
the change of residence was thought to be judicious. My uncle was at the
head of some factory in Maysville, and one day, after I had been there
for some time, a gentleman called at the house to see him about business
connected with the factory. My aunt called me, and, presenting me to the
gentleman, requested me to show him the way to the factory. This
gentleman was Henry Clay. I remember his urbanity, and his friendly
conversation attracted me. This time it was not the eye which was
noticeable, but the mouth, which was unusually large.
[Illustration: WILLIAM MASON AS A BOY
FROM A DAGUERREOTYPE
]
FIRST PUBLIC APPEARANCE
Returning to Boston after a year, I was sent to Newport, Rhode Island,
to study under the Rev. T. T. Thayer, who was a Congregational clergyman
in that place. In a short time after my arrival I began playing the
organ at the services in his church, and continued this with regularity
until my return to Boston a few years later. At Boston I became the
organist at the Congregational church in Winter street, at which my
father was music-conductor.
I played in public about the year 1846, in one of the concerts of the
Boston Academy of Music, given in the Odeon, which was then the
principal concert-hall in Boston. On this occasion I had the
accompaniment of a string quartet. This was my first regular appearance
in public. About this time, too, I began taking pianoforte lessons of
Mr. Henry Schmidt, to whom reference has been made as the conductor of
Beethoven's "Fifth Symphony" on the occasion of the first performance
of this work in Boston. Mr. Schmidt's instrument was the violin, but he
was also an excellent pianoforte teacher, and to his careful and skilful
instruction I owe very much. I remember that in those days I was more
fond of playing--if my habit of improvising in a loose or inaccurate way
can be so called--than of careful practising and close attention to
detail. When my lesson-hour arrived I used to trust much to luck, and
thus occasioned poor Mr. Schmidt a deal of trouble and vexation. He
begged and entreated me to be careful, and after a while a spirit of
contrition overcame me, and so, on a certain occasion, I really did
practise carefully and to my best ability during the interval between my
lessons. When Mr. Schmidt made his appearance, however, I became so
nervous and apprehensive lest my work should not show to advantage that
the very thing I dreaded took place, and I stumbled through my piece in
a distressing manner. I do not wonder that my teacher's patience was
tried, and he rebuked me with severity, saying that he believed I had
not practised at all since the previous lesson. I received this all very
meekly, but when he took his departure I pitched the music into a
corner, and did not practise until he made his appearance for the
following lesson. At this lesson, however, I played with great accuracy
and spirit, much to my gratification and somewhat to my surprise. Mr.
Schmidt warmly commended my work, and attributed it to the fact that I
had _now_ practised industriously and carefully. I had enough sense to
know that the successful result was owing to the practice I had
previously done, and which needed time to produce its results. This bit
of experience I commend to pianoforte students for careful
consideration, to show that acts are not always immediately followed by
desirable results.
Mr. Schmidt taught me much concerning the production of tone in
pianoforte playing, and in particular led me to acquire a certain habit
of touch which I have never lost, and which has been the means of
greatly lessening the fatigue which would otherwise have been attendant
on the performance of pieces which require much strength and
long-continued endurance. I write somewhat at length concerning this
matter, feeling that a knowledge of my experience may be of substantial
use to pianoforte students.
The habit referred to has especial relation to the playing of the
various rapid scale and arpeggio passages, involving closed or open hand
position which are so common in pianoforte compositions and which grow
out of the nature of the instrument. The touch is accomplished by
quickly but quietly drawing the finger-tips inward toward the palm of
the hand, or, in other words, slightly and partly closing the
finger-points as they touch the keys while playing. This action of the
fingers secures the cooperation of many more muscles of the finger,
wrist, hand, and forearm than could be accomplished by the merely
"up-and-down" finger-touch. It is difficult to describe in detail
without an instrument at hand for illustration. If correctly performed,
however, the tones produced are very clear and well defined, and of a
beautifully musical quality. The simile of "a string of pearls" of
precisely similar size and shape has often been used in describing their
fluency and clearness of outline. A too rapid withdrawal of the
finger-tips would result in a short and crisp staccato. While this
extreme staccato is also desirable and frequently used, it is not the
kind of effect here desired, namely, a clear, clean delivery of the
tones which in no wise disturb the legato effect.
Of course it requires cultivation and skill to secure just the right
degree of finger-motion to preserve the legato and at the same time the
slight separation of each tone. Therefore the fingers must not be drawn
so quickly as to produce a separation or staccato effect, but in just
the right degree to avoid impairing the legato or binding effect. For
the sake of convenience in description I have named this touch the
"elastic finger-touch," and through its influence a clear and crisp
effect is attained. It is interesting to observe in this connection, a
fact which I learned only many years later, that Sebastian Bach's touch,
described in detail by J. N. Forkel in his work entitled "Ueber Johann
Sebastian Bachs Leben, Kunst und Kunstwerke," both as used by Bach
himself and as he taught it to his pupils, seems to be identical with
the touch I am here attempting to describe. Forkel expressly emphasizes
the "pulling-in" motion of the finger-tips. While it has relation solely
to finger-action as distinguished from the action of the wrist and arm,
it cannot be accomplished properly without bringing into action the
flexor and extensor muscles, principally of the forearm from wrist to
elbow.
Through the medium of this touch pianissimo effects are possible which
no other mechanism can reach, for passages of the most extreme delicacy
and softness still retain the quality of vitality and clearness of
outline.
During the season of 1846 I played the pianoforte part throughout the
series of six concerts of chamber-music given by the Harvard Musical
Association. I remember that Mr. Blessner played the violin and Mr.
Groenvelt the violoncello, but cannot recall the names of the players of
the second violin and viola. These concerts were given at the pianoforte
warerooms of Mr. Jonas Chickering, 334 Washington street, Boston. I
still have the programs. String quartets by Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven
were played, also piano trios by Beethoven, Reissiger, and Mayseder.
LEOPOLD DE MEYER
The knowledge I gained from Mr. Schmidt was largely advanced and
supplemented by what I learned a year or two later, in 1847-48, from the
playing of the pianoforte virtuoso Leopold de Meyer, who came to the
United States about that time.
It was from a careful study of the manner of his playing that I first
acquired the habit of fully devitalized upper-arm muscles in
pianoforte-playing. The loveliness and charming musical beauty of his
tones, the product of these conditions, greatly excited my admiration
and fascinated me. I never missed an opportunity of hearing him play,
and closely watched his movements, and particularly the motions of hand,
arm, and shoulder. I was incessantly at the pianoforte trying to produce
the same delightful tone quality by imitating his manner and style.
[Illustration: WILLIAM MASON AT THE AGE OF EIGHTEEN
FROM A DAGUERREOTYPE
]
My continued perseverance was rewarded with success, for the result was
a habit of devitalized muscular action in such degree that I could
practically play all day without a feeling of fatigue. The constant
alternation between devitalization and reconstruction keeps the muscles
always fresh for their work and enables the player to rest while
playing. The force is so distributed that each and every muscle has
ample opportunity to rest while yet in a state of activity. Furthermore
the tones resulting from this touch are sonorous and full of energy and
life. An idea of my own which was persistently carried into act aided
materially in bringing about the desired result. This was to allow
the arms to hang limp by my side, either in a sitting or standing
posture, and then to shake them rigorously with the utmost possible
looseness and devitalization. This device was in after years recommended
to my pupils, and those who persistently followed it up and persevered
for a while gained great advantage from it, and eventually acquired a
state of habitual muscular elasticity and flexibility.
I might easily have learned from any book of anatomy the names of the
muscles which are here referred to, but for the practical instruction of
pianoforte pupils this seemed to be of little consequence. However,
there are three muscles of the upper arm which may here be named: the
triceps, the brachialis anticus, and the biceps. Of these the
first-named is of the most importance to the pianist.
Leopold de Meyer's New York concerts were given in the old Broadway
Tabernacle, some distance below Canal street, as I now remember. The
piano-lovers were not so numerous then as they are now, and it was
difficult to fill the hall, even with the help of deadheads. De Meyer's
agent, acting on the principle that "a crowd draws a crowd," hired a lot
of carriages to make their appearance a little before the concert-hour,
and to stand in front of the doors and then advance in turn, so that
passers-by might receive the impression of activity on the part of the
concert-goers.
"FATHER HEINRICH"
Somewhere about this time there lived in New York an elderly German
musician and composer who had somehow gained the cognomen of "Father
Heinrich." He composed quite a number of large works, both vocal and
instrumental, and also a number of pianoforte pieces. During a visit
which he made to Boston, his headquarters were at Chickering's
pianoforte warerooms, and on one occasion I was presented to him as a
youth of some musical promise. He immediately showed me one of his
pianoforte pieces in manuscript, and said: "Young man, I am going to
test your musical talent and intelligence and see if you appreciate in
any degree the importance of a proper observance of dynamics in musical
interpretation." He had placed the open pages of the manuscript on the
pianoforte desk, and I was glancing over them in close scrutiny. "I wish
to tell you before you begin to play that I have submitted this piece to
two or three of the best musicians in New York and they have failed to
bring out the intended effect in an important phrase." This remark put
me at once on my guard, and while he was talking I was closely
scrutinizing the manuscript to see if there was some dynamic or other
mark which would reveal his intention. About half-way down the second
page I discovered a series of sforzando marks, thus: > > > > > over
several notes in one of the inner parts, and immediately determined to
bring out these tones with all possible force. Further than this there
seemed to be no peculiarity; but as he had by this time finished his
remarks I began to play with special care. The piece was easy to read,
and so I made good progress, and on coming to the passage referred to I
put a tremendous emphasis on the tones marked sforzando, playing all of
the other voices by contrast quite softly. To my boyish satisfaction I
found I had hit the mark. The excitement and pleasure of Father Heinrich
was excessive and amusing. "Bravo! bravo!" he cried. "You have great
talent, and you have done what none of our musicians in New York have
accomplished!"
I did not at the time understand how he could lay so much stress on the
affair, but in the light of a long experience as teacher of the
pianoforte I no longer wonder at his excitement. All music is full of
nuances and accents of greater or less intensity, to which pupils hardly
ever give any attention, although they are necessary in order to give
due expression to rhythm. They correspond to vocal accents in reading
aloud, or in declamation.
AN EMBARRASSING EXPERIENCE
It is difficult to realize the crudity of musical taste in the early
days. I remember that in 1840 my father conducted a convention in
Vermont--I think in Woodstock. We went by rail as far as we could, and
then traveled a number of hours by coach. We were received by the
dignitaries of the town, and conducted to the house in which we were to
stay. While we were shaking off the dust of travel, we heard the sounds
of drum and fife. Looking out of the window, we found that these
instruments headed a small procession which had come to escort us to the
church. The drum and the fife were the instrumental outfit of the town;
so, led by these, my father and I marched with the magnates of the place
to the church. I still remember how foolish I felt.
In 1846 my father was preparing to hold a convention in Augusta, Maine.
Mr. Webb was to go with him, and I was sent to his house the evening
before they were to start to let him know about the arrangements.
Though I knew Mr. Webb very well, I had never had occasion to go to his
house. At this time I was seventeen years old. When I was shown into the
drawing-room, I saw Mr. and Mrs. Webb and their daughter, a girl then
not fourteen. I had not been in the house half an hour before I was
deeply in love with her. I found that she was going to Augusta, and I
decided at once that I would go, too. So the next day we all started
together. She and I grew to be good friends, but the idea of an
engagement between us was not to be thought of at that time, and while I
lived in Germany we were not permitted to correspond. For five years I
did not see her; but when I came back I hastened to her father's house.
The sequel I shall tell later.
STUDENT LIFE ABROAD
It having been decided that I should continue my musical studies in
Europe, I sailed from New York for Bremen on the side-wheel steamer
_Herrmann_ in May, 1849, accompanied by Mr. Frank Hill of Boston, who
had already attained some distinction as a pianist. My intention was to
go directly to Leipsic to study with Moscheles. One of our
fellow-passengers was Julius Schuberth, the music-publisher of Hamburg,
who had been in America on business. Arriving at Bremen, we learned that
the insurrection had not yet been suppressed, and that within two or
three days there had been bloodshed in the streets of Leipsic. For this
and other reasons I gladly accepted Mr. Schuberth's invitation to visit
him, first making a short trip to Paris with Hill.
MEETING WITH MEYERBEER
I arrived in Paris shortly after six o'clock in the morning, and went to
the Hotel de Paris, in the Rue de Richelieu. In those days, at that
early hour, Paris was as quiet as an American town at midnight. There
were three of us in the party. We secured two rooms, and my friends
remained up-stairs, while I returned to the porter's lodge below to have
my passport sent to the Bureau of Police to be vised. The porter went
out to attend to this, and I was left alone in the lodge.
Shortly afterward a man entered, of medium height, well dressed, and
with a good deal of manner. He addressed me in French, but when I asked
him if he could speak English he began conversing fluently in that
language. He asked if I was from England and a stranger in Paris. When I
told him I was from America, he exclaimed, "Ah, that is farther off."
Then, noticing the passport, which was uncommonly large and was bound
like a book, he asked, "Is that an American passport? Please let me
have a look at it I'm curious to see it." Bound in with the passport
were a number of blank leaves to be used for the vises of various
consuls. "Young man," said my chance acquaintance, "you have leaves
enough there to travel about Europe for twenty years." Then he inquired
if I was traveling for pleasure or on business.
"I have come over to study music."
"Ah, composition?"
"No; mainly piano, but also theory and composition."
"And where?"
"I expect to go to Leipsic to study with Moscheles, Hauptmann, and
Richter. Eventually I hope to go to Liszt."
"Well, well, you've chosen good men. Moscheles knew Beethoven."
Then, with a few friendly words, he left the lodge and entered the
hotel. Just as he was leaving the porter returned.
"Who is the gentleman?" I asked, pointing after the disappearing form.
"Meyerbeer, the composer."
The porter then took me into the courtyard and pointed out the room
which Meyerbeer occupied, calling my attention to the fact that his
window and mine almost faced each other.
"If you look out of your window about eleven o'clock," said the porter,
"you will see Mme. Garcia and Roger, the tenor, coming here to rehearse
their roles in the new opera with the composer."
Meyerbeer was so affable at our chance meeting that I think I could
easily have followed it up and have seen more of him; but when a boy is
in Paris for the first time, he has many things to think of. Moreover, I
did not realize that at the end of the century, "Le Prophete," the work
which Meyerbeer was then rehearsing, would still be in the repertory of
every first-class opera-house. I knew that he was a distinguished
composer, but I did not for a moment imagine that his work would live so
long. As I now look back through the perspective of time, I realize the
opportunity I missed; but I thank the freak of fortune which threw in
his way, if only for a few moments, a young man who was too careless to
improve the chance acquaintance.
From Paris I returned to Schuberth's in Hamburg. He was an active,
enterprising, pushing business man, with a large acquaintance in the
musical world, and the knowledge of how to put it to the best use. I
remained in Hamburg for some time. Boy-like, I had spent all my money in
Paris, and was now obliged to wait for a remittance from home. In
Hamburg I met Carl Mayer of Dresden, a fine pianist of the Hummel
school, and Mortier de Fontaine, who was very well known in his day as a
Beethoven-player--had, in fact, won considerable fame as the first
pianist to perform Beethoven's "Sonata, Op. 106" in public. That was his
label.
LISZT'S FEAT OF MEMORY
From Hamburg I went to Leipsic, but Schuberth did not lose sight of me.
Whenever he came there he looked me up, and was very kind in
introducing me to people whom it was well for me to meet. He knew Liszt
very well, and having taken a fancy to a composition of mine, "Les
Perles de Rosee," which was still in manuscript, he said: "Let me have
it for publication. Dedicate it to Liszt. I can easily get Liszt to
accept the dedication. I am going directly from here to Weimar, and will
see him about it. At the same time, I will prepare the way for your
reception later as a pupil."
[Illustration: Autograph of I. Moscheles]
Not long afterward I received a letter from Schuberth in which he told
me that when he handed the music to Liszt, the latter looked at the
manuscript, hummed it over, then sat down and played it from memory.
Then, going to his desk, he took a pen, and accepted the dedication by
writing his name at the top of the title-page. Encouraged by this, I
wrote a letter to Liszt, expressing my desire to become one of his
pupils, and asking what my chances were. Unfortunately, I misinterpreted
his reply, and received the impression that it amounted to a
refusal; but at the same time he gave me a cordial invitation to
attend the festival about to take place in Weimar in commemoration of
the hundredth anniversary of Goethe's birth. I still have this letter,
which is dated August 18, 1849. Had I understood then that Liszt was
ready to accept me as a pupil, I should have taken up my residence at
Weimar at once, instead of waiting until I learned my mistake, as I did
during a call which I made upon Liszt nearly four years later.
FIRST MEETING WITH LISZT
However, I went to Weimar with Mr. Hill to attend the Goethe festival,
arriving there early in the afternoon of the day before it began.
The third day of the festival we called on Liszt, who was then living in
the Hotel zum Erbprinzen, and were received most cordially. Schlesinger,
the Paris publisher, was there with his little daughter, who was
precocious as a pianist and played several Chopin waltzes. Liszt was
very busy with his guests, so that our visit was limited, and nothing
was said about my coming to Weimar to study except that Liszt said he
never received pupils for regular lessons, but that those who lived in
Weimar (and there were only three or four in those days) had frequent
opportunities of hearing and meeting artists who visited him. Having
misinterpreted his letter, I accepted these remarks as a further
politely worded refusal to receive me. So I returned to Leipsic to
continue my studies there.
ARRIVAL AT LEIPSIC
I well remember the feeling of awe mingled with interest with which I
looked upon every German whom I met in the streets of Leipsic on my
first arrival in that famously musical city. I looked on even the
laboring-men, the peasants as well as those in higher positions, as
being Mozarts and Beethovens, and the idea gained such ascendancy that I
felt my own inferiority and metaphorically held down my head. This
feeling, however, was not of long duration, and changed in the course of
a month or two on account of what happened at a concert of the Euterpe
Society which I attended. The concerts of this musical society were
second only to those of the famous Gewandhaus, and their audiences were
made up largely of those who attended the concerts of the latter. At
this concert the program was classical and unimpeachable as to the
orchestral concerted pieces, but one of the numbers was a solo for
clarinet. At my age I was disposed to look down on this as an inferior
kind of music, and as decidedly unsuitable to an educated and musically
cultivated taste. Therefore, when, to my surprise, this turned out to be
the most popular piece of the evening and received the most vociferous
applause of the entire audience, I found my high opinion of the select
musical taste of the Germans sensibly decreased.
Since then I have learned that there is a place for everything good in
its way; but the clarinet solo seemed out of place in the classical
atmosphere of a symphony concert.
MOSCHELES, BEETHOVEN, AND CHOPIN
Moscheles, with whom I studied in Leipsic, had been a pupil of Dionysius
Weber in Prague. At that time Beethoven was still a newcomer, and was
regarded with skepticism by the older men, whose ideas were formed and
who could not get over their first unfavorable impressions of him.
Beethoven was a profound man and had strong individuality. He was
eagerly accepted by the younger men, Moscheles among them; but Dionysius
Weber regarded him as a monstrosity, and would never allow Moscheles to
learn any of his music. Consequently, Moscheles practised Beethoven in
secret, and when he grew up he prided himself on being a
Beethoven-player, and wrote a life of Beethoven, which, however, is
largely based on Schindler's.
At about the time I went to Leipsic the attitude of Moscheles toward
Chopin was very like what Dionysius Weber's had been toward Beethoven.
One of the daughters of Moscheles was very fond of playing Chopin, but
her father forbade it. Afterward she married and went to London, where
she played Chopin to her heart's content. It is curious how men who in
their younger days are pioneers become so conservative as they grow
older that they are like stone walls in the paths of progress. They
forget that in their youth they laughed at or criticized their elders
for the same pedantry of which they themselves afterward become guilty.
THE INTIMACY OF MOSCHELES AND MENDELSSOHN
Moscheles and Mendelssohn had been warm friends. Moscheles, in
particular, prided himself on the composer's friendship. No one to-day
can understand the influence which Mendelssohn had upon his
contemporaries, by whom his music and his personality were fairly
worshiped. Comparisons were made between him and Beethoven to the
latter's disadvantage. I remember an excellent musician saying to me,
"Beethoven does have consecutive fifths now and then, Mendelssohn
never." He did not realize that these apparent violations of technical
rules were part of Beethoven's ragged strength, while Mendelssohn's
scrupulous adherence to them was evidence of weakness.
Mendelssohn's death was a great shock to Moscheles. Mendelssohn had
often visited him, and there was such profound musical sympathy between
them that they were able to improvise together on two pianos. They
understood each other so well that one of them would improvise a theme,
which the other would follow. After a while they would interchange their
roles, the second piano taking up the theme, the first piano
subordinating itself. This is not in itself an extraordinary feat, but
it illustrates the musical sympathy which existed between Mendelssohn
and Moscheles.
SCHUMANN
[Illustration: Autograph of Robert Schumann]
For some years prior to 1844 Schumann lived in Leipsic. It was his habit
to compose intensely all day, and then to walk to a beer-cellar at
the upper end of the Grimmaische Strasse. There he would sit at a table
with one of his most trusted friends, an odd-looking but able musician
and piano-teacher named Wenzel. There were two or three other musicians
who frequented the place and were generally at the same table. Schumann
enjoyed being among friends, but disliked nothing more than the
restraint of social functions. No doubt there was a large consumption of
beer, after the fashion of the Germans on such occasions, but to a
musical student who could sit within hearing there was afforded a golden
opportunity of absorbing musical ideas.
SCHUMANN'S "SYMPHONY NO. 1, B FLAT"
When I went to Germany, Schumann was living in Dresden, but he made
frequent visits to Leipsic. I knew little or nothing of Schumann's
music, for Mendelssohn then dominated the musical world; but the first
orchestral composition of Schumann's that I ever heard placed him far
above Mendelssohn in my estimation. It was at the second concert I
attended at the Gewandhaus in Leipsic, and the work was the "First
Symphony." I was so wrought up by it that I hummed passages from it as I
walked home, and sat down at the piano when I got there, and played as
much of it as I could remember. I hardly slept that night for the
excitement of it. The first thing I did in the morning was to go to
Breitkopf & Haertel's and buy the score, the orchestral parts and piano
arrangements for four and two hands, and in these I fairly reveled.
I grew so enthusiastic over the symphony that I sent the score and parts
to the Musical Fund Society of Boston, the only concert orchestra then
in that city, and conducted by Mr. Webb. They could make nothing of the
symphony, and it lay on the shelf for one or two years. Then they tried
it again, saw something in it, but somehow could not get the swing of
it, possibly on account of the syncopations. Before my return from
Europe in 1854, I think they finally played it. In speaking of it, Mr.
Webb said to my father: "Yes, it is interesting; but in our next concert
we play Haydn's 'Surprise Symphony,' and that will live long after this
symphony of Schumann's is forgotten." Many years afterward I reminded
Mr. Webb of this remark, whereupon he said, "William, is it possible
that I was so foolish?"
Only a few years before I arrived at Leipsic, Schumann's genius was so
little appreciated that when he entered the store of Breitkopf & Haertel
with a new manuscript under his arm, the clerks would nudge one another
and laugh. One of them told me that they regarded him as a crank and a
failure because his pieces remained on the shelf and were in the way.
I often saw Schumann in Leipsic, and I heard him conduct his cantata,
"The Pilgrimage of the Rose." His conducting was awkward, as he was
neither active nor of commanding presence. However, I liked his looks,
as he seemed good-natured, though perhaps not like a man with whom one
might easily become acquainted. This impression, however, may be due to
anecdotes which I had heard regarding his lack of sociability.
SCHUMANN'S ABSENT-MINDEDNESS
Up to the time of Mendelssohn's death his followers and the small body
of musicians who appreciated Schumann had rubbed pretty hard together.
Naturally, Moscheles and Schumann had not been intimate. But Moscheles
felt Mendelssohn's loss so keenly that he cast about for some one to
take his place, and finally decided to make overtures to Schumann by
inviting him to his house to supper. What occurred there was told to me
by a fellow-pupil. He said that while the company was gathering in the
drawing-room, Schumann sat in a corner apparently absorbed in thought,
without looking at any one or uttering a word. He did not impress my
friend as morose, but rather as a man whose thoughts were at the moment
in an entirely different sphere. Supper was announced, and the guests
being seated, it was discovered that there was a vacant place at the
table. Moscheles looked about for Schumann, but he was not there. The
host and several guests went back to the salon to look for him, and
found him sitting in his corner, still deep in thought. When aroused, he
said, "Oh, I hadn't noticed that you had gone out." Then he went in to
supper, but hardly said a word. What a contrast there was between his
personality and that of the ever-affable, polished Mendelssohn! There is
the same contrast between their music: Schumann's profound, and
appealing to us most when we wish to withdraw entirely within the very
sanctuary of our own emotions; Mendelssohn's smooth, finished, and
easily understood.
Early in 1844 Schumann had moved to Dresden, and I called upon him in
that city and received a pleasant welcome, contrary to my expectation,
for I had heard much of his reticence. Judging by the brief entry in my
diary, nothing of importance was said. I could not see Mme. Schumann,
because she was giving a lesson. This was on April 13, 1850. I called
again later in the month, and Schumann gave me his musical autograph, a
canon for male voices; and the next day I received an autograph from
Clara Schumann. In 1880 I learned from Mme. Schumann that the canon
referred to had already been published at the time when I received it
from Schumann. (See Op. 65, No. 6.)
Afterward, when I met Wagner I could not help contrasting his lively
manner and glowing enthusiasm with Schumann's reserve, which, however,
was by no means repellent. Indeed, if I had been the greatest living
musician, instead of a mere boy student, Wagner could not have received
me with more kindness, or have talked to me more delightfully during the
three memorable hours of my life which were spent with him.
MORITZ HAUPTMANN
[Illustration: Autograph of Mme. Schumann]
My teacher in harmony and counterpoint was Moritz Hauptmann, a pupil of
Spohr, and an excellent composer of church music, his motets being
especially beautiful. He was the cantor and music director of the
Thomas-schule at Leipsic, a position which years before had been held by
Sebastian Bach. He was altogether a genial and attractive man, of gentle
manner and disposition, and I at once became much attached to him. He
was in delicate health and suffered constantly from dyspepsia, yet bore
all of his ills with patience and equanimity. I remember that he had a
passion for baked apples, one of the few things he could eat without ill
results, and on his stove, a regular old-fashioned German structure of
porcelain, nearly as high as the ceiling, there was always a row of
apples in process of slow baking.
His autograph is one of the most curious in my book, and is an excellent
example of his technical knowledge. It is a _Spiegel-Canon_
("looking-glass canon"). When held up to the mirror the reflection shows
the answer to the canon in the related key.
Not long after beginning my studies under Hauptmann, I received from my
father a copy of his latest publication, being a collection of tunes,
mostly of his own composition, for choir and congregational use in the
church. He requested me to show this to Hauptmann and get his opinion,
if practicable. I felt a decided reluctance to do this, because I
thought my father's work was not worthy of the notice of such a profound
musician, so I delayed the carrying out of his request. After a few
weeks, however, I began receiving letters from my father upon the
subject, and realized that I could not postpone action any longer. So
one day, going to my lesson, I took the book with me. I kept it as well
out of sight as I could during the lesson, and then at the last moment,
when about to leave the room, I placed it on Hauptmann's table, telling
him in an apologetic way of my father's request and seeking to excuse
myself for troubling him. I said I was afraid he would find nothing in
the book to interest him.
When the regular time for my lesson recurred I hesitated to present
myself again; but there was no way of avoiding the difficulty, so with a
tremendous exercise of will I faced the situation. What was my surprise
and relief when he greeted me with "Mr. Mason, I have examined your
father's book with much interest and pleasure, and his admirable
treatment of the voices is most musicianly and satisfactory. Please give
him my sincere regards, and thank him for his attention in sending me
the book."
At the moment I could not understand how such a big contrapuntist could
express himself in such strong terms of approval; but I knew him to be
genuine, and so I straightened myself up and really began to be proud of
my father. Another and more important result was the recognition of my
own ignorance in imagining that a thing in order to be great must
necessarily be intricate and complicated. It dawned upon me that the
simplest things are sometimes the grandest and the most difficult of
attainment.
I also took lessons in instrumentation from Ernst Friedrich Richter, a
pupil of Hauptmann.
A VISIT TO WAGNER.