the quartet improved rapidly. His dominating influence was felt and
acknowledged by us all. Moreover, he rapidly developed a talent for
making programs by putting pieces into the right order of sequence, thus
avoiding incongruities. He brought this art to perfection in the
arrangement of his symphony concert programs.
Our viola, Matzka, was also an excellent musician, and for many years
the first viola of the Philharmonic orchestra. Mosenthal, who played
second violin, achieved a wide reputation as composer and conductor, in
which latter capacity he did splendid work for the Mendelssohn Glee
Club. He was also one of the best teachers of piano and violin in New
York.
THOMAS AS CONDUCTOR
Thomas's fame as a conductor has entirely overshadowed his earlier
reputation as a violinist. He had a large tone, the tone of a player of
the highest rank. He lacked the perfect finish of a great violinist,
but he played in a large, quiet, and reposeful manner. This seemed to
pass from his violin-playing into his conducting, in which there is the
same sense of largeness and dignity, coupled, however, with the artistic
finish which he lacked as a violinist. He is a very great conductor, the
greatest we have ever had here, not only in the Beethoven symphonies and
other classical music, but in Liszt, Wagner, and the extreme moderns.
Why should he not conduct Wagner as well as anybody else, or better?
Everything is large about Wagner, and everything is large about Thomas.
His rates of tempo are in accord with those of the most celebrated
conductors whom I heard fifty years ago. In modern times the tendency
has been toward an increased rate of speed, and this detracts in large
measure from the impressiveness of the works, especially those of
Mozart, Beethoven, Von Weber, and others.
That the skilful orchestral conductor does not rely solely upon the ear
but sometimes receives assistance from the eye in his work is
illustrated by an experience of Theodore Thomas which he related while
dining at my house some two years since. On one occasion, when a benefit
concert was tendered to him, the orchestra was increased to jubilee
dimensions, and I think there were sixteen violoncello-players, with
other instruments in due proportion. During the final rehearsal Mr.
Thomas became aware of some imperfections, probably of phrasing, and
traced the error to the violoncellists, but could not at first detect
the individual whose fault it was. On closer scrutiny he observed that
one of them was bowing in the wrong way, and thus obscuring the
phrasing.
The newspapers, in reviewing the concert, mentioned this incident as
illustrating the wonderfully sensitive ear of the conductor, whereas on
this occasion, at least, the eye was the detective agent.
It is possible, however, for a trained ear to detect errors in mere
manipulation, and I am reminded by one of my former pupils that, having
taken advantage, during one of his lessons, of my momentary absence in
an adjoining room, to play a passage according to his own ideas of
proper technic, he was astonished to hear me call out to him that he had
used the wrong finger in striking one of the keys.
That Thomas had entire confidence in himself was shown in the outset of
his career. One evening, as he came home tired out from his work, and
after dinner had settled himself in a comfortable place for a good rest,
a message came to him from the Academy of Music, about two blocks away
from his house in East Twelfth street. An opera season was in progress
there. The orchestra was in its place, and the audience seated, when
word was received that Anschuetz, the conductor, was ill. The management
had not provided against that contingency, and was in a position of much
embarrassment. Would Thomas come to the rescue? He had never
conducted opera, and the work for the evening's performance was an opera
with which he was unfamiliar. Here was a life's opportunity, and Thomas
was equal to the occasion. He thought for a moment, then said, "I will."
He rose quickly, got himself into his dress-suit, hurried to the Academy
of Music, and conducted the opera as if it were a common experience. He
was not a man to say, "Give me time until next week." He was always
ready for every opportunity.
[Illustration: THEODORE THOMAS
ABOUT TWENTY-FOUR YEARS OLD]
On Christmas day, 1900, a friend presented me with a calendar for the
year 1901. It has a leaf for each day of the year. The calendar
evidently required much labor in preparation, and necessitated
correspondence with many friends at home as well as abroad, and many are
the cordial responses that were received. The result is a daily pleasure
and surprise. The leaf for February 11, 1901, the day of my present
writing, has reference to the third concert of chamber-music, eighth
season of Mason and Thomas, which took place on Tuesday evening,
February 10, 1862:
Tuesday, February 10, 1862
The third soiree of Mason and Thomas had the following program:
Quartet, C Major, No. 2 _Cherubini_
Piano Trio, D Major, Op. 70, No. 1 _Beethoven_
Quartet, A Major, Op. 41, No. 3 _Schumann_
A program as interesting and fresh to-day as thirty-eight years
ago. The weather was very cold,--below zero,--and during the largo
of the trio the gas gave out. We continued playing for some time,
but finally had to stop. The "Geister" [the composition here
referred to is called by the Germans the "Geister Trio"] did not
assist us! Do you remember the fact?
Es ist schon lange her.
THEODORE THOMAS.
KARL KLAUSER, MUSICAL DIRECTOR AT MISS PORTER'S SCHOOL
Through Mosenthal our quartet became acquainted with Mr. Karl Klauser,
who was an active and enthusiastic musician of thorough education, and
who has accomplished a great deal of useful work both as a compiler and
teacher of classic and modern compositions. Mr. Klauser is a native of
St. Petersburg, born of German parents; he came to New York in 1850, and
was engaged as musical director in Miss Porter's famous school for young
ladies in 1855, a post which he filled with credit and ability for many
years. He was enthusiastically fond of chamber-music, and frequently
attended the rehearsals of our quartet; and it was through him that we
were induced to give recitals in Farmington six months after our
beginning in New York. On Thursday, June 26, 1856, our program was as
follows:
String Quartet in E flat, No. 4 _Mozart_
Trio, Piano, Violin, and Violoncello, G Minor, Op. 15, No. 2 _Rubinstein_
Variations from Quartet No. 5 _Beethoven_
Also solos for pianoforte and for violoncello.
On the following day another recital was given, with an entire change of
program.
At that time one of the undergraduates of the school was a young girl
who is now the wife of a distinguished lawyer of New York, and is
herself prominent in good works. Not long ago I received from her the
following very agreeable letter about the early Farmington days:
MY DEAR DR. MASON: I am glad to hear that you are to share your
pleasant "Memories" with your friends. I hope, in looking back to
the happy times when you were young, you will not forget your
annual visits to dear old Farmington; for if you do not remember
them in words, many old admirers will wonder how you could fail to
make much of occasions so precious to them.
As one of Miss Porter's girls, who can now live over again the
coming to town of William Mason, Theodore Thomas, J. Mosenthal, G.
Matzka, F. Bergner, and the long-looked-for chamber-concerts, I
feel sure that in all of your generous giving of a God-given
genius, you never gave more real pleasure than you gave those
school-girls and teachers hungry for a taste of life outside the
school, and for good music, the best of all company. You were then
to them what you only hoped to be after years of hard work,--great
men in your profession,--and they could not have dressed with more
care or been more excited if they had been going to listen with
royalty to the greatest of the old masters.
Among the choicest of my pictures of Farmington days is that of the
girls in white and dainty pinks and greens and blues, with flowers
to wear and flowers to throw to you, almost dancing down that
beautiful street on a summer day to "the concert," and in the
foreground a quaint dark figure whom all the girls remember on
festive occasions as bearing the burden of her choice with a New
England sense of propriety at war with her keen sympathy with all
that is natural in young people, and with the pride in her
good-looking family which made her blind to their youthful follies.
That was long ago when we were giddy girls, but the verdict of our
heads and hearts was a true one.
Sure that your memories, dear Dr. Mason, must be bright in the
sunlight of so many warm friendships, I am listening to the music
of long ago.
March 31, 1901.
LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCHALK
I knew Gottschalk well, and was fascinated by his playing, which was
full of brilliancy and bravura. His strong, rhythmic accent, his vigor
and dash, were exciting and always aroused enthusiasm. He was the
perfection of his school, and his effects had the sparkle and
effervescence of champagne. He was as far as possible from being an
interpreter of chamber or classical music, but, notwithstanding this,
some of the best musicians of the strict style were frequently to be
seen among his audience, among others Carl Bergmann, who told me that he
always heard Gottschalk with intense enjoyment. He first made his mark
through his arrangement of Creole melodies. They were well defined
rhythmically, and he played them with absolute rhythmic accuracy. This
clear definition in his interpretation contributed more than anything
else to the fascination which he always exerted over his audience. He
did not care for the German school, and on one occasion, after hearing
me play Schumann at one of the Mason-Thomas matinees, he said: "Mason, I
do not understand why you spend so much of your time over music like
that; it is stiff and labored, lacks melody, spontaneity, and naivete.
It will eventually vitiate your musical taste and bring you into an
abnormal state."
Although an enthusiastic admirer of Beethoven symphonies and other
orchestral works, he did not care for the pianoforte sonatas, which he
said were not written in accordance with the nature of the instrument.
It has been said that he could play all of the sonatas by heart; but I
am quite sure that Mr. Richard Hoffman, who was his intimate friend,
will sustain me in the assertion that such was not the fact.
I have known Mr. Hoffman for more than fifty years, having met him for
the first time in the year 1847 or thereabout. His playing is still
characterized by precision, accuracy, and clearness in phrasing, with an
excellent technic, combined with repose. I have many times enjoyed his
artistic interpretations, and I heard him with great pleasure not a long
while ago, on the occasion of his fiftieth anniversary as a teacher in
this country.
Returning to Gottschalk, a funny thing happened one day. At the time of
which I write, forty-five years ago, William Hall & Sons' music-store
was in Broadway, corner of Park Place, and was a place of rendezvous for
musicians. Going there one day, I met Gottschalk, who, holding up the
proof-sheet of a title-page which he had just received from the printer,
said: "Read that!" What I read was, "The Latest Hops," in big block
letters after the fashion of an outside music title-page. "What does
this mean?" I asked. "Well," he replied, "it ought to be 'The Last
Hope,' but the printer, either by way of joke or from stupidity, has
expressed it in this way. There is to be a new edition of my 'Last
Hope,' and I am revising it for that purpose."
[Illustration: Autograph of Moreau Gottschalk]
I have in my autograph-book a letter of his, undated, but written in the
late fifties:
MY DEAR M.: If you have nothing to do, come and spend the evening
with me on Sunday next. No formality. Smoking required, impropriety
allowed, and complete liberty, with as little music as possible.
I was going to mention that we will have a glass of wine and
chicken salad.
Your friend,
GOTTSCHALK.
149 East Ninth Street.
PROPAGANDA FOR SCHUMANN'S MUSIC
Gottschalk's remark about my liking for Schumann's music was at that
time echoed by others, for when I returned from Germany and found
Schumann virtually unknown here, I made it my mission to introduce his
music into this country--a labor of love in which I was afterward
greatly aided by the quartet concerts and by my teaching. Shortly after
my return from Germany I went to Breusing's, then one of the principal
music-stores in the city,--the Schirmers are his successors,--and asking
for certain compositions by Schumann, I was informed that they had his
music in stock, but as there was no demand for it, it was packed away in
a bundle and kept in the basement. Pretty soon, however, my pupils
began calling for Schumann's pieces, and Schumann moved up from the
cellar to the main floor. His music was expensive, because it was
published in sets, and if a pupil wanted to buy one of the "Novellettes"
or "Kinderscenen," it was necessary to purchase the whole collection.
After a while, however, some of the music-dealers began to publish a
number of the pieces separately. This had the effect in some measure of
opening up the sale of his music to pupils and amateurs.
SIGISMOND THALBERG
Thalberg's playing was characterized by grace, elegance, and perfection
of finish in detail. His style was suave, courteous, and aristocratic.
Being a pupil of Hummel, who had in turn taken lessons of Mozart for two
years, it was quite within the line of descent that he should have
acquired the extremely smooth legato touch of those masters. As
distinguished from any pianist-composer up to his time, his specialty
was the surrounding of a melody with arabesques and ornamental passages
of scales and arpeggios played with rapidity, clearness, and brilliancy.
Parish Alvars, the harpist, had originated this device, and Thalberg
adapted it to the pianoforte, for which instrument it was better suited
and more effective than on the harp.
The important influence of the upper-arm muscles in the production of
powerful and resonant tones seems to have been but little known in those
days. Leopold de Meyer's constant use of these, as noted elsewhere, was
apparently unconscious and instinctive.
Thalberg's octave-playing was not altogether elastic and free from
rigidity, for in long-continued and rapid octave passages a close
observer would have noticed a contraction of his facial muscles and a
compression of the lips, which would have been avoided under the
conditions of properly devitalized upper-arm muscles and loose wrists.
Shortly after his arrival in our country he went by invitation to my
brother's house in West Orange, New Jersey, on a visit of some weeks.
This afforded an opportunity which was not neglected, and as a result I
became well acquainted with him and his method of practice. In this way
he was virtually one of my best teachers, although no regular lessons
were received from him. Moreover, in several of his concerts I played
with him his duo for two pianofortes on themes from "Norma," and these
were occasions of great artistic profit. One learned much, also, from
hearing him practise. His daily exercises included scale and arpeggio
passages played at various rates of speed and with different degrees of
dynamic force. These were always put into rhythmic form, and the
measures, sometimes in triple and sometimes in quadruple time in many
varieties, were invariably indicated by means of accentuation. Dynamic
effects, such as crescendos and diminuendos, also received due
attention. In short, as it seems to me, he made it a point--as well in
the cultivation and development of physical technic as in his
public performances--to play _musically_ at all times.
[Illustration: Autograph of Sigismond Thalberg]
Thalberg's technic seemed to be confined mainly to the finger, hand,
wrist, and lower-arm muscles, but these he used in such a deft manner as
to draw from his instrument the loveliest tones. He was altogether
opposed to the high-raised finger of some of the modern schools, and in
his work entitled "L'Art du Chant applique au Piano" he cautions
students against this habit. The same advice had been previously given
by Carl Czerny in his "Letters on the Art of Playing the Pianoforte,"
namely: "Do not strike the keys from too great a height, as in this case
a thud will accompany the tone."
Thalberg adds: "Gewoehnlich arbeitet man zu viel mit den Fingern und zu
wenig mit dem Geiste" ("Generally one works too much with the fingers
and too little with the intelligence").
This is reasonable advice, for a touch which starts off simply for
strength and mechanical development, separate from other traits, becomes
eventually so obstinately fixed and determined that its influence will
dominate and stand constantly in the way of poetic and musical
development. In this connection it is well to remember and apply the
proverb: "An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure."
He was very fond of his grand pianofortes, both of which were made by
Erard of Paris. One of these instruments was drawn upon a much larger
scale than had previously been made by this or, so far as I know, by any
other manufacturer. The tone was powerful and of a lovely musical
character. Thalberg's idea was that the better the instrument the
greater the advantage afforded the virtuoso, not only for public
playing, but as well for the purpose of practice and musical development
I remember his telling me that a fine instrument even suggested ideas to
the composer and furthered his work. An experience of many years has
proved to me the soundness of his theory and the importance of its
practical application.
The not uncommon assertion that "any piano will do for a beginner" is
wrong in principle. How absurd to assert that any associates will do
for children in the beginning! It is just at this tender age when
impressions are so easily received that the best musical advantages
should be afforded. What can be better adapted to the cultivation of a
musical ear than the constant presence of musical tones of the highest
quality and purity? The ear requires close musical companionship in
order to promote corresponding development.
The cultivation of a physical technic is important, indeed
indispensable, but it should not precede or be separated from musical
companionship. Its development should at all stages be surrounded by a
musical atmosphere in which its adaptability to the expression of
poetical ideas may be developed. The heart and head should be closely
united.
PEDAL AND PEDAL SIGNS--WHY NOT DISPENSE WITH THE LATTER?
Prolonged or organ tones are not possible on the pianoforte. From the
moment the hammer strikes the string the tone begins to diminish in
volume and soon fades away. One of the chief arts of the pianist is to
sustain a tone throughout the full value of the note which represents
it, and this is accomplished either by steady pressure on the key or by
the use of the open pedal, frequently misnamed the loud pedal. The use
of the word "loud" in this connection is illogical and misleading. The
word "open" is much better, because this pedal, when pressed, causes the
dampers to be raised from the strings, thus leaving them open, and so
prolonging the tones. Furthermore, the open pedal is constantly used in
the softest and most delicate passages. Its mission is simply to prolong
the tones, whether loud or soft. In either case the tone dies rapidly
away, and the pianist, sensitively aware of this, and feeling the
necessity of keeping up the volume of sound, is led unconsciously to
anticipate or take the next tone a little before its due time. The
effect of this process in continuation is to produce a feeling of unrest
on the part of the hearer, and is fatal to repose. On this account
Thalberg earnestly recommends to piano-students that "the tones
invariably be held throughout their absolute or exact value" (see "L'Art
du Chant"). Tones can be sustained, so far as this is possible on the
pianoforte, in two ways, namely, by means of the open pedal or by
holding down the keys firmly during the exact value represented by the
notes. How can this value be determined? Solely through the medium of
the ear. "The proof of the pudding is in the eating." The proof of
musical sounds, as to quality and duration, is in the listening.
This being granted, it seems to follow that all signs, such as "Ped.,"
*, or [** two check marks], etc., should be discarded as being even
worse than useless, for when pupils pay careful attention to them they
are apt to be guided solely by the eye. They press down the pedal at the
sign "Ped.," and release it at the following asterisk (*), doing this in
a merely perfunctory way, and hence they either fail to produce a true
legato effect or err in the opposite direction of an over-legato, which
results in a confusion of sounds. This may be best avoided by
practising on an instrument of fine musical quality and beautiful
singing tone, which promotes the habit of listening attentively, and
thus contributes in the highest degree to the development and training
of the ear.
It is true that musical temperament is inborn, and those who possess it
have native insight, and hence develop with rapidity. There are,
however, very many who are not "to the manner born." Such are obliged to
acquire habits through persistent and persevering effort. All travel the
same road, but the genius flies while the less gifted plods along.
However, for the benefit and consolation of the latter, I remind them
that the tortoise left the hare asleep and won the race. The ear should
be cultivated for music, the eye for painting, the mind in both; and the
heart especially in music, because the latter is the "language of the
emotions."
A little pedal study from my work entitled "Touch and Technic" (Part IV,
page 18), will serve to illustrate what I mean. It is on an elementary
plane and can easily be accomplished by a beginner with a little care
and ordinary perseverance.
[Illustration: PEDAL STUDY FOR THE PIANOFORTE
(_To be played throughout with one finger_)]
It is to be played with only one finger, and the tones of the melody
must receive special emphasis so as to stand out clearly, and they must
be sustained by means of the open pedal throughout the exact length of
time represented by the notes. The crescendo and diminuendo must be
observed according to direction, and as a help to this effect the soft
pedal may be used simultaneously, either all of the time or
occasionally, in an experimental way and according to fancy. This
promotes the faculty of judgment and leads to individuality, a very
desirable result.
The melody is on the middle line and the accompaniment on the outer
lines. The melody must predominate in power, and must be sustained
throughout the exact value of its representative notes, which are mostly
dotted halves, viz.: [Illustration: dotted quarter-note]. This is
accomplished by firmly pressing the open pedal, the finger in the
meanwhile playing the accompaniment. Thus the tone is sustained solely
by means of the pedal. Carefully observe the effects of crescendo < and
diminuendo >. Play strictly in time.
In the final measure still continue the pedal pressure after the C in
the treble has been played. There are now four tones sounding together.
Now replace the finger, silently and without striking, on the melody key
E. While still pressing this key raise the foot from the pedal. This
leaves the E sounding alone. Hold down the key until the tone has quite
died away.
RUBINSTEIN AND THE AUTOGRAPH-HUNTER