An American Girl In Munich - free ebook by Mabel W. (Mabel Wheeler) Daniels

An American Girl in Munich

Impressions of a Music Student By Mabel W. Daniels Boston Little, Brown, and Company 1905 Copyright, 1905 , By Little, Brown, and Company . All rights reserved Published March, 1905 THE UNIVERSITY PRESS, CAMBRIDGE, U. S. A. To Mütterchen...

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Munich, September 15, 1902.

Dear Cecilia :— Here I am in my Mecca at last after a "calm sea and prosperous voyage." Would that you were with me to share my pleasures, and, yes, I am selfish enough to add, my troubles, too, for you have such a magical power of charming away the latter that they seem but trifling vexations. Then I should so enjoy watching your delicious blue eyes open wide at these Germans and their queer customs, and oh! how you would elevate the tip of your aristocratic nose at my box of a study, which, ho

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Later.

My first appearance in German society was made last evening at seven-thirty. We were shown by Gretchen, our stout maid, into the dining-room,—a large room with a long table in the centre, about which a number of people were sitting. At one end was the Baron. He is very fat, very jovial, and very red of face. Precisely the same adjectives somewhat intensified might be applied to his wife, who sat opposite. When neither of them was talking, they were laughing in the most infectious fashion imagina

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September 19.

It was with a certain repressed excitement that I made my way toward Ainmüllerstrasse, at half-past eight this morning, to pay my first visit to Professor Thuille. My letters of introduction were clasped tightly in my hand, and I walked so rapidly that by the time I found myself on the landing before his door, after climbing several flights of stairs,—you know every one lives in a Wohnung (apartment) here, and an elevator in a dwelling-house is an almost unheard-of luxury,—I was completely out o

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Sunday.

As a result of my intoxication last night—if one may so call it—I overslept this morning and was in danger of being late to church. In fact, the people were already on their knees when we entered the little chapel which is the home of American church life here. The name chapel is only applied out of compliment, for it is really a large room with improvised altar at one end, a piano in the corner, and rows of chairs for pews. It seemed, however, as fine as a cathedral to us, and how beautiful it

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October 4.

Top o' the morning, Cecy dear! Such a glorious, allegro vivace day! The sun is shining, the air is crisp and cool, and the sauciest of breezes is coquetting with the tree-tops in the Platz. It gets into one's blood, a morning like this, and the wildest dreams seem possible of fulfilment. I came home from my lesson humming the theme of the scherzo of Beethoven's eighth symphony. It seemed to fit the buoyancy of my mood as nothing else could. I can see you smile now and hear you say, "It's quite e

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Wednesday.

This afternoon I had my first lesson with Thuille. I arrived just as the clock was striking two, and was shown at once into a large room, which in its furnishings and harmony of color betrays the artistic nature of its owner. An atmosphere of cigarette smoke hung about everything, and through the floating clouds by the windows I discerned Thuille just taking a final puff, tossing his cigarette away and coming to meet me with outstretched hand. " Ach! Guten Tag, Fräulein! " he said, with a genial

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October 20, 10.30 P. M.

To-night we made our first visit to the Hof-Theatre, which is the main opera house of the city, and heard Humperdinck's Hänsel und Gretel . I like the house immensely, its five balconies in white and gold are so impressive. The curtain is old rose in color, and on it the letter L is inscribed at intervals—for the unfortunate king, you know. What do you think I paid for my seat? Only fifty-five cents—and sat, too, in the orchestra. At the Conservatory last week I received an oblong bit of paper,

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Six o'clock.

The day is dying royally, and as I look out across the now brown and barren tree-tops of the Platz, I see a sky which is one blaze of glory. There is always music in the clouds. Have you never heard the tender, inspiring melody in soft, fleecy puffs as they float in a sea of azure—or caught the melancholy strains of 'cello and oboe in lowering gray masses against a background darker still? On an afternoon like this, surely you have thrilled in response to the piercing cry of trumpets, horns, and

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Munich, November 8.

Behold me recovering this morning from the effects of my first participation in German frivolity. The occasion was the Namens-Tag (name day) of the Baroness. "You see to-day is mother's saint's day, the one for whom she was named," explained Karl, not very clearly, at dinner. "Is it the custom to celebrate this instead of the birthday?" I inquired. Karl looked at me with an expression of pity at my ignorance. "We always have a fête on both days," he said, "with extra wine and a lot of grand thin

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Evening.

By this time I am beginning to feel quite like a native. My surroundings no longer seem strange. I am growing accustomed to five meals a day and the language sounds fairly rational. My work has settled into a regular routine. The entire mornings are devoted to study. In the afternoons come lessons. Twice a week I have a private lesson with Thuille. At the Conservatory I am studying singing with Frau Bianci and piano with Fräulein Fischer, which makes four lessons more. The piano lessons are in a

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November 28.

Yesterday was Thanksgiving Day. I could hardly realize that you were feasting at home on turkey and cranberry sauce amid all the festivities of the season. The day here passed as usual with my morning of study and a lesson with Thuille in the afternoon. In the evening, that we might not forget what day it was, the American colony had a dinner and dance at one of the large hotels. I had no idea before that there were so many Americans in Munich. Colonel W—— said there must be about four hundred i

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Munich, December 8.

Dear Cecilia :— The wind is shrieking in great gusts, which begin piano , crescendo to fortissimo , and then die away in weird, unearthly echoes, while the rain keeps up a continuous counterpoint to this minor music in sharp staccato against the window panes. The mist is so thick that the obelisk at the end of Max-Joseph-strasse looks like a mere shadow. It is now five o'clock and I have "shut up shop," as it were, to talk with you, for my lesson for to-morrow, a fugue in C minor, is finished. I

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Tuesday.

I was interrupted in my letter of yesterday by Frau von Waldfel and her niece, who came to call. Of course that meant a cup of coffee. When they left I had to hurry down to the school for a lesson, so writing was out of the question. By the bye, I am afraid I may have excited your sympathies unduly in favor of Fräulein Hartmann, for ever since that day I wrote you, when I met her crying in the hall, she has appeared most cheerful. Yesterday she was in unusual spirits, although to tell the truth

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Saturday.

I have heard the "Rheingold" and "The Valkyrie," and can hardly wait for "Siegfried" to-morrow night. Every seat in the Hof-Theatre was occupied, and an immense crowd stood downstairs. The price of seats, increased three marks, seemed to make no difference in the attendance. Polly and two of her friends were too late to obtain any desirable places, so they clubbed together and engaged a Dienstmann to get their seats for them. One finds a Dienstmann at every turning here. They are forlorn, sad-ey

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Monday.

Well, it's all over, that wonderful Ring! "Siegfried" came on Thursday, and Knote, whom I had previously heard as Tristan, sang the title rôle. At the end of the first act the audience fairly went wild with enthusiasm. Oh, that wonderful bit of orchestration where Mimi speaks of fear! And that perfect effect of the bird-voice in the Waldweben , singing in the clarinet above the strings, while the horn note, pianissimo , gives that poignant touch of color which only the brain of a master could co

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December 15.

Christmas is in the air, and every street-corner has bloomed into a miniature forest of trees. These are fastened in squares of wood, and stand up straight and proud. As a rule some strange, bent old woman presides over them, and out of curiosity to-day I stopped in Odeons-Platz and inquired the price of a particularly plump little tree. "One mark fifty" (thirty-seven and a half cents), quavered the dame, "but they run up as high as fifteen marks." The poor soul looked so disappointed as I, afte

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December 18.

To-day came the Probe in the big hall for the concert next week. The regular Conservatory chorus has been enlarged by a number of new voices, some of which are shrill enough to pierce through the dome itself. I came home utterly exhausted, for we were kept singing and standing three hours, and never in the annals of conducting was there a more wretched rehearsal. For the first time I saw a new side of Stavenhagen; he literally raged, but instead of making himself ridiculous he was positively maj

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Christmas Day.

Can you see us as we stood on Christmas Eve in the quaint dining-room singing together the old carol which has rung throughout Germany on this night for centuries gone by? We formed a strange congregation—all wanderers from different parts of the globe, for once united by the Christmas spirit. There were eleven of us in all,—the Baron and Baroness with Karl between them, their rosy, good-natured faces sober and reverential; Herr Doktor, standing near, his critical expression softened as, under t

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Meran, January 1, 1903.

The Happiest of New Years to you, Cecilia! Have you ever been among the mountains in winter? Have you ever run away on a holiday to a quaint little town nestling in the valley, and wandering through narrow streets and climbing up snowy roads forgotten that such things as canons or double counterpoint exist? If not, Cecy mia , get out your hood and fur coat and start! But before you go, let me tell you that I have a deep-rooted conviction: namely, that you can find no more entrancing spot on the

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Innsbruck, January 3.

Yesterday we regretfully left Meran, but the memory of our delightful stay there will long haunt us, and we are living in hopes of another visit to this earthly paradise. We reached Innsbruck at three o'clock, and by four found ourselves here, in this most fascinating of houses—for, Cecilia, we are actually living, eating, sleeping in a castle, a real, bona fide castle, once the hunting lodge of the Emperor Maximilian. I see you start and your eyes glow. "A fig for music!" you say; "Let me live

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January 11.

Here we are again in old München! Every one in the pension expressed him or herself as delighted to see us back, with all that cordiality which is one of the most charming characteristics of the German nature. I began again my lessons with Thuille on Wednesday. I had sent him at Christmas a little remembrance, as is the custom here. Naturally I expected he would thank me, but I was hardly prepared for what followed. As at his " Herein! " I entered the smoke-wreathed studio, he tossed his cigaret

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Later.

We are both much struck with the change in Fräulein Hartmann. She is much paler than she was before we went to Meran, and flushes nervously at the least excitement. Mütterchen , who has the misfortune to be next to Frau von Waldfel at table, inquired if her niece were ill. "Indeed, no!" answered the Hungarian woman somewhat sharply. "What can you expect when a girl betrothed to an officer makes ready for a grand wedding in the spring? There is much to be done and dozens of gowns to be ordered. M

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Friday.

I haven't yet told you what a time I had to get the candy S—— sent. It was the day after your bountiful Christmas box came. By the bye, I trust you have received our acknowledgment of it by this time, and I want to tell you now that the plum pudding was not hurt a particle. The cook steamed it, and we invited all the pensionnaires to share it with us at dinner. If you could have but heard their compliments, you or your cook would certainly have blushed with pride. Why, even Frau von Waldfel conf

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February 4.

Du liebes Cecilchen :— I'd give every pfennig in my possession to walk into your study to-day and take you by surprise. In fact, I have stopped in the very midst of my orchestration lesson to tell you so. My chord of the seventh is unresolved, my flutes and oboes are hanging in midair, and my horns are blowing away on the fifth, all because a wave of the Indescribable swept over me, and I simply had to throw down my pencil and talk to you! The preliminary symptoms of this abominable Something ap

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After Supper.

At my last lesson Thuille informed me that he and Tasso were going hunting on Saturday. Would I pardon him if he gave me my lesson in his hunting costume? Accordingly to-day he appeared in a wonderful green shirt striped with white, and open at the neck. His jacket, short trousers and gaiters were of some rough cloth, and the effect was decidedly unprofessional. The train left directly after the lesson, and Tasso was evidently quite alive to the fact, for instead of sleeping under the desk as he

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Fasching-Dienstag (Shrove Tuesday).

München gone mad! München with dignity thrown to the winds and cavorting in the dress of a clown! München laughing, dancing, fairly shrieking with pure glee! The misty atmosphere through which one always views the distant majesty of the Maximileum as one looks down Maximilianstrasse is curiously filled with a new sort of snowflake, a tiny, square atom which may be red or green or the most vivid of yellows. The sidewalks are packed with a half-crazed throng, some in vari-colored costumes, others

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March 3, 10.30 P. M.

I have just returned from the Moderner Abend at the Kaim Saal, and am so excited that to go calmly to bed and to sleep is an impossibility. I don't know when I have enjoyed anything as much. The concert, as you may have judged by the name, was made up of compositions by living composers. Stavenhagen arranged it and all the numbers but one were played for the first time. Here is the program: The names in brackets are those of the soloists. For some reason or other the order was altered. Thuille's

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München, March 6.

As soon as my greetings with Thuille were over to-day I hastened to congratulate him again on the success of his Gugeline music last Monday. This time my German was a little more fluent, and I even made bold to ask him how long it had taken him to write the act. He said that he started it in the middle of June, 1899. After waiting two weeks for text from Bierbaum, and after countless other interruptions, he finished it by the end of August. Then began the lesson. With a sinking heart I placed my

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Thursday.

At last, my dear, I have something definite to tell you about Fräulein Hartmann. The most distressing thing occurred at dinner to-day. Just as we were having salad and composedly conversing about Arabic customs—a favorite subject of Herr Doktor and the Poet—in came the Italian ladies, with profuse apologies for their tardiness. They had been "doing" the Bavarian National Museum, and lingered too long over the ivory collection. One of them crossed to Fräulein Hartmann's place and handed her a let

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March 22.

Cecilia dear :— There is the smell of spring in the air to-day. As I passed through Odeons-Platz on my way to my lesson this morning the sun was flooding the whole square with a delicious warmth we have not felt for months. A soft breeze brought across from the Hof-Garten the odor of freshly upturned earth. In front of the Feldernhalle the pigeons were fluttering and whirling, now suddenly swooping down from the roof, then darting back again like arpeggios of light. Around the flag pole a crowd

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Munich, April 2.

The softest zephyr whispering to a rose; the faint fragrance of a lily swaying on its stem; a fairy cobweb lying shimmering in the sun; this is Beethoven as played by Ysaye. Never shall I forget his playing, and never do I want to hear any one else play the G major sonata. Frau Langenhan-Hirzel and Ysaye are giving a series of concerts consisting of Beethoven's sonatas for violin and piano. Polly and I "went Kategorie" last week. To "go Kategorie" means that we used our students' tickets, or Kat

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Evening.

Just a line before I go to sleep to tell you that everything went off beautifully at the concert to-night. In one way it was an awful experience— awful , dearest of friends, in its most literal sense. This was not on account of the hall, I assure you, although it looked marvellously great and high as one stepped out of the dressing-room; nor was it because of the imposing audience, nor the crowds of pupils, who stood with critical attention around the sides of the room. Each of these factors may

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Gordone, Lake Garda, April 10.

Dear Cecilia :— I am writing in the loveliest and most romantic of gardens. It lies on the very edge of Lake Garda. Indeed, only a wall separates this wealth of green from the blue waves which plash rhythmically against their stone barrier. Above me are the apple blossoms; on either side lie tangles of vine and roses. In the distance are the neat white paths leading to the hotel where we are staying. It is not quite so civilized here as farther up the slope, where the plants grow in decorous row

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Milan, Easter Sunday, 1.20 A. M.

Easter Sunday is just beginning, and I am about to retire after an evening spent at La Scala in hearing Verdi's Un Ballo in Maschera . Am I living in another world? Can Germany and the dear old Hof-Theatre be but a day's trip away? When one has for months been going to the opera at seven and returning at the discreet hour of nine-thirty it seems nothing less than wild dissipation to find the final curtain falling in the wee small hours o' the night. Milan and München may bear a certain euphonic

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Munich, May 11.

Cecilia dear :— We have seen the lakes and are back in the pension once more. Although I intended to send you a line from there we have been so constantly on the go that letter-writing has been an impossibility. Of course we "did" Milan thoroughly. On Easter morning we heard mass at the glorious cathedral. The music, rendered by two boy choirs with organ accompaniment, was very fine. After it was over we climbed up on the roof. As I stood there among the myriads of fairy-like spires, carved colu

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Tuesday evening.

The doctor came to see Fräulein Hartmann last week and has been here daily since. This morning he pronounced her illness pneumonia. Every one in the house from Georg and Gretchen to the Poet himself feels very anxious about her. A quiet, black-gowned sister of charity has been installed as nurse, and the farther end of the floor below transformed into a miniature hospital. Lieutenant Blum daily inquires after the patient. If he does not come himself he sends his orderly. Yesterday as I chanced t

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Sunday.

Such an enjoyable time as we had at Madame A——'s tea on Friday. We were entertained in the cosiest of roof-gardens, high up above the noise of the city. Morena did not arrive till late, but Bürger, one of the leading tenors at the opera house, was there with his pretty young bride. He it was who sang Siegmund in Die Walküre . At half-past five came the sound of laughter on the stairs, the sharp barking of a dog, and—enter Morena, dressed in a white gown with a big black picture hat. "What a glor

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June 28.

Confusion reigned on the floor below between the hours of four and five to-day—a somewhat muffled confusion, to be sure, for the proximity of the sick-room forbade any violent outburst, but none the less confusion of a most exciting character. As I came in from my composition lesson I found maids running this way and that, their arms full of clothing and packages. Georg and an unknown Dienstmann were carrying a trunk downstairs; Frau von Waldfel was kneeling before a hamper, giving orders throug

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July 10.

Good news at last about Fräulein Hartmann! The crisis is past and she is much better. We all feel so relieved, especially the Poet's Wife, who is beginning to show the strain of the past weeks. Frau von Waldfel writes that her affairs are in a far worse condition than she anticipated. In fact she appears to be greatly disturbed, which accounts for her having written but twice since she went away. Lieutenant Blum called yesterday. He has been here but once since Frau von Waldfel's departure. Does

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July 17.

The blow has fallen! To-day the Fräulein received a letter from Frau von Waldfel, saying that she has lost everything, even her personal property, through an unwise investment. The poor woman is in great distress of mind with lawyers, creditors, and what not, but these lines at the end of her letter impressed me more strongly than all the rest: "I have just heard from Lieutenant Blum. He writes that he releases you from your betrothal, 'realizing that in this present trouble Fräulein Hartmann ca

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