1862-1905
During these years Leschetizky played a great deal in public. He was
famous all over Russia, Austria, and Germany, both as pianist and
teacher, and pupils collected to join his class from every part of
Europe.
[Illustration: LESCHETIZKY'S HOUSE IN VIENNA]
In his capacity as Capellmeister he had also to fill the part of
conductor. In speaking of this part of his career he says: "Conducting
is not difficult. It is harder to play six bars well on the piano
than to conduct the whole of the Ninth Symphony of Beethoven." In
illustration of this view he relates how, when he was once conducting
the Schumann Concerto, Rubinstein, who was taking the solo, suddenly
forgot the music so completely that Leschetizky was obliged to stop
the orchestra. On rushed Rubinstein, playing anything that came into
his head, till he found himself in the Cadenza, when Leschetizky
at once passed the word round the orchestra to be ready to come in
with the theme, if Rubinstein ever got there. Rubinstein did get
there. Leschetizky brought down the stick, and all went merrily to
the end. On another occasion he had to conduct an overture that he
had never seen; but he ran it over in his mind before the concert
began, and it went without a hitch. He thinks far too much is
said about a conductor's difficulties. He protests also against
"virtuoso-conducting." "Why should the orchestra rise? Why should
so much be said about the way in which things are done? It is the
_composer_ who should have the applause, not the _conductor_." When a
concert is over, he would have all the lights put out, the portrait of
the composer thrown by a lantern on a screen, and make the audience
applaud that. Leschetizky's own career as a conductor ended when
Rubinstein came back to take up his position as "Janitor of Music" at
the Court. Since then he has not sought the opportunity of carrying
these ideas into practice.
In 1864 he visited England for the first time, making his _début_ at
one of Ella's Musical Union Concerts, where he played the Schumann
Quintet and some of his own compositions. Mr. Kuhe happened to be in
the artists' room at the time, and says that at rehearsal there arose
a considerable discussion as to the _tempo_ at which the Quintet
should be taken. Leschetizky, it seems, was accustomed to play it much
more brilliantly and at a greater speed than Joachim--the first violin
on this occasion--and nothing would induce him to play it in any other
way. "I play it so, or not at all." "Very well," replied Joachim, "but
mind the responsibility rests with _you_." They played it according
to Leschetizky's rendering, and so great was its success that the new
_tempo_ became universally popular.
Whatever Leschetizky made up his mind to do he carried through in
spite of all obstacles. Once, on arriving at a town where he was to
play in the evening, he found the impresario anxious to give up the
concert, because that very day another pianist had already played the
Concerto chosen by Leschetizky. "No matter," said Leschetizky quite
calmly, "I will play it all the same. The audience will come to hear
how I do it after the other man." And they did. In England it was
still the fashion to give extremely long concerts--although not quite
as long as in the Mendelssohn era, when it is recorded that Benedict
arranged a concert of thirty-eight numbers. Mr. Kuhe was one of the
most generous of impresarios in this respect, and Leschetizky never
lost an opportunity of rallying him on the subject.
While Leschetizky was staying in London Mr. Kuhe gave one of these
lengthy concerts at Brighton, and the former went down to hear it. But
when he arrived he was tired after the journey and in the mood for
a quiet evening; the armchair was comfortable; it began to rain--he
did not go. Next morning he was walking about the parade enjoying the
sunshine and the sea air, quite happy and entirely oblivious of the
concert for the moment, when up came Mr. Kuhe, weary and reproachful:
"Why did you not come to my concert last night?" Leschetizky stared
at him, apparently horror-struck, "The concert! Good heavens," he
exclaimed, "you don't mean to say it is over already!"
Leschetizky came to London two or three times afterwards, but never
stayed very long. The atmosphere of solidity, musical and climatic,
depressed him, and he was always glad to get away again to lands where
the sky was blue and the sun shone.
Among those who had worked with him in St. Petersburg was Annette
Essipoff. She came to him when she was twelve years old, and he grew
to be prouder of her than almost any other pupil. "I would have given
my life, could it have brought her nearer the goal," he says. "She had
a talent that is met with once in a lifetime--oh, if you could but
have heard how she played to me sometimes." Later his pride grew into
love, and she became his second wife.
In 1878, partly on account of her health and his own--weakened by an
attack of typhoid fever--and partly for the sake of his father, who
had been living alone for many years, Leschetizky made up his mind to
leave Russia and settle permanently in Vienna. During the twenty-six
years that had elapsed since it had been his home, great changes had
taken place there.
[Illustration: LESCHETIZKY IN 1903]
Vienna had always had a reputation as a musical city. Yet in 1838
Schumann, though finding it delightfully gay and the opera "splendid,
surpassing any other," added in his letters home, "... in vain do I
look for musicians, that is musicians who can play passably well on
one or two instruments, and who are cultivated men." With the people
themselves he is pleased enough: "Of all Germans," he writes, "they
spare their hands the least, and even in their idolatry have been
known to split their gloves with clapping so much." Incidentally it
is curious to compare with this Mendelssohn's description of a Berlin
audience a few years earlier: "When a piece of music comes to an
end, the whole company sit in solemn silence, each considering what
his opinion is to be, nobody giving a sign of applause or pleasure,
and all the while the performer in the most painful embarrassment
not knowing whether, nor in what spirit, he has been listened to."
Enthusiastic as Vienna evidently was by nature, her enthusiasm did
not carry her to the same level as other German cities, where music
was an every-day occurrence, for she was as much behind Leipzig, for
instance, as she was in advance of Russia.
At the time of Leschetizky's birth--1830--Vienna had just lost two of
her greatest composers, Beethoven and Schubert, and for the moment no
one remained to carry on her tradition as the home of great musicians.
Schumann and Mendelssohn, it is true, came to and fro. Spohr had
been there--Paganini, Vieuxtemps, Hummel, Meyerbeer, Cherubini, and
a host of other executant-composers, including Liszt and Chopin. But
no great composer was actually living there--nor was to live there
for many years to come. Her creative spirit seemed to have gone to
sleep and left her rich only in virtuosi. In 1878, when Leschetizky
returned from Russia, it was to find her once more restored to her
former glory. Brahms had come. Goldmark, Brückner, Brüll, Volkmann,
Johann Strauss were there. For thirty years she had been but a city of
players. She was again a city of composers.
Leschetizky bought a house and settled down, thinking to rest
from teaching for a time. But no sooner was it known that he had
established himself in Vienna, than the inevitable pupils assailed
him with petitions for lessons, and almost immediately he was hard at
work again.
He had by now published a considerable number of compositions, many of
which had become popular; but, never able to devote his whole energies
to composing, most of his works are valuable solely as admirable
pianoforte studies, wherein he has expressed his perfect knowledge of
the instrument. Everything he writes is full of charm and handled with
a delicacy that is peculiarly his own. Though difficult to play well,
his works are all effective and repay the trouble of study.
In 1882 his second opera, "Die Erste Falte," was brought out at
Mannheim. The composer was not present on the first night, for it
happened that Liszt arrived just as he was starting, and Leschetizky,
in the joy of seeing his old friend again--they had not met for many
years--talked on till long after the only train had gone. This opera
was produced with success in several other German towns, and finally
in Vienna, under Richter. Vienna was full of interesting musicians
at this time, all of whom Leschetizky knew: Pauline Lucca, Mariana
Brandt, Schütt, Richter, Navratil, Rosenthal, Fischof, Grünfeld,
Brahms, and many more. The Ton-Künstler Verein--a new musical
club--became the centre where they all met, and where they produced
and discussed each other's compositions with the freedom of old
friends.
Leschetizky saw Brahms more often at Ischyl than in Vienna, and spent
many an evening with him for, though they could not abide each other's
music, they were excellent friends.
Leschetizky relates how, when he was sitting at the piano composing
one morning, Brahms walked in and looked over his shoulder to see
what he was doing. "Ha! What sort of things are you writing this
morning? I see--quite _little_ things, _little_ things, of course,
yes." "_Little_ things? Yes, they are, but ten times more amusing than
yours, I can tell you."
Every great artist who stayed in Vienna came to see Leschetizky,
and he and Mme. Essipoff were welcomed everywhere as the central
figures of a brilliant, gifted circle in which it was a privilege to
be included. In 1892 they separated. Two years later he married his
secretary, Mme. Donnimirska.
[Illustration: ON THE KAHLENBERG]
Leschetizky had long since definitely given up appearing in public. He
lost his delight in applause and all the excitements connected with
platform life very early. Soon, his interests, more and more absorbed
by his pupils, the ambition to play gradually died out, and he gave
his whole time to helping those who cared for a public career more
than he did himself. His last appearance in public was in Frankfort
in 1887, where he played the E flat Concerto of Beethoven. He says:
"I did not care for their enthusiasm at all. Nor did I read their
criticisms, though I was told they were good. If they had been bad I
would have read them, for bad criticism is very wholesome. We learn
much from the disagreeable things critics say, for they make us think,
whereas the good things only make us glad."
Once only during his visit to London in September 1897 he allowed
himself to be persuaded into playing in public by one of his pupils.
This was at Mr. Daniel Mayer's reception at the Salle Erard, where
Leschetizky gave some of his own compositions: "L'Aveu," "La Source,"
"Barcarolle," and the "Mazurka" in E flat. The storm of applause when
he finished made speech impossible; but, ever critical of himself, he
inquired anxiously in a whisper of those intimate friends around him:
"Oh, children, have I played badly--oh, tell me, have I played badly?"
He stayed a few weeks only, but this time he was so sorry to leave
London that he has been making plans to come back ever since.
He spends part of every summer at Ischyl, where many years ago he
bought a beautiful villa, and where for months he lives content
amongst trees and mountains and the company of an occasional
sympathetic friend.
Sometimes he goes to Carlsbad for a few weeks, sometimes to
Wiesbaden, but the winter always find him at home in Vienna, for
his working year begins in November and--except for a day or two at
Christmas--continues without a break until the following June.