MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 
 OF A MUSICIAN
 
 MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED 
 
 LONDON BOMBAY CALCUTTA MADRAS 
 MELBOURNE 
 
 THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 
 
 NEW YORK BOSTON CHICAGO 
 DALLAS SAN FRANCISCO 
 
 THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, LTD. 
 
 TORONTO
 
 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 
 OF A MUSICIAN 
 
 By 
 SIR GEORGE HENSCHEL, Mus. Doc. 
 
 THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 
 1919 
 
 All rights reserved
 
 TO 
 
 AMY 
 
 BUT FOR WHOSE TIMELY AND COMPASSIONATE 
 
 RESUSCITATION THE WRITER WOULD 
 
 MOST LIKELY BE REPOSING AT THE BOTTOM 
 
 OF LETHE WHERE IT IS DEEPEST 
 
 THESE PAGES 
 
 ARE AFFECTIONATELY 
 
 INSCRIBED 
 
 2083081
 
 THIS book was written and in type before the 
 War. The courtesy of the Publishers however, 
 which I take this opportunity of gratefully 
 acknowledging, has made it possible to make 
 such happily few additions and alterations 
 as the deaths, since, of some of the friends 
 mentioned therein, rendered desirable ; and to 
 change the name of St. Petersburg to Petrograd. 
 
 G. H. 
 
 ALLTNACRICHE, AVIEMORE, 
 October, 1918.
 
 SHAKESPEARE'S " All the world's a stage " must 
 appear of particular aptness and truth to the 
 man who, approaching the threescore and ten 
 of the Patriarch, reviews his past with the 
 object of writing down his reminiscences. 
 
 Looking back on the events of his life he 
 sees them as he would so many scenes in an 
 old stage-play upon which the curtain has 
 fallen long ago, and the men and women who 
 appeared in them pass before his spiritual 
 vision like actors and actresses ; some having 
 stirred his imagination, kindled the fire of his 
 enthusiasm, some touched him to tears, pro- 
 voked his mirth : some perhaps exceeded his 
 expectations, some fallen short of them ; but 
 all having left some mark, some impression on 
 his mind, lasting for a longer or shorter period, 
 according to their part and to the manner in 
 which it was acted. 
 
 I shall never forget a little incident at the 
 Court Theatre of Weimar long years ago. The 
 play had been Shakespeare's King Lear. It
 
 2 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES i 
 
 was exceedingly well done as a whole, and the 
 impersonation, in particular, by the chief actor 
 a member of the regular company of the 
 tragic and majestically pathetic figure of the 
 aged king, was a wonderfully fine and powerful 
 performance. At the end of the play, amid 
 the enthusiasm of the crowded house, the chief 
 actor was vociferously called before the curtain 
 over and over again. At last, when recalled 
 for the tenth time or so, he seemed quite over- 
 come with emotion on receiving so great an 
 ovation in the historical playhouse which could 
 boast the traditions of Goethe and Schiller, 
 and, bowing deeply, he was heard to mutter- 
 audible, however, to part of the audience " I 
 think I have merited it." This, many people, 
 and some of the Press, considered a great piece 
 of arrogance and self-conceit on the part of the 
 actor, whilst I emphatically held with the few 
 who, in that no doubt unusual utterance, could 
 see nothing but the innocent, in the excitement 
 of the moment thoughtlessly escaped, expression 
 of the artist's consciousness of having given, 
 having done his best ; and I have often thought 
 since then, how it would by no means be a 
 deplorable state of things if more of the actors 
 on the stage of Life could make their final exits 
 with that consciousness, whether unnoticed or 
 amid the plaudits of the multitude.
 
 i MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 3 
 
 People who care to read a man's " Recollec- 
 tions " at all are generally supposed to be 
 desirous of also knowing something of the man 
 himself. Thus it is that the wish to gratify the 
 reader's curiosity imposes upon me, strangely 
 enough, the necessity of commencing these re- 
 collections with the very fact of which I have no 
 recollection whatever, namely, my birth ; and 
 here again it strikes me as rather curious that 
 that essential and certainly most important 
 event in a man's life, his birth, should be just 
 the one he cannot possibly help. Yet, taken 
 for granted I had raised no objection to being 
 born at all, I doubt if I could have chosen a 
 more interesting place for my first appearance 
 than dear old picturesque Breslau, or kinder, 
 more loving parents to be welcomed by on my 
 arrival in this world on the 18th of February 
 1850, than Moritz Jacob Henschel and 
 Henriette Frankenstein, his wife. 
 
 This being no autobiography, I shall pass 
 as quickly as possible over the first stages of 
 my childhood, the events of which, though 
 doubtless full of importance and wonder to the 
 happy mother whose only son I was there 
 were two sons and a daughter by my father's 
 first marriage would hardly prove of sufficient 
 interest to be recorded here. 
 
 My father, a tall, fine-looking man, poor and
 
 4 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES i 
 
 humble, but proud of his Polish descent, as all 
 Poles are, and justified in being, was a wool- and 
 coal-merchant who, being busy all day in his 
 little office on the first floor of the big apart- 
 ment-house in which we occupied part of the 
 second story, could not devote more time to 
 his children than he was able to snatch from 
 the short- enough meal -hours. It was left to 
 my mother to see to the education of her own 
 particular boy, before that I fear not always 
 very manageable youngster was sent to school. 
 Anticipating the now popular system of teach- 
 ing by observation, she was in the habit of 
 taking me from room to room, pointing out and 
 explaining to me the different objects in it, and 
 their origin and use. Evidently, as the follow- 
 ing example will show, she was anxious to 
 impress early upon my little mind the folly and 
 the danger of judging by appearances. In the 
 blue room, called " the good room " (die gute, 
 or, in the Silesian dialect, die " gutte " Stube), a 
 luxury nearly every respectable family aspired 
 to, there was hanging an engraving, depicting 
 the Emperor Napoleon inspecting an artillery 
 depot at Fontainebleau. What a wonderful 
 thing memoiy is ! I could draw the pattern 
 of the wall-paper in that room, and every detail 
 of the engraving to-day. Next to a heavy 
 piece of ordnance was standing at attention,
 
 i MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 5 
 
 in a beautiful uniform, and holding in his right 
 hand a long ramrod, a very tall gunner, made 
 taller still by the huge bearskin busby on his 
 head. Over the cannon was leaning a little 
 man in a long riding-coat, high boots reaching 
 to above the knees, and a queer-shaped, two- 
 cornered hat, his hands folded behind his back. 
 To this picture I remember my mother carrying 
 me, in her arms, when I was still tiny enough 
 for this ignominious though affectionate mode 
 of transportation, and asking me, " Now tell 
 me, which of these two men is the great 
 Emperor Napoleon ? ' Whereupon I promptly 
 pointed to the big gunner, and was gently put 
 right with a smile and a kiss. Do not many of 
 us remain, in that respect, children to the end ? 
 I think of " Napoleon at Fontainebleau " each 
 time I see weight taken for worth. 
 
 Another little experience of my early school- 
 days I cannot refrain from mentioning, which 
 stands out from the background of my memory 
 with a particular vividness. It led to the first 
 keen, almost tragic disillusion of my life, and 
 also, incidentally, sheds a curious sidelight on 
 the social economics of a Silesian town in the 
 early 'fifties of the last century. 
 
 Our house in the " Schuhbrucke " (shoe- 
 bridge) stood at the corner of the Kupfer- 
 schmiedesstrasse (Coppersmith's street), crossing
 
 6 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES i 
 
 which, on the way to school in the morning, I 
 had to pass, on the opposite corner, an old 
 woman who, on certain days in the week, sat 
 there, surrounded by baskets and sacks, out of 
 which she sold cherries, plums, tiny, but very 
 tasty, little pears called cinnamon pears, apples, 
 medlars, walnuts, etc., in their seasons. Being 
 fond of fruit, I soon came to stand on intimate 
 terms with her, for whenever I thought I could 
 afford it my weekly allowance was one 
 " dreier " (a copper coin of the value of a 
 farthing) I would stop and, handing her a 
 pfennig, say, " Please for half a pfennig 
 cherries and for half a pfennig pears." And I 
 would with both hands take hold of the hem of 
 my garment, which was a loose sort of tunic 
 held together round the waist by a belt, and 
 make an apron of it, into which the kind 
 creature showered a handful or two each of the 
 desired luxuries. Now it must not be supposed 
 that the pfennig of which I am speaking 
 was anything like the English penny except 
 for the similarity in the sound of its name. 
 Far from it. It took twelve of these pfennige 
 the decimal system was not introduced into 
 Prussia until 1870 to make a groscheri 
 (groat), and it was that groschen which was 
 the equivalent of the English penny. It will 
 be seen therefore that on those occasions I
 
 i MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 7 
 
 feasted on cherries or pears or other fruit, as 
 the case might be, at the cost of the third part 
 of a farthing J Can British brain grasp the 
 grandeur of such smallness ? I may mention 
 here in parenthesis that eggs were then sold in 
 Silesia by the " mandel " (fifteen), or by the 
 " schock " (sixty), and I remember hearing 
 my mother occasionally complain of eggs having 
 gone up in price from twenty-five to thirty 
 pfennige (twopence halfpenny) the mandel ! 
 
 But to proceed to the tragedy. Farther 
 up the street there was a big grocer's shop 
 before which, on the pavement, some of its 
 particular attractions were arrayed in what 
 seemed to me a wickedly tempting manner. 
 Especially was it a luscious -looking fruit which 
 gave me a pang each time I passed. It was of 
 the size of an average apple, brilliantly red in 
 colour and with a beautiful, smooth, trans^ 
 parent skin as of a plum. Oh, to be rich I 
 thought and for once taste a sweetness such 
 as this fruit must be full of ! One morning, 
 seeing the master of the shop standing outside, 
 I took courage and boldly asked him the price 
 of " that " pointing to the coveted forbidden 
 fruit. " Eight pfennige each " was the short, 
 cruel reply. Eight pfennige ! Nearly three 
 weeks' allowance ! Still, my mind was made 
 up I must save, save ! And at last, after
 
 8 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES i 
 
 weeks of self-denial, I triumphantly went into 
 the shop with my eight pfennige, counted them 
 into the man's hand, grasped one of the largest 
 of the precious fruit and the big bite I took 
 did not pass my palate. As fast as my feet 
 would carry me I hurried into an empty narrow 
 lane close by and there, unobserved, and in 
 utter wretchedness physical and moral 
 deposited on to a rubbish -heap the contents of 
 my mouth and the rest of the cursed thing, the 
 like of which for years afterwards I could not 
 even look on without a shudder a tomato !
 
 II 
 
 BRESLAU, the ancient capital of Silesia, that 
 much-coveted province which, after being ruled 
 for centuries by Polish kings and German 
 princes, later became part of the Austrian 
 Empire, and was finally wrested from Maria 
 Theresa by Frederick the Great in the second 
 half of the eighteenth century, since when it 
 has belonged, as it belongs now, to Prussia, 
 is the proud possessor of a famous University, 
 the founders of which must have had a very 
 high idea of the educational value of music; 
 for connected with that centre of learning there 
 always had been, as there is now, an Institute 
 of Church Music, the performances of which 
 were not confined to the members of the 
 University, but open to the public, which 
 means that for centuries past the founda- 
 tion of Breslau itself dates from the ninth- 
 music must always have had a large share 
 in the artistic pursuits and enjoyments of its 
 citizens. 
 
 At the period of my boyhood that Institute
 
 10 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES n 
 
 was flourishing under the guidance of Musik- 
 director Professor Julius Schaffer, who also 
 conducted the " Sing-Akademie," the premier 
 Choral Society of the place, whose performances 
 of the Messiah at Christmas and of Haydn's 
 Creation at Easter came as regularly once a 
 year as those seasons themselves. Schaffer 
 was likewise the founder and conductor of the 
 " Musical Circle," a private, very exclusive 
 singing club, to the membership of which only 
 people of high social standing could attain; 
 and it speaks well for the culture of that class 
 of society that many of the amateurs who took 
 the solo parts at the club's performances could, 
 like Elsbeth Donniges or Count Danckelmann, 
 have held their own among the best professional 
 singers of the day. Light and popular orches- 
 tral music was provided by military bands, of 
 which there were three or four in the town. 
 These bands played in almost daily concerts 
 which during the warm season took place in 
 the numerous beer-gardens and milk-gardens 
 situated all along the " Promenaden" shady, 
 beautiful avenues into which the moats of the 
 old fortifications had been converted. 
 
 To these gardens mothers would, in the 
 afternoon, take their work and their children, 
 and many an enjoyable and profitable hour I 
 spent there, listening to selections from Haydn,
 
 ii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 11 
 
 Mozart, Beethoven, Auber, Bellini, Boieldieu, 
 Donizetti, Verdi, not to forget the then popular 
 dance- music of Lanner and Joh. Strauss the 
 elder. I well remember standing for hours at 
 a time on the pebbles before the pavilion in 
 which the band played, wondering why the 
 man up in front there, who kept beating the 
 air with a short ebony stick with ivory ends, 
 faced me and not the orchestra; for, strange 
 and almost incredible as it may seem, at that 
 time all military, and even some conductors of 
 popular symphony concerts, used to have their 
 backs turned to the men. Rather different 
 from nowadays, when a simple flash from the 
 eagle eye of one of our Titan conductors will 
 perhaps produce a fortissimo powerful enough 
 to shake the casements, or else a raised eyebrow, 
 accompanied by a gentle wave of the hand, 
 check the aspirations of a too-impulsive energy 
 into a triple piano ! 
 
 The highest class of orchestral music could 
 be heard during the winter season at the 
 concerts of the Orchester-Verein (Orchestra 
 Union), an institution among the active 
 members of which could at that time be found 
 University professors, physicians, army officers, 
 and others prominent in society, and it was 
 not always an easy task for the, of course 
 professional, conductor to persuade some of
 
 12 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES n 
 
 these enthusiastic dilettanti that their skill 
 would not advance with their years. 
 
 The conductor of the orchestra was at that 
 time Dr. Leopold Damrosch, a man of great 
 refinement and culture, as well as of particular 
 personal charm, who, originally destined for 
 the medical profession, in which he had already 
 made his mark his " Dr. " was that of 
 medicine finally left it for the art he loved 
 best, and in which in later years he became 
 famous on the other side of the Atlantic, where, 
 to mention only one of his many artistic achieve- 
 ments, he founded the New York Oratorio 
 Society, and where to-day, in the city of New 
 York, his two sons, Walter and Frank, are 
 successfully continuing the life-work of their 
 distinguished father. Dr. Damrosch, besides 
 the orchestra, also conducted in Breslau a 
 small but efficient choral society of his own, 
 with which, in contrast to Dr. Schaffer, who 
 confined himself to oratorio, he gave from time 
 to time performances of more modern works. 
 Indeed he was an enthusiastic apostle of what 
 was then called " Zukunftsmusik " (Music of 
 the Future), and one of the early champions 
 of Liszt and Wagner. At these concerts the 
 Soprano Soli were frequently sung by Dr. 
 Damrosch's beautiful wife", Helene von Heim- 
 burg, a singer of rare accomplishments, and
 
 ii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 13 
 
 gifted with a most sympathetic voice. Her 
 singing, for instance, of the part of " Die 
 Jungfrau " in Schumann's Paradise and Peri 
 still lingers in my memory, as I am sure it does 
 in that of all who had the good fortune to 
 hear it, as something singularly beautiful and 
 touching. 
 
 There was altogether of the opera I shall 
 speak later on great activity in the musical 
 life of Breslau, then a town of about 120,000 
 inhabitants. Among the many music schools 
 one, of a decidedly novel character, proved to 
 be of particular influence on my future : a 
 school for pianoforte-playing, at which that 
 art was taught in a very original way, invented 
 by the director, Louis Wandelt by name. 
 
 There were in the institute about ten large 
 rooms, the entire furniture of which consisted 
 of four, six, or even eight grand pianofortes, 
 placed in dovetailed fashion, before each of 
 which there would, at lesson time, sit a little 
 pupil, and those four or six or eight girls and 
 boys had to play, simultaneously, the same 
 exercises and pieces to the ticking of a Maelzel 
 metronome, the teacher going from pupil to 
 pupil, noting the application of the fingers, the 
 position of the hands, encouraging, scolding, 
 as the case might be, and putting down the 
 marks in each pupil's little record book which
 
 14 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES n 
 
 every Saturday had to be taken home to be 
 shown to the parents and signed by one of 
 them. To that school which, by the way, was 
 also responsible for the primary musical educa- 
 tion of that excellent pianist Mme. Haas, my 
 father and mother, who had a deep love and 
 feeling for music, though practical musicians 
 only in a very modest way, with voice and 
 guitar, sent me when I was just five years old, 
 and I have always been grateful to them for 
 doing so, for I consider that Wandelt method 
 of teaching the elements of piano-playing an 
 exemplary one for children, stimulating, as it 
 does, the ambition of the youngsters, and, 
 above all, instilling into them a sense for rhythm 
 which is apt to stick to them all their lives. 
 
 When, in the autumn of 1862, Mr. Wandelt 
 founded a similar school in Berlin he took with 
 him for the opening ceremony, consisting of a 
 public concert, four of his " show " pupils, and 
 we four played in a real, big concert-hall, 
 accompanied by a real big orchestra, how 
 proud we were ! Weber's Concertstiick in 
 F minor on four pianofortes, I also, with the 
 leader of the orchestra, Mozart's Sonata in C 
 for Pianoforte and Violin. 
 
 I well remember the pride of my mother as 
 she packed my little valise for the great journey 
 from Breslau to Berlin, putting into it, among
 
 ii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 15 
 
 other things, a brand new suit of clothes, to 
 wit, a short broadcloth jacket, richly braided ; a 
 beautiful embroidered shirt with frills in front, 
 round the collar and at the cuffs ; a lovely 
 leather belt and a glorious pair of long trousers, 
 into the left pocket of which the dear woman 
 had, unknown to me, sewn a piece of supersti- 
 tion in the shape of a little crust of bread, to 
 avert evil. The amusing part of this was that, 
 as I was dressing or rather being dressed 
 for the concert and proudly putting my hands 
 into my pockets, I quickly withdrew my left 
 with a cry. The dried-up sharp points of the 
 crust had grazed my skin and very nearly 
 prevented my playing at the concert ! 
 
 Side by side with learning to play the piano 
 I was taught the elements of singing by a 
 Mr. Hirschberg, and harmony by Professor 
 Schaffer, under whose conductorship I sang, 
 when a little over nine years old, the soprano 
 solo in Mendelssohn's Hear my Prayer at 
 a concert of the Church Music Society. How 
 I loved that beautiful air " Oh, for the wings, 
 for the wings of a dove," and how I flushed 
 with elation and pleasure when I received a 
 bright new thaler (three shillings) into the 
 bargain ! 
 
 Soon my voice changed into an alto, and 
 as an " alto - boy " in the chorus of the Sing-
 
 16 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES n 
 
 Academic, I took part for some years in the 
 weekly practices, and afterwards the perform- 
 ances of the Creation and the Messiah, with 
 the result that I know the alto part of some of 
 the choruses by heart to this day. They did 
 rehearse things then ! 
 
 From an alto it was a natural step to tenor, 
 and soon I sang the big tenor arias from the 
 Huguenots, the Prophet, II Trovatore, etc., with 
 great gusto and all the aplomb of an old stager, 
 much to the delight and amusement of my 
 audiences, consisting mostly of father and 
 mother and the rest of the family and friends. 
 I revelled in holding a high B natural or C with 
 full -chest voice, and already commenced to 
 see before my mind's eye thousands of people 
 crowding into the opera-house to hear the 
 great Henschelini, or rather Angelini, as I 
 intended calling myself on the stage, when all 
 of a sudden one fine day, coming to breakfast 
 and bidding my father and mother good- 
 morning, the " good," still in tenor, was 
 followed by a " morning " in what seemed to 
 me the deepest bass voice ever heard. So 
 that dream was dispelled, gone for ever, and 
 I nothing but an ordinary basso, and as such 
 in July 1866 I made my first public appear- 
 ance at a concert for charity which we know 
 for its accommodating qualities as to the
 
 ii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 17 
 
 covering of sins. I gave up all thought of 
 opera beyond a continuance of my love for it 
 and my admiration for the singers, of whom 
 a great many celebrities constantly visited 
 Breslau as guests. The greatest impression 
 upon me then was made by that wonderful tenor 
 Schnorr von .Carolsfeld if I am not mistaken, 
 the first to sing "Tristan" whom one night 
 I had heard as " Raoul ' in Meyerbeer's 
 Huguenots. I was completely carried away by 
 the nobility of his personality, his graceful 
 acting, his beautiful singing, and gladly suffered 
 the punishment of an hour's " arrest " in school 
 the following day for being late. I had met 
 this glorious man by chance in the street on 
 going to afternoon school and promptly turned 
 round and followed him through street after 
 street, unable to tear myself away, and utterly 
 indifferent as to the possible consequences of 
 my enthusiasm. The opera at the Municipal 
 Theatre of Breslau was at that time very good. 
 The " star " system was not known then. All 
 the singers, women and men, were of a very 
 creditable average efficient, musical, reliable 
 and one went to hear the work, not a particular 
 singer. Oh, for the sensation once more of 
 having been fortunate enough to secure, for 
 the week's allowance, which had risen to fifty 
 
 pfennige, a seat in the front row of the 
 
 c
 
 18 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES n 
 
 " Olympus," after climbing up, all aglow with 
 expectation, the four steep flights of narrow 
 stairs ! To be thrilled again by the blessing 
 of the swords in the Huguenots, the casting of 
 the free-bullets in the Freischiitz, the bewitching 
 wickedness of Don Giovanni, the final triumph 
 of Fidelio ! Even the shades of those dear 
 ladies-in-waiting of the Queen in the Huguenots, 
 old enough then to be my great-grandmothers, 
 smile their melancholy smile upon me through 
 the magic veil of memory, endowed with 
 eternal youth and beauty. 
 
 Old Seidelmann, a jovial musician of the 
 good old school, was the conductor. How I 
 envied him ! and his activity as well as the 
 catholicity of the taste of musical Breslau 
 may be gauged by the fact that operas like 
 Auber's Maurer und Schlosser, Fra Diavolo, 
 Masaniello ; Beethoven's Fidelio ; Bellini's 
 Norma ; Boieldieu's Dame Blanche ; Flotow's 
 Martha and Stradella ; Herold's Zampa ; 
 Kreutzer's Nachtlager in Granada; Lortzing's 
 Czar und Zimmermann and Waffenschmied ; 
 Marschner's Hans Heiling ; Meyerbeer's 
 Huguenots, Dinorah, Prophete, L'Africaine ; 
 Mozart's Don Giovanni, Figaro, Cosi fan 
 tutte, Seraglio ; Rossini's Barbiere, Tell ; 
 Verdi's Trovatore, Rigoletto, Traviata ; Wagner's 
 Flying Dutchman, Tannhduser, Lohengrin ;
 
 ii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 19 
 
 Weber's Freischutz, Euryanthe, Oberon, Pre- 
 ciosa, were permanently on the repertoire ; that 
 is to say, every one of these operas could be 
 heard in the course of the year, with the 
 addition perhaps, now and then, of a modern 
 novelty, performed " once in succession." As 
 I also regularly attended the concerts of the 
 " Classische Verein " at which the best chamber 
 music was interpreted by the best local pro- 
 fessionals, I thought myself not altogether 
 badly equipped for the Leipsic Conservatory 
 of Music to which my parents had decided to 
 send me, having finally had to acknowledge 
 the fruitlessness of their endeavours to make 
 me choose a soberer, more stable and profit- 
 able profession than music was then by them 
 considered to be.
 
 Ill 
 
 To go from Breslau to Leipsic, 'that is from 
 one country, Prussia, to another, Saxony, was, 
 before 1870, quite an event. In Prussia the 
 silbergroschen (one penny) had twelve, in 
 Saxony ten, pfennige ; the postage stamps, too, 
 were different, and the boy about to undertake 
 so interesting a journey into foreign lands was 
 quite a traveller, and very enviable in the eyes 
 of his comrades. It was during the Easter 
 holidays of the year 1867 that my father and I 
 arrived in Leipsic. The multitude of foreigners 
 from all parts of the world who had come to 
 buy and sell at the celebrated Oster-Messe 
 (Easter Fair), the hundreds of wooden booths 
 temporarily erected in the Rossplatz, display- 
 ing merchandise of every description, the 
 thousands of people who thronged the brilliantly, 
 albeit pre-electrically, illumined avenues of the 
 huge bazaar at night, the strains of merry 
 music emanating from some subterranean abode 
 of conviviality, all this made the famous old 
 town appear even more gay than I had after- 
 
 20
 
 in MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 21 
 
 wards occasion to find it, and I distinctly 
 remember the anxious look in my father's eyes 
 as he bade me good-bye on his return home, 
 evidently not quite reassured as to the wisdom 
 of leaving alone in that " little Paris," as 
 Goethe has called it, a boy of seventeen on the 
 point of throwing off, for the first time, the 
 yoke of paternal vigilance and control. Who 
 could foretell the result of the experiment ? 
 Was my talent sufficient to " make a living " 
 of music ? Would I prove morally strong 
 enough to be alone among strangers, free from 
 every restraint, exposed to temptations of all 
 sorts ? . . . Dear old father, how well now I 
 understand that troubled face ! 
 
 In due time I was matriculated as a 
 student of the Conservatory, situated in a 
 dingy old building in a kind of courtyard at 
 the back of the old " Gewandhaus " in the 
 " Neumarkt." The professors to whom I was 
 consigned were Ignace Moscheles for pianoforte, 
 Goetze for singing, Richter no relation to 
 Dr. Hans for theory and composition, 
 Papperitz for organ. Goetze, an excellent, 
 painstaking, patient teacher, had as a young 
 man been the original impersonator of " Lohen- 
 grin " when that opera was first given in Weimar 
 under the direction of Liszt ; Moscheles' name 
 had been familiar to me from his studies for
 
 22 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES in 
 
 the pianoforte, and in being introduced to him 
 I felt a certain sensation of awe on shaking the 
 hand of one who had seen Beethoven face to 
 face, and been commissioned by the master to 
 prepare the vocal score of his Fidelio. 
 
 I found him, however, most kind and 
 sociable, and soon became an almost daily 
 guest at his house, the presiding angel of which 
 was his accomplished, beautiful, and charming 
 wife, a relative of Heinrich Heine's, who 
 remained a motherly friend to me until the 
 end of her life. 
 
 My lessons with Moscheles proved highly 
 interesting and profitable, and sometimes 
 amusing as well. He had been trained in, 
 and was the foremost exponent then of, a 
 school of pianoforte-playing as far removed 
 from the modern sledge-hammer clavier tech- 
 nique as Mr. Oliver Wendell Holmes' " one- 
 horse-shay " from a sixty-horse-power motor. 
 I think the dear old gentleman would have had 
 a fit if any of us pupils had forgotten ourselves 
 so far as to lift our hands as much as two inches 
 above the keyboard. Chopin and Schumann 
 were the most advanced composers he admitted 
 for study in his lessons, and I remember well, 
 playing once a phrase of Beethoven's in a some- 
 what rubato style, his gently chiding me and 
 innocently saying, " My dear sir, you may do
 
 in MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 23 
 
 that with Schumann or Chopin, but not when 
 you play Beethoven or me \ 1: 
 
 On another occasion I brought him, for his 
 criticism, a pianoforte composition of my own 
 of which he had accepted the dedication. 
 After he had made a slight change or two I 
 asked him if I now should play to him the 
 corrected version. " My dear sir," he said 
 with a smile, " there's no need of that, I hear 
 it all in my mind's ear I really must tell you 
 a little story about that. When I wrote my 
 concerto with three kettle-drums " he seemed 
 to feel a particular pride and satisfaction in 
 remembering this then almost unheard-of bold- 
 ness and revolutionary innovation " when I 
 wrote my concerto with three kettle-drums, I 
 came to a ' tutti ' which I wanted rather fully 
 and noisily orchestrated. Well will you 
 believe, I heard that tutti and the noise of the 
 different instruments so distinctly whilst I was 
 writing it, that that I got a headache I " 
 
 My singing lessons with Professor Goetze I 
 also greatly enjoyed, instinctively feeling that 
 the modest man was laying in me the solid 
 foundations of a vocal structure of great 
 simplicity, intended for duration rather than 
 show. Already in the early part of the follow- 
 ing year of 1868 I sang the part of "Hans 
 Sachs " in Wagner's Master singers, performed
 
 24 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES HI 
 
 for the first time in Leipsic by Carl Riedel, the 
 great Wagner enthusiast, whose Choral Society 
 was then justly celebrated. The work was 
 given on the concert platform, as the authorities 
 of the Municipal Theatre hesitated as yet to 
 produce it on the stage, after the rather doubt- 
 ful reception of the first performance of the 
 opera at the Court Theatre of the neighbouring 
 Dresden. The conductor there was then Julius 
 Rietz, an excellent musician of the old school, 
 and known for his ready and rather biting wit. 
 
 During the first reading rehearsal of the 
 Master singers, the so - called " Correctur - 
 Probe," i.e. rehearsal for the sake of correcting 
 eventual mistakes in the parts, the whole 
 orchestra from time to time would break into 
 bursts of laughter at the awful dissonances- 
 times have changed ! when suddenly Rietz 
 stopped the orchestra, saying, " Gentlemen, 
 this sounds so well there must be something 
 wrong in the parts ! " 
 
 That same year Mr. Rietz, who evidently 
 had heard of my singing of the part of " Hans 
 Sachs," invited me to Dresden to sing to him 
 and the intendant with a view to engaging me 
 for the opera. This time my dreams of a great 
 operatic career seemed to be getting nearer 
 to realisation than before ; but when, after 
 evidently having satisfied both these gentle-
 
 in MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 25 
 
 men, I was given to understand that at first I 
 should not be allowed to sing any but small 
 parts, like the Herald in Lohengrin, I gratefully 
 declined the offer, little thinking that my 
 " very onliest " appearance on the operatic 
 stage would be in that same Royal Opera House 
 in Dresden, more than forty years later, when, 
 in place of the suddenly indisposed Herr Perron, 
 I sang the part of '' Girolamo " in my own 
 opera Nubia at a few hours' notice. 
 
 Another little excursion during my Leipsic 
 days I recall with pleasure. A dear friend of 
 mine, Eugen Franck by name, was at that time 
 living in Berlin, where somewhat against his 
 own inclination he prepared himself for the 
 calling of bookseller and publisher. At heart 
 he was, and remained all through his life, a 
 musician, being not only the possessor of a fine 
 and well -trained bass voice, but also an 
 excellent violin and viola player. Later in 
 life he settled in Dresden, where with some 
 other enthusiasts he founded the Mozart Society, 
 for which, to the end of his days, he worked 
 indefatigably and with the most gratifying and 
 beneficent results. 
 
 Well, it was in the winter of 1868 that Franck 
 invited me to come and pay him a little visit, 
 holding out to me, as a special inducement, the 
 pleasure of meeting a young Englishman who,
 
 26 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES m 
 
 with his mother and two charming sisters, was 
 spending the year in Berlin for the purpose of 
 studying the piano under Carl Tausig. Need- 
 less to say I accepted with alacrity. The 
 meeting between the young Englishman and 
 me, at a supper-party arranged for the occasion 
 by our mutual friend, developed in the course 
 of the evening into something like an Olympic 
 contest. Evidently bent on doing credit to 
 his master, the young Englishman, a striking- 
 looking, handsome boy of sixteen, with finely- 
 cut features and very pleasant manners, played 
 wonderfully well, thus spurring me on to do 
 my best when my turn came. So we went on, 
 actually for hours, he playing and I singing, 
 to the great delight of our host, who, equally 
 interested in us both, confessed to being baffled 
 as to which of us in his opinion had the greater 
 talent, until, at the end of a most enjoyable 
 evening, he had to be satisfied with declaring 
 that both Frederic Cowen for that was the 
 boy's name and I had the chance of a brilliant 
 future before us : a future which, alas, at the 
 time I am writing, has turned into a past, 
 though, I am sure, one we neither of us two old 
 friends need be ashamed of. 
 
 From the fact that so soon after the com- 
 mencement of my studies in Leipsic I was 
 called upon to and did sing in public, one
 
 in MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 27 
 
 might think I had been a most industrious, 
 exemplary student. Truth, I fear, compels 
 me regretfully to confess that far too many 
 precious hours of those two and a half years 
 in Leipsic were given over to play and pastime. 
 
 There was, for instance, a particularly great 
 attraction and fascination in a little room of 
 what was then the " Hotel de Prusse," the 
 original old inn at which Goethe put up when 
 he visited Leipsic for the first time in 1765. 
 The owner, a Mr. Louis Krafft, had partly 
 preserved the room in, partly restored it to, 
 the same state in which Goethe knew and 
 frequented it ; it was full of relics and memen- 
 toes of the poet, full, above all, of his spirit and 
 atmosphere. In that room a little company 
 of literary and artistic people would meet once 
 a week, in the evening ; among them Ludwig 
 Barnay and Emil Claar, young actors destined 
 to become renowned in later years as intendants 
 of great play-houses, the former remembered 
 by London audiences as the " Mark Antony " 
 of the celebrated Meiningen production of 
 Shakespeare's Julius Caesar. 
 
 In winter it was the steaming bowl of punch, 
 in summer the cooling " May-bowl," a delicious 
 cup of Moselle and " Waldmeister," an aromatic 
 herb found in the woods, which cheered the 
 table -round, and I used to wonder at and
 
 28 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES in 
 
 admire the generosity of mine host of the 
 Goethe-Stube who presided and, I thought, 
 supplied the enlivening draught week after 
 week. I was therefore not a little amused 
 when, many years afterwards, I came to 
 Leipsic again as the soloist at one of the famous 
 Gewandhaus concerts, to which at the time of 
 those youthful symposiums we " Conservato- 
 risten " were only permitted to listen from the 
 elevation of the highest balcony. A card was 
 brought to me in my lodgings (I had succeeded 
 in getting the identical rooms I had occupied 
 when a student) " Louis Krafft." " How nice 
 of him," I thought, "to call on me in remem- 
 brance of the dear old days ! " We cordially 
 shook hands the familiar " thou " had changed 
 into the formal " you," he seemed a little em- 
 barrassed, congratulated me on my success in 
 the world, expressed his pride on seeing me as 
 a soloist on that illustrious platform, etc., etc. ; 
 but somehow or other I had a feeling of there 
 being something else he wanted to say but 
 shrank from saying. The conversation gradu- 
 ally flagged, and I began to wonder when and 
 how the visit would end, when, slowly and 
 hesitatingly, my old friend put his hand in his 
 breast pocket, producing from it a memento 
 of " Auld Lang Syne " ? Yes, indeed : in the 
 shape of a neatly written bill for sixteen bowls
 
 in MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 29 
 
 of punch drained by the genial little company 
 of the v Goethe-Stube on the sixteen occasions 
 when unbeknown to myself at the time the 
 turn of being host had been mine ! We had a 
 good laugh over it, and, after the concert, bowl 
 number seventeen. 
 
 Carnival was observed as a great festival in 
 Leipsic then. For nearly a week the town 
 used to be en fete. In a temporarily erected 
 tent circus performances were given entirely by 
 amateurs in aid of local charities ; masked 
 processions in the style of Lord Mayors' shows, 
 with jesters, scenes from plays, topical allusions ; 
 huge ornamented cars, drawn by six or more 
 richly caparisoned horses, traversed the streets, 
 and I remember one occasion when, riding in 
 a group from Schiller's Tell., dressed as one of 
 the huntsmen in Vogt Gessler's suite, I was on 
 horseback from ten in the morning till dusk. 
 I do hope lessons at the Conservatory were 
 suspended during that week !
 
 IV 
 
 IT was in the summer of that same year that, 
 at a meeting of the " Allgemeine Tonkiinstler- 
 Verein " (General Tone-Artists' Union), held at 
 Altenburg in Saxony, I first met that wonder- 
 fully fascinating man Franz Liszt, in some of 
 whose works, produced on that occasion, I 
 had to sing the bass soli. Liszt was beyond 
 expectation kind to me, and only too readily 
 I accepted his most cordial invitation to visit 
 him at his home in Weimar after the meeting. 
 I settled for some weeks in that famous little 
 capital and daily went to the " Gartnerei," a 
 charming little garden residence placed at 
 Liszt's disposal by its owner, the reigning 
 Grand-Duke. There Liszt, who, by the way, 
 invariably greeted me by kissing me on both 
 cheeks, held a sort of court, the picturesque 
 old town fairly swarming with past, present 
 and would-be pupils and disciples of the master, 
 male and female, in velvet coats and huge neck- 
 ties, and with long flowing hair. It was, how- 
 ever, by no means pupils only that flocked 
 
 30
 
 iv MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 31 
 
 to those world - famed Sunday morning " At 
 Homes " ; on one of those occasions, for 
 instance, it was my good luck not only to see 
 but also to hear in that historical music-room, 
 besides the illustrious host himself, no fewer 
 and no lesser stars than Anton Rubinstein, 
 Carl Tausig, and Hans von Biilow. 
 
 Here there were the four greatest pianists 
 of the time together, not in a vast concert hall, 
 but in a small private room, in their shirt- 
 sleeves, so to say, enabling us privileged fellow- 
 guests to compare, not from memory or 
 distance, but by immediate impression, within 
 the compass of an hour or so, the stupendous 
 power of a Rubinstein with the polished in- 
 fallibility of a Tausig, the irreproachable classi- 
 cism of a Biilow with the enchanting grace and 
 romanticism of a Liszt. They are gone, all 
 those four great ones, but the memory of that 
 Sunday morning is more real, more living to 
 me to - day than any reproduction of their 
 playing could be by the wonderfully ingenious 
 musical inventions of this electric age. 
 
 In the course of the matinee Liszt, pointing 
 to a parcel he had received from Wagner the 
 day before, and which was lying on the piano, 
 called out to me, " Voila, mon cher, une jolie 
 bagatelle pour vous," and, taking a stout 
 volume of music out from the brown paper,
 
 32 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES iv 
 
 we for by that time I was surrounded by a 
 number of curious and eager faces discovered 
 it to be the just published score of Wagner's 
 Walkure. " Allons done, mon cher," cried 
 Liszt, " chantons ' Les Adieux de Wotan,' : 
 and he sat down at the piano, I standing next 
 to him bending over the score, and we then 
 and there read that Grand Finale for the first 
 time, amidst frequent exclamations of wonder 
 and delight on the part of the audience, and 
 had to do parts of it over and over again. 
 
 For the Christmas holidays I went home 
 to Breslau, where Anton Rubinstein was 
 announced to give, in January 1869, a concert 
 with orchestra. Constantin Sander, the head 
 of the music firm of Leuckart who had their 
 premises on the ground floor of the house I was 
 born in, and where we still lived, was the local 
 manager of the concert, and, having always 
 taken a lively interest in my career, had, much 
 to my joy and pride, arranged that I should 
 associate with the great virtuoso by singing on 
 that occasion an aria with orchestra, and some 
 of Rubinstein's songs to the composer's accom- 
 paniment. On the morning of the day of the 
 concert we had the final rehearsal, after which 
 Rubinstein, Sander and I went for luncheon 
 to the finest restaurant of the town, " The 
 Golden Goose," of which, needless to say, I
 
 iv MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 33 
 
 had up to then only seen the outside. We 
 seated ourselves at the large table in the centre 
 of the room, at the other end of which it was 
 already past the usual luncheon hour the 
 only other person in the room, a well-known 
 musical amateur, by profession an Army 
 surgeon, had nearly finished his mid-day meal. 
 
 Rubinstein, Sander, and I were just on the 
 point of commencing ours, when from across 
 the table the penetrating military voice of the 
 surgeon called out to Sander : "I say, Sander, 
 how did you like Tausig the other day ? " 
 (Tausig had given a pianoforte recital in 
 Breslau the week before.) Sander, by nature 
 a very shy and retiring little man, got quite red 
 in the face with embarrassment, and was still 
 composing an appropriate answer to the per- 
 plexing question, when the irrepressible surgeon 
 trumpeted to us : " Well, I can only tell you, 
 compared to Tausig, Rubinstein is nothing but 
 a thrashing flail ! " 
 
 Now in German a flail does not merely mean 
 the agricultural implement, but is figuratively 
 used to indicate a particularly rude, uncouth, 
 ill-mannered person. 
 
 An awful silence followed. Sander's and 
 my spoons, just raised to our lips, nearly 
 dropped into the soup, and for a moment we 
 
 did not quite know what would happen next. 
 
 D
 
 34 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES iv 
 
 The unfortunate Army surgeon, evidently 
 becoming aware of something being wrong, 
 clapped his monocle in his eye and, surveying 
 our party, recognised the lion-head of the 
 smiling Rubinstein, who, shaking his mighty 
 mane, bade us pay no attention to the in- 
 cident. " A public man," he said, " must not 
 mind such things. To tell you the truth, they 
 rather amuse me." The surgeon, however, 
 seemed anything but amused ; he got up, 
 hurriedly paid his bill, and left by the back door 
 so as not to pass us. 
 
 The concert in the evening was a tremendous 
 success. Rubinstein received a perfect ovation 
 at the end of his D Minor Concerto, and when, 
 that night, I was lying awake in bed and 
 dreaming for a long time before finding sleep, 
 I came to the conclusion that there was not a 
 bad name in the world I should mind being 
 called as long as I could play as well and be as 
 famous as Rubinstein. 
 
 In the autumn of 1870 I went to Berlin to 
 continue my studies for a time at the Royal 
 High School for Music, of which Joseph Joachim 
 was the head, and where I continued my voc"al 
 studies under Adolph Schulze. Knowing that 
 my father could but ill afford the continuance 
 of my support beyond the paying of the fees 
 for my tuition, I was determined to stand on
 
 iv MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 35 
 
 my own feet as soon as ever I could. I gave 
 pianoforte lessons at a shilling an hour, and, 
 for more than a year, dined at an underground 
 restaurant " Unter den Linden " for sixpence a 
 meal, together with dear Robert Hausmann, 
 the afterwards famous 'cellist of the Joachim 
 Quartet, and a young Virginian sculptor, Moie 
 Ezechiel, later living in Rome, who introduced 
 me to that stirring war- tune " Dixie," which 
 has never lost the fascination it then exerted 
 on me. 
 
 Frequently I was glad even to have, 
 especially at the end of the month, enough to 
 buy a couple of halfpenny buns for my mid-day 
 meal. For my supper, which I shared with 
 my good old friend " Severe," I generally 
 resorted to the loaf of rye-bread I always kept 
 going in my " pantry " the lower shelf of a 
 small hanging bookcase supplementing the 
 repast occasionally with a few pennyworths of 
 sausage or cold cooked meats, the quantity of 
 which varied according to the fluctuating state 
 of my purse. 
 
 " Severe " was my dog a French poodle 
 which some years before I had begged from 
 the brother of an old Leipsic friend who had no 
 use for the poor animal. I will not belittle 
 Severe's memory by referring to him as " a " 
 French poodle. He was the most sagacious,
 
 36 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES iv 
 
 amusing, faithful dog any nationality might 
 have been proud of. One no, two illustra- 
 tions of his exceeding cleverness are, I think, 
 worth recording, if only for the benefit of those 
 among my readers who may be as fond of dogs 
 as I was of Severe. 
 
 That I had some difficulty in finding rooms 
 or rather, a room where I might be allowed 
 to keep the dog, goes without saying. At last 
 a kind-hearted woman agreed to take me in, 
 not however without my faithfully promising 
 her never to permit the dog to lie on the 
 precious sofa, as rickety an old horsehair- 
 covered excuse for the comfortable piece of 
 furniture rejoicing in that name as ever you 
 saw. But it is no easy matter to fight the 
 instincts of a dog, and Severe's certainly 
 attracted him to the seat of the couch rather 
 than the hard floor beneath it, where at last, 
 with the assistance of a very innocent horse- 
 whip, I had succeeded in making him spend 
 the night. It was a source of no small satisfac- 
 tion to me to see him, after coming to my 
 bedside to be said " good- night " to, obediently 
 creep under the sofa and, the next morning, 
 meekly emerge from there when called by me. 
 I hardly know why, but suddenly one day 
 the awful suspicion arose in my mind : What 
 if the dog is deceiving me ? So that evening,
 
 iv MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 37 
 
 before going to bed, I placed on the seat of the 
 couch little bits of paper in a regular pattern, 
 the slightest interference with which would 
 at once be noticeable. I confess I felt rather 
 mean. Severe that night went through the 
 routine afore-mentioned in an irreproachable 
 manner, and next morning as usual crawled to 
 me from underneath the sofa. But looking on 
 that, lo and behold ! the little bits of paper 
 were scattered all over the place. I jumped 
 out of bed, felt the seat of the couch it was 
 still warm : Severe had been comfortably 
 lying on it all night until he thought, seeing the 
 light stealing into the room, it was time for 
 master to wake, when he crept to the floor 
 beneath, there to await his call ! Of course I 
 had to be angry, very angry, and after a few 
 caressing strokes of the whip, considered it the 
 best way of curing him to leave the whip, of 
 which he stood in mortal fear, permanently on 
 the seat, being sure he would not willingly go 
 anywhere near it. And he actually was cured. 
 But now comes cleverness number two, which 
 I believe even outstrips what I have just told. 
 I came home one afternoon as usual with 
 the dog's and my supper nicely wrapped up in 
 paper, placed the parcel on the table, and went 
 to fetch a plate and a knife and fork from the 
 landlady. Very likely the loquacious dame
 
 38 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES iv 
 
 had kept me a little longer than Severe thought 
 desirable ; anyhow, when I returned I noticed 
 the dog, who only a few minutes before had 
 been most affectionately welcoming me, abjectly 
 cowering in a corner, his head bent down, and 
 his eyes looking up at me with a wonder- 
 fully appealing expression. " What's up ? " I 
 thought, and went to the table to unpack the 
 parcel Severe had saved me that trouble : it 
 was open and its savoury contents by that 
 time safely stowed away in his " little inside." 
 I never could be really angry with the dog, 
 but thought it my duty to punish him this 
 time. So I went to the sofa to get the whip 
 it was gone. That is to say, not very far ; it 
 was lying on the floor some way between the 
 sofa and Severe's hiding-place. Incredible as 
 it may seem, the dog, immediately after the 
 accomplishment of his crime, must have become 
 conscious of the severity of it, and his instinct 
 prompted him to remove the implement of 
 punishment ! Whether or not I carried out 
 my cruel design I leave to the imagination of 
 my readers. 
 
 Soon the outlook brightened. To the grati- 
 fication of my teacher no less than to my own, 
 I now commenced to be engaged for oratorio 
 and concerts, not only in Berlin and the
 
 iv MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 39 
 
 provinces, but also outside of Germany, in 
 Belgium, Holland, Switzerland, Russia. To 
 picturesque, musical, aristocratic Holland and 
 its warm - hearted people, among whom in 
 the course of the years I was to find some 
 of the best and truest friends of my life, I 
 felt myself particularly attracted ; a feeling 
 ripening before long into a deep, affectionate 
 attachment. 
 
 In Berlin, where I had settled for the time 
 being, many musical homes were opened to me, 
 like Madame Clara Schumann's, the Simrocks', 
 the Joachims'. In the latter house as well as 
 in that of the Simrocks I was soon a frequent 
 guest, participating in the many musical gather- 
 ings happening there, and if, needless to say, 
 I grew more and more gratefully conscious of 
 the privilege of a closer acquaintance with so 
 great a musician as Joachim, I confess I hardly 
 to any lesser degree appreciated the wonderful 
 art of his wife. Madame Joachim's was a 
 perfect vocal technique, joined to the gift of a 
 beautiful sonorous contralto voice, great depth 
 of feeling, a keen intellect, a subtle sense of 
 humour, and fine musical perception. These 
 forces she put into the service of an exalted 
 ideal of her art, with the result that there was 
 neither lack nor exuberance, but a sort of 
 Grecian serenity, a faultless balance of values,
 
 40 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES iv 
 
 so to speak, with just enough of her own 
 personality in everything she did, to render 
 her singing interesting and gratifying beyond 
 the intrinsic merit of the works she interpreted. 
 Many are the singers who please the thousands, 
 but only a very small number satisfy the few 
 as Amalie Joachim did. Like all true artists 
 she was equally good in the simplest song as 
 when rendering a great dramatic part like, 
 for instance, that of the heroine in Gluck's 
 Iphigenia in Tauris, a performance of which, 
 at the Berlin Sing-Akademie in 1871, was the 
 first occasion on which I had the honour and 
 privilege of singing with her in public. 
 
 Although she had slightly to transpose the 
 part to quite suit her range of voice, her singing 
 of it was a beautiful revelation of dramatic 
 power and restraint, a splendid example of 
 plastic modelling in expression. 
 
 Altogether the performance, under Professor 
 RudorfP s conductorship, offered many interest- 
 ing points, as for instance the singing of the 
 part of Pylades I sang Orestes, in German 
 " Orest " by Professor Mantius, an excellent 
 tenor of the old school, whose impersonation of 
 that touching prototype of a sacrificing friend 
 was marked by great feeling and a wonderful 
 control of what there was left of a once magnifi- 
 cent voice. He was no less than forty-four
 
 iv MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 41 
 
 years my senior, a fact which, in the following 
 morning's account of the performance, had 
 elicited from a witty critic the comment, 
 " Henschel Orest, Mantius Beaux restes." 
 
 Among the audience of most of the concerts 
 in any way connected with the Joachims, 
 could be seen Madame Joachim's much older 
 friend, Clara Schumann, for whom Brahms 
 until the end of his life cherished a touching, 
 almost filial, love and devotion. She was 
 indeed one of the gentlest, most lovable of 
 women. It was a delight to listen to her as, 
 in her charming melodious voice, from which 
 a certain fascinating Saxon accent was hardly 
 ever absent, she would revive memories of the 
 past. Her art she took very much in earnest, 
 as a high priestess would her religion, and it 
 will surprise many of the younger people of 
 to-day to give only one illustration to hear 
 that whenever Madame Schumann and I, as 
 was frequently the case, were the soloists at 
 the same concert and she accompanied me in 
 her husband's songs, we would invariably have 
 a rehearsal of the songs some time before the 
 concert, even though perhaps we had done the 
 same songs only a week before, somewhere else. 
 
 I remember a dinner once at Madame 
 Schumann's in Berlin, when, to the wonder and 
 amid frequent exclamations of awe or, some-
 
 42 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES iv 
 
 times, good-natured disapproval on the part of 
 the hostess, Anton Rubinstein entertained us 
 with a recital of his experiences in the United 
 States, whence he had just returned after a tour 
 of two hundred and fifteen concerts in eight 
 months and there were no Sunday concerts 
 then and where once, somewhere out in the 
 wild, woolly West, a man, about an hour before 
 the concert, had thrust his head into Rubinstein's 
 room with the words, " Don't you think, boss, 
 it's about time to have your face blacked ? " 
 
 14 No, you didn't really ! " gasped poor, 
 bewildered Madame Schumann. 
 
 From Berlin I was now almost continually 
 making professional journeys which often kept 
 me " on the road," as they say, for weeks at 
 a time. Musical agencies had only just come 
 into existence, and accepting all engagements 
 as they were offered to me directly, I had to 
 spend more time in railway carriages than 
 would have been the case had an experienced 
 manager, as is now done, arranged a " tournee " 
 for me with a view to greater comfort and less 
 wear and tear. In the year 1873 I sang in no 
 less than forty-seven different places on the 
 Continent, meeting a good many eminent people, 
 and also making acquaintances which were 
 destined to develop into lifelong friendships. 
 At Halle, for instance, the birthplace of Handel,
 
 iv MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 43 
 
 the young lady who, in that year, sang the 
 contralto part in the Messiah with myself in 
 the bass part, was Auguste Redeker, the lovely 
 singer who a few years later enchanted all 
 London with her beautiful voice and charming 
 presence, and afterwards became the wife of 
 Dr., now Sir, Felix Semon.
 
 IN the year 1874 I reached a rather important 
 point in my career. I got my first engagement 
 for one of the famous Nether- Rhenish Music 
 Festivals, then the great musical events of the 
 year in Germany, or, I might say, in the world, 
 for to those festivals people from all over the 
 world would flock in great numbers. 
 
 Smaller places, with their limited means, 
 musical and financial, being then unable to 
 produce great choral and orchestral works in 
 an anything like adequate manner, the privilege 
 of such artistic achievements was reserved to 
 the towns of Cologne, Diisseldorf, and Aix-la- 
 Chapelle. Throughout the Rhine district, then 
 considered to be the most musical part of 
 Germany, the local choral and orchestral 
 societies joined their forces to those of Cologne, 
 Diisseldorf, or Aix-la-Chapelle, as the case might 
 be, to hold a feast of music every year in one 
 of these three towns in rotation during the 
 Whitsun holidays. 
 
 In 1874 the turn was Cologne's, and with no 
 
 44
 
 v MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 45 
 
 little pride and hardly less anxiety I saw my 
 name announced for the first time in a list of 
 soloists comprising some of the most renowned of 
 the day. But above all, Brahms was to be there. 
 
 For weeks beforehand my mind was occupied 
 with the thought of seeing face to face the 
 great composer whose name was then on every 
 musician's lips as that of the man whose genius 
 Robert Schumann had publicly proclaimed in the 
 glowing language of an inspired prophet. And 
 I well remember my embarrassment, and the 
 sensation it gave me, when at last I was permitted 
 to shake hands with him after the rehearsal 
 of Handel's Samson, in which oratorio I had 
 been engaged to sing the part of " Harapha." 
 A few kind and encouraging words soon put 
 me at my ease, and I could give myself up to 
 scrutinising Brahms' personal appearance. 
 
 He was broad-chested, of somewhat short 
 stature, with a tendency to stoutness. His 
 face was then clean shaven, revealing a rather 
 thick, genial underlip ; the healthy and ruddy 
 colour of his skin indicated a love of nature 
 and a habit of being in the open air in all kinds 
 of weather ; his thick straight hair of brownish 
 colour came nearly down to his shoulders. His 
 clothes and boots were not exactly of the latest 
 pattern, nor did they fit particularly well, but 
 his linen was spotless.
 
 46 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES v 
 
 What, however, struck me most was the 
 kindliness of his eyes. They were of a light 
 blue ; wonderfully keen and bright, with now 
 and then a roguish twinkle in them, and yet at 
 times of almost childlike tenderness. Soon I 
 was to find out that that roguish twinkle in his 
 eyes corresponded to a quality in his nature 
 which would perhaps be best described as good- 
 natured sarcasm. A few illustrations will 
 explain what I mean. A rather celebrated 
 composer had asked Brahms to be allowed to 
 play to him from the MS. his latest composition, 
 a violin concerto. Brahms consented to hear 
 it and seated himself near the piano. Mr. 
 
 played his work with great enthusiasm 
 
 and force, the perspiration it was a very 
 warm day streaming down his face. 
 
 When he had finished, Brahms got up, 
 approached the piano, took a sheet of the 
 manuscript between his thumb and middle 
 finger and, rubbing it between them, exclaimed, 
 " I say, where do you buy your music paper ? 
 First rate ! " 
 
 In the evening of the day of our first meeting 
 I found myself sitting with Brahms in a Kneipe 
 one of those cosy restaurants, redolent of 
 the mixed perfumes of beer, wine, tobacco, 
 coffee, and food, so dear to Germans in general, 
 and to German artists in particular in the
 
 v MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 47 
 
 company of four or five prominent composers 
 of the day, who had come from their different 
 places of abode to attend the festival. 
 
 The musical proceedings of the day had been 
 the chief topic of conversation (on one of the 
 programmes there had figured some new songs 
 of mine), when suddenly one of the " Herren 
 Kapellmeister," pointing toward me, exclaimed, 
 " Now just look at that lucky fellow Henschel ! 
 He can both sing and compose, and we " 
 describing with his hand a circle which included 
 Brahms " we can compose only." 
 
 " And not even that " Brahms instantly 
 added, his countenance bearing the expression 
 of the most perfect innocence. 
 
 He was very fond of sitting with good friends 
 over his beer or wine or his beloved " Kaffee " 
 with the accent, after Viennese fashion, on 
 the last syllable in the Kneipe till the small 
 hours of the morning. After the Samson per- 
 formance our party did not break up until half- 
 past two in the morning. To sit late at night 
 in a stuffy room full of tobacco smoke, for hours 
 at a stretch, and that between two public 
 appearances, is not precisely a proceeding I 
 could conscientiously recommend a young 
 singer to imitate ; but on that occasion nothing 
 would have induced me to leave the room 
 before Brahms, so fascinated was I by his
 
 48 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES v 
 
 personality, so jealous of every minute of his 
 company. 
 
 Moreover, there were, besides Brahms, other 
 interesting and renowned men sitting around 
 that social table, like splendid old Gevaert, the 
 Director of the Brussels Conservatory of 
 Music, whose fine Flemish face looked as if cut 
 out of Rembrandt's " Syndics " ; Kufferath, 
 another Brussels musician of fame; the jovial 
 Ferdinand Hiller of Cologne, . Joseph Joachim, 
 Carl Reinthaler of Bremen, Julius Otto Grimm 
 of Miinster, Wasielewsky of Bonn, the bio- 
 grapher of Schumann. I hope I was duly 
 appreciative of the privilege of being in the 
 company of such men. 
 
 Altogether I had every reason to be satisfied 
 with my first experience at one of those big 
 music festivals, which augured well for the 
 future, and it was a happy summer I spent 
 that year, partly with my people and friends 
 in the Thuringian woods, partly in the Austrian 
 alps, with the Joachims, who, in the happy 
 temporary possession of a charming little villa 
 in Alt-Aussee in Styria, had suggested to me 
 the taking of rooms somewhere near them, so 
 that we could make excursions together, and 
 now and then some music as well. 
 
 I do not know which I enjoyed more : a 
 day's wanderings with the great musician, often
 
 v MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 49 
 
 starting at five o'clock in the morning, he was 
 an excellent walker roaming on the tops of 
 the hills surrounding the picturesque village, 
 or accompanying on the piano, his playing 
 of his own Hungarian Concerto and those of 
 Beethoven, Mendelssohn, Spohr, and sonatas by 
 Locatelli, Tartini, Handel he practised every 
 day for some time or singing with Frau 
 Joachim songs and duets for hours at a time. 
 Little did I then think that what appeared to 
 me and everybody an ideal union between 
 two fine artists would, only a few years later, 
 end in cruel estrangement and final separation. 
 Of Joachim's exceeding good-naturedness 
 I use the adjective advisedly Brahms, in later 
 years, told me a story which at the same time 
 rather interestingly illustrates a phase in the 
 life, toward the middle of last century, at the 
 Court of Hanover, where Joachim, from 1858 
 to 1866, occupied the post of Concert-Director 
 and Solo -Violinist to the King. Among his 
 duties as such was also that of engaging the 
 artists for and arranging the programmes of 
 the musical soirees which at regular intervals 
 took place at the Royal Castle. King George 
 was one of the last of those monarchs who 
 believed in the " right divine of Kings " to such 
 an extent that, for instance, if he would say a 
 
 thing was red though it really was green, it 
 
 E
 
 50 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES v 
 
 was red. Blind as he was, he is known to have, 
 at exhibitions, admired pictures before which 
 he had been led by his attendant, pointing 
 out details of which he had been informed 
 beforehand, and trying to make people believe 
 he could see. 
 
 For one of those musical evenings at the 
 Castle, Joachim's choice of an assisting artist 
 had fallen on Moritz Hauptmann, 1 who was 
 asked to come over from Leipsic and play with 
 him some of his chamber -music. On the 
 morning of the day of the concert the King 
 sent for Joachim, who, as usual, had to prepare 
 His Majesty for the events of the evening by 
 telling him who was coming and what the 
 programme was to be. On being informed 
 of Hauptmann' s participation in that night's 
 musical proceedings, the King asked who 
 that gentleman was, having never heard of 
 him before. Joachim then spoke with great 
 warmth of Hauptmann's compositions, making 
 special mention of a Sonata in G, with a particu- 
 larly charming Adagio which he proposed 
 playing with the composer. 
 
 Imagine Joachim's feelings when in the 
 evening, as he presented Hauptmann to the 
 King, he had to hear His Majesty say to the 
 
 1 Hauptmann was a composer, rather dry and academical, and 
 up to his death, in 1868, cantor of the church of St. Thomas in 
 Leipsic.
 
 v MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 51 
 
 delighted composer : " Ah, my dear Mr. 
 Hauptmann, I am so glad to make your 
 personal acquaintance. ... I have always 
 been a great admirer of your excellent com- 
 positions. . . . There is especially a Sonata . . . 
 I think it is in G . . . which I am particularly 
 devoted to. ... Such a lovely Adagio . . . 
 Joachim must always play it twice to me ; 
 isn't that so, Joachim ? " Of course, poor 
 Joachim not only had to bow his assent, for 
 the King could not have seen that, but audibly 
 to express it ! That night he came back to 
 Brahms, who happened to be his guest for a 
 few days, hot with rage and indignation, and 
 determined to make an end to a position which 
 could subject him to such degrading indignities. 
 The following morning he actually sent his 
 resignation to the King, as he had done so 
 Brahms told me two or three times before, after 
 similar experiences, but once more His Majesty, 
 by saying charming things to him, appeased 
 his anger and made him retract his decision. 
 
 Thuringian Woods and Austrian Alps had 
 well prepared me physically for the strenuous 
 winter season that lay before me, and which 
 rather auspiciously commenced in October with 
 a soiree by Joachim, Heinrich Barth, then 
 Professor of the Piano at the Royal Hochschule, 
 and myself, at the New Palace in Potsdam, the
 
 52 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES v 
 
 residence of the Crown Prince, afterwards the 
 Emperor Frederick. 
 
 To come into personal contact with that 
 popular favourite " Our Fritz," one of the 
 most perfect specimens of manhood imagin- 
 able, and his Consort, the first member of the 
 English Royal family it had been my good 
 fortune to meet, was a matter of no small 
 delight to me. I was particularly impressed 
 by the simple, affable way in which the Royal 
 hosts mingled with their guests, and the Crown 
 Prince's jovial manner emboldened me, after 
 the supper which followed the concert, to 
 approach him on the subject of a mission I had 
 from an old friend in Hamburg, that proud 
 old free city which after the Franco-Prussian 
 War had become part of the German Empire. 
 
 The lady, an elderly spinster, was an en- 
 thusiastic admirer of the old Emperor William, 
 and " dying " to knit a dozen woollen stockings 
 for His Majesty, if she could get permission 
 and a sample stocking to ensure their being 
 of the right size. With the boldness of youth 
 I submitted the lady's desire to the Crown 
 Prince, who laughingly promised to have the 
 matter attended to ; and within the week, to 
 my joy no less than that of the patriotic lady 
 of Hamburg, a parcel arrived for me from the 
 New Palace, containing the coveted treasure
 
 v MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 53 
 
 an old pair of Emperor William's stockings, 
 long white cotton stockings, marked with a 
 red " W" surmounted by the Royal Crown, 
 and touching and incredible darned in three 
 places ! I have got that pair of stockings now, 
 and perhaps some day, in a glass case at some 
 German museum, it may yet serve to turn 
 a degenerate people back to the simple life ! 
 
 An opportunity of thanking His Royal 
 Highness personally for his kindness presented 
 itself soon, for the Emperor had commanded a 
 morning performance of Handel's Hercules, 
 under Joachim, to take place at the White Hall 
 of the Royal Castle in Berlin, with the Chorus 
 of the Royal High School of Music, which was 
 still in its early youth then, and in which the 
 Emperor took a great personal interest. The 
 performance, in which Mme. Joachim took the 
 part of Dejanira and I that of her ill-fated lord, 
 was a very interesting occasion, the audience 
 consisting only of the Emperor, the Crown 
 Prince and Princess, and some generals and 
 Court officials with their wives. The Emperor 
 seemed much pleased, and at the end had all 
 the soloists presented to him. This was the 
 only time I personally met that aged monarch, 
 and the kind and sweet expression in the dear 
 old fatherly face made a deep impression on me. 
 
 During Hercules' rather pompous Aria :
 
 54 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES v 
 
 Mein Name wird in alien Zeiten 
 Hell im Glanz der Ehre stehn 
 
 (My name will stand for all times, shining 
 Lustrous bright in honour's glow) 
 
 I thought I noticed a merry smile on the Crown 
 Prince's face, and after the performance he said 
 to me : " You know, when you sang 4 in alien 
 Zeiten ' (for all times), I kept hearing ' in alien 
 Zeitungen' (in all the newspapers!) He 
 seemed always ready for a good joke. 
 
 In the early spring of the following year 
 (1875) I met Brahms again. Some letters had 
 passed between us, relating to my singing for 
 the Society of the Friends of Music at Vienna, 
 of whose concerts Brahms, at that time, was 
 the conductor. I had been engaged to sing 
 the part of Christ in Bach's Passion according 
 to St. Matthew, and that of Odysseus in Max 
 Bruch's secular oratorio of that name ; and it 
 may be imagined how great an inspiration it 
 was for a young musician like myself to sing 
 under the direction of Brahms and to be in 
 daily and intimate intercourse with him, in 
 anticipation of which privilege I had made 
 arrangements for a prolonged stay in the 
 Austrian capital. We went for a walk together 
 every day, mostly in the Prater, the favourite 
 out - of - door resort of the Viennese, and it 
 seemed a matter of no small gratification to
 
 v MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 55 
 
 Brahms to find himself recognized and de- 
 ferentially greeted wherever we happened to 
 drop in for an occasional rest. 
 
 The numerous public gardens where Gipsy 
 bands played, especially attracted us, and it 
 was a delight to notice the increased spirit 
 those brown sons of the Puszta put into their 
 music in the presence of the master who had 
 done so much toward opening up to their 
 beloved tunes a wider sphere of popularity. 
 
 The first of the two concerts mentioned 
 above went off beautifully. Brahms had 
 trained the Chorus with infinite care and con- 
 ducted with great earnestness. 
 
 It was a rare delight to watch the enthusiasm 
 and, at the same time, the reverence and 
 dignity he brought to bear on the performance 
 of Bach's masterwork. Johann Sebastian was 
 one of his gods, and I remember one day in his 
 rooms when, seeing me notice that master's 
 Well - tempered Klavier open on the piano, 
 he said to me : " With this I rinse my mouth 
 every morning." 
 
 The time between the performances of Bach's 
 Passion and Bruch's Odysseus was filled up by 
 my first visit to Russia, whither I had been 
 invited to sing Handel's Messiah, in German, 
 under the conductorship of Davidoff, the great 
 violoncello-player, who was then Director of
 
 56 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES v 
 
 the Imperial Conservatory of Music. Needless 
 to say, I undertook the long journey, via 
 Warsaw, with no little expectation ; and the 
 utterly different way of life there in nearly all 
 of its aspects did indeed not disappoint, though 
 it thoroughly bewildered me. I do not know 
 what I should have done had I not been 
 met at Petrograd Station by old Professor 
 Homilius, one of the directors of the " Sing- 
 Akademie," at whose concert I was to make 
 my first appearance. In the vast place out- 
 side the station, hundreds of tinv little narrow 
 
 w 
 
 open cabs, " isvostchiks," were standing abreast 
 in long rows in the snow, their drivers 
 picturesque in high boots and long dark blue 
 caftans, under which, to judge from the 
 portliness of their figures, and their ample 
 waists, girded by broad scarlet scarfs, they 
 seemed to have half-a-dozen other garments. 
 They all were shouting at the top of their 
 voices to attract attention to the particular 
 beauty and swiftness of their beasts, and 
 soliciting patronage. There is or at any 
 rate w r as then no regular tariff for the 
 use of these vehicles. You have to make a 
 bargain each time, but it is after having secured 
 your conveyance, and being more or less com- 
 fortably ensconced in the fur- coverings, that 
 your real difficulties commence. Unless you
 
 v MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 57 
 
 wish to be driven to one of the public buildings, 
 or to a house in one of the most famous 
 thoroughfares, the ignorant driver depends 
 entirely on your giving him the directions, 
 which you are supposed to shout to him at 
 every doubtful turning, so that I cannot see how 
 any one without a knowledge of at least the 
 two words naprava (right), or nalyeva (left), 
 and a partial familiarity with the map of the 
 town, can ever hope to get to his destination. 
 
 Failure, however, to reach it would certainly 
 not be the fault of the horses, which as a rule 
 are very swift. I was told by my cicerone 
 that the rapid speed at which Russians delight 
 to travel in their carriages reduces the life of 
 their horses to about one-fourth of its natural 
 duration. There is, for instance, a rich banker, 
 he told me, who saves himself the trouble of 
 giving his coachmen notice by engaging them 
 invariably with the understanding that the 
 moment they allow another carriage to pass 
 his they must consider themselves dismissed ! 
 
 There is something barbaric about this, as 
 altogether about the life of a wealthy Russian 
 at home. Vast houses, often more like palaces ; 
 vast halls pervaded by a sweet scent as of 
 incense ; wide, richly-carpeted staircases ; huge 
 porcelain stoves giving out a most gratifying 
 warmth; gorgeously uniformed major-domos
 
 58 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES v 
 
 with sticks like those of a drum-major ; an army 
 of liveried servants ; gigantic vases in malachite, 
 lapis lazuli, and bronze ; marble statuary I 
 was quite staggered by all this display of 
 wealth, comfort, ease, and luxury, and, indeed, 
 throughout my visit I seemed to be living in a 
 sort of dreamland, it was all so strange. 
 
 The only time in my life when I ate a dinner 
 off solid gold plate was at the house of General 
 Count Paul Schuvaloff, who then occupied a 
 high position at the Imperial Court a most 
 charming man and an excellent musician. 
 One does not often see a general in his uniform 
 play the 'cello, as Count Schuvaloff frequently 
 did during my visits at his house ; whilst 
 another uniformed officer, Lieut. -Colonel Cesar 
 Cui, a composer of great merit, whose works 
 were at that time very popular in concert-room 
 and opera house, accompanied him on the 
 piano. 
 
 The performance of the Messiah went off 
 very well. I was in capital form and rather 
 strange to our ideas of an oratorio audience's 
 attitude had to repeat the air " Why do the 
 Nations." Rubinstein, Leschetitsky, Mme. 
 Essipoff, Louis Brassin, Leopold Auer, Helmy 
 Raab, the charming Prima Donna of the 
 Imperial Opera all friends and colleagues of 
 Davidoff, who conducted were present, and
 
 v MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 59 
 
 we all met again on the following night at 
 Leschetitsky's house, Mme. Essipoff receiving 
 the company. These weekly receptions in the 
 salons of the famous pianist and teacher were 
 among the fashionable events of the season. 
 
 Imperial Highnesses, ambassadors, generals, 
 University professors loved to mix in Bohemian 
 fashion with long-haired virtuosos and operatic 
 favourites, and sometimes at two o'clock in the 
 morning Rubinstein, Auer, and Davidoff a 
 wonderful trio would sit down to play, or 
 Leschetitsky and Essipoff delight their hearers 
 with a duet for two pianos. To drive home 
 in an open " isvostchik " at four or five o'clock 
 in the morning was by no means an unusual 
 occurrence. Somehow or other the life in 
 Russia had a peculiar fascination for me, and 
 I always looked forward to my visits there, 
 which, though not unfrequent during the 
 following ten years, were never of too long 
 duration ; and that, considering the delight 
 Russians take in turning night into day, was a 
 good thing. 
 
 Nicolai Rubinstein, also a pianist and hardly 
 inferior as a virtuoso to his more famous elder 
 brother Anton, by some even preferred to him 
 on the point of mere technique, which, indeed, 
 was stupendous, held at that time the position 
 of Director of the Moscow Conservatoire of
 
 60 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES v 
 
 Music. And it was in Moscow that I first met 
 Tschaikovsky, a most amiable, kind, gentle, 
 modest man, with just that touch of melancholy 
 in his composition which to me seems to be a 
 characteristic of the Russian. I spent a week 
 in Moscow, singing, among other things, in 
 Beethoven's Ninth Symphony, in Russian, a 
 language which in my opinion, as regards 
 melodiousness, comes immediately after the 
 Italian. Nicolai Rubinstein conducted an 
 excellent performance, and afterwards he, 
 Tschaikovsky, and I had supper at the famous 
 restaurant known as the " Eremitage." There 
 we sat until the small hours of the morning, 
 talking mostly about music. Brahms' German 
 Requiem had only just been published, and, 
 much to my astonishment and distress, both 
 Rubinstein and Tschaikovsky expressed in very 
 strong terms their resentment of the title 
 "German Requiem," maintaining that it im- 
 plied a certain arrogance on the part of the 
 composer as hinting at the superiority of German 
 over other music. I argued that the word 
 " Requiem " as applied to a work of music, 
 generally meant a setting of the old accepted 
 Latin words of the Mass for the Dead. Brahms 
 in calling his work "A German Requiem" merely 
 wanted to make it clear, already on the title- 
 page, that his work was not a Mass, but set to
 
 v MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 61 
 
 German words taken from different parts of 
 the Bible ; that, if those words were translated 
 into, say, Swedish or French or Russian, it 
 would become a Swedish, French, or Russian 
 Requiem ; that nothing could have been 
 further from Brahms' intention than a slight 
 on the music of other nations. But I am 
 afraid when we parted early in the morning 
 the two were still far from convinced. 
 
 During my subsequent visits to Petrograd I 
 chiefly gave recitals of songs, many of them by 
 Russian composers, which I sang in the original. 
 I learned the meaning of every word of a 
 song, and a very nice young lawyer, Ivan 
 Ivanovitch, coached me in the pronunciation, 
 which, owing not unlikely to the portion of 
 Polish blood in my veins, came comparatively 
 easy to me. I had been told of the generous 
 enthusiasm of Petrograd audiences, and how 
 it often materializes in the shape of a valuable 
 present, so that, for instance, it is not at all 
 unusual for officers of a " crack " regiment 
 to club together and throw to a foreign prima 
 donna, singing at the opera house as a guest, 
 and who may have been fortunate enough to 
 captivate their ears and hearts, a diamond 
 bracelet or some other precious piece of 
 jewellery, hidden in a bouquet of flowers, across 
 the footlights.
 
 62 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES v 
 
 And sure enough, when I returned to 
 Germany after my second visit, my valise 
 was considerably the heavier for containing 
 several silver and gold cigarette-cases and 
 match-boxes, a silver tankard, a silver bowl, 
 a scarfpin, and other presents given to me by 
 people I hardly knew. 
 
 The Russians' love of music is very great 
 and their way of showing their appreciation 
 sometimes very touching. I shall never forget 
 a charming incident after the last recital of 
 my second season in Petrograd. 
 
 That young lawyer, Ivan Ivanovitch, whom 
 I frequently met at the Davidoffs and other 
 houses, was an enthusiastic lover of music, 
 especially vocal, and himself a very acceptable 
 amateur tenor. Unfortunately he spoke neither 
 French nor German nor Italian, the only 
 German word he knew being, by some chance, 
 the word " gegeniiber " (vis-a-vis) ; and I 
 being unable to converse in his tongue, we 
 could only communicate I was very fond of 
 him by facial expression or through a friendly 
 interpreter. After the recital, at the end of 
 which I had to sing half-a-dozen more songs 
 than were on the programme, a great number 
 of people crowded into the artists' room, 
 shaking hands, congratulating me, and I was 
 to leave the following morning wishing me
 
 v MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 63 
 
 bon voyage. Among them was my friend Ivan 
 Ivanovitch. Looking at me beseechingly, and 
 evidently greatly distressed at being unable 
 to talk to me, a tear running down his cheek, 
 he took my hand into both of his, pressed it 
 most earnestly and affectionately until at last, 
 choked with emotion and addressing me by 
 my name in Russian, he burst out into " Youri 
 Yakovlevitch," and then the single word, 
 " geggeniiber ! ! " (as he pronounced it). 
 
 Among my newly-acquired Russian friends 
 I was particularly lucky in counting one, a 
 physician, whose brother-in-law held the post 
 of Master of the Hunt to the Czar ; for through 
 this gentleman's influence I was allowed the 
 rare privilege of visiting the Imperial kennels 
 at Gatchina, one of His Majesty's residences, 
 not far from Petrograd. My friend himself 
 was the fortunate owner of a country place 
 in that neighbourhood, and thither he had 
 promised to take me one day, to spend a few 
 hours, in gratification of my wish to see some- 
 thing of the country and Russian peasant life. 
 It was a perfect winter's day, and the scene 
 on alighting at the little station lovely beyond 
 description. In contrast to the streets of the 
 city, in the dirty-grey surface of which the 
 heavy and constant traffic makes it almost
 
 64 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES v 
 
 impossible to recognize so pure and beautiful 
 a thing as snow, here the landscape was a 
 glorious symphony in whites, dark-greens, and 
 browns. The wide semicircle skirting a grove 
 of fine fir trees at the back of the station was 
 covered with virgin snow glittering in the bright 
 sunshine, and there, against this exquisite 
 background, waiting for us and looking like a 
 new toy magnified, stood a beautiful " troika " 
 from the Czar's establishment. 
 
 Even with an utter ignorance of the Russian 
 language it will not be difficult to guess that the 
 word " troika " has something to do with the 
 number three. This most picturesque equipage 
 derives its name from the three horses which 
 are in use with the vehicle, not so much because 
 of its weight, which indeed is so slight that an 
 average boy in the shafts could pull the thing 
 with ease, but merely for greater speed, a 
 maximum of which is secured by the peculiar 
 way in which the horses are hitched and 
 harnessed, one in the shafts, the two bars of 
 which, just about in the middle of their length, 
 are connected by a high arch widening at the 
 top, the two others outside, with their heads 
 slightly forced downwards and turned, the near 
 horse's to the left, the off horse's to the right, 
 with the result that whilst the middle horse 
 trots, or rather paces for nearly all Russian
 
 v MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 65 
 
 carriage-horses move the fore- and hind-legs of 
 the same side in the same direction the two 
 outside ones, except when walking, must gallop, 
 poor things. This may appear just a little 
 cruel, but I really think the horses being broken 
 in in that way when very young, are accustomed 
 to it from the first, and, to judge from their 
 behaviour at full speed, seem to rather like it. 
 Moreover, the tightness is of course relaxed 
 when they are standing for any length of time. 
 The three dapple-greys magnificent crea- 
 tures, sleek-coated, long-tailed and long-necked 
 on seeing us approach and greet their 
 master, who in a very becoming dark-green 
 uniform stood by them, turned their fine heads 
 toward us I do so like the absence of blinkers 
 on Russian horses and by stamping the 
 ground and champing their bits, which caused 
 the little silver bells hanging from the centre 
 of the arch over the shafts to make short, 
 harmonious little sounds, commenced to show 
 their impatience to be off. This we were now 
 without delay, and no one who has not sped 
 at the rate of about three minutes a mile over 
 frozen, snow-covered ground in a small sleigh 
 drawn by three big horses through Russian 
 plains on a bright, sunny day, can realize the 
 tremendous exhilaration of it. After a little 
 
 under an hour's drive a never-to-be-forgotten 
 
 F
 
 66 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES v 
 
 experience we reached the little village of 
 which my friend's house was, so to speak, 
 " The Hall." Before the thatched hut of an 
 old retainer we stopped. He had been notified 
 of our intention to partake of luncheon there, 
 and now stepped out of the door, a splendid 
 fellow of about thirty-five. He was in holiday 
 attire and, most deferentially greeting us, 
 though with the dignity of a nobleman, bade 
 us welcome in words beautifully chosen and 
 even poetical which my friend translated to 
 me, adding that the Russian language hardly 
 knows such a thing as dialect, and that this 
 man's Russian was as good as his own. On 
 entering the cottage we found in the large, 
 warm, cosy room the wife and two children, 
 evidently freshly dressed for the occasion and 
 looking exceedingly charming in the picturesque 
 national costume. Happy to see my friend 
 whom they seemed to adore, I afterwards 
 learned he had as their friend and physician 
 been ever kind and helpful to them, they 
 reverently kissed his hands ; whilst the patri- 
 archal old grandfather, who had risen from his 
 place by the hearth, a fine tall man, his white, 
 straight hair coming down to his shoulders and 
 his grey beard flowing in long curls almost to 
 the belt of his gaberdine, fell flat on the ground 
 before my friend, kissing the hem of his fur coat.
 
 v MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 67 
 
 I had never seen anything like this before, 
 and was greatly impressed by the unwonted 
 scene, as indeed by all that followed. Whilst 
 my friend talked with the men and the children, 
 and I had a good look round, the housewife 
 began laying the table, distributing on the 
 cloth, snow-white, with red embroidered edges, 
 the plates and napkins, knives, forks, spoons, 
 tumblers, salt-cellars, indeed every requisite 
 of a perfectly served meal. I could not detect 
 anything soiled or broken. The older of the 
 children, a handsome maiden of about fourteen, 
 brought a large earthen jug with " kwast," a sort 
 of home-brewed, very palatable light beer, and 
 after we had sat down, the husband beckoned 
 again in a most dignified manner to his wife 
 to bring in the food. First came, in a steaming 
 bowl, the soup, called " borsht," made of beet- 
 root and cream, into which you put a spoonful 
 of mashed potatoes, which is handed round 
 separately, an excellent concoction ; and now 
 followed the piece de resistance my friend 
 had already prepared me for these national 
 delicacies on a huge platter : a large, oblong 
 cake of breadstuff, nice and brown on the out- 
 side, and containing a big fish baked whole in it 
 with spices and kale which proved, as the soup 
 had before, a most savoury dish. The sweet, 
 too, which ended the sumptuous and highly
 
 68 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES v 
 
 appreciated repast, was a Russian speciality. 
 My friend had evidently wished to let me 
 experience a true Russian day, and certainly 
 succeeded even beyond his own designs, for, 
 as chance would have it, soon after our meal, 
 it happening to be the name-day of some local 
 saint, a priest appeared on his round through 
 the village to bless the ikons, of which there is 
 found at least one in every house, with a lamp, 
 burning vegetable oil, perpetually alight before 
 it. After the benediction had been pronounced, 
 our host poured into a tumbler a quantity of 
 raw vodka, one -fiftieth part of which would 
 have sent me reeling. Imagine my astonish- 
 ment on seeing the pope draining it at one fell 
 swoop without turning a hair. Of course I 
 thought of the number of huts still remaining 
 to be visited by the godly man, and wondered 
 who, after the last imbibition, would escort 
 this six -foot -two and corresponding girth 
 home, and how many people it would require ; 
 but, will you believe it, an hour later, when our 
 " troika " was carrying us back to Gatchina, we 
 met that self-same man coming out of one of 
 the huts, erect and lusty, walking as straight as 
 an arrow, and apparently not a whit the worse 
 for his many blessings. A kitten may remind 
 one of a lion, and years afterwards, in the 
 Scottish Highlands, this wonderful performance
 
 v MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 69 
 
 was recalled to my mind, the scene being the 
 drawing-room of the Manse of Alvey 1 in Inver- 
 ness-shire, which we had taken for some con- 
 secutive summers in the early 'nineties. A 
 presentation was to be made to us on behalf 
 of the parishioners, consisting of two charming 
 water-colour paintings of Loch-an-Eilean, by 
 those excellent artists, Edith and Gertrud 
 Martineau, and an " overflow " for the 
 daughter in the shape of a silver card-case. 
 
 What inspired the graceful act I cannot say, 
 except it be the overkindness of the good 
 people of Alvey. It was in the forenoon that 
 the little deputation of four or five prominent 
 parishioners, headed by the minister, all dressed 
 in their best Sunday black, made their appear- 
 ance. The minister's address of presentation 
 had been followed by my little speech of thanks, 
 after which I went from friend to friend pouring 
 into his tumbler the liquid refreshment in general 
 use at baptisms, marriages, and burials, followed 
 by my daughter with the water- jug. Every 
 one meekly submitted to her ministrations 
 also a sort of baptism until she came to the 
 joiner of Lagganlia, who with a gentle wave 
 of his hand held her off, and, shaking his grey 
 
 1 Generally spelled Alvie ; but my excellent old friend the late 
 Rev. James Anderson, minister of the Parish, had ever been 
 anxious to see the old historical spelling restored.
 
 70 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES v 
 
 elder's head, said, " Naw, naw thank ye 
 a can hae water at hame ! " 
 
 He was then sixty-seven, and only the other 
 day, twenty years later, the dear old man sat, 
 facing a terrible March storm, on the box-seat 
 of the hearse that carried the remains of his 
 guid wife to the kirkyard, two miles away 
 from the home where he is now contentedly 
 waiting to " slip awa' " himself. 
 
 From a Scottish manse to the Imperial 
 kennels at Gatchina is a far cry, though the 
 connecting link might well be the dogs found 
 in both. Sped on our way by the hand- waved 
 blessings of the vodka - proof priest, we soon 
 found ourselves stopping at the entrance to 
 the kennels, where we were received by a very 
 aged man, tall the average height of the 
 Russian man struck me as altogether very 
 considerable and splendidly erect in spite of 
 his age. He was the keeper of the hounds, 
 and at once proceeded to conduct us through 
 what, but for the absence of furniture, seemed 
 more like a succession of drawing-rooms than 
 kennels. The hounds were nearly all of the 
 famous wolf-hound breed. In the first room, 
 beautifully light and airy, two of them, the 
 Czar's personal favourites, were actually repos- 
 ing on large, soft red velvet cushions, the most 
 perfectly shaped dogs I had ever seen : spotlessly
 
 v MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 71 
 
 snow-white, with long-haired, silky coats, their 
 narrow and very long heads finely modelled, 
 as if chiselled out of marble. The old man 
 told us the bones of these animals are exceed- 
 ingly delicate, those of the head especially so, 
 indeed thin to such an extent that it had 
 actually happened on one occasion that two 
 of them had in the excitement of the chase 
 run into each other at full speed, and, un- 
 fortunately knocking their heads together, 
 both fallen dead on the spot, with their skulls 
 broken. There were between fifty and sixty 
 of these lovely creatures in this dogs' palace, 
 each in his or her own bunk, with their names 
 above it. After feasting our eyes on their 
 beauty, the keeper now took out a bunch of 
 keys, and, bidding us follow, prepared us for 
 " a fearful sight." At the end of a little lane 
 in the woods adjoining the kennels we came 
 to a little wooden hut, the door of which led 
 to an enclosure with another door. This our 
 guide unlocked, and on its being opened we 
 beheld, inside a cage formed of very substantial 
 iron bars such as are used in zoological gardens, 
 the fiercest-looking dog imaginable, a bull-dog, 
 dark coated, not particularly large, but broader 
 chested than I had ever believed any dog 
 capable of being. The distance between his 
 short but wonderfully muscular front-legs must
 
 72 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES v 
 
 have been fully fifteen inches. With his large 
 white teeth showing under his short black 
 squat nose, in spite of his mouth being closed, 
 and a head equalling in size the reputed three 
 of that amiable guardian of the entrance to 
 Hades, he looked a veritable Cerberus. This 
 was His Majesty's own particular bear-dog, a 
 species bred purposely for bear-hunting. We 
 were told that this animal would tackle the 
 largest bear, not only without fear but with 
 absolute certainty of success, by jumping on, 
 and imbedding his mighty fangs in the bear's 
 neck. Nothing that poor beast can contrive 
 to free himself is of avail ; even rolling on 
 the ground will not shake off the dog, which 
 holds his prey as in a vice. A last frantic effort 
 usually enables the bear to get up on his hind- 
 legs, and during such a moment the Emperor 
 approaches the animal, and with a vigorous 
 thrust of the large knife finishes him.
 
 VI 
 
 BUT to return to Vienna where, it will be 
 remembered, I was due to sing in Bruch's 
 Odysseus. April 18, 1876 was the date of the 
 performance, historical because of its being 
 the last conducted by Brahms in his capacity as 
 Musical Director of the Society of the Friends 
 of Music, the only official post he has ever held. 
 It took place in the forenoon, and was followed 
 by the solemn ceremony of presenting Brahms 
 with an illuminated address of Farewell, 
 acknowledging his great achievements as con- 
 ductor of the society, and expressing the 
 society's and the chorus's regret at his 
 resignation. 
 
 A local celebrity, rather naughtily styled by 
 Brahms " The poet of the inner town " (Vienna 
 is divided into a number of postal districts 
 radiating from the central one, No. 1, which is 
 called the inner town), delivered a very eulogistic 
 oration, which Brahms, who could hardly 
 disguise his being considerably bored, merely 
 acknowledged with a painfully curt " Thank 
 
 73
 
 74 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES vi 
 
 you very much." Then he took under his arm 
 the folio containing the address and walked 
 away. He afterwards told me that such official 
 proceedings were exceedingly distasteful to 
 him. 
 
 Far more to his liking was the supper at 
 one of the leading hotels, to which, on the 
 evening of that day, a great many of his friends 
 sat down to honour him, and which the presence 
 of ladies made all the more acceptable to the 
 guest of the evening. 
 
 The memory of the anniversary of Beet- 
 hoven's death (March 26) in that year will 
 never fade from my mind, since it was my great 
 privilege to spend part of the day with Brahms 
 in the very chamber in which the great com- 
 poser had died. Common friends -of ours were 
 then living in the suite of rooms once occupied 
 by Beethoven in the Schwarz - Spanierhaus. 
 From the corner of the room in which Beet- 
 hoven's bed had stood, his bust, adorned with 
 a laurel wreath, looked down upon us, and 
 though nearly half a century had passed away 
 since that historical thunderstorm during which 
 the immortal soul of the Titan had freed itself 
 from its earthly fetters, so deeply were we 
 impressed by the solemnity of the memory, that 
 when, after a long silence, we began to speak 
 again, we did so in subdued whispers only until
 
 vi MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 75 
 
 we found ourselves outside again among the 
 stirring crowd of the lively Viennese. 
 
 Soon after those beautiful days I was due 
 at Diisseldorf, the scene of that year's Musical 
 Festival. The first performance there, under 
 Joachim's direction, of Handel's oratorio 
 Hercules had attracted a good many English- 
 men, among them Mr., afterwards Sir George 
 Grove and Walter Broadwood, in whose most 
 genial company I repeatedly found myself 
 during the Festival, and who were responsible 
 for my first thought of England as a possible 
 field for my future activity. A rather amusing 
 thing happened in connection with that first 
 festival performance of Hercules. An enterpris- 
 ing German publisher, rightly anticipating a 
 demand for vocal scores of that fine oratorio, 
 had prepared and published a new German 
 edition of it. In his desire to be as authentic 
 as possible he had taken hold of an old English 
 copy of the work, the title of which happened 
 to read " Handel's Oratorio Hercules in Score" 
 There being, as is often the case, no punctua- 
 tion on the title-page, our friend, whose English 
 must have been on a par with his geography, 
 remembering, perhaps, Gluck's Iphigenia in 
 Tauris, or maybe recollecting having read of 
 " Flagranti," that Italian place, he supposed, 
 where so many refugees from justice are caught
 
 76 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES vi 
 
 every year, and which he could not find on 
 the map either, evidently took it for granted 
 that " Score," pronounced in two syllables, 
 " Sco-re," was another of those out-of-the-way 
 places of ancient history or mythology, and con- 
 fidently sent his volume into the world with 
 the strikingly original title " Hercules in Score, 
 Oratorium von Handel" 
 
 The Diisseldorf Festival was followed, in 
 June, by one at Kiel, the first, if I am not 
 mistaken, ever held in the north of Germany, 
 with Joachim as conductor-in-chief. One of 
 the days, the 28th, being Joachim's birthday, 
 there were special " goings on " after the 
 concert that night. The banquet was rendered 
 particularly interesting by the presence quite 
 a rare event then of an admiral of the United 
 States Navy and his officers, whose ships were 
 anchored in the roadstead off Diisternbrook. 
 After that we younger people, with the glow of 
 fresh successes on our cheeks, and the dream 
 of eternal youth in our hearts, joined by a 
 number of students from the University, poured 
 out into the large and beautiful garden surround- 
 ing the " Fest Halle." Here and there a soft 
 light from a tiny little coloured glass cup 
 peeped invitingly through the dark groves ; 
 the night was cool and lovely ; above us the 
 starry heavens, around us, in the bushes, the
 
 vi MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 77 
 
 nightingales seemed to burst their little throats 
 in the ecstasy of song was it a wonder we 
 could not tear ourselves away, nor even think 
 of sleep ? The dawn was breaking before we 
 knew it, and between four and five that morning 
 some young men could be seen in a boat rowing 
 out to Diisternbrook, there, by a plunge into 
 the glorious sea, to end what in after years I 
 always remembered as and identified with 
 " The lovely night of June," whenever I heard 
 poor Goring- Thomas' charming song. 
 
 If this was the only instance I can recall 
 when, apart from railway journeys, I had 
 deliberately abstained from spending the night 
 in the orthodox manner, viz. in bed, the end 
 of the year provided me with another unique 
 experience, though of a somewhat different 
 character, the scene being the brilliantly 
 lighted studio of the Hungarian painter, Count 
 Zichy, in Paris, and the occasion a no less 
 interesting one than an improvised spiritualistic 
 seance. 
 
 After a capital performance of Mendelssohn's 
 L'Elie in Brussels on the 26th of December, at 
 which the King and Queen and the Countess 
 of Flanders were present, I went to Paris for 
 a few days' holiday. I had letters to Count 
 Zichy, and his more famous compatriot and 
 fellow-artist Muncacszi, and one evening at
 
 78 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES vi 
 
 the former's house I met at dinner Muncacszi, 
 Madame Essipoff, and a young, strange-looking 
 Polish lady with short hair, like a young man's, 
 whose name I have forgotten, who, I after- 
 wards learned, was a " Medium." 
 
 Dinner over, during which Muncacszi had 
 emphatically declared his utter disbelief in 
 spirits and supernatural manifestations, it was 
 proposed to have a test. In the middle of the 
 huge, lofty studio, where we found ourselves 
 after dinner, there stood, on four massive legs, 
 a large, heavy, solid oak table which it would 
 have taken two strong men to lift as much as 
 an inch. This table it was decided to try, by 
 forming a chain of hands on its top, to move, 
 or rather make to move by itself. We had each 
 of us to give our word of honour to Muncacszi 
 not to do anything whatever beyond keeping 
 our hands quietly on the table, not to try any 
 pressure, or to hasten the accomplishment of 
 the task by help of our feet, but to treat the 
 matter as a really serious one. So the thing 
 commenced. We were now all standing around 
 the table, our bodies at least a foot away from 
 it, only our hands, spread out, gently resting 
 on the top, the thumbs of each participant 
 meeting, and the little fingers touching those 
 of her or his neighbour. For fully ten minutes 
 there was no speaking, no sound and no sign,
 
 vi MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 79 
 
 and the sceptics looked triumphant. Then, 
 once in a while, some of us seemed to feel a sort 
 of throbbing pulsation as it were in the table, 
 occasioning a quickly suppressed exclamation. 
 Gradually, however, there could be no doubt 
 that something was happening or going to 
 happen. Muncacszi grew excited, made us 
 swear by all that was dear to us that we were 
 not doing anything. Soon there came a decided 
 swaying movement on the part of the table, 
 and now we others, too, could not disguise our 
 growing excitement. We called out to each 
 other, never, however, breaking the chain of 
 hands : " Did you feel this ? " " It's you that's 
 doing it /" " No, upon my honour /" " Truly!" 
 " Swear to me!" All the while the table was 
 now moving quicker and quicker round and 
 round, we, always without letting go of it, 
 trying to move with it, which, however, grew 
 more and more difficult, until after a while 
 this huge piece of furniture actually danced 
 about all over the room like mad, mostly a 
 little above the floor, until, commencing to get 
 exhausted with the violent exercise, we had to 
 withdraw our hold when, the chain of hands 
 being broken, the thing dropped on to its feet 
 with a heavy thud, like one dead. Naturally 
 it took us quite a while to recover our mental 
 equilibrium. Poor Muncacszi was the last
 
 80 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES vi 
 
 to get over the effects of this certainly strange, 
 though perhaps physically explicable, experience. 
 
 Early the following year I was invited to 
 sing at the annual " Caecilien-Fest " at Minister 
 in Westphalia. There, in that quaint old 
 town, famous for what would have been the 
 great comedy of the Anabaptists but for the 
 excessively cruel punishment meted out to 
 the leaders of those poor deluded fanatics, 
 and of which a ghastly relic was at that time 
 still visible in the shape of an iron cage con- 
 taining the bleached skeleton of one of the chief 
 actors hanging from the spire of the Minster, 
 Julius Otto Grimm and Richard Barth had by 
 their zeal and enthusiasm created a musical 
 atmosphere second to none in Germany, and 
 to be called to one of those St. Cecilia Festivals 
 as a soloist was a much-coveted privilege. 
 Grimm, a German Russian, i.e. a native of the 
 Baltic provinces, was a musician of the first 
 order, and, more than that, one of the kindest, 
 simplest, most lovable of men, cultured beyond 
 the common and of a refreshing, contagious 
 enthusiasm for his art. He was on terms of 
 intimate friendship with Brahms who, like 
 everybody else, loved to come to these charm- 
 ing feasts of music and, on this occasion, 
 was to play his D Minor Concerto for Piano-
 
 vi MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 81 
 
 forte the one in B flat was not written then 
 and to conduct his Triumphal Hymn. 
 
 Richard Barth, an excellent musician, pianist, 
 composer, and violinist, Grimm's right hand, 
 was an extraordinary young man, who in 
 after years amply fulfilled the promise he 
 then gave, for from Miinster he was called as 
 Professor and Music director to the University 
 of Marburg, which a few years later made him 
 a doctor honoris causa of Philosophy. From 
 there he went to Hamburg where after, for 
 a period of ten years, conducting the Phil- 
 harmonic concerts, he now lives as Conductor 
 of the Singakademie and director of the 
 Conservatory of Music. When I called him 
 Grimm's " right hand " I should really have 
 said " left hand " for, gratifying as honours 
 and positions doubtless are, there will always 
 be worthy people to achieve and fill them ; but 
 I doubt if there lives, or ever lived, another 
 violinist who, though not left-handed from 
 birth, fingers with his right hand and bows 
 with his left as Richard Barth does. How he 
 came to do it will, I am sure, as an illustration 
 of what enthusiasm and perseverance can 
 accomplish, be considered worth recording. 
 Born into a musical family, young Richard 
 was given his first little fiddle at the age of 
 three. He soon exhibited a decided talent for 
 
 G
 
 82 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES vi 
 
 the instrument, when, hardly a year later, the 
 boy accidentally severed one of the sinews of 
 the middle finger of his left hand by a cut with 
 a knife. As at that time 1854 surgery was 
 still very far from the marvellous achieve- 
 ments of the present time, the finger healed 
 badly and remained stiff, and there would 
 have been an end to fiddling for the little 
 fellow. So great, however, was his love for 
 his instrument, so keen his disappointment, 
 that his grandfather, himself a good musician, 
 one day conceived the idea of restringing the 
 fiddle in the reversed order, and placing it 
 into the delighted boy's right hand, gave him 
 the bow into the left, with the result that in a 
 very short time Richard had regained the skill 
 he had acquired before the accident, and in 
 time became a violinist of the first rank and 
 the leader of Grimm's orchestra. 
 
 I arrived at Grimm's house a few days 
 previous to the festival, at which, among other 
 things, I was to sing the baritone solo in Brahms' 
 Triumphal Hymn, and, much to my disgust, 
 just a few days before the concert, caught 
 a cold which made me dread that high F in 
 the solo " And behold now, the heavens opened 
 wide." I asked Brahms if he would object 
 to my altering that note into a more convenient 
 one, on account of that cold, and he said :
 
 vi MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 83 
 
 " Not in the least. As far as I am concerned, 
 a thinking, sensible singer may, without hesita- 
 tion, change a note which for some reason or 
 other is for the time being out of his compass, 
 into one which he can reach with comfort, 
 provided always the declamation remains correct 
 and the accentuation does not suffer" 
 
 At the concert Brahms played his concerto 
 superbly. I especially noted his emphasizing 
 each of those tremendous shakes in the first 
 movement by placing a short rest between the 
 last note of one and the first small note before 
 the next. During those short stops he would 
 lift his hands up high and let them come down 
 on the keys with a force like that of a lion's 
 paw. It was grand. 
 
 " Isegrim " for by that sobriquet, the 
 poetical name for bear, dear old Julius Otto 
 Grimm was known and called by his friends 
 conducted, and fairly chuckled with joy at 
 every beautiful phrase. 
 
 The Triumphlied the difficulties of which 
 I could appreciate, when less than four years 
 later I had the privilege of introducing that 
 glorious work to England at a concert I gave 
 in the St. James's Hall for the benefit of the 
 Victoria Hospital for Children went splendidly. 
 Brahms conducted, and the joy and gratifica- 
 tion expressed in his face at the end, when
 
 84 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES vi 
 
 acknowledging the enthusiastic acclamations 
 of audience, chorus, and orchestra, was evidently 
 caused as much by the consciousness of having 
 written a truly great work, as by its reception 
 and appreciation ; a most welcome change from 
 the affected display of modesty or indifference 
 often exhibited on concert platforms. 
 
 The end of that month of February found 
 Brahms and me together in Coblentz on the 
 Rhine, where we were the soloists at one of 
 the regular Symphony Concerts conducted by 
 Maszkowski, a young and enthusiastic musician, 
 a Pole, who afterwards succeeded Bernhard 
 Scholz as conductor of the Orchester Verein in 
 my native Breslau. On the day before the 
 concert there was, as usual (people seemed to 
 have time then), the final full rehearsal 
 " Generalprobe " to which in most places in 
 Germany the public are admitted. Brahms 
 had played Schumann's Concerto in A Minor 
 and missed a good many notes. So in the 
 morning of the day of the concert he went to 
 the Concert Hall to practise. He had asked 
 me to follow him thither a little later and to 
 rehearse with him the songs his, of course he 
 was to accompany for me in the evening. When 
 I arrived at the hall I found him quite alone, 
 seated at the piano and working away for all he 
 was worth, on Beethoven's Choral Fantasia
 
 vi MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 85 
 
 and Schumann's Concerto. He was quite red 
 in the face, and, interrupting himself for a 
 moment on seeing me stand beside him, said 
 with that childlike, confiding expression in his 
 eyes : " Really, this is too bad. Those people 
 to-night expect to hear something especially 
 good, and here I am likely to give them a 
 hoggish mess (Schweinerei). I assure you, I 
 could play to-day, with the greatest ease, far 
 more difficult things, with wider stretches for 
 the fingers, my own concerto for example, but 
 those simple diatonic runs are exasperating. I 
 keep saying to myself : ' But, Johannes, pull 
 yourself together, Do play decently,'' but no 
 use ; it's really horrid." 
 
 After our little private rehearsal of the songs, 
 Brahms, Maszkowski, who had in the mean- 
 time joined us, and I repaired to Councillor 
 Wegeler's, Brahms' host, in accordance with an 
 invitation to inspect the celebrated and really 
 wonderful wine-cellars of his firm, and to par- 
 take of a little luncheon in the sample room 
 afterwards. Toward the end of the repast, 
 which turned out to be a rather sumptuous 
 affair, relished by Brahms as much as by any 
 of us, a bottle of old Rauenthaler of the year 
 '65 was opened, with due ceremony, by our 
 host. It proved indeed to be a rare drop, and 
 we all sat in almost reverential silence, bent
 
 86 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES vi 
 
 over the high, light -green goblets, which we 
 held in close proximity to our respective noses. 
 Wegeler at last broke the silence with the 
 solemn words : " Yes, gentlemen, what Brahms 
 is among the composers, this Rauenthaler is 
 among the wines." Quick as lightning Brahms 
 exclaimed : " Ah, then let's have a bottle of 
 Bach now ! ' 
 
 The concert went off well, as did the supper 
 afterwards. Brahms was in particularly high 
 spirits. The many proofs of sincere admira- 
 tion and affection he had received during his 
 stay in Coblentz had greatly pleased and 
 touched him, and he went so far as to make a 
 speech a very rare thing with him. 
 
 From Coblentz we went to Wiesbaden. We 
 were quite alone in our compartment, and I 
 had the happiness of finding him, in regard to 
 his own self and his way of working, more 
 communicative than ever before. Commencing 
 by speaking of the events of the past days, we 
 soon drifted into talking about art in general 
 and music in particular. 
 
 " There is no real creating" he said, " with- 
 out hard work. That which you would call 
 invention, that is to say, a thought, an idea, is 
 simply an inspiration from above, for which I 
 am not responsible, which is no merit of mine. 
 Yea, it is a present, a gift, which I ought even
 
 vi MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 87 
 
 to despise until I have made it my own by right 
 of hard work. And there need be no hurry 
 about that, either. It is as with the seed-corn ; 
 it germinates unconsciously and in spite of our- 
 selves. When I, for instance, have found the 
 first phrase of a song, say, 
 
 When the sil - very moon .... 
 
 I might shut the book there and then, go for a 
 walk, do some other work, and perhaps not 
 think of it again for months. Nothing, how- 
 ever, is lost. If afterward I approach the 
 subject again, it is sure to have taken shape ; 
 I can now begin really to work at it. But 
 there are composers who sit at the piano with 
 a poem before them, putting music to it from 
 A to Z until it is done. They write themselves 
 into a state of enthusiasm which makes them 
 see something finished, something important, 
 in every bar." 
 
 After the concert that evening we went to 
 the house of the Princess of Hesse-Barchfeld 
 to supper. Although Brahms, Ernst Franck, 
 the genial composer and conductor, who had 
 come over from Mannheim, and I were the only 
 non-aristocratic guests present, the affair was 
 very charming and " gemiitlich." Brahms' 
 
 1 The beginning of the beautiful song, " Die Mainacht," Op. 43.
 
 88 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES vi 
 
 neighbour at table was the very handsome 
 and fascinating wife of a celebrated general, and 
 this fact, together with the fiery Rhine wine, 
 had a most animating effect on him. After 
 supper the greater part of the company had a 
 very lively game of billiards, and just before 
 leaving, the Princess presented Brahms with a 
 handsome box of ebony, to the lid of which a 
 laurel wreath of silver was attached. Each 
 leaf of the wreath had the title of one of 
 Brahms' works engraved on it. He was 
 delighted, though much amused, at finding on 
 one of the leaves TriltmphKed, that colossal 
 Song of Triumph for double chorus and 
 orchestra, and on the very one next to it 
 Wiegenlied, the sweet little lullaby of eighteen 
 bars. 
 
 The following morning there was a matinee 
 musicale at the house of the same Princess 
 of Hesse - Barchfeld. The Frankfort String 
 Quartet, Hugo Heermann leading, had come 
 over for the purpose. Brahms played with 
 them his Quartet in C Minor, Op. 60, and 
 then accompanied me in the longest, and to 
 me the finest, of his romances from Tieck's 
 beautiful Magellone, " Wie soil ich die Freude, 
 die Wonne denn tragen," Op. 33, No. 6. 
 
 After the matinee Brahms took me to the 
 Landgravine Anna of Hesse, a princess of con-
 
 vi MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 89 
 
 siderable musical talent, whom however, as he 
 told me, he mostly admired for her simple 
 and modest, yet extremely cordial and affable 
 manners. Otherwise he did not particularly 
 care for personal intercourse with the " highest 
 spheres of society," as he called them. 
 
 On the Sunday before Shrove Tuesday we 
 had intended to go to the masked ball at the 
 Kursaal, for which we had already taken tickets. 
 In the afternoon, however, Brahms came to 
 my room in the hotel, and said : "I say ! I 
 have another idea ; let us give the tickets to 
 the head -waiter, and ourselves rather go to 
 Mr. X., which will entertain us just as well." 
 
 Mr. X. was a composer of great talent and 
 almost uncanny fertility, one of the most 
 celebrated and popular musicians of the day ; 
 no one, I am quite sure, would be more surprised 
 than he himself, could he he died in 1882, 
 leaving a record of over two hundred published 
 compositions revisit the scenes of his many 
 triumphs and find himself utterly and com- 
 pletely forgotten. 
 
 Neither in England, where, not much longer 
 than a quarter of a century ago, his symphonies 
 used to attract big crowds to the Crystal 
 Palace, nor in his native Germany, can his 
 name now be found on concert programmes, 
 except perhaps, on very rare occasions, as that
 
 90 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES vi 
 
 of the composer of a little song or violin piece. 
 Such is fame ! 
 
 " You know," Brahms said to me, " I am 
 really fond of the man, but can't help being 
 amused at his good-natured loquacity, which 
 to me is as good as a play. Do make him speak 
 of Wagner ; I like that especially ; and also 
 ask him to show you one of his orchestral scores ; 
 they are really models of what copying should 
 be. You will see that Mr. X. is an extraordin- 
 ary fellow. He is not happy unless he com- 
 poses a certain number of hours every day, 
 and with all that he copies even the parts of 
 his symphonies himself." 
 
 Well, to Mr. X.'s house we went accordingly, 
 finding, to our satisfaction, both him and his 
 wife at home. Brahms seemed tired ; he 
 spoke little, which, however, was only natural, 
 since both Mr. X. and his wife seemed to vie 
 with each other as to which could talk most 
 and quickest. At last Mr. X., who constantly 
 reminded me of Don Bartolo without the wig, 
 was called away into the next room by his 
 barber, who had come to shave him, and the 
 task of entertaining us rested on Mrs. X.'s 
 shoulders alone. " You have no idea," she 
 said, " how hard a worker X. is (she never said 
 4 my husband ') ; I am proud and happy to 
 have at last prevailed upon him to go for a
 
 vi MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 91 
 
 walk with our daughter every day for two 
 hours, thus keeping him at least for two hours 
 a day from composing." 
 
 " Ah, that's good, that's very good," said 
 Brahms instantly, again looking as innocent 
 as a new-born babe. Mr. X., upon our taking 
 leave, offered to accompany us on a little stroll 
 through the park, during which he told us he 
 had received an invitation to conduct one of 
 his symphonies at a coming musical festival in 
 Silesia. Upon my speaking rather disparag- 
 ingly of the musical achievements of the moving 
 spirit of that festival, a member of the highest 
 aristocracy, who had published and produced 
 several pretentious and very inferior com- 
 positions of his own, Brahms said to me, with 
 the pretence of a serious rebuke in his voice : 
 " My dear Henschel, let me warn you to be 
 more cautious when speaking of a nobleman's 
 compositions, for you can never know who did 
 'em ! " 
 
 From Wiesbaden we went to Frankfort on 
 the Main. On arriving at the old hotel where 
 I had been in the habit of putting up, room 
 No. 42 was allotted to us by one of the menials. 
 While, however, we were sitting in the tap- 
 room over a farewell bottle of Rhine wine, the 
 head waiter, who knew us, came up to me, 
 announcing that a far better room, No. 11, had
 
 92 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES vi 
 
 been placed at our disposal. After a cosy chat 
 in the course of which, to my great delight, 
 Brahms had asked me if I knew of a very 
 remote, quiet spot, untrodden by excursionists, 
 where, during the summer vacation, we might 
 spend a week or two together we retired to 
 room No. 11, and it was my instant and most 
 ardent endeavour to go to sleep before Brahms 
 did, as I knew from past experience that other- 
 wise his impertinently healthy habit of snoring 
 would mean death to any hope of sleep on 
 my part. 
 
 My delight at seeing him take up a book 
 and read in bed was equalled only by my 
 horror when, after a few minutes, I saw him 
 blow out the light of his candle. A few seconds 
 later the room was fairly ringing with the most 
 unearthly noises issuing from his nasal and 
 vocal organs. What should I do ? I was in 
 despair, for I wanted sleep, and, moreover, had 
 to leave for Berlin early next morning. A 
 sudden inspiration made me remember room 
 No. 42. I got up, and went downstairs to the 
 lodge of the porter, whom, not without some 
 difficulty, I succeeded in rousing from a sound 
 sleep. Explaining cause and object, I made 
 him open room No. 42 for me. After a good 
 night's rest, I returned, early in the morning, 
 to the room in which I had left Brahms.
 
 vi MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 93 
 
 He was awake and, affectionately looking 
 at me, with the familiar little twinkle in his 
 eye and mock seriousness in his voice, said to 
 me, well knowing what had driven me away : 
 " Oh, Henschel, when I awoke and found your 
 bed empty, I said to myself, ' There ! lie's gone 
 and hanged himself ! ' But really, why didn't 
 you throw a boot at me ? 5: 
 
 The idea of my throwing a boot at Brahms ! 
 
 During our hurried breakfast Brahms, 
 returning to Vienna, also had to take an early 
 train we again spoke of the coming summer, 
 and he seemed rather attracted by the glowing 
 description I gave him of the island of Riigen, 
 in the Baltic Sea, which I had visited before 
 and was very fond of, but which was quite un- 
 known to him. So we parted with a hearty 
 " Auf Wiedersehn," which made me very 
 happy in anticipation. 
 
 Soon after this, in April, I had the privilege 
 of being the guest, at the New Palace, Darm- 
 stadt, of the late and much-lamented Princess 
 Alice of Great Britain, the consort of Prince, 
 afterwards Grand-Duke, Louis of Hesse. The 
 Princess was a very remarkable woman : 
 simple and unaffected ; warm-hearted, broad- 
 minded some Philistines in Germany grumbled 
 at her friendship with David Strauss, the free- 
 thinker ; wonderfully versed in literature, science
 
 94 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES vi 
 
 and the arts ; a devoted wife, and a model 
 mother. Of her rare thoughtfulness I shall 
 presently give an example. 
 
 On my former professional visits to Darm- 
 stadt I had been staying at the house of her 
 secretary, Dr. Becker, and the invitation this 
 time to the Palace came as a most gratifying 
 surprise to me. 
 
 I had a little suite of apartments assigned to 
 me, consisting of sitting-room, bedroom, and 
 in private houses then an almost unheard of 
 luxury my own bathroom 1 A valet was 
 placed at my disposal for exclusive attendance 
 on me, and I felt altogether very grand. I am 
 sure I must have written some fifty letters or 
 so during that three days' visit. The most 
 distant members of my family, the most 
 neglected of my friends, I think, even, a few 
 enemies, were suddenly and affectionately re- 
 membered by me ; for the writing-paper, with 
 the royal cipher and the heading " New Palace, 
 Darmstadt," beautifully embossed on it, was 
 altogether irresistible. 
 
 Every afternoon the children sometimes 
 they did it rather reluctantly had to play to 
 me on the pianoforte, and every evening after 
 dinner I was the only guest staying at the 
 Palace the Princess and I played some four- 
 hand arrangements of classical music. On one
 
 vi MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 95 
 
 occasion she showed me two volumes of old 
 English, Scottish, Irish, and Welsh melodies 
 which perfectly fascinated me, and the Princess, 
 seeing my enthusiasm, expressed great regret 
 at being unable to make me a present of them, 
 they having been given to her by her husband ; 
 '' but," she said, " if ever you should go to 
 England, I shall see that you get them." I 
 was exceedingly grateful for what I took to be 
 a very charming fagon de parler, and soon 
 forgot all about it until, a year later, a few days 
 after my first arrival in London, I returned to 
 my rooms one night and found a big parcel for 
 me on the hall table, bearing on the cover the 
 words, " By command of H.R.H. Princess Louis 
 of Hesse," and containing the precious volumes. 
 
 There were only a few more concerts during 
 the following two months, and the long and 
 eagerly looked for holiday with Brahms drew 
 nearer and nearer. At last a note from him 
 told me of his having arrived at Sassnitz, and 
 as soon as I had packed my " seven things," as 
 they say in Germany, and taken leave of my 
 mother and sisters in Dresden, I started to 
 join him. 
 
 During that unforgettable time of our daily 
 intercourse I kept a diary, into which I made 
 my entries every evening.
 
 96 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES vi 
 
 Outside of Germany and Austria, Brahms' 
 native and adopted countries, his works are 
 loved nowhere better nor known more widely 
 than in England. Yea, I doubt if, as regards 
 Brahms' place among the composers of the 
 world, anything has been written which in 
 soundness of judgment, discrimination, and 
 appreciation can compare with Sir W. H. 
 Hadow's admirable article, " Brahms and the 
 Classical Tradition," published soon after the 
 master's death, in the Contemporary Review. 
 Yet, Brahms never having visited England, 
 and the number of those who knew him at all 
 intimately being very small, I venture to hope 
 that this journal will not be unwelcome to the 
 many who, though more or less familiar with 
 Brahms the composer, would fain know a little 
 more of Brahms the man.
 
 VII 
 
 SASSNITZ, ON THE ISLAND OF RtiGEN, 
 Saturday, July 8, 1876. 
 
 ARRIVED here last night. The diligence was 
 delayed by one of the heaviest thunderstorms 
 I can remember, and I did not pull up at the 
 little hostelry, which also contains the post- 
 office, until half-past eleven ; but in spite of 
 the inclemency of the weather and the late 
 hour, Brahms was there to welcome me, and 
 we had an hour's chat in the little coffee- 
 room. Then he returned to his lodgings 
 down in the village, whilst I came up here 
 to the hotel on the Fahrnberg, where, how- 
 ever, to my great delight, Brahms is going 
 to have his mid - day and evening meals 
 regularly. 
 
 Sunday, July 9. 
 
 X 
 
 Early yesterday morning Brahms came up 
 to go bathing with me. There was a fine surf 
 on, and the temperature of the water being 
 rather high we stayed in it for nearly half an 
 hour, enjoying ourselves hugely. I greatly 
 
 97 H
 
 98 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES vii 
 
 admired Brahms' burly, well-knit, muscular 
 body, which is only rather too much inclined 
 to stoutness, I fear. 
 
 In the water he drew my attention to the 
 possibility of keeping one's eyes wide open 
 when diving. It is not only possible, he said, 
 but also very agreeable and strengthening for 
 the eyes. I at once followed his advice to try, 
 succeeding immediately, and we greatly amused 
 ourselves by throwing little copper coins into 
 the water and diving for them. 
 
 In the evening we sat together in the 
 Fahrnberg. I showed him the new series of 
 Moritz Hauptmann's letters. 
 
 After we had read a few, he said : " How 
 discreet one ought to be in writing letters. 
 Who knows, some day they'll be printed. 
 Now, there's hardly anything in these letters 
 which would not read just as well if their 
 contents were reversed. To be sure it is an 
 agreeable gift to be able to write clever letters, 
 but only letters of purely scientific purport are 
 in my opinion of real value to any but those 
 they are written to." 
 
 I drew Brahms' attention especially to one 
 letter, written to Professor R. 1 I expressed 
 my surprise at the lenient and amiable way in 
 
 1 An able, but decidedly mediocre composer of good birth, who 
 at that time occupied a rather prominent position as teacher at one 
 of the Musical Institutions of Berlin.
 
 vii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 99 
 
 which Hauptmann spoke of that gentleman's 
 compositions. 
 
 "Well," said Brahms, "you see, R. had 
 very aristocratic connections and Haupt- 
 mann ... a very delicate nature." 
 
 In the course of our talk one of the greatest 
 virtuosos of the day, a personal friend of 
 Brahms, was mentioned. " There are people," 
 Brahms said, " who can talk and talk about the 
 most unlikely, impossible thing until they 
 actually believe it themselves. It's what I 
 would call Twaddle. For instance, the other 
 day, after having played the last movement 
 of my C Minor Quartet, in which a friend 
 detected a certain resemblance to Mendelssohn's 
 Trio in C Minor, without realizing that what, 
 there, is theme itself, is with me simply an 
 accompanying figure, my friend asked me, 
 in all seriousness, mind, ' Now, am I not 
 right : you wanted to show what you could 
 do with that theme ? ' How silly ! " 
 
 Two stories which Brahms told me I write 
 down as showing what a tender, sympathetic 
 heart he has. Both stories refer to Mr. N. 1 
 ' With us in Vienna," Brahms began, " it 
 frequently occurs that the postmen, though 
 officially obliged to deliver all letters at the 
 
 1 A well-known writer and commentator on music, then living in 
 Vienna.
 
 100 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES vn 
 
 doors of the respective flats to which they are 
 addressed, leave them with the concierge of 
 the house, who, as you know, always has his 
 little lodgings in the souterrain. Well, Mr. N., 
 who lived in the fourth floor, once received a 
 letter in that way twenty-four hours later than 
 he ought to have, if the postman had delivered 
 it, according to his duty, at the door. 
 
 " Without warning, N. lodged an informa- 
 tion against the offender with the general 
 postmaster, who ordered the matter to be 
 investigated. In the meantime a colleague of 
 the poor postman had succeeded in persuading 
 Mr. N.'s servant-girl to take the blame upon 
 herself, since nothing could happen to her, 
 whilst the postman, who was a married man 
 with a family, would surely be dismissed. 
 When, consequently, the post office com- 
 missioners appeared at N.'s house to ascertain 
 the exact facts of the case, the servant-girl 
 stepped forward, boldly declaring it was she 
 who had omitted to deliver the letter, which 
 had been in her pocket those twenty-four 
 hours. And the postman was saved." 
 
 Brahms' whole face beamed with joy as he 
 told the story, and especially the action of the 
 brave and generous girl he could not praise 
 highly enough. 
 
 The second story is equally pathetic.
 
 vii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 101 
 
 " N. and I," said Brahms, " met at the same 
 table in a certain coffee-house regularly on two 
 or three evenings in the week, and it always 
 used to embarrass me greatly when, on pay- 
 ing our bills, N. suspiciously scrutinized his, 
 questioning the waiter as to this or that 
 little item which he was not sure of having 
 had, etc. 
 
 " One evening, when this had happened 
 again, the waiter came close up to N., and 
 whispered into his ear, his voice trembling with 
 excitement and indignation : ' I beg of you, 
 Mr. N., not to mistrust me ; I could not live 
 if I thought you doubted my honesty.' Then 
 he retired. N. got up without changing a 
 muscle in his face, and left. A little later, 
 when I went home myself, I gave the waiter an 
 unusually large douceur, and said, ' This . . . 
 is ... from the other gentleman as well.' : 
 
 Brahms is looking splendid. His solid frame, 
 the healthy, dark-brown colour of his face, the 
 full hair, just a little sprinkled with grey, all 
 make him appear the very image of strength 
 and vigour. He walks about here just as he 
 pleases, generally with his waistcoat un- 
 buttoned and his hat in his hand, always with 
 clean linen, but without collar or necktie. 
 These he dons at table d'hote only. His whole 
 appearance vividly recalls some of the portraits
 
 102 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES vn 
 
 of Beethoven. His appetite is excellent. He 
 eats with great gusto and, in the evening, 
 regularly drinks his three glasses of beer, never 
 omitting, however, to finish off with his beloved 
 " Kaffee." 
 
 July 10. 
 
 Yesterday afternoon I spent nearly three 
 hours in Brahms' rooms. He showed me new 
 songs of his, asking me if I could suggest a 
 short way of indicating that a certain phrase 
 in one of them was not his own. 
 
 " I have," he said, " taken a charming 
 motive of Scarlatti's 
 
 ffiU J J i r-i^E 
 
 as the theme of a song I composed to one of 
 Goethe's poems, and should like to acknowledge 
 my indebtedness." I proposed, as the best and 
 simplest way, that he should merely place 
 Scarlatti's name at the end of the phrase in 
 question. 1 
 
 He also showed me the manuscript of an 
 unpublished song and the first movement of a 
 Requiem Mass, both by Schubert, enthusiasti- 
 cally commenting on their beauty. The first 
 two issues of the Bach Society's publication of 
 
 1 This was done, and the spirited, humorous song afterwards 
 published as No. 5 of Op. 72 (Simrock).
 
 vii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 103 
 
 cantatas were lying on his table, and he pointed 
 out to me how badly the accompaniments were 
 often arranged for the piano ; how, in fact, the 
 endeavour to bring out as nearly as possible 
 every individual part of the orchestra had 
 rendered the arrangement well-nigh unplayable 
 for any but a virtuoso. 
 
 " The chief aim," he said, " of a pianoforte 
 arrangement of orchestral accompaniments 
 must always be to be easily playable. Whether 
 the different parts move correctly, i.e. in strict 
 accordance with the rules of counterpoint, does 
 not matter in the least." 
 
 Then we went together through the full 
 score of Mozart's Requiem, which he had 
 undertaken to prepare for a new edition of that 
 master's works. I admired the great trouble 
 he had taken in the revision of the score. 
 Every note of Siissmayer's was most carefully 
 distinguished from Mozart's own. 
 
 It was a wonderful experience to have this 
 man's company quite to myself for so long a 
 time. During all these days Brahms has never 
 spoken of anything which does not really 
 interest him, never said anything superfluous 
 or commonplace, except at the table d'hdte, 
 where he purposely talks of hackneyed things, 
 such as the weather, food, the temperature of 
 the water, excursions, etc., etc.
 
 104 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES vn 
 
 July 11. 
 
 I bought a strong hammock yesterday, and 
 Brahms and I .went into the lovely beech- 
 wood and hung it up between two trees, on a 
 spot from which through the foliage we could 
 see the sea far below us. We both managed 
 to climb into it simultaneously, an amusing, 
 though by no means easy task to accomplish. 
 After having comfortably established ourselves 
 in it, we enjoyed a very cosy, agreeable hour 
 or two of dolce far niente. Brahms was in an 
 angelic mood, and went from one charming, 
 interesting story to another, in which the 
 gentler sex played a not unimportant part. 
 
 In the afternoon we resolved to go on an 
 expedition to find his bullfrog pond, of which 
 he had spoken to me for some days. His sense 
 of locality not being very great, we walked on 
 and on across long stretches of waste moorland. 
 Often we heard the weird call of bullfrogs in 
 the distance, but he would say : " No, that's 
 not my pond yet," and on we walked. At last 
 we found it, a tiny little pool in the midst of a 
 wide plain grown with heather. We had not 
 met a human being the whole way, and this 
 solitary spot seemed out of the world altogether. 
 
 " Can you imagine," Brahms began, " any- 
 thing more sad and melancholy than this music, 
 the undefinable sounds of which for ever and
 
 vii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 105 
 
 ever move within the pitiable compass of a 
 diminished third ? 
 
 " Here we can realise how fairy tales of 
 enchanted princes and princesses have origin- 
 ated. . . . Listen ! There he is again, the 
 poor King's son with his yearning, mournful 
 C flat I " i 
 
 We stretched ourselves out in the low 
 grass, it was a very warm evening, lighted 
 cigarettes and lay listening in deepest silence, 
 not a breath of wind stirring, for fully half an 
 hour. Then we leaned over the pond, caught 
 tiny little baby frogs and let them jump into 
 the water again from a stone, which greatly 
 amused Brahms, especially when the sweet 
 little creatures, happy to be in their element 
 once more, hurriedly swam away, using their 
 nimble little legs most gracefully and according 
 to all the rules of the natatory art. When they 
 thought themselves quite safe, Brahms would 
 tenderly catch one up again in his hand, and 
 heartily laugh with pleasure on giving it back 
 its freedom. . . . 
 
 During our walk homeward, we spoke almost 
 exclusively of musical matters, and he said : 
 
 1 It is interesting to note that in Brahms' songs dating from 
 this period this interval frequently occurs.
 
 106 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES vn 
 
 " You must practise more gymnastics, my dear, 
 four-part songs, variations, string quartets, etc. ; 
 that will be beneficial to your opera, too." 1 
 
 As we parted for the night, he called after 
 me : " Come for me to-morrow morning, to go 
 bathing ; and bring new songs, Gerda score, or 
 other beautiful things." (How he does like to 
 tease !) So this morning I brought him three 
 new songs of mine. 
 
 The afternoon was again spent in the ham- 
 mock, and on the way home we came to talk 
 of Wagner's trilogy, The Ring of the Nibelungs. 
 I had just spoken of some, to me, especially 
 beautiful places in the first act of The Valkyrie, 
 and of the fresh and breezy song of Siegfried in 
 Siegfried " From the wood forth into the world 
 fare." 
 
 " Certainly," he said, " these are fine things, 
 but I can't help it, somehow or other, they do 
 not interest me. What you just hummed 
 
 is no doubt beautiful ; and when Siegmund in 
 the Valkyrie pulls the sword out of the tree, 
 that's fine, too ; but it would, in my opinion, 
 be really powerful and carry one away, if it all 
 concerned let us say, young Buonaparte, or 
 
 1 I was engaged at that time in writing a very tragic opera 
 Gerda I
 
 vii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 107 
 
 some other hero who stands nearer to our 
 sensibilities, has a closer claim to our affection. 
 And then that stilted, bombastic language." 
 He took a copy of the text-book. " Listen " : 
 
 An Briinnhild's Felsen 
 Fahret vorbei : 
 Der dort noch lodert, 
 Weiset Loge nach Walhall ! 
 
 Denn der Cotter Ende 
 
 Dammert nun auf ; 
 So werf' ich den Brand 
 In WalhalPs prangende Burg. 
 
 (By Brynhild's rock then 
 Take ye the road. 
 Who still there flameth, 
 Loge, show him to Walhall. 
 
 For the end of the Gods 
 
 Is dawning at last ; 
 Thus throw I the torch 
 Into WalhalPs glittering walls.) 
 
 He recited the words with greatly exagger- 
 ated pathos. " If I read this to a counting- 
 house clerk, I am sure it would make a tremend- 
 ous impression : l So werf ich den Brand 
 . . . / do not understand this kind of thing. 
 What really does happen with the ring ? Do 
 you know ? And those endless and tedious duets ! 
 Look at even Goethe's Tasso, a masterpiece of 
 the first rank. Every word there is pure gold ; 
 yet the long duets in it, though fine reading, pre- 
 vent the play from being interesting as a drama."
 
 108 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES vn 
 
 July 12. 
 
 I went to Brahms' rooms last night. He 
 had been reading, but, putting away his book, 
 gave me a cordial welcome and began looking 
 through my new manuscript songs. He took 
 up the one in E flat " Where Angels linger," 1 
 and said, " Now there is a charming song. In 
 some of the others you seem to me too easily 
 satisfied. One ought never to forget that by 
 actually perfecting one piece one gains and 
 learns more than by commencing or half-finish- 
 ing a dozen. Let it rest, let it rest, and keep 
 going back to it and working at it over and over 
 again, until it is completed as a finished work of 
 art, until there is not a note too much or too little, 
 not a bar you could improve upon. Whether 
 it is beautiful also, is an entirely different 
 matter, but perfect it must be. You see, I am 
 rather lazy, but I never cool down over a work, 
 once begun, until it is perfected, unassailable." 
 
 Thus he continued speaking, drawing, in the 
 most amiable way, my attention to this little 
 defect, that little blemish, so that I sat happy 
 and silent, careful not to interrupt this, to me, 
 so precious lesson. 
 
 July 13. 
 
 I asked him yesterday if he had thought of 
 going to the inauguration performances of 
 
 1 Afterwards published in Op. 34 (Bote & Bock).
 
 vii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 109 
 
 The Nibelungs' Ring at Bayreuth in August. 
 " I am afraid," he said, " it's too expensive. I 
 have repeatedly heard Rheingold and Walkiire 
 at Munich, and confess it would greatly interest 
 me, but well, we'll think of it." 
 
 Then, taking up the volume of Hauptmann's 
 letters I had lent him, and pointing to one of 
 them, he said : " Just look ; do you see these 
 asterisks instead of a name ? " I did, and 
 read the whole sentence, which described a 
 certain composer, indicated by the asterisks, as 
 a rather haughty young man. " That's me," 
 said Brahms amusedly. " When I was a very 
 young man I remember playing, at Gottingen, 
 my Sonata in C to Hauptmann. He was 
 not very complimentary about it, in fact, had 
 much fault to find with it, which I, a very 
 modest youth at that time, accepted in perfect 
 silence. I afterwards heard that this silence 
 had been interpreted and complained of as 
 haughtiness. I confess, the more I read of 
 these letters the clearer it becomes to me that 
 they are written with a certain consciousness of 
 importance. Beethoven would have laughed 
 if any one, seeing in one of his letters a remark 
 on any subject whatever, had taken this as 
 proving the justice of such remark. But there 
 are people take, for instance, Varnhagen 
 who, never having accomplished anything really
 
 110 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES vii 
 
 great themselves, sit down at their writing- 
 desks in a peevish, sulky temper, pulling to 
 pieces even when praising everything they 
 can lay hold of. To twaddle about Bach or 
 Beethoven, as is done in the letters to Hauser, 
 in a chattering, feuilletonistic way, is wholly 
 unnecessary : they are too great for that kind 
 of thing." 
 
 July 14. 
 
 Last evening we were sitting downstairs in 
 the coffee-room, having supper, when suddenly 
 some one in the adjoining dining-hall began to 
 play Chopin's Study in A flat on the piano. I 
 sprang up, intending to put a stop to it, and 
 exclaiming, " Oh, these women ! " when Brahms 
 said, " No, my dear, this is no woman." I 
 went into the hall to look, and found he was 
 right. " Yes," he said, " in this respect I am 
 hardly ever mistaken ; and it is by no means 
 an easy thing to distinguish, by the sense of 
 hearing alone, a feminine man from a masculine 
 woman ! 5: 
 
 July 15. 
 
 Yesterday morning I took to Brahms the 
 orchestral score of Wagner's Goiter ddmmerung. 
 In the afternoon he said to me, " Why did you 
 bring it to me ? " (He had particularly asked
 
 vii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 111 
 
 me for it !) " The thing interests, and fasci- 
 nates one, and yet, properly speaking, is not 
 always pleasant. With the Tristan score it is 
 different. If I look at that in the morning, I 
 am cross for the rest of the day." 1 
 
 . . . To-day I read out, from a Berlin paper, 
 the news of the death, at Bayreuth, of a member 
 of the Wagner orchestra. " The first corpse," 
 
 said Brahms, dryly. 
 
 
 
 July 17. 
 
 Yesterday I was with Brahms from noon 
 until eleven at night without interruption. He 
 was in excellent spirits. We had our swim in 
 the sea together, and again found much amuse- 
 ment in diving for little red pebbles. After 
 
 1 I well remember my wondering at the time just what meaning 
 Brahms intended to convey by these words. My old friend, Max 
 Kalbeck, editor of the Neues Tagblatt in Vienna, who published 
 excerpts from my diary in his paper, made the following comment 
 on them : 
 
 " This sentence needs an explanation, since it could easily be 
 interpreted as meaning that Tristan, in contrast to the ' not 
 always pleasant ' Ring of the Nibelungs, had pleased Brahms very 
 much, so much, indeed, that it made him cross out of envy. We 
 know from personal experience that Brahms, though warmly 
 acknowledging the many musical beauties of the work, had a 
 particular dislike for Tristan, and as to envy, he never in his 
 life envied any one. In Wagner he admired, above all, the magni- 
 tude of his intentions and the energy in carrying them out. The 
 Bayreuth Festival Theatre he hailed as a national affair. We 
 believe the chief reason why Brahms never went to Bayreuth is to 
 be found in the circumstance that the performances always 
 happened at a season when he, after long and arduous creative 
 work, was wont to give himself up entirely to the recreation of an 
 out-of-door life in the country."'
 
 112 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES vn 
 
 the mid-day dinner Brahms was lying in my 
 room, in the hammock which I had secured 
 between window and door, while I read to him 
 Meilhac's amusing comedy, L* Attache. After 
 the usual coffee at a coffee-house on the beach, 
 we went for a long stroll in the Hansemann 
 Park, near Crampas, the nearest village. We 
 spoke, among other things, of Carl Loewe. 
 Brahms thinks highly of his ballads and Serbian 
 songs. '"However, with us in Vienna," he 
 said, " Loewe is, to my regret, much overrated. 
 One places him, in his songs, side by side with, 
 in Ms ballads, above, Schubert, and overlooks 
 the fact that what with the one is genius, with 
 the other is merely talented craft. . . . 
 
 " In writing songs," he cautioned me, " you 
 must endeavour to invent, simultaneously with 
 the melody, a healthy, powerful bass. You 
 stick too much to the middle parts. In that 
 song in E flat, for instance " he again referred 
 to " Where Angels linger " " you have hit 
 upon a very charming middle part, and the 
 melody, too, is very lovely, but that isn't all, 
 is it ? And then, my dear friend, let me counsel 
 you : no heavy dissonances on the unaccentu- 
 ated parts of the bar, please ! That is weak. 
 I am very fond of dissonances, you'll agree, 
 but on the heavy, accentuated parts of the bar, 
 and then let them be resolved easily and gently."
 
 vii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 113 
 
 Speaking of Schubert's setting of Goethe's 
 songs, he said, " Schubert's ' Suleika ' songs are 
 to me the only instances where the power and 
 beauty of Goethe's words have been enhanced 
 by the music. All other of Goethe's poems 
 seem to me so perfect in themselves ' that no 
 music can improve them." 
 
 Passing from music to literature, he re- 
 marked : " Paul Heyse used to be one of the 
 most charming men imaginable. He was 
 beautiful and exceptionally amiable, and I 
 hardly know of any one who, suddenly entering 
 a room, would illuminate it, so to speak, by his 
 personality in the way Heyse did. 
 
 " Bodenstedt is greatly overrated. His 
 poetry is my special aversion. Geibel, on the 
 other hand, seems to me not appreciated 
 enough." 
 
 
 
 Perhaps I may be allowed here to interrupt 
 the diary for a moment, and to draw the reader's 
 attention to the discretion and judiciousness 
 with which Brahms selected the words for his 
 songs. 
 
 If we look at the texts to his vocal music, of 
 which there exists a vast mass, we shall find 
 that the sources individual or national from 
 which he drew his inspiration, have in them- 
 selves been, to a greater or lesser degree, 
 
 I
 
 114 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES vn 
 
 inspired. All his songs, duets, quartets, etc., 
 are set to beautiful, significant, worthy poems. 
 
 If one of the chief aims of art be to elevate, 
 i.e. to raise mankind for the time being above 
 the commonplace routine of life, above paltry 
 everyday thoughts and cares, in short, from 
 things earthy to things celestial, surely such an 
 aim should be discernible even in the smallest 
 form of the expression of art. 
 
 Just as the beauties of nature, testifying to 
 the incomprehensible greatness of the divine 
 power, reveal themselves as convincingly in a 
 little primrose as in the huge trees of the 
 Yosemite Valley, in the sweet prattling of a 
 little brooklet as in the roaring thunder of 
 Niagara, in the lovely undulations of the 
 Scottish hills as in the awe-inspiring heights of 
 the Himalayas, so beauty of soul, honesty of 
 purpose, purity of mind, can shine as brightly 
 in the shortest song as in the longest symphony. 
 
 No true artist then in the realm of music 
 will debase his muse by wedding it to senti- 
 mental trash as far removed from poetry as a 
 mole-hill from Mount Parnassus, though it often 
 be a difficult task, especially for young people, 
 to distinguish sentimentality from sentiment. 
 
 The former may be described as superficial, 
 aimless pity ; affected, unreal, unwholesome 
 emotion. Sentiment, on the other hand, is true
 
 vii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 115 
 
 emotion ; it is the feeling that grows naturally 
 out of the sympathetic contemplation of a 
 thing ; and the sentiment it is, not the thing, 
 which we ought to look for, in the first place, 
 even in a little song, as a fit object for poetic 
 and musical expression. 
 
 A true artist's spirit will not allow itself 
 to be moved by versifications of penny-a-line 
 newspaper reports, such as the capsizing of a 
 little pleasure-boat with two hapless lovers in 
 it, or the death by starvation of a poor old 
 seamstress ready to meet her lover in heaven, 
 or effusions of a similar kind, generally ending 
 in pseudo-religious inferences and exhortations 
 little short of blasphemy. 
 
 The standing of the pale, hungry little boy 
 outside the window of a confectioner's shop and 
 observing inside the shop the rich, ruddy little 
 fellow eating his fill, that is not poetry, even 
 if put into faultless verse and rhyme, but simply 
 a fact, and a sad one, too, the contemplation of 
 which might, in a fine poetic mind, produce the 
 most beautiful sentiments of compassion with 
 the sufferings of our fellow-creatures, of tender- 
 ness, of love ; but to let the poor little chap 
 march straightway to heaven, to the fortissimo 
 accompaniment of triplets on the last page of 
 an up-to-date ballad, that is sentimentality, 
 and cruel mockery into the bargain.
 
 116 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES vn 
 
 I well remember what fun Brahms and I 
 had in later years when I showed him some 
 specimens of the typical popular English ballad, 
 now fortunately almost an extinct species, 
 and how we laughed especially over the sad 
 ones ! But to return to the rest of the journal. 
 
 After supper we sat, quite alone in the dark 
 on the terrace of the Fahrnberg. Soon our 
 conversation took a more serious turn. He 
 spoke of friendship and of men, and how, 
 properly speaking, he believed very little in 
 either. 
 
 " How few true men there are in the world ! ' 
 he exclaimed. " The two Schumanns, Robert 
 and Clara, there you have two true, beautiful 
 ' Menschenbilder ' (images of man). Know- 
 ledge, achievement, power, position nothing 
 can outweigh this : to be a beautiful * Menschen- 
 bild.' Do you know Allgeyer in Munich ? 1 
 There you have one, too." And then he began 
 to talk with touching warmth of the time 
 when, in Allgeyer's house at Karlsruhe, he wrote 
 his "Mainacht " and the D Minor movement of 
 his Requiem. ..." I sometimes regret," he 
 
 1 An engraver and photographer with a great love for music ; 
 the intimate friend of the painter Anselm Feuerbach, and one of a 
 small circle of musicians, painters, and poets then living in Munich, 
 and comprising, among others, Hermann Levi, Franz Lenbach, 
 Paul Heyse, and Wilhelm Busch.
 
 vii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 117 
 
 said to me after some moments of silence, " that 
 I did not marry. I ought to have a boy of 
 ten now ; that would be nice. But when I was 
 of the right age for marrying I lacked the 
 position to do so, and now it is too late." 
 
 Speaking of this had probably revived in 
 him reminiscences of his own boyhood, for he 
 continued : " Only once in my life have I 
 played truant and shirked school, and that was 
 the vilest day of my life. When I came home 
 my father had already been informed of it, and 
 I got a solid hiding." 
 
 " But still," he said, " my father was a dear 
 old man, very simple-minded and most un- 
 sophisticated, of which qualities I must give 
 you an amusing illustration : 
 
 " You know he was a double-bass player in 
 the Municipal Orchestra of Hamburg, and in 
 his leisure hours tried to increase his scanty 
 little income by copying music. 
 
 "He was sitting in his room at the top of 
 the house one fine day, with the door wide 
 open, absorbed in writing out the parts from 
 an orchestral score, when in walked a tramp, 
 begging. My father looked up at him quickly, 
 without interrupting his work, and, in his very 
 pronounced Hamburg dialect, said : 
 
 " e I cannot give you anything, my dear man. 
 Besides, don't you know it's very wrong of
 
 118 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES vn 
 
 you to come into a room in this way ? How 
 easily might you not have taken my overcoat 
 that's hanging in the hall ! Get out, and don't 
 you do it again ! ' 
 
 " The tramp humbly apologized and with- 
 drew. 
 
 " When, a few hours later, my father wanted 
 to go out for a walk, the overcoat had of course 
 disappeared." 
 
 Brahms then touched upon his relations 
 with the members of his family, and told me he 
 still supported his old stepmother. With his 
 sister he had little in common ; their interests 
 had always been too far apart. Between his 
 brother, whom he had likewise supported, and 
 himself, there existed no intercourse what- 
 ever. . . . 
 
 The other day I happened to hum the theme 
 of the Andante from his Quartet in C Minor. 
 He seemed rather to like my doing so, for when 
 it came to the place 
 
 he accompanied my humming with gentle 
 movements of his hand, as if beating time to 
 it. At last he smilingly said : 'I am not at 
 all ashamed to own that it gives me the keenest 
 pleasure if a song, an adagio, or anything of
 
 viz MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 119 
 
 mine, has turned out particularly good. How 
 must those gods : Bach, Mozart, Beethoven, 
 have felt, whose daily bread it was to write 
 things like the St. Matthew Passion, Don 
 
 o 
 
 Giovanni, Fidelio, Ninth Symphony ! What I 
 cannot understand is how people like myself 
 can be vain. As much as we men, who walk 
 upright, are above the creeping things of the 
 earth, so these gods are above us. If it were 
 not so ludicrous it would be loathsome to me 
 to hear colleagues of mine praise me to my face 
 in such an exaggerated manner." 
 
 Thus he went on ; it was no longer modesty, 
 it was humility, and I took good care not to 
 disturb his mood by a single word. 
 
 Soon, however, he smiled again, and re- 
 marked, among other things, that he considered 
 the Agitato from his still unpublished Quartet 
 in B flat the most amorous, affectionate thing 
 he had written. 
 
 When we parted that night, he said : " You 
 will write me from Bayreuth, won't you ? I 
 know you will rave about it, and I don't blame 
 you. I myself must confess Walkure and 
 Gotterdammerung have a great hold on me. 
 For Rheingold and Siegfried I do not particularly 
 care. If I only knew what becomes of the Ring 
 and what Wagner means by it ! Perhaps the 
 Cross ? Hebbel, in his Nibelunge, has dared it,
 
 120 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES vii 
 
 and perhaps it was Wagner's meaning too. I 
 am by no means a fanatic as to my devotion 
 to the cross, but that, at least, would be an idea 
 thus to indicate the termination of the reign 
 of the gods." 
 
 July 18. 
 
 Yesterday, when, after our usual swim, we 
 leisurely strolled to the Fahrnberg for dinner, 
 a button on Brahms' shirt suddenly came off. 
 As it was the one which served to hold the 
 collar in its place, Brahms was greatly embar- 
 rassed. I proposed to help him out, and we 
 went to my room, where I took out of my valise 
 a little box containing sewing materials which 
 my mother had given me to carry with me when 
 travelling. , The amusing situation of my sew- 
 ing the button on to Brahms' shirt while he had 
 it on, again recalled memories of his youth. 
 " When / went on my first journey," he said, 
 laughingly, " my mother also put such a little 
 box into my bag, and showed me how to use its 
 contents. But I remember quite well, when I 
 tore a hole in my trousers, I repaired it with 
 sealing wax ! It didn't last long, though." 
 
 At luncheon, as it was my last day, we had 
 a bottle of champagne between us. In the 
 afternoon, the other guests having partly 
 retired to their rooms, partly gone on excur-
 
 vii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 121 
 
 sions, Brahms played the accompaniments to 
 some songs for me. Since our arrival this was 
 the first time that he had touched the key- 
 board and that I had sung. I began with 
 Brahms' " Mainacht," then came a Schubert 
 song, and then Beethoven's cyclus " To the 
 Absent Beloved." When we had ended we 
 were surprised to find that all the adjoining 
 rooms had filled with listeners. Mine host of 
 the Fahrnberg was greatly touched, and thanked 
 Brahms for the honour he had done to his 
 house. 
 
 IN THE TRAIN TO BERLIN, July 19. 
 
 This morning, at five o'clock, I left Sassnitz. 
 Strangely enough, it again poured in torrents, 
 as on the night of my arrival. A horrid, chilly 
 morning. Brahms was up at the Fahrnberg a 
 little before five, and, to my delight, accom- 
 panied me in the diligence as far as Lancken, 
 some three miles from Sassnitz. There he got 
 out, we shook hands, and parted. For a long 
 time I looked after him out of the carriage 
 window in spite of the wind and the still pouring 
 rain. It was a picture never to be forgotten. 
 As far as the eye could reach, nothing but moor, 
 and clouds, and Brahms. 
 
 Here closes the journal. As, during the
 
 122 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES vn 
 
 twenty-one years of undisturbed friendship 
 that followed our intercourse had to be mostly 
 by letter, and our meetings fewer and further 
 between, the Channel and, later on, the Atlantic 
 separating us bodily, I shall complete now what 
 further recollections of the great composer I 
 have preserved.
 
 VIII 
 
 IN 1878 Brahms had considerably changed his 
 outward appearance by the growth of the long 
 and flowing beard in the frame of which his 
 face has become familiar to the last and 
 present generations. Our first meeting was 
 marked by an amusing little incident, illus- 
 trative of his ever-abiding love of fun. 
 
 At the end of that year I was engaged upon 
 an extended recital tour through Austria and 
 Hungary, together with my friend Ignaz Briill, 
 the composer and pianist. We commenced in 
 Vienna. Having arrived only a day or two 
 previous to the first recital I had not seen 
 Brahms as yet. At the end of the concert 
 Briill and I were receiving, in the artists' room, 
 the congratulations of friends, when suddenly 
 I saw a man unknown to me, rather stout, of 
 middle height, with long hair and full beard, 
 coming up toward me. In a very deep and 
 hoarse voice he introduced himself " Musik- 
 director Miiller," making a very stiff and formal 
 bow, which I was on the point of returning with 
 
 123
 
 124 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES vm 
 
 equal gravity, when, an instant later, we all 
 found ourselves heartily laughing at the perfect 
 success of Brahms' disguise, for, of course, he 
 it was. . . . 
 
 Of subsequent reunions, two have been 
 especially vividly impressed on my mind. In 
 order that my wife, who hitherto had only 
 occasionally met this great and admired friend, 
 should have an opportunity of knowing him 
 more familiarly, she and I travelled to Vienna, 
 in 1894, for the sole purpose of spending a few 
 days in Brahms' company. 
 
 " For once, dear friend," he had written to 
 me on my announcing our visit, " Simrock is 
 right. 1 I am not the last, nor by any means 
 the only one rejoiced at the prospect of your 
 coming. Heartily welcome then, and may it 
 be a cheerful meeting ! " 
 
 On our arrival in Vienna, rather late in the 
 evening of April 23, we found a note from 
 Brahms awaiting us at our hotel : "If not too 
 tired after your journey, do come to us, quite 
 close by, at the restaurant of the ' Musik- 
 Verein ' ; just as you are, informally, in your 
 travelling clothes." Who could resist the 
 temptation ? Arrived at the indicated place, 
 we found a little party of men and women, 
 
 1 This was meant facetiously. Fritz Simrock, Brahms' pub- 
 lisher, was, and remained to the end, one of the most trusted and 
 highly valued of his friends.
 
 vm MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 125 
 
 mostly members of the " Tonkiinstler-Verein " 
 (Tone-Artists' Union), gathered together in a 
 social way, as usual, after one of their weekly 
 concerts. Brahms, surrounded, as always on 
 such occasions, by a host of admiring ladies, 
 young and elderly, in regard to whose charms 
 and homage his susceptibilities had not by any 
 means lessened with the advancing years, was 
 in excellent spirits and gave us a most cordial 
 welcome. 
 
 Early the following morning we went to his 
 rooms. He received us, as was his wont with 
 friends, irrespective of sex, attired in a short 
 jacket of which the lowest button only was put 
 to its proper use ; without waistcoat or shirt 
 collar, and in slippers. The coffee-machine 
 he always made his own coffee in the morning 
 was still standing on the table ; the air 
 of the large, yet cosy room was filled with 
 the delicious fragrance peculiar to Viennese 
 coffee ; the sun shone brightly through the 
 large windows and the whole atmosphere was 
 one of quiet, inward happiness, contentment, 
 and ease. 
 
 Soon our host commenced to ransack 
 drawers, cupboards, shelves for things he 
 thought might interest and entertain us, when 
 suddenly, with that dear, familiar twinkle in 
 his eyes and a long - drawn " A-a-ah 1 " he
 
 126 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES vm 
 
 motioned us to settle down quickly to a treat 
 which apparently he had in store for us. Then, 
 smilingly and with mock ceremony, he opened 
 a large portfolio and showed and read to us, 
 with great gusto, the famous letters of Richard 
 Wagner to the milliner. He had bought the 
 collection recently and seemed very proud of 
 the precious possession, chuckling with amuse- 
 ment as he went from one amazing letter to 
 another. 
 
 After a few days of charming intercourse 
 with him and our mutual friends Ignaz Briill, 
 Max Kalbeck, Carl Goldmark, and Johann 
 Strauss, the famous composer of the " Blue 
 Danube " valse, which Brahms often protested 
 he would have given much to have written 
 himself, we left Vienna ; and only once more 
 was I privileged to see the great man in the 
 flesh. 
 
 That was in January 1896, when Brahms, 
 Edvard Grieg, Arthur Nikisch, and myself 
 spent a delightful evening together at one of 
 the favourite restaurants of Leipsic. 
 
 Brahms, rather stouter, it seemed to me, 
 than I had ever seen him before, was in the 
 merriest of moods and did ample justice to the 
 excellent beer of Munich brew, of which he 
 consumed an astounding quantity before we 
 parted, long after midnight.
 
 viii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 127 
 
 Nothing seemed to indicate the approach 
 of the mortal disease which was to take hold 
 of him so soon afterwards, and little did 
 Nikisch and I dream that night that our next 
 meeting would be among the mourners at 
 Brahms' funeral. 
 
 It was in the evening of April 3, 1897, that 
 I arrived in Vienna, too late to see the dear 
 friend alive. He had breathed his last that 
 morning. 
 
 I hurried to the death-chamber, which had 
 been transferred into a chapelle ardente. The 
 arrangements usual in Catholic countries : a 
 plentiful display of silver crosses on draperies 
 of black velvet, huge brass candelabra on 
 which tall wax candles were burning, presented 
 a strange contrast to the simplicity of the life 
 and habits of the master (who had been a 
 Protestant), and it was only the beautiful 
 flowers which Love and Admiration had piled 
 up in great and fragrant masses on the floor 
 beneath the canopy until they reached high 
 above the coffin, almost completely hiding it 
 from sight, that somewhat reconciled one to 
 the inappropriateness of the official decoration 
 of the room. 
 
 The Tuesday following, April 6, was the day 
 of the funeral. As if Nature had wished to 
 present an image of the character of the master's
 
 128 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES vm 
 
 music, combining, as it does, the gentle with 
 the severe, cold winds of winter alternated 
 with balmy breezes of spring. 
 
 From early morning on, friends and deputa- 
 tions, carrying wreaths and flowers and palm- 
 branches, followed each other in constant 
 succession up the three familiar flights of stairs 
 to the master's apartments, and the place 
 before the house of mourning in the Karlsgasse 
 began to fill with people ready to join in the 
 procession. By noon nearly the whole of the 
 street, and the open space in front of the ad- 
 joining Karlskirche, were one mass of humanity. 
 All musical Vienna seemed assembled, and 
 the extraordinarily large number of eminent 
 men and women who had come from far and 
 near to pay their last tribute of Love and 
 Devotion to what had been mortal of Johannes 
 Brahms must have conveyed some idea of his 
 greatness and popularity, even to those who 
 hitherto had perhaps not quite realized either. 
 
 One could not help being reminded of 
 the historical answer the old peasant woman 
 gave to the stranger who had happened to 
 arrive in Vienna on the day of Beethoven's 
 funeral : " Whose funeral is this ? " the wonder- 
 ing stranger had asked. " Why, don't you 
 know ? " was the reply, " They are a-buryin' 
 the General of the Musicians ! "
 
 vm MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 129 
 
 At last the coffin with its precious load 
 appeared in the doorway. Every head un- 
 covered. Amid reverential and most impressive 
 silence it was lifted on to the open funeral car. 
 To its lid were fastened two wreaths of gigantic 
 proportions, sent, the one by the composer's 
 native city, the free town of Hamburg, the 
 other by the corporation of Vienna, the home 
 of his adoption ; and the procession, headed by 
 a standard-bearer in old Spanish costume, 
 riding on a black horse, started on its melan- 
 choly journey. 
 
 The rather lugubrious impression created 
 by the six riders in similar attire, who, also 
 mounted on coal-black horses and carrying 
 lighted tapers on long poles, followed the 
 standard-bearer, was relieved by a wonderful 
 sight : a succession of six high, open funeral 
 cars, each freighted to the very top with an 
 abundance of beautiful fresh flowers, laurels, 
 palms ; their many-coloured ribbons floating 
 down to the ground. The sun, which had come 
 out gloriously by that time, shone, as it were, 
 on a gigantic moving garden ; a spectacle as 
 lovely as it was solemn. Before the building 
 of the " Society of the Friends of Music," the 
 procession halted. The doors and pillars were 
 draped in black cloth. On either side of the 
 
 portal, from metal bowls, resting on the top 
 
 K
 
 130 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES vin 
 
 of high candelabra and filled with ignited 
 spirit of wine, blue flames were flickering with 
 a subdued, mystical light. From underneath 
 a canopy the " Sing-Verein," which so often 
 had sung under the inspiring direction of the 
 master, now sang his own beautiful part-song, 
 " Farewell " (Op. 93 A, No. 4). 
 
 As the lovely strains rang out into the vernal 
 air, there could be heard from the neighbouring 
 trees the merry twittering of birds whose song 
 seemed to have been kindled by the unwonted 
 occurrence no less than by the approach of 
 spring. At last, after a short choral service in 
 the old church in the Dorotheer Gasse, the 
 cemetery was reached. Another touching fare- 
 well, another song and the mortal remains of 
 Johannes Brahms were lowered into their last 
 resting-place, close to those of Beethoven and 
 Schubert. 
 
 
 
 I have forgotten the name of the preacher 
 who delivered the funeral oration in the church, 
 but the echo of his eloquent words is still ringing 
 in my ears. 
 
 There have at all times lived great artists 
 who have been small men. In Brahms both 
 the man and the artist aspired to high and 
 lofty ideals. It never was his aim or ambition 
 to gain for himself, through cheap and dazzling
 
 viii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 131 
 
 play with tones or " catching " tunes, the 
 quickly withering crowns of popular favour. 
 
 Though undisguisedly delighted when find- 
 ing himself appreciated and acclaimed, he 
 coveted neither fame nor applause. He was 
 of a very simple, kind, childlike disposition. 
 He loved children, and to make them happy 
 was to himself a source of pure happiness. 
 
 He loved the poor, to whom his heart went 
 out in sympathy and pity. He hated show 
 of charity. But where he could comfort in 
 silence those who suffered in silence, those who 
 struggled against undeserved misfortune, the 
 sick and the helpless, there the man, so modest, 
 sparing, and unpretentious in his own wants, 
 became a benefactor, ready for sacrifice. No 
 better summing up of Brahms' character and 
 personality has been written than that con- 
 tained in the words of his and my old friend, 
 Franz Wiillner : " He has left us a precious in- 
 heritance, the noble example of a rare truthful- 
 ness and simplicity in art and life ; of a relent- 
 less severity toward himself, of a hatred of 
 self-conceit and pretence ; of a high-minded, 
 inflexible, unwavering, artistic conviction. To 
 him may be truly applied Goethe's fine words 
 in his Epilogue to Schiller's Lay of the Bell : 
 
 N 
 
 With mighty steps his soul advanced 
 Toward the ever True Good Beautiful."
 
 IX 
 
 THE time immediately following those unforget- 
 table days with Brahms on the island of Riigen 
 in 1876 was spent in the Thuringian Woods, 
 where, at the summer home of a dear friend, 
 I prepared myself for the great musical event 
 of the time, the first performance, at Bayreuth, 
 in August of that year, of Wagner's trilogy, The 
 Ring of the Nibelungs, by studying the scores 
 of that stupendous work and trying to get 
 over the feeling of disappointment at finding 
 the passionate, noble Wotan of the Walkure, 
 whom I loved, to have turned, as the Wanderer 
 in Siegfried, with those endless arguments 
 with Erda, into something of a bore a 
 feeling which, if truth must be told, neither 
 the Bayreuth nor any subsequent performances 
 have been able to modify. 
 
 To try to express in words the awe and 
 wonder, the frantic enthusiasm, with which 
 the great trilogy was received at that memorable 
 occasion in Bayreuth would be as useless as to 
 attempt to depict the scenes in the streets of 
 
 132
 
 ix MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 133 
 
 that quaint, quiet little Bavarian town a few 
 days previous to the first performance. They 
 were thronged with people of all nationalities, 
 who could be seen taking off their hats, as 
 to a king, to Richard Wagner as now and 
 then he was driving to the station in an open 
 landau, attired in evening-dress and white 
 necktie, though it be broad daylight, to receive 
 a reigning German prince who arrived to hear 
 his work the work of the revolutionary on 
 whose proscribed head, in 1848, a price had been 
 put ! Truly a wonderful illustration of the 
 all-conquering power of genius. 
 
 The mornings of the days of the perform- 
 ances and the whole day of rest between 
 Walkure and Siegfried were generally devoted 
 to excursions into the charming and pictur- 
 esque surroundings of Bayreuth, and every- 
 where the restaurants were crowded with 
 visitors and the merry folk of musicians, 
 members of the orchestra and singers, from the 
 prima donnas and " Heldentenors " downward, 
 to such an extent that people of the most 
 proper description and of both sexes could be 
 seen sitting on empty beer-barrels on the side 
 walks, and offering the keepers of hotels and 
 lodging-houses evidently not being prepared 
 nor having provided for so large a concourse of 
 people as much as three or four shillings for
 
 134 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES ix 
 
 a glass of Munich beer and a pair of Vienna 
 sausages. The feeling of all these people that 
 they had come not merely to listen to, or to 
 take part in, a new work, but to be fellow- 
 actors in a great historical event, to assist at 
 the inauguration of a new era in music, appeared 
 to have created a spirit of camaraderie which 
 made itself felt wherever you went and gradually 
 grew into a sort of contagious intoxication. 
 Introduction did not seem to be needed for the 
 opening of a conversation between strangers. 
 Ladies were addressed with " Freisliche Frau," 
 pretty waitresses became " Niedliche Nicker," 
 every aged cab-horse was " Grane mein Ross" 
 and the air was fairly ringing with " Wallala 
 weiala weias " and " Hoyotohos" 
 
 Many a jolly outing I had during the week 
 in the company of my dear friend, the genial 
 Hofkapellmeister Hermann Levi, a charming, 
 amiable man, full of wit and humour. He 
 had with him a younger brother, who, some 
 years before, had embraced Christianity and 
 taken the name of Lindeck, whilst Levi had 
 clung to the faith of his fathers his own had 
 been a Rabbi in Karlsruhe and to his Jewish 
 name. During one of these excursions a young 
 lady of our party, a little indiscreetly perhaps, 
 had asked him how it was that he, Hermann 
 Levi, had a brother by the name of Lindeck.
 
 ix MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 135 
 
 " Well, you see," said Levi, " my name was 
 originally Lindeck too, but I changed it to 
 Levi." 
 
 The moment, however, you entered the 
 theatre, you seemed transformed. Frivolity 
 was left outside. Quietly the people took their 
 seats, and what little there had been of sub- 
 dued talking was hushed into a solemn silence 
 just before the commencement of the music. 
 
 From act to act, from performance to per- 
 formance, the excitement of the vast audience 
 grew. In Rheingold the wonderful impersona- 
 tion of Loge by Vogl; in the Walkiire that 
 incomparable trio of artists : Albert Niemann 
 as Siegmund, Betz as Wotan, Amalie Friedrich 
 Materna as Briinnhilde ; in Siegfried the manly, 
 youthful figure of Unger, the masterly study 
 of the cunning Mime, by Schlosser ; in the 
 Gdtterddmmerung the noble personality of Gura 
 as Gunther, to mention a few only who that 
 was present at this feast could ever forget it ? 
 
 To me the culminating point of the whole 
 was the Death of Siegfried. Alone from the 
 point of scenic beauty I have never seen 
 anything to compare with it. As the body of 
 Siegfried was placed on the shield and slowly 
 carried shoulder-high along the hilly, wooded 
 banks of the Rhine to the passionate strains 
 of that stupendous Funeral March, the moon
 
 136 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES ix 
 
 breaking through the clouds just at the appear- 
 ance of the beautiful Love-motif, the impression 
 was simply overwhelming. Wagner's concep- 
 tion of the music drama as a perfect blending 
 of the three arts, poetry, music, and painting, 
 here seemed to have had its consummate 
 realisation. After the last note of the great 
 trilogy had died away and the seemingly 
 minute-long, awed silence of the deeply moved 
 audience given place to an outburst of frantic 
 enthusiasm, amid which Wagner was called 
 again and again, until he delivered himself of 
 that historical speech containing the famous 
 and at the time much-discussed phrase, " Now 
 it rests with you whether or no we shall have 
 a German Art," I had to walk around the 
 theatre in the dark for a while, quite by my- 
 self, before I felt like returning to reality and 
 realism by joining my friends at supper. 
 
 The end of the year found me again in 
 Petrograd, where, among other concerts, I had 
 to take part in the performance of Rubin- 
 stein's Paradise Lost. To see Rubinstein 
 conduct one of his works was to see him at 
 his best, not as a musician, but as a man and 
 friend ; that is to say, not because he was a 
 particularly good conductor, but because he 
 was happiest when finding himself acclaimed 
 as a composer. Needless to say, his continuous
 
 ix MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 137 
 
 triumphs as a pianoforte virtuoso could not 
 help being a source of keenest satisfaction to 
 him, but it was the unfading laurels of a 
 composer his heart and soul longed for, and 
 toward the end of his life it had become an 
 actual grief to him that his larger works, the 
 oratorios and operas, had not been received with 
 the favour he had hoped for not even achieved 
 the momentary success in which the sanguine 
 artistic nature is often inclined to hail the dawn 
 of ultimate popularity. I like to remember 
 Rubinstein as he was that night in Petrograd, 
 smiling and proud and happy as the vast 
 audience attentively followed the performance 
 of his work and, at the end, shouted and waved 
 their approval. I sang the part of Lucifer, 
 which suited me well. Indeed in later years 
 I seemed to have acquired quite a reputation 
 for impersonating that fallen angel in some 
 form or other. The Mephisto in Berlioz's Faust 
 came next ; then the Lucifer in Sullivan's Golden 
 Legend; then Boito's Mefistofele; then the 
 Satan in Stanford's Eden ; and only two years 
 ago my old friend, Sir Alexander Mackenzie, 
 wrote to me : "I am at work on a sacred piece 
 ... all I may say is that ' Satan ' (always a 
 popular gentleman) is in it, and I only wish 
 you would add this one to the several Lucifers 
 it has been your lot to perform."
 
 138 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES ix 
 
 The Petrograd season of that year was 
 rendered particularly brilliant by the appear- 
 ance at the Imperial Opera of the incomparable 
 Adelina Patti. I heard her as Rosina in the 
 Barber of Seville, a part in which I think no 
 other singer has quite approached her yet. 
 Not only was her singing absolutely perfect, 
 but she also acted bewitchingly. When some 
 years later, at a State Concert at Buckingham 
 Palace, I had the great pleasure of singing with 
 her, her voice seemed to have lost nothing of 
 its rare beauty and charm, her vocal art to 
 be still as perfect as human achievement can 
 ever hope to be ; and when, later still, her 
 annual concert at the Royal Albert Hall 
 formed for many years a regular feature of 
 each succeeding season, it was in no spirit of 
 raillery, but with a sincere sense of admiration 
 for her wonderful capacity to remain young 
 that I wrote on a picture post- card representing 
 the Royal Albert Hall- 
 Look at this building tall and weighty : 
 Here Patti '11 sing when she is eighty. 
 
 This was one of a dozen or so post-cards of 
 London, the pictures of which I supplemented 
 by a doggerel and sent to the daughter of a 
 Dutch friend shortly before that young lady's 
 first visit to London, with the sights of which
 
 ix MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 139 
 
 I wanted her to become familiar. I remember 
 only one other of those cards, with a picture 
 of the Mansion House, under which I had 
 written : 
 
 Here, even in the darkest night, 
 You'll always find an Israelight. 
 
 But I am anticipating. I have not arrived 
 in England yet, so will hurry back to Russia, 
 thereby completing the record of the year which 
 preceded that important event in my life ; a 
 year, moreover, which was made memorable 
 by an experience which I am sure has fallen 
 to the lot of but few people : owing to the 
 difference of twelve days between the Russian 
 calendar and that of the rest of Europe I was 
 cheated out of both Christmas and New Year. 
 
 My last engagement in Petrograd happened 
 to be three days before Christmas, and when, 
 having left Russia the morning following, I 
 arrived in Germany, the New Year was over ! 
 Query : Did I lose or gain these twelve days ? 
 
 In the autumn of 1876 I had received a 
 letter from Mr. Arthur Chappell, the director 
 of the Monday and Saturday Popular Concerts 
 in London, famous as the Monday and Saturday 
 " Pops," inviting me, at the instance of my 
 old friend, Mrs. Moscheles, to sing at two of
 
 140 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES ix 
 
 these concerts after the New Year. I joyfully 
 accepted, and now the time had come for 
 that momentous journey. I made my pre- 
 parations for a stay of a few weeks, little 
 dreaming that England, almost from the day 
 of my landing, would be Home to me for the 
 rest of my life.
 
 X 
 
 IT was February when I arrived in London, 
 two days before my twenty-seventh birthday 
 and three before my first appearance in 
 England. My old friend Felix Semon, then 
 attached to the Golden Square Throat Hospital 
 and in only a slightly lesser measure to music, 
 surprised me by holding out a welcoming hand 
 at Cannon Street Station, whence I completed 
 the rest of the journey in his company, the 
 train ploughing its way, as it were, through 
 an ocean of little brick and stone houses. 
 Semon's eyes seemed to ask, " Well, what do 
 you think of it ? " But I was too bewildered 
 for words, and when at last I found myself in 
 the midst of the din and bustle, the com- 
 motion and the turmoil of Charing Cross 
 terminus, I had a dim sense of having come to 
 the capital not of England but of the world. 
 What impressed me particularly from the first 
 was the order in the apparent chaos. Every- 
 body seemed to know his business exactly, to 
 mind that and nobody else's, and to do it 
 
 141
 
 142 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES x 
 
 without hurrying, without shouting, in a 
 thoroughly efficacious manner. The clearing 
 of my luggage through the Customs was a 
 matter of a few seconds, and soon one of those 
 " growlers " of affectionate memory leisurely 
 conveyed us to No. 6 Chandos Street, Cavendish 
 Square, where Semon had engaged rooms for 
 me, he himself then occupying the ground- 
 floor of the house, and the genial glow and 
 warmth of the first English hearth-fire that 
 night went straight to my heart. 
 
 Being of a rather domesticated disposition, 
 I had already commenced to grow tired of 
 spending so much of my time in railway 
 carriages and hotels, as had been the case for 
 some time past, and the amount of work I 
 found to do in London and the provinces 
 for after my first appearance offers of engage- 
 ments for concerts came in great numbers, 
 weeks, even months ahead, the ever-growing 
 kindness of the English public, the many 
 friends I had the good fortune of making, left 
 little room for doubt that settling in London 
 would mean settling in life, or, rather, that 
 if I wanted to settle in life, this would be the 
 time, and London, to which I felt myself 
 irresistibly drawn, the place. To tell the truth, 
 much as I loved dear old Breslau, beautiful 
 Silesia, and, on the whole, Germany and its
 
 x MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 143 
 
 people as far as I knew it, its music, its poetry, 
 the sentiments I harboured towards those 
 who ruled in the land in which I happened to 
 be born of parents with not a drop of Teutonic 
 blood in their veins had ever been far from 
 anything like filial affection. Already in my 
 early school days I could not help noticing 
 the difference in the treatment, by the teachers, 
 of the sons of rich or titled parents from that 
 of humbler-born boys, who were looked down 
 upon by the former, particularly if their 
 fathers happened to be army officers, in a 
 most irritating and humiliating manner. The 
 obvious predominance of the military classes, 
 the insufferable arrogance, indeed, of all officials, 
 seemed to me highly objectionable. Bitterly, 
 too, I resented the contempt in which the 
 Jews were held in Prussia, evidences of which 
 could almost daily be found in the Jew-baiting 
 columns of the Schlesische Zeitung, Breslau's 
 premier newspaper, and I remember how 
 eagerly and enviously, and almost incredul- 
 ously, I listened to the gentle voice of my 
 first teacher of English, a sweet young English- 
 woman, Miss Selina Sexton, governess in the 
 family of a cousin of mine in Breslau, as she 
 would tell me of her lovely country, where 
 there was no position, civil or military, Jews 
 could not attain to; where the ruling classes,
 
 144 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES x 
 
 from Royalty downwards, were really the 
 servants of the people ; where talent and merit 
 were the " open sesame " into the palaces 
 of the great and mighty. I was very young 
 then, barely sixteen, and the seed thus planted 
 in the receptive soil of my heart was made to 
 swell and grow by the second teacher of English 
 it was my good fortune to find a few years 
 later in Berlin Miss Archer, sister of the late 
 James Archer, the portrait-painter. That ex- 
 cellent lady had been called to Berlin by the 
 Empress Frederick, then Crown Princess, to 
 assist her in the founding and managing of 
 the Lyceum and similar institutions by which 
 that large-hearted Royal lady sought to im- 
 prove the education and usefulness of the 
 young women of Germany. Miss Archer was 
 another specimen of gentle, charming English 
 womanhood, and when, from what she too had 
 to say of her beloved country, I found that 
 none of Miss Sexton's statements and stories 
 had been inaccurate or exaggerated, I began 
 to pray fervently for the day to come when I 
 should cross the Channel and set foot on that 
 Earthly Paradise of my dreams British soil. 
 
 Well, that day did come ; and as I write 
 these lines forty years later in my sweet 
 Highland Home, now and then, through the 
 windows of my study, " lifting mine eyes unto
 
 x MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 145 
 
 the hills " I recall with a forgiving smile the 
 reproachful question put to me by a grieved 
 relative, " How I could have renounced the land 
 of my birth, which had given me my ' Bildung.' ' 
 Did the dear woman really believe that 
 Germany had the monopoly of that precious 
 article, and that the unhappy man or woman 
 born outside the Fatherland was doomed for 
 ever to remain without it ? 
 
 Did Milton and Shakespeare write for the 
 English, Racine and Moliere for the French, 
 Schiller, who in his glorious " Ode to Joy ' : 
 
 sings 
 
 Oh, embrace now, all ye millions, 
 Here's a kiss to all the world. 
 Brothers, o'er yon azure fold 
 Is a loving Father's dwelling 
 
 and Goethe, Bach and Beethoven for the 
 Germans only ? 
 
 The artist's home is the Universe, which 
 indeed should be Everyman's, since we are all 
 the children of one Father. 
 
 I shall never forget the glowing happiness 
 of those first days in England. I was utterly 
 fascinated by English manners, English life, 
 English country, English Sundays, even English 
 fogs. For the young people of the present 
 generation it will be difficult to picture a
 
 146 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES x 
 
 London as it was forty years ago, without 
 electric light, without telephone, without motor 
 buses and taxicabs, without Sunday concerts, 
 without Picture Palaces a quiet, dignified, 
 beautiful city with a decided character of its 
 own, as unlike Paris or Vienna or Petrograd 
 as the Englishman is unlike a Frenchman, 
 an Austrian, or a Russian. Electricity seems 
 to be a sort of leveller of national distinctions. 
 The old horse-omnibuses had two seats on the 
 driver's right and left, and to climb into one 
 of those seats at nine o'clock in the morning, 
 say at Netting Hill Gate, and drive leisurely- 
 hurry appears to be a recent invention in an 
 almost continuously straight line to the City 
 and see the thousands and thousands of men 
 go, like bees into a hive, to their business 
 there, a restless sea of top-hats, was to realise 
 the greatness, the solidity of the capital of this 
 vast empire. 
 
 To sit on an afternoon in one of those green 
 chairs in Hyde Park and watch the long pro- 
 cession of duchesses and countesses as they 
 drove past in their state - carriages, with a 
 huge, fat, clean-shaven coachman in a periwig 
 perched high upon a broad seat resembling 
 the thing they put on a circus-horse for a 
 fair short-skirted lady to pirouette upon, and 
 two powdered, galooned footmen, standing like
 
 x MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 147 
 
 statues on a footboard behind, holding on to 
 straps attached to the back of the hood of the 
 carriage, and exhibiting four irreproachable, 
 white - silk - stockinged calves to 'the admiring 
 gaze of the populace, was like having a series 
 of tableaux vivants pass before one's eyes, 
 illustrating a Dickens or Thackeray novel or 
 to a more youthful vision some fairy tale. 
 
 The morning after my arrival was spent in 
 delivering some of the letters of introduction 
 I had brought with me, as the gratifying result 
 of one of which I already on my first Sunday 
 I had arrived on a Friday had the great 
 pleasure and privilege of meeting, at a dinner- 
 party in Kensington, the famous Alma Tadema, 
 whose " Vintage Festival," only recently ex- 
 hibited in Berlin, had created quite a sensation 
 there. Crowds of people could always be seen 
 standing before the picture, admiring it and, 
 puzzled by the name of " Alma," wondering 
 whether the painter was a woman or a man. 
 
 Well, here he was, sitting opposite me at 
 the table, a man if ever there was one, powerful 
 in body and mind, spirited, full of vigour, 
 abounding in stories and manifestly happy in 
 the consciousness of ever-growing success and 
 fame ; happy too, evidently, in the proud 
 possession of a young and lovely wife, the rare 
 charm of whose gentle presence enchanted all
 
 148 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES x 
 
 who came in contact with her ; she also was 
 a painter, and that of no mean merit, though 
 such was her modesty that when, after her 
 much-lamented death in 1909, Tadema ar- 
 ranged a loan exhibition of her work, the 
 quantity as well as the high artistic worth and 
 excellence of her paintings, drawings, and 
 studies came as a surprise even to her most 
 intimate friends. 
 
 I was greatly attracted by the delightful 
 couple, and with gratification recall tokens of 
 goodwill toward me on their part, as the 
 natural consequence of which I soon found 
 myself a frequent guest in their beautiful house 
 near the Regent's Park ; and, in later years, in 
 that larger and more magnificent, though 
 never more genial one in Grove End Road, 
 where they had weekly receptions on Monday 
 afternoons and Tuesday evenings, the latter 
 generally preceded by a charmingly intimate 
 dinner-party. 
 
 From time to time special invitations were 
 issued for the Tuesday evening receptions, and 
 then, in that uniquely beautiful studio, the 
 most celebrated musicians of the day, players 
 and singers, happening to be in town, could be 
 heard, giving of their best to a rare assembly 
 of men and women prominent in all branches 
 of science, literature, and the arts. On some
 
 x MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 149 
 
 particular occasions, like the birthdays of 
 members of the family, the entertainment 
 would perhaps be of a more frivolous, though 
 hardly less appreciated kind, performances, for 
 instance, of prestidigitators or dancers, or else 
 consist of dramatic presentations among which 
 with particular pleasure I recall that of a 
 charming play, One Way of Love, by Tadema's 
 elder daughter Laurence, who herself took a 
 part in its performance. Those were un- 
 forgettable evenings. Enjoyment was written 
 on the faces of all present, not the least so on 
 those of host and hostess, than whom none 
 more genial and generous could be imagined. 
 
 Being himself of a happy, joyous nature, 
 Tadema loved to see himself surrounded by 
 happy people. On the other hand, being him- 
 self very strong, mentally and physically, he 
 had perhaps less sympathy with the weak than 
 his innate sense of justice and his kindness of 
 heart would otherwise have kindled in him. 
 That sense of justice he once afforded me an 
 opportunity of admiring, which I think will be 
 deemed worth recording as an illustration of his 
 character. 
 
 He and Lady Tadema were my guests at 
 Allt-na-criche, my Scottish home, in the autumn 
 of 1905. We had been on a little stroll before 
 luncheon. The day was glorious ; one of
 
 150 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES x 
 
 those wonderful, clear, crisp sunny days of 
 which one in the Highlands of Scotland seems 
 worth a dozen anywhere else. We were re- 
 turning home by way of Loch Alvey, upon 
 which, after having climbed through the woods 
 for some little time, we came quite on a sudden. 
 There it was, lying below us at the foot of the 
 heather-clad, pine- and birch-studded hills, of 
 the deepest steel - blue, bathed in sunshine, 
 with the light azure of the cloudless sky above 
 it, a feast of colour, exquisitely beautiful. 
 
 The moment we had come in sight of it 
 Tadema stopped short, exclaiming in a sort of 
 dubious, questioning voice the single word 
 " Hullo ! " and refusing to move on. I 
 noticed his silence when after a while we 
 resumed our walk. He hardly spoke at all, 
 and when at last we had arrived at home, 
 Tadema, though it was close on luncheon-time, 
 sat down to write a letter which a few minutes 
 later he handed me with the enjoinder to be 
 sure and see it posted that afternoon. 
 
 Noticing the address of " Alfred East, Esq., 
 A.R.A." on the envelope, I said, " I bet you, 
 Tadema, I know what's in this letter." And 
 then that slow, amused, contented smile we 
 all knew so well stole over his features, and he 
 told me I was right. Tadema, years before, 
 on seeing one of East's pictures of a similar
 
 x MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 151 
 
 lake-scene, had expressed to the painter very 
 likely rather decidedly his belief in the utter 
 impossibility of the surface of a lake being of 
 so very much deeper a shade of blue than the 
 sky it reflected. To-day he had seen it with 
 his own eyes, and the letter to Alfred East 
 contained the acknowledgment of his error of 
 years ago. Such was the man. " But then," 
 he said, " I have never been in the Scottish 
 Highlands before ! " 
 
 The house at which I first met Tadema was 
 that of Mr. Wertheimer, father-in-law of Dr. 
 Max Schlesinger, the representative in London 
 of the Cologne Gazette, politically then Germany's 
 premier paper. Dr. Schlesinger, a highly 
 cultured, most genial, witty man, who numbered 
 among his friends Freiligrath, Gottfried 
 Kinkel, Karl Blind, and other political refugees 
 of the year '48, was eminently fitted for the 
 responsible position which among other duties 
 imposed upon him that of entertaining. He 
 and Mrs. Schlesinger, who survived her husband 
 nearly a quarter of a century Dr. Schlesinger 
 died in 1881 were " At Home " every Friday 
 evening, when their comfortable house in that 
 once fashionable quarter around Russell Square 
 was thrown open to a cosmopolitan and most 
 interesting crowd of people. Everybody who
 
 152 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES x 
 
 was anybody seemed to go every Friday night 
 to " the Schlesingers," and one told of the 
 actual existence of a lady who, on hearing 
 " Goethe " mentioned as the writer to whom 
 W. S. Gilbert in the announcement of a new 
 play of his, Gretchen, had acknowledged himself 
 indebted for certain parts of it, was said to 
 have asked, " Goethe Goethe who is he ? 
 Does he go to the Schlesingers ? ' 
 
 This evidently was not the one who, accord- 
 ing to my friend Donald Francis Tovey, looked 
 down with pity on another female because, 
 in her opinion, that lady showed her literary 
 ignorance by pronouncing the name of 
 Germany's greatest poet to rhyme with " thirty " 
 instead of with " floweth " ! 
 
 In fulfilment of a promise given at the 
 Diisseldorf Music Festival in 1875 to Walter 
 Broadwood, one of my first visits now was to 
 the offices and show-rooms of the famous 
 house of which he was one of the heads. The 
 business of the Broadwoods was then carried 
 on in three adjoining old houses situated in 
 Great Pulteney Street, a thoroughfare in the 
 midst of that labyrinth of little back alleys 
 east of Regent Street between Piccadilly Circus 
 and Oxford Street. These houses, from cellar 
 to top story, were filled with pianos large 
 and small, and I was struck not only by their
 
 x MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 153 
 
 quantity and variety, but particularly by the 
 size and appearance of the " Concert Grands," 
 which seemed to me longer than and altogether 
 different from any I had ever seen before. 
 Nearly all of these were built of oak, coated, like 
 old violins, with a fine golden varnish which 
 retained the colour and the grain of the wood. 
 The joints of the keyboard case were hidden by 
 bands of polished brass, fastened by innumer- 
 able little brass screws, and the lid was joined 
 to the piano by finely designed massive brass 
 hinges stretching almost across its whole width. 
 
 These instruments are seen no longer, at 
 least not in this country, and I wonder what 
 can have become of them, as they seemed to 
 be made to last for ever. May be they have 
 found their way into parts of the vast empire 
 across the seas, there, in the durability and 
 strength of which the wood they are made of is 
 the emblem, to bear witness to the staunch 
 solidity of the Mother country. 
 
 To me their memory is closely linked with 
 that of dear old St. James's Hall, and those 
 unforgettable Monday and Saturday " Pops," 
 and if I were living in London, I'd now and 
 then steal into Broadwoods' new premises, 
 to have, in the little concert-room there, an 
 affectionate look at the dear old uncomfort- 
 able, long, narrow, worn-out, green-upholstered
 
 154 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES x 
 
 benches, with the numbers of the seats tied 
 over the straight back with red tape, which the 
 Broadwoods acquired when the venerable hall 
 was pulled down in 1905. In spirit I even now 
 sit down on one of these benches in the empty 
 hall, and, like the old Count in The Ruined 
 Mill, close my eyes. . . . Around me all stirs 
 into life again : There is the fine old hall, 
 filled in every corner, crowded even to the 
 platform ; the faithful Saunders is placing the 
 music on the four stands and adjusting the 
 chairs before them ; the familiar attendants, 
 a pile of programme-books in their left arms 
 and waving a single one in their uplifted right 
 hands, are walking up and down the aisles 
 calling out, " Programme and book of words " 
 then a momentary hush the stately Joachim 
 emerges from the recess on the left, followed 
 by the modest Ries, the solemn Strauss, the 
 gentle Piatti. They gravely acknowledge the 
 round of applause that greets their appearance, 
 and take their seats before the desks ; a final, 
 clandestine reassurance as to being in tune 
 together, then a silence as of the grave all 
 over the house, and the four beautiful stringed 
 instruments in rare perfection pour forth 
 sounds that seem to come straight from heaven. 
 So great is the spell that it cannot be broken 
 even by an occasional distant jingle of castanets
 
 x MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 155 
 
 and tambourines faintly floating into the room 
 as below, at the Christy Minstrels, a door is 
 opened. . . . But surely that brutal noise 
 now striking my ears in the midst of the 
 divine Beethoven Adagio is not that of either 
 tambourine or castanet ?. . . ." Toot- toot . . . 
 toot "... a taxi ! I am awake, and pensively 
 walk out into busy Bond Street, ready, like 
 the old Count, to shed a silent tear of affec- 
 tionate remembrance. . . . 
 
 But back now to 1877 and Great Pulteney 
 Street, and my first visit there to the Broad- 
 woods. At first it was Walter himself who, 
 most genial of cicerones, conducted me over 
 the premises, and well I remember his amused 
 smile of gratification and pride as he sees me 
 halting before a frame containing, under glass, 
 a huge, beautifully polished disk of wood, and 
 reading the legend attached to it : 
 
 Specimen of the finest Honduras Mahogany, in 
 regard to figure & quality, ever grown : 
 
 THIS SINGLE TREE 
 
 contained 390 Cubic Feet, Broker's measure, 
 
 (i.e. 4684 Ft. of inch) & was bought unopened by 
 
 Messrs. Broadwood for the manufacture 
 
 of Pianofortes, at the price of 
 
 1781 : : 6. 
 
 Supposed to be the most valuable Tree in the World ; 
 & after it had been opened, it could have been sold 
 for more than 2000.
 
 156 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES x 
 
 " What a country I have come to," I thought 
 in awe and wonder " where they pay 1700 
 for a tree to make pianofortes of ! ' : 
 
 After a while my guide was called away on 
 business. Before taking leave of me he took 
 me downstairs into a little private office, 
 introducing me there to the occupant of it, in 
 whose charge he left me for the rest of my 
 visit. I shall always bless him for this intro- 
 duction, for it marked the beginning of a 
 friendship than which I have valued none 
 more highly. I honestly believe a gentler, 
 kinder, sweeter man than Alfred James Hipkins 
 never lived. Nor a more modest one. For 
 who, seeing him in his office at the Broadwoods, 
 whose rare privilege it was to profit by his 
 faithful and devoted services for more than 
 threescore of years, up to the end of his life 
 in 1903, could have suspected in the simple, 
 silent man the learned author of several 
 standard books on various branches of the 
 science and history of music, and an unrivalled 
 authority on old keyboard instruments, on 
 which he himself was a most accomplished 
 and graceful performer, and of which he 
 possessed several fine specimens ? 
 
 To leave the giddy world and repair to the 
 delightful home of the Hipkinses in Warwick 
 Gardens, there, in the genial company of
 
 x MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 157 
 
 mutual friends upon a Sunday afternoon to 
 partake of the spirit of simplicity, love, and 
 harmony prevailing in the little household, 
 consisting of father and mother and daughter 
 and son, to listen to and join in the lively con- 
 versation from which anything even approach- 
 ing gossip was ever absent, to see the look of 
 supreme content and happiness in our dear 
 host's face as, after a week's toil, he would sit 
 down before his beloved harpsichord or clavi- 
 chord and play us a Bach or Scarlatti in 
 masterly fashion, has been among the purest 
 joys of my life. Dear Hipkins ! Not many 
 indeed are the men of whom, as of thee, it 
 could be said in the words of the Song Celestial : 
 
 Fearlessness, singleness of soul, the will 
 
 Always to strive for wisdom, opened hand 
 
 And governed appetites ; 
 
 And love of lonely study ; humbleness, 
 
 Uprightness, heed to injure naught which lives, 
 
 Truthfulness, slowness unto wrath, a mind 
 
 That lightly letteth go what others prize ; 
 
 And equanimity, and charity, and tenderness 
 
 Towards all that suffer ; a contented heart, 
 
 Modest and grave, with manhood nobly mixed 
 
 With patience, fortitude and purity ; 
 
 An unrevengeful spirit ; never given 
 
 To rate itself too high 
 
 Such be the signs of him whose feet are set 
 
 On that fair path which leads to heavenly truth.
 
 XI 
 
 QUITE a good many houses there were the 
 doors of which, after my first appearance at the 
 Monday Popular Concert on February 19, most 
 hospitably opened to me, and where, at regular 
 " At Home " evenings or on occasions to which 
 special invitations were issued, the best music 
 could be heard, made by the best artists and 
 listened to by more or less the same circle 
 of friends. Notable among such were those of 
 the George Lewises in Portland Place and 
 the Henry Joachims in Kensington, the latter 
 the headquarters during his annual visit to 
 England of Henry's brother Joseph, who not 
 unfrequently would make his charming hostess 
 and sister-in-law, the daughter of the composer 
 Henry Smart, proud and happy by leading a 
 quartet or playing a solo in her drawing-room 
 before a small company of friends the ideal 
 way of making and enjoying chamber music. 
 Rare treats were these. At whatever of such 
 assemblies I happened to find myself during 
 these first months, I was invariably asked to 
 
 158
 
 xi MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 159 
 
 contribute to the programme by singing a few 
 songs, which I gladly did. 
 
 I sometimes wonder if perhaps the distance 
 from which we look at events that happened 
 more than a generation ago, lends a particular 
 lustre to them or at any rate alters to some 
 degree the impression they made at the time. 
 There certainly was a charm in those informal 
 weekly meetings of friends at the houses of 
 friends, which nowadays is not so generally 
 found. One seemed to enjoy such occasions 
 at least so it appears to me now in a more 
 innocent, simple manner. Music was Music, 
 Painting for at all such gatherings these two 
 arts were almost equally represented by their 
 most eminent exponents was Painting, and if 
 people differed in regard to them, the differences 
 were of degree rather than of principle. Excite- 
 ment, irritation, violence as they exist in art- 
 circles at present, were almost entirely absent 
 in these " good old days." 
 
 The number of houses to which I was asked 
 grew from week to week, and, apace with it, 
 that of my friends and my delight in it all. 
 " England " seemed to be the title of a new 
 book of my life, the opening chapters of which 
 were wonderfully interesting and promising ; 
 what an American girl would call " perfectly 
 fasc'nating."
 
 160 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xi 
 
 Every new dinner-party meant to me the 
 making of the acquaintance of at least one 
 famous man ; and that at Airlie Lodge on 
 Campden Hill, the town house then of Lord 
 and Lady Airlie, was no exception to the rule, 
 the famous man on that occasion being no 
 other than James McNeill Whistler, doubtlessly 
 the most talked-about artist of the day. He 
 was the guest of the evening, and in that 
 capacity caused much amusement already in 
 absentia, for he did not arrive until some time 
 after we had sat down to dinner without him, 
 having waited fully fifteen minutes even beyond 
 the then still usual quart d'heure de grace. 
 
 When at last he did shoot into the dining- 
 room, all of a sudden bursting upon the hostess 
 with what I thought the loudest laugh I had 
 ever heard, it was very much like Mephisto's 
 first appearance in Berlioz's Faust the zigzag 
 flash of trombones there, on the single fortis- 
 simo clash of the cymbals, being no whit more 
 effective than Whistler's Cyclopean laughter. 
 
 All through the evening he kept our small 
 company in the highest of spirits by the truly 
 dazzling fireworks of his wit. 
 
 Fortunately there was no reception following 
 the dinner. I quite informally sang a few 
 songs, and was no little delighted and, I confess, 
 flattered when Whistler, on our going home,
 
 xi MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 161 
 
 proposed it was a fine autumn night to 
 stroll along with me, and, before parting, asked 
 me to one of his famous Sunday mid-day 
 " breakfasts " at the White House, into which 
 he had only lately moved, and where to those 
 breakfasts sometimes as many as a dozen of 
 his friends of both sexes would sit down and 
 partake, among other good things, of " buck- 
 wheat cakes with maple-syrup," one of our 
 delightful host's favourite American specialities 
 which he was very proud of having introduced 
 to British palates. 
 
 My acquaintance with another American 
 delicacy I likewise owe to Whistler. I re- 
 member meeting him one day in the Hay- 
 market when he told me the secret of a great 
 discovery of his : Scott's in Coventry Street 
 had just commenced importing the Blue-point 
 Oyster ! . . . " My dear Henschel . . . delicious 
 . . . sweeter than the natives . . . only a 
 shilling the dozen." . . . And putting his arm 
 in mine, he took me to Scott's then and there, 
 where, in one of those dear old narrow boxes 
 with wooden benches, of which I fear very few 
 have survived in London ale-houses, we had 
 a regular feast on the seductive bivalves to the 
 accompaniment of I will not say how many 
 pints of stout. 
 
 M
 
 162 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xi 
 
 Opposite Airlie Lodge there was a gate, 
 nearly always hospitably open, leading to 
 another house which I soon found myself 
 favoured by frequently being bidden to : Moray 
 Lodge, the beautiful home I had almost said 
 country - place, so little did the lovely and 
 extensive grounds suggest the vicinity of any- 
 thing like a pavement of the Arthur Lewises, 
 a most delightful couple of artists ; for though 
 a merchant, Arthur Lewis was a painter of 
 no mean merit, especially as regards landscape, 
 and a man the quiet attractiveness of whose 
 personality may be gauged from the fact that 
 he had succeeded in alluring from her allegi- 
 ance to the stage no less captivating an actress 
 than Kate, the eldest daughter of the famous 
 house of Terry, who at the time of her marriage 
 to Lewis had already, so I was told, attained 
 to an extraordinary degree of popularity not- 
 withstanding her youth. Music, Painting, 
 Science, Literature, the Drama, Diplomacy- 
 all of these you could be sure to find worthily 
 and numerously represented at those extremely 
 interesting and enjoyable receptions, dinners, 
 and garden-parties for which Moray Lodge 
 and its charming host and hostess were re- 
 nowned. Tempi passati alas but affection- 
 ately, with the rest,
 
 xi MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 163 
 
 Deposited upon the silent shore 
 Of memory. 
 
 If I was deeply impressed by English life 
 generally there was one institution in particular 
 which almost overawed me (a sensation which 
 in some measure has survived to this day), 
 and that was " the butler." I could un- 
 flinchingly face the powder of an army of 
 liveried footmen, but when it came to the 
 impenetrable solemnity of the butler as he 
 confronted me in dress-suit and white necktie 
 and with a clean-shaven face as blank as his 
 shirt-front, I was utterly nonplussed, stupefied, 
 annihilated. I felt like a worm, and as such, 
 during my first days, would gladly have 
 " turned " from many a door without carrying 
 out my daring design of knocking or ringing. 
 Few doors there were at which I bore that 
 ordeal oftener and more willingly than that of 
 the house No. 35 Wimpole Street, the residence 
 of the famous surgeon, Sir Henry Thompson, 
 whose wife I had the good fortune of soon 
 counting among my dearest friends. 
 
 In her youth her name was Kate Loder 
 Lady Thompson had been a pianist of no mean 
 merit, having played with considerable success 
 at the Philharmonic Concerts, at that time a 
 test of efficiency and a passport to fame.
 
 164 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xi 
 
 After her marriage to the yet unknown and 
 poor young physician she had worked hard for 
 years from morn till night as a teacher of the 
 pianoforte, traversing London from one end to 
 the other in all kinds of weather, doubtlessly 
 thereby impairing her health which already 
 at the time when I first knew her had begun 
 to fail her. But when gradually she had to 
 abandon all hope of ever touching her beloved 
 piano again, and the creeping paralysis attacked 
 limb after limb until she could move none any 
 longer and had to be carried in a chair and, 
 during the last years, even fed like a helpless 
 child, her faith, her courage never forsook her. 
 .Her loving soul rose victorious above the ailings, 
 the sufferings of the body. Never once and 
 it was my privilege to be with her very fre- 
 quently did I hear a word of complaint from 
 her lips. Being unable to make music herself 
 any longer, she found her happiness in befriend- 
 ing, encouraging, teaching, supporting young 
 people, who, in her opinion, had sufficient talent 
 to justify their hope of making efficiency in 
 some branch of music the object of their 
 ambition. The friendship of Lady Thompson 
 was one of my richest possessions, as her sweet 
 smile, her gentle motherly voice are among my 
 most precious memories. 
 
 With wonderful rapidity I found myself
 
 xi MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 165 
 
 in the midst of the whirl of London society, 
 and it was with considerable regret that, even 
 for a few weeks only, I quitted the scene 
 of what certainly had been most successful 
 activity I remember, for instance, one single 
 day on which I had three professional engage- 
 ments, one in the afternoon and two in the 
 evening in order to sing at the Nether-Rhenish 
 Music Festival which in that year, 1877, took 
 place at Cologne and was particularly dis- 
 tinguished by the first performance in Germany 
 of Verdi's great Manzoni Requiem under the 
 conductorship of the composer. Many German 
 musicians at that time affected rather to look 
 down on the Italian maestro with a sort of 
 condescending superiority, wondering how in 
 the world Ferdinand Hiller, the conductor-in- 
 chief of the Festival and an excellent musician, 
 could have chosen for performance at one of 
 their classical institutions a work by the author 
 of II Trovatore, Rigoletto, Traviata, and other 
 operas of street-organ popularity. Hiller, how- 
 ever, knew what he was doing. Already at 
 the first rehearsal Verdi's fine musicianship and 
 powerful personality made a great impression 
 upon chorus, orchestra, and soloists, of which 
 latter I had the honour of being one. From 
 hour to hour we felt more and more strongly 
 the fascinating influence of a master - mind,
 
 166 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xi 
 
 and both the beautiful, deeply felt work and 
 its genial creator at the end of the excellent 
 performance Lilli Lehmann was the soprano 
 met with a most enthusiastic reception. I 
 had been particularly gratified by Verdi's great 
 kindness in repeatedly inviting me to breakfast 
 with him at his hotel. His cordial ways and 
 unassuming manners, his peculiar charm of 
 conversation when he did speak for as a 
 rule he was remarkably silent for an Italian 
 affected me quite extraordinarily. At one 
 of the miscellaneous concerts of the Festival 
 I sang my songs from the Trompeter von 
 Sdkkingen, which had been published the year 
 before, and Verdi the next morning greatly 
 gratified me by asking me to send him the 
 songs and perhaps some other of my composi- 
 tions. His answer to my question to what 
 address I should send them was most character- 
 istic. Without the slightest suspicion of con- 
 ceit or affectation he said, " Oh adressez 
 simplement ' Maestro Verdi, Italia.' ' 
 
 Altogether the Cologne Festival of that year 
 was of a somewhat international character, for 
 Spain, too, was represented by one of her most 
 famous sons, the matchless Pablo de Sarasate. 
 His interpretation of the Mendelssohn Concerto 
 came to German ears like something of a revela- 
 tion, creating a veritable furore, and indeed
 
 xi MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 167 
 
 I doubt if in lusciousness of tone, crystalline 
 clearness of execution, refinement, and grace 
 that performance has been or ever will be 
 surpassed. Alone the way he took that little 
 A natural, the fifth note of the Andante theme, 
 without letting the string touch the finger- 
 board " sur le touche " I think is the technical 
 term for it gave one a thrill of artistic joy 
 never to be forgotten. 
 
 From Cologne I hurried back to London as 
 fast as I could, full of eager anticipation of my 
 first " London season," for although there was, 
 as now, great activity during the winter in 
 the musical life of the Provinces, what, music- 
 ally as well as socially, was called " the " 
 London season did not in those years commence 
 until after Easter. Before that, the only place 
 in London where you could hear good orchestral 
 music was really outside of it, viz. at the 
 Crystal Palace, where the excellent August 
 Manns every Saturday afternoon during the 
 winter provided a wholesome and splendidly 
 prepared fare of classical and modern music, 
 being aided in this pioneer work of educa- 
 tion by the enthusiastic George Grove whose 
 analytical descriptions in the programme books 
 of the chief works to be performed were of 
 the greatest value. In London proper classical 
 music was restricted to the afore - mentioned
 
 168 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xi 
 
 Monday and Saturday popular chamber music 
 concerts at the St. James's Hall. Altogether 
 musical London of 1877 was very different 
 from that of to-day. The names of Hubert 
 Parry, Alexander Mackenzie, Frederic Cowen, 
 Charles Villiers Stanford as composers were 
 as yet little known, though their bearers had 
 already commenced to come forward with 
 an occasional composition, whilst of Edward 
 Elgar's not a single note had been published. 
 On the programmes of the Philharmonic 
 Society's concerts, conducted then by Mr., 
 afterwards Sir William, Cusins, there could 
 still be found a goodly number of florid arias 
 from Bellini's, Donizetti's, Rossini's operas, and 
 the list of members of the orchestra contained 
 many a " Herr," " Monsieur," and " Signor." 
 Music was still one of the things which to 
 a great extent had to be imported. A wide 
 and lucrative field of activity for instrumental 
 virtuosos and singers there was during the 
 spring and summer season in the many concerts 
 with which rich people were wont to entertain 
 their guests after dinner, and it was at one 
 of these private soirees that, the very first 
 year, I had a rather interesting and exciting 
 experience. The scene was one of those palatial 
 residences in Belgrave Square. Two operatic 
 prima donnas, England's foremost tenor, two
 
 xi MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 169 
 
 foreign virtuosos, a violinist and a 'cellist, and 
 myself were to go through a long programme 
 of music, commencing at 11 P.M. There was 
 leading into the ball-room, which by the 
 temporary erection of a platform had been 
 converted into a music - room, a little ante- 
 chamber, reached by the back stairs, which 
 served as a green-room. This we caged lions 
 paced impatiently up and down until our 
 respective turns came and the faithful Mr. 
 Saunders, the representative of ChappelFs, 
 who managed the affair, opened the doors into 
 the arena to let us loose. We had just heard 
 the applause following the customary high 
 C natural of the prima donna's final cadenza 
 when that poor lady re-entered the green- 
 room in a state of great excitement, nervous- 
 ness, and indignation, exclaiming on the point 
 of tears, "It is too awful, they don't pay the 
 slightest attention to the music, they talk and 
 giggle it's horrid," and so on. " You don't 
 mean to say," I asked poor innocent me 
 " you don't mean to say they talked - aloud 
 whilst you sang ? ' : and being informed that 
 such indeed was the deplorable fact of the 
 case, my mind was made up. Soon my turn 
 came : a recitative and air from a Handel 
 opera. As usual I was my own accompanist. 
 After striking a few forte chords by way of
 
 170 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xi 
 
 prelude I began to sing. For a few bars there 
 was silence, and then, at first from far away 
 down by the door at the end of the room where 
 it opened into another, came sounds of talking 
 and tittering. Count Beust, a distinguished 
 diplomatist and amateur musician, turned 
 round he sat in the first row with a few 
 sharp and solemn " Psht psht, ..." but 
 hardly to any purpose. The talking and titter- 
 ing grew louder and louder, and so did my 
 voice. No use. With a few " bangs " I im- 
 provised an abrupt ending to the aria, in- 
 wardly apologizing to the shades of Handel. 
 Amid the applause of the audience, the major- 
 ity of which only by that applause realized 
 that something in the way of singing had 
 happened, I withdrew to the green-room, took 
 my hat and coat, and in spite of the anxious 
 entreaties of poor Mr. Saunders to, for goodness' 
 sake, stay and do my second turn, left the 
 room and the house. A few days later Mr. 
 Chappell, who had already commenced to be 
 what he remained to the end, my very good 
 and valued friend, sent me a cheque with a 
 letter he had received from the Viscountess at 
 whose party the incident had happened, in 
 which the lady reproached him for having 
 sent her so rude a man as " Herr Henschel," 
 and enclosing cheque for only half that gentle-
 
 xi MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 171 
 
 man's fee, since he had only half fulfilled his 
 part of the bargain. I begged Mr. Chappell 
 to allow me to answer that letter myself, and 
 that night, with the aid of a dictionary to 
 my grammar I thought I could trust composed 
 a very nice, polite letter to the Viscountess, 
 telling her how unaccustomed I was to such 
 treatment of art and artists and sincerely 
 regretting the cause of, as well as apologizing 
 for, the apparent rudeness of my conduct. 
 ' With many thanks," I concluded, " I beg 
 herewith to return the cheque, as I could not 
 think of accepting a fee for my unsuccessful 
 attempt to interrupt the pleasant conversation." 
 
 Much to my astonishment and, I confess, 
 no less to my gratification the very next post 
 brought me a most charming letter from the 
 Viscountess, containing a cheque for the original 
 amount and explaining the annoyance by the 
 fact that, being an invalid, she was obliged to 
 remain reclining on a couch during the evening 
 and was thus prevented from moving among 
 her guests and enjoining their silence. A week 
 later I sang at another of those occasions, 
 at Dudley House, when the programme was 
 headed by a scroll bearing the significant 
 legend, " II piii grand omaggio alia musica e 
 il silenzio." 
 
 This novel experience of Belgrave Square
 
 172 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xi 
 
 was soon followed by another, nowadays, I 
 trust, quite as rare as the one just related. 
 Coming home one evening I found in my rooms 
 a large parcel of modern English songs and 
 ballads sent me by a firm of publishers, 
 and accompanied by a letter in which I was 
 asked what my fee would be for singing any 
 of these songs or ballads in public. Looking 
 at them I found them one and all I am speak- 
 ing of quite forty years ago of the cheapest, 
 commonest stuff, the most sentimental, inane 
 rubbish imaginable. I was much puzzled, 
 indeed had no idea what could be meant by 
 the letter. At last I sat down and answered, 
 returning the parcel : " Gentlemen, I am afraid 
 I do not quite understand your letter. If I 
 like a song I shall sing it without a fee, and if I 
 do not like it there is no fee would make me sing 
 it." I afterwards learned that the custom of 
 accepting fees from publishers for introducing 
 their publications was quite universal among 
 singers of both sexes, and I ceased to wonder 
 why it was one so often in England could 
 hear, even at otherwise good concerts and by 
 singers of high standing who certainly should 
 know and I fear did know better, rubbishy 
 songs which would not be tolerated anywhere 
 else. Such, however, is the gently persuasive 
 power of a handsome cheque. But in this
 
 xi MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 173 
 
 respect, too, times, I am sure, have decidedly 
 improved. 
 
 One more of my many interesting experiences 
 during my first season, I mean interesting to 
 my readers too, for as to myself I do not 
 think I had a dull moment from beginning to 
 end, I will record here. If a year before I 
 had occasion to admire the charming simplicity 
 and kindliness of Princess Alice, I was now to 
 have an opportunity of wondering at the inimit- 
 able tact and considerateness of her mother, 
 the great and good Queen Victoria herself. 
 
 Anton Rubinstein and I had received the 
 Queen's command to go to Windsor Castle one 
 afternoon and play and sing to her. After 
 receiving us most graciously, Her Majesty 
 seated herself near the tail-end of the piano, 
 evidently in order to be able to see Rubinstein's 
 face as he played. In the distance the only 
 other listeners were seated, two or three ladies- 
 in-waiting. The great pianist began with some 
 Chopin nocturnes and other soft sweet things, 
 which greatly pleased the Queen. After that 
 I sang, and then Rubinstein played again, 
 this time some louder things. I thought I 
 could detect faint signs of uneasiness in Her 
 Majesty's face as she seemed to realize the 
 alarming nearness of the huge concert grand, 
 the open lid of which threw the sounds back
 
 174 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xi 
 
 in the direction of Her Majesty's chair with 
 redoubled force. Then I sang again, and 
 then, to my dismay I confess, for I had 
 heard him do it before, Rubinstein settled 
 down to the playing of Liszt's arrangement 
 of Schubert's Erl-King. At the first outcry 
 of the frightened child, " Mein Vater, mein 
 Vater," I was prepared for the Queen asking me 
 to close the lid, when there happened the most 
 touching act, or rather a succession of most 
 touching acts on the part of her indeed Most 
 Gracious Majesty. Every now and then she 
 would, unnoticed by the player, gently push 
 her chair farther and farther away from the 
 piano, the sounds issuing from which were 
 growing more and more terrific from bar to 
 bar, until, during the last frantic ride of the 
 horror-stricken father, keys, strings, hammers 
 seemed to be flying through the air in all direc- 
 tions, dashed into fragments by the relentless 
 hoofs of the maddened horse. By that time, 
 however, the Queen was at a safe distance, and 
 a charming smile of pleasure and relief stole 
 over her serious, wonderfully impressive features 
 when at last, home reached, Rubinstein was 
 half, and " the child " completely dead. 
 
 I had sung, publicly and privately, in over 
 forty concerts. I consulted my engagement 
 book and found the words London, Man-
 
 xi MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 175 
 
 Chester, Liverpool, Bradford, Huddersfield, etc. 
 already entered against dates in November and 
 December of that year, and my mind was 
 made up : I decided to move my " Lares et 
 Penates " from Berlin to London, in spite of 
 the wishes of an anonymous writer who, 
 evidently alarmed at the thought of such an 
 eventuality and in a spirit of disquiet less 
 disguised than the handwriting of his letter, 
 advised me to "go back to the Vaterland and 
 dig potatoes " ! 
 
 The first part of this injunction I obeyed, 
 not however to dig potatoes that I did 
 thirty years later in my home in the Scottish 
 Highlands but to see my mother and sisters 
 and spend a few weeks at the villa of my dear 
 old friend Reinhold Wolff in the Thuringian 
 woods, and it was there that another first 
 meeting took place which marked the beginning 
 of a friendship surviving, through divergencies 
 of musical thought and ways in later years, to 
 this day. Shall I ever forget that fine August 
 day in 1877 when our little circle was suddenly 
 brightened by the meteor - like appearance 
 among us of a young and most attractive girl 
 who was staying in the neighbourhood, the 
 daughter, we understood, of a British General ? 
 None of us knew what in her to admire most : 
 her wonderful musical talent which she dis-
 
 176 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xi 
 
 played to equal advantage at the piano as well 
 as by singing, with a peculiarly sympathetic 
 voice and in compositions of her own, or her 
 astonishing prowess in athletic feats of agility 
 and strength, showing us how to play lawn- 
 tennis, then only just introduced into Germany, 
 or, to the utter bewilderment of the German 
 young ladies, and young men, too, for that 
 matter, how to jump over fences, chairs, and 
 even tables, thus altogether electrifying and 
 revolutionizing the up to her advent little 
 varied though pleasant enough everyday sort 
 of routine of our life. In one respect, how- 
 ever, we were all agreed, and that was that we 
 had among us an extraordinarily commanding 
 personality, a woman that was sure to be famous 
 some day. And we were not mistaken. Ethel 
 Smyth was destined to become, and has become, 
 what must fill the hearts of British men and 
 women with particular pride the most remark- 
 able and original woman-composer in the history 
 of music. If some years ago her name has 
 from time to time been before the public in a 
 capacity other than, and rather removed from 
 that of a musician, viz. as an active champion of 
 militant suffragettism, the fact should perhaps 
 be ascribed to the warmth of a big heart and 
 to a breadth and width of sympathies found 
 among the attributes of genius.
 
 XII 
 
 ( 
 
 WHEN, early in October, I returned to England, 
 no longer a stranger, I was much impressed 
 by the grand scale on which in cities like 
 Manchester, Liverpool, Leeds, Bradford or- 
 chestral concerts and oratorio performances 
 were conducted. Charles Halle, to whom 
 England owes a great deal of the subsequent 
 development of its musical knowledge and 
 taste, was then in the zenith of his success. 
 He was an accomplished, many-sided 
 musician, an indefatigable worker, and a very 
 charming, kind, genial man. His " band," as 
 orchestras were then still apt to be called, was 
 as excellent a body of musicians as he was 
 an excellent conductor. There was " no non- 
 sense " about him, his straightforward readings 
 being ever distinguished by a reverence now- 
 adays only too frequently and deplorably 
 absent. To change a forte in the score of a 
 classic into a piano, as I but lately have heard 
 done by a famous London orchestra in one of 
 
 177 N
 
 XII 
 
 Beethoven's symphonies, would to him have 
 seemed nothing short of sacrilege. 
 
 What would he have thought of the modern 
 wholesale Beethoven - improvers, and of those 
 critics who calmly suffer such practices instead 
 of putting their influence to right use by 
 decrying the vandalism ? Is there a painter 
 living who would dare to take an old master 
 whose colouring appears to him a little faded 
 and " touch him up " by adding a little red 
 here and a little yellow there, and exhibit the 
 work as an improvement ? 
 
 Poor Music, Cinderella of the Muses ! In 
 later years my experience as a teacher has 
 confirmed me in my conviction that music is 
 the art which suffers more than any of her 
 sisters from the fact of so many people dabbling, 
 not so much in the execution as in the teaching 
 of it. Take, for instance, singing. Who would 
 dream of taking lessons in painting from a man 
 who can't paint ? And yet there are successful 
 teachers of singing successful, I mean, in so far 
 as they have plenty of pupils who cannot sing 
 and whose claim to a knowledge of the art is 
 often found to be resting solely on the fact 
 of their having at some time or other acted 
 as accompanists to famous teachers or singers 
 whose ways and means they have thus learned 
 to know.
 
 xii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 179 
 
 Wie er sich rauspert und wie er spuckt, 
 Das hat er ihm gliicklich abgeguckt 
 
 says Goethe. 
 
 How he clears his throat and expectorates, 
 That he has noted and imitates. 
 
 But to return to Manchester : my first 
 appearance there took place at one of the old- 
 established " Gentlemen's Concerts," a rather 
 strange designation seeing that, as everywhere, 
 here, too, the ladies in the audience by far 
 outnumbered the men. My being asked to 
 sing there seems to have been something of a 
 particular compliment, for I have before me a 
 letter from Joachim, written from the Adelphi 
 Hotel, Liverpool, in which he says : " These 
 concerts being as a rule only instrumental 
 this time Halle, Piatti, and myself the execut- 
 ants the fact of the committee, at Halle's sug- 
 gestion, being willing to go to the extra expense 
 is a special acknowledgment of your art. I 
 hope, therefore, you will accept the offer and 
 telegraph a c Yes ' to Halle. . . . And now let 
 me tell you how deeply I rejoice in your success 
 in London. In my artistic career nothing 
 more agreeable can happen to me than seeing 
 you inwardly and outwardly reach higher 
 and ever higher steps. ..." Of course I 
 accepted, and Manchester became, musically,
 
 180 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xn 
 
 a second London to me. That " Gentlemen's 
 Concert " was not long afterwards followed 
 by a performance, in the great Free Trade Hall, 
 of Mendelssohn's oratorio of St. Paul, under 
 Halle's conductorship, and it was at that 
 performance I made my first appearance in 
 oratorio before an English audience. I still 
 have the copy of the Novello edition of the 
 vocal score, with the words of the part of 
 St. Paul pencilled in, phonetically spelled, for 
 I wanted my pronunciation to be as nearly 
 perfect as possible. Needless to say, I was 
 somewhat nervous before the performance ; 
 but imagine my feelings when on the morning 
 after it I opened the leading Manchester paper, 
 for which, as I afterwards learned, the late 
 George Broadfield wrote the articles on Music, 
 and read a comment on my performance, the 
 giving of which here will, I trust, not be mis- 
 interpreted. I have made my last bow as a 
 singer some time ago, and if I publish Mr. 
 Broadfield's eulogy after a lapse of nearly forty 
 years, when there can be no question of any 
 material benefit accruing to me from doing so, 
 it is because the article shows the remarkable 
 sincerity, independence, and impartiality of the 
 writer, then personally unknown to me, and 
 also because its consequences had a decided 
 influence on my career in England.
 
 xii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 181 
 
 " Of the singing of Herr Henschel," it runs, " we 
 cannot possibly speak too highly, and we question 
 whether a finer display of finished dramatic singing 
 has been heard during this generation. . . . 
 
 " His success last night was something more than 
 a musical triumph. In the great scene of the con- 
 version, perhaps the most thrilling number of the 
 oratorio, Herr Henschel' s delivery will never be for- 
 gotten by those who had the good fortune to hear it. 
 One realized the humiliation and abasement of the 
 repentant zealot in the half-murmured, grief-stricken 
 cry, ' Lord, who art Thou ? ' Then came the more 
 prayerful entreaty, ' Lord, what wilt Thou have me 
 do ? ' Gradually hope tempered despair, and the 
 great air, ' O God have mercy,' was a masterpiece of 
 consummate art and intensely devotional singing. . . . 
 
 " If space permitted we might dwell on all other 
 songs and recitatives in which Herr Henschel last 
 night proved himself one of the greatest of living 
 singers." 
 
 I confess I was deeply touched by so much 
 kindness. Was it to be wondered at that my 
 love for England and the English grew apace ? 
 
 Soon I had to add the oratorios of Elijah, 
 Messiah, Judas Maccabaeus, Belshazzar, 
 Samson, Saul, Theodora, and others to my 
 repertoire, among the " others " being one, 
 Rossini's Moses in Egypt, which really was 
 an opera. Biblical subjects, however, being 
 then still banished from the theatrical stage, 
 Sir Michael Costa, an enthusiastic admirer of 
 Rossini's music, considered the work sufficiently
 
 182 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xn 
 
 religious for an oratorio, and as such introduced 
 it to the English public. Containing in most 
 of the choruses and the famous " Moses' 
 Prayer " indeed some of Rossini's finest music, 
 it proved a great success, and had quite a 
 "run." Edward Lloyd's luscious voice and 
 " bel canto " style were particularly suited to 
 the beautiful arias allotted to the tenor, whilst 
 it was Sir Michael's particular pleasure to make 
 Santley and me alternate at different perform- 
 ances in the fine bass-parts of Moses and the 
 King. 
 
 Twice my professional engagements took 
 me to Ireland, in the ordinary fashion, and on 
 one of these two occasions it was an engage- 
 ment or, to be quite accurate, an impending 
 one of a different sort which took me from 
 there in a manner extraordinary, that is to 
 say, one generally reserved for persons of either 
 Royal birth or Royal incomes, viz. by special 
 train. This, needless to say, unique experience 
 in my life came about in the following way : 
 One Tuesday night in November 1879, I 
 had to sing the Elijah in Belfast, and on the 
 Thursday of the same week was due in Man- 
 chester for a performance under Halle, at 
 which performance my pupil, Miss Bailey, 
 was to sing the soprano part. My dear friends, 
 Mr. and Mrs. Koecher, whose never-to-be-
 
 xii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 183 
 
 forgotten hospitality I invariably enjoyed when 
 in that city, had on this occasion asked that 
 young lady too to stay with them at their 
 beautiful home in Victoria Park. The re- 
 hearsal to Judas Maccabaeus was to take place 
 on the morning of Thursday, the day of the 
 performance. There being at that time no 
 express train from Belfast to London except 
 at four o'clock in the afternoon, I could 
 not, according to the time-tables, have left 
 the Irish city, after Tuesday's performance, 
 before Wednesday afternoon, arriving in Man- 
 chester in the early morning of Thursday, a 
 thought which made me feel very uncomfort- 
 able all during the first part of Elijah. I 
 would have given much to be able to leave 
 Belfast after the performance that night, and 
 gradually, as the time for the half-hour's 
 interval between the first and second parts of 
 the oratorio approached, that " I would give 
 much " had developed into " I wonder how 
 much I'd have to give." The moment con- 
 ductor, soloists, and orchestra had left the 
 stage for the refreshment interval, I rushed 
 to a member of the committee with the 
 question, " Can you give me an idea of what a 
 special train to Kingstown would cost ? " 
 The man must have thought me momentarily 
 demented, but after a while said, " I am sorry,
 
 184 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xn 
 
 no ... but . . . one of the Directors of the 
 Railway Company is singing in the chorus . . . 
 wait a moment, I will get him." " What luck," 
 I thought. Five minutes later I was in deep 
 conversation with that gentleman, who as an 
 answer to the same question mentioned, alas, 
 an impossible sum. I was on the point of most 
 sadly resigning myself to my fate and giving 
 up all hope, when a sudden inspiration made 
 me ask further, " Is there no point on the line 
 of the night- express from Londonderry to 
 Kingstown at which, by leaving here after the 
 concert, I could catch and join that train ? " 
 (It will be seen that I had studied my map very 
 carefully !) A minute or two of silence on the 
 part of the gentleman and anxious suspense 
 on mine, and then he exclaimed : "I say, for 
 a foreigner you are remarkably sharp yes, 
 the express passes through Portadown at 
 1 A.M. By leaving Belfast at midnight you 
 could be there at 12.45, and I would telegraph 
 at once orders to have the train stopped to 
 pick you up." I grew more and more excited. 
 " How much ? " I asked. And to my great 
 joy the answer was so eminently and surpris- 
 ingly satisfactory that the bargain was con- 
 cluded then and there. The bell, advising us 
 of the end of the interval, sounded. " All 
 right," my benefactor said, " good-bye, or
 
 xii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 185 
 
 no au revoir I shall be there," and two 
 minutes later I was in my seat on the platform, 
 a happy man, especially when the contralto 
 Angel got up and sang, " Arise, Elijah, for 
 thou hast a long journey before thee." " Yes," 
 I thought, " and in about two hours I am 
 going to start on it," and if the first words of 
 my answering recitative, " Oh Lord, in vain 
 I have laboured," did not perhaps ring quite 
 as true as usual, the fault was to be laid to the 
 accommodating courtesy of that obliging 
 Director of the North of Ireland Railway. 
 At a quarter to eleven I was at my hotel. 
 " Bring me some oysters, please, bread and 
 butter, and a pint of stout, I am leaving for 
 London." " There's no train, sir." " Never 
 mind, I am leaving, I shall be in the coffee- 
 room in fifteen minutes." " Very well, sir," 
 said the puzzled waiter, shaking his head. 
 The changing into my travelling clothes and 
 the packing of my valise were accomplished in 
 a marvellously short time ; during my little, 
 much -relished supper a railway official pre- 
 sented me with the bill for the special train, 
 which I paid (I have it still), and at 11.50 I 
 was at the station, usually at that time closed 
 and in utter darkness, but now lighted up, 
 and my train, consisting of an engine and a 
 first-class carriage, drawn up on the platform.
 
 186 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xii 
 
 I chatted a few minutes with my friend, the 
 Director, and punctually at midnight the 
 little train steamed out of the station. Throw- 
 ing myself into the cushions of my compart- 
 ment I actually laughed aloud with pleasure 
 at the thought of my success and in anticipation 
 of the surprise of my dear friends in Victoria 
 Villa, where after being royally received by 
 the stationmaster at Portadown, who had been 
 telegraphically apprised of my arrival, and 
 promptly conveyed by him to the express for 
 Kingstown I safely arrived on Wednesday 
 afternoon, an hour before their other guest. 
 Perhaps the most amusing part of the adven- 
 ture was the fact that my extravagance paid 
 itself by the utterly unpremeditated advertise- 
 ment it had given me, the papers of the 
 following day concluding their comment on the 
 performance by the news that " Herr Henschel 
 left for Manchester by special train last night 
 after the performance of Elijah." 
 
 Of the fact that Herr Henschel' s grandeur 
 was of only forty-five minutes' duration, there 
 was no mention. 
 
 In the year 1880 an event of extraordinary 
 interest roused the Musical World of England 
 to an unusually high pitch of excitement. 
 Halle, who had long cherished the plan of 
 introducing Berlioz's masterpiece, La Damna-
 
 xii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 187 
 
 tion de Faust, to English audiences, had at last 
 definitely decided to do so, his daughter 
 Marie having prepared an excellent and most 
 singable version, afterwards published by 
 Chappells, of the original text, a literary and 
 musical achievement which no later translators 
 have, in my opinion, succeeded in improving 
 upon. The soloists : charming Mary Davies, 
 splendid Edward Lloyd, and Mr. Hilton and 
 myself, received the parts of Margaret, Faust, 
 Brander and Mephisto respectively, in plenty 
 of time to become thoroughly familiar with 
 the music, whilst Halle, assisted by his faithful 
 lieutenant, Edward Hecht, the chorus-master, 
 held innumerable practices with orchestra and 
 chorus. On the 5th of February a huge 
 audience, filling the vast Free Trade Hall in 
 Manchester to its utmost capacity, acclaimed 
 the eccentric Frenchman's chef-d'oeuvre with 
 an enthusiasm which must have amply repaid 
 dear Halle for the endless trouble he had taken 
 in the preparation of the work, and been a 
 source to him of the keenest gratification to 
 the end of his long and successful career. A 
 second performance followed, almost immedi- 
 ately, and a year later, in 1881, Halle took his 
 whole band and chorus to London, where, at 
 St. James's Hall, with the same cast of soloists, 
 the work met with equal success. The English
 
 188 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xn 
 
 vocal score once published, other towns soon 
 took up the work, the popularity of which has 
 been almost unprecedented in this country. 
 And no wonder. Quite apart from the con- 
 summate skill in the handling of all his resources, 
 which one is justified in expecting from a master 
 like Berlioz, and from the originality and 
 humour that are peculiarly his own, the work, 
 above all, abounds in a depth of feeling, which, 
 having its seat far down in the heart, can, in 
 music, only find utterance in melody. 
 
 Take, for instance, that sweet Easter hymn, 
 the sounds of which are reaching Faust's ears 
 from the neighbouring cathedral just at the 
 moment when, utterly despairing of life, he 
 raises to his lips the poison-cup that is to put 
 an end to it. 
 
 Why here in dust, 
 he exclaims, 
 
 entice me with your spell, 
 Ye gentle, powerful sounds of Heaven ? 
 Peal rather there where tender natures dwell 
 Your messages I hear, but faith has not been given. 
 
 But the sacred strains continuing conjure up 
 in him the memory of innocent childhood and 
 youth, his slowly melting heart no longer feels 
 strong enough to resist their appeal he re- 
 pents, and with the words :
 
 xii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 189 
 
 Sound on, ye Hymns of Heaven, so sweet and mild 
 My tears gush forth : the Earth takes back her child ! l 
 
 the cup drops from his hand. 
 
 The music here, especially towards the end, 
 when Faust's voice soars higher and higher 
 in unison with the melody of the distant 
 chorus, is of such transcendent beauty and 
 fervour, that the man who can hear it without 
 being stirred to the innermost recesses of his 
 soul must indeed be " fit for treasons, stratagems, 
 and spoils. . . . Let no such man be trusted." 
 And, to mention only one more of the in- 
 numerable beauties of the score, that wonderful, 
 mystic setting the finest extant of the Song 
 of the King of Thule ! Old father Haydn 
 says somewhere, " A really new minuet I value 
 more than any amount of contrapuntal 
 craftiness." For minuet I would substitute 
 " melody." To say that music without melody 
 is like a flower without scent, would only partly 
 express what I feel about it, for a scentless 
 flower may still be a beautiful thing to look at. 
 To me music without melody simply isn't 
 music at all and if, when speaking of the first 
 performance of the Ring at Bayreuth I ven- 
 tured to confess to being bored by those 
 endless monologues and tedious argumentative 
 
 1 I have given Bayard Taylor's literal translation of Goethe's 
 original.
 
 190 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xn 
 
 duets, in Siegfried for instance, I do not 
 hesitate to go further and, at the risk, I fear, 
 of shocking some of my readers, to declare that 
 there are passages even in the much-looked- 
 down-upon earlier works of Verdi, like, " O 
 mi a regina " in Don Carlos, or " Eri tu " in 
 Ballo in Maschera, for which I'd give whole 
 pages of the Nibelunge. 
 
 The splendid, sometimes terrific part of 
 Mephisto suited me to perfection, and rare 
 were the occasions when I was able to refuse 
 a repetition of that fascinating, sardonic 
 serenade, " Dear Kath'rine, why to the door of 
 thy Lover ..."
 
 XIII 
 
 IT would have been strange if my growing 
 success in oratorio had not called forth a 
 repetition, for a while, of anonymous invitations 
 of the "go -back -and -dig -potatoes" sort, but 
 it was too late now ; I was safely and definitely 
 settled in the land I had grown to love and 
 which, after having sworn allegiance to Her 
 Most Gracious Majesty, I was, witfi the excep- 
 tion of the three winters of my conductorship 
 of the Boston Symphony Orchestra, of which 
 later, never to leave again. 
 
 My speaking of England as the land I had 
 grown to love recalls to my mind a very neat 
 and rather courageous thing a dear friend of 
 mine, the late John S. Bergheim, once did in 
 London. He was in every respect a remark- 
 able man. Of extraordinary intellect and ver- 
 satility and, though a business man, and an 
 excellent one equally keen on horticulture, 
 science, art, photography (a lens he invented 
 some years ago is to-day known as the Bergheim 
 
 lens), he did whatever he undertook with his 
 
 191
 
 192 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xin 
 
 whole soul. Being also an ardent politician 
 and a very eloquent speaker, he considered it 
 his duty and made it his business at election 
 times to attend meetings of the opposite party 
 he was a strong Unionist and heckle the 
 speakers, not infrequently with the desired 
 effect. 
 
 On one of these occasions he was making 
 a very strong attack on some of the principles 
 expounded by the speaker of the evening, 
 when some one in the body of the hall angrily 
 called out to him, " Sit down, you are not an 
 Englishman ! " Bergheim, who happened to 
 have been born in Jerusalem, but long natural- 
 ized, imperturbably asked the gentleman 
 kindly to repeat what he had said. " You 
 are not an Englishman," the man said again. 
 " Would you mind," replied Bergheim, " coming 
 up to the platform and saying it once more 
 from here ? For I have something to say to 
 you." Doggedly the man a working man- 
 made his way through the crowd to the plat- 
 form and, confronting Bergheim, said for the 
 third time, " You are not an Englishman." 
 " Well," shouted Bergheim, " let me tell you, 
 / am more of an Englishman than you are" 
 Uproar of indignation, which having subsided, 
 Bergheim continued : ' You could not help 
 being an Englishman, you were born one. /
 
 xiii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 193 
 
 have chosen to be an Englishman, for after 
 having travelled all over the globe and knowing 
 the world from one end to another, I found 
 there is no better, no freer, no more beautiful 
 land for a man to live in than England." 
 
 This time the uproar was one of approval 
 and delight, amidst which the man confusedly 
 returned to his seat and Bergheim was allowed 
 to continue. 
 
 When some years later Bergheim asked me 
 to accompany him and his wife on one of their 
 annual journeys that year it was to be 
 Tunis and Algeria I accepted the invitation 
 with all the greater alacrity, knowing how so 
 desirable an experience as seeing new worlds 
 and new people would be rendered doubly 
 enjoyable by the companionship of a friend 
 as interesting and stimulating as Bergheim. 
 
 " To stroll with you, Sir Doctor, flatters," 
 as Goethe makes Wagner say to Faust, " 'tis 
 honour, yea, and profit too." Bergheim' s 
 knowledge, moreover, of the language of the 
 places we were going to visit, promised par- 
 ticular privileges and, indeed, stood us in 
 good stead on several occasions, two of which, 
 the one amusing, the other awful and alarming 
 to a degree, were, I think, sufficiently out of 
 the common to be recorded in these pages. 
 
 It' was in Tunis. With the intention of 
 
 o
 
 194 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xm 
 
 strolling through the streets on the morning 
 after our arrival, on our way to the famous 
 bazaar, we had hardly left our hotel when we 
 were accosted by a picturesque Arab in white 
 tunic and flowing pink burnous, a tall, hand- 
 some young beggar who, perceiving we were 
 sight-seeing foreigners, doggedly importuned 
 us to employ him as a cicerone for the day. 
 He followed us like a shadow, reiterating his 
 petition with every step, and nothing we could 
 do would make him leave us alone, a most 
 annoying performance. Our " imshee, im- 
 shee," meaning, " go away," a word I had 
 learned among the first, having been apprised 
 of its particular value to travellers in those 
 parts was of no avail, though repeated in 
 ever louder voice and quicker succession ; the 
 rascal stuck to us, and the nuisance was growing 
 more unbearable with every minute. At last 
 Bergheim turned to me saying, " Now watch 
 me and see what'll happen," and, all of a 
 sudden, after the next solicitation, approaching 
 close to and fixing his large and penetrating 
 eyes upon the terrified fellow, he poured over 
 him a volley of Arabic words with a rapidity 
 as if he had never spoken any other language 
 in his life. The effect was instantaneous and 
 really indescribably funny. 
 
 For a moment the Arab, perfectly stunned,
 
 xiii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 195 
 
 looked at Bergheim with staring eyes and 
 wide-open mouth ; then, stooping to the 
 ground, he gathered, with a quick movement, 
 the hem of his cloak into both his hands and 
 off he went, running, running, looking neither 
 to right nor left, as if pursued by the Devil. 
 And then Bergheim told us. The magic words 
 had been one of those fearful Arabic oaths in 
 which aspersions of the gravest and most 
 damaging kind are cast on all the female 
 members of the culprit's family, from the 
 great-grandmother downwards, and he himself 
 consigned to a place compared to which our 
 European Hell would seem a sort of comfortable 
 paradise. When a few houVs later we emerged 
 from the bazaar into an open square, we actually 
 saw the fellow still on the run, far off he had 
 evidently spied us in the distance. 
 
 Difficult as it was to tear ourselves away 
 from the fascinations of Tunis, of which the 
 bazaar, acknowledged to be, also architectur- 
 ally, one of the finest in the world, proved the 
 most alluring never, for instance, had I seen 
 such a wealth of beautiful silk fabrics before 
 " Time," alas, " robbed us of our joy " at last, 
 and we had to go ; not, however, before having 
 spent a memorable day in Carthage. Carthage ! 
 What a peculiar sensation it gives one to find 
 oneself for the first time on ground the
 
 196 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xm 
 
 history of which, dating back to centuries 
 before Christ, deals with personages almost 
 mythical and whose, according to schoolboys' 
 ideas, wholly unnecessary names it had been 
 a most tedious task to learn by heart along 
 with the dates. I could hardly realize that 
 in the ruins before me I was actually beholding 
 the result of Cato's persistent "Ceterum censeo," 
 and that whilst walking over the site of the 
 ancient Byrsa, the citadel of Dido, I might for 
 all I knew be accidentally stepping on a piece 
 of that lady's artfully accommodating cowhide ! 
 Constantine, too, where our itinerary called 
 for a day's halt on our way to Biskra, proved 
 to be well worth the two we decided devoting 
 to it, on account not only of its richness in 
 ancient relics and especially well preserved 
 Roman remains after Pompey's fall the city 
 surrendered to Julius Caesar and his allies 
 but also of its situation, which is one of the 
 most splendid imaginable. Standing partly on 
 the slope and partly on the summit of a hill 
 commanding a magnificent view across the vast 
 fertile valley, the town is almost entirely built 
 on rocks innumerable, varying in height from 
 three hundred to a thousand feet, separated 
 from each other by nature in the shape of 
 narrow gorges and ravines, and connected on 
 the top by man, that is to say bridged over by
 
 xiii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 197 
 
 hundreds of little gangways. Moreover, it was 
 here where, owing to Bergheim's familiarity 
 with the language of the country, we had the 
 second of the two experiences I will now 
 endeavour to describe. 
 
 Arriving at Constantine on a Thursday we 
 were delighted to find that by a happy chance 
 we had come in the right week, almost on the 
 right day to witness if indeed we should be 
 fortunate to gain admittance, a most difficult 
 task we were told the performances of that 
 strange sect of fanatics, the Ai'ssa-Ouas, who 
 held their mysterious seances only once a 
 fortnight, on Fridays. No arrangements could 
 be made beforehand, so, trusting to the good 
 luck which so far had not failed us, we set out 
 on the Friday night, after a hasty supper not 
 wanting to be a minute late for the place of 
 the orgies indicated to us by the landlord and 
 which, having once entered the precincts of 
 the native quarter, we had no difficulty in 
 locating from the low, threatening tumult of 
 voices, more like that of wild animals than of 
 human beings, mixed with the noise of high- 
 pitched drums and weird, monotonous chanting 
 that reached our ears, increasing with every 
 step that brought us nearer to it. We wondered 
 what it could be like inside if already yards 
 away we felt every nerve strangely excited.
 
 198 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xm 
 
 At last, in a narrow, dirty little side street we 
 came to some broad stone steps leading to 
 what looked like a mosque, and at the top of 
 them there stood a very heavy, beturbaned 
 Arab who, greatly to our discomfort, gave us 
 to understand, in French, that there were too 
 many of us, pointing to two other foreigners 
 standing behind us, apparently on the same 
 quest. He seemed determined on that point, 
 and disinclined to listen to our entreaties, 
 until Bergheim had an inspiration. Addressing 
 him in his own tongue he promised him, in 
 case of our admission, a sum of money for the 
 benefit of the institution, and the result was 
 instantaneous. The man told Bergheim, in 
 Arabic, he would let us in if we came back in 
 about a quarter of an hour, and then, in French, 
 pretending to be immovable, turned us all 
 away, including the two strangers. After 
 having made sure of the latter having safely 
 left the quarter, we returned and, Bergheim 
 dropping the money " for the institution " into 
 the doorkeeper's hand, were allowed to set 
 foot in the sanctum. We four I omitted to 
 mention that a charming mutual lady friend, 
 alas, like dear Bergheim, no more among us, had 
 made up our little partie carree from the first 
 and a French officer were the only " un- 
 believers " among the fearful crowd inside.
 
 xiii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 199 
 
 As we entered we faced a large court, ending in 
 a semicircle and surmounted by a high cupola 
 from which was suspended a large, many-armed 
 chandelier, whilst two candelabra stood between 
 the columns on the line between the large 
 court and the two adjoining smaller ones on 
 the right and left. In the middle court there 
 were crouching four old Arabs, each with a little 
 drum between his knees and a small cauldron 
 with glowing coals before him, over which, from 
 time to time, they warmed the skin of the drum 
 to keep it taut. Around those four, also sitting 
 on the floor with their legs crossed, were from 
 fifteen to twenty young men, all dressed in 
 white and turbaned like the rest. It was from 
 those the chanting noise we had heard in the 
 street, emanated. They were " singing " at 
 the top of their shrill voices passages from the 
 Koran, paying no heed to time or pitch, every 
 one as he listed, whilst the drums unceasingly 
 and in perfect rhythm repeated the one phrase 
 that approached anything like music : 
 
 Against the wall of the left aisle were leaning, 
 in an upright position, shoulder to shoulder, 
 and swaying to and fro like the pendulum of a 
 clock, to the rhythm of the drums, a motley
 
 200 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xm 
 
 crowd of Arabs, Moors, Negroes from the 
 Soudan, Bedouins, and Kabyles ; every now 
 and then the outer door would be thrown open 
 and a new addition to the number of fanatics 
 press his form between two links of the sway- 
 ing human chain and join in the movement, 
 desirous of becoming one of the elect, as will be 
 seen presently. In the right aisle, under a sort 
 of canopy, was sitting on an elevation a tall, 
 silent, serious man of great age, with a long 
 beard and in the beautifully draped, rich robe 
 of a priest, two younger men, equally silent and 
 serious, standing immovably beside him on the 
 floor. At the feet of the priest there stood a 
 mysterious-looking wooden chest with finely 
 wrought brass corners. Louder and louder, 
 quicker and quicker grew the noise of the 
 drums and the chanting, and from the moving 
 mass of the men on the wall of the left aisle, 
 describing ever -larger half-circles with their 
 bodies, there commenced to issue deep sighs 
 and groans, ever increasing in frequency and 
 force until the whole building resounded as 
 with the agonized moans of souls in the torment 
 of hell-fire, more terrifying almost than what 
 was to come. At last the climax seemed to 
 be reached. From the line of the entrance there 
 broke away a handsome youth of about sixteen, 
 and, rushing past us, and halting before the
 
 xiii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 201 
 
 priest, made him, with outstretched arms, a 
 low obeisance, which the latter acknowledged 
 by a slow, benignant bend of his head. The 
 boy then, turning quickly round and with his 
 back to the priest, firmly, almost defiantly 
 planted himself on the floor, his legs somewhat 
 apart, his arms crossed over his chest and his 
 head slightly thrown back. One of the two 
 assistants then divested him of turban and 
 jacket, the boy was a Kabyle, whilst the 
 other ceremoniously opened the casket, with- 
 drawing from it some sharp-pointed darts of 
 considerable length. On the boy opening wide 
 his mouth the man took two of the darts, and 
 with them, to our horror, slowly pierced, from 
 the inside out, both cheeks of the boy, who 
 showed no sign of discomfort or pain whatever 
 there was, strangely enough, no blood visible 
 but smilingly turning to the priest made 
 another obeisance, after which, with the daggers 
 in his cheeks, he danced in perfect joy and 
 happiness across the middle court back to the 
 other side. We were of course dumbfounded, 
 but had no time to reflect on what we had seen, 
 for almost immediately there came another 
 young man offering himself for sacrifice. Being 
 somewhat older and stronger than his pre- 
 decessor, he had not only his cheeks pierced 
 by four darts, two in each, but also his tongue
 
 202 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xm 
 
 and, above the Adam's apple, the skin of his 
 throat, after which operations he, too, with the 
 six darts sticking out of him like the spines of 
 a porcupine, danced back in bliss sublime. He 
 was followed by a third, subjected to increased 
 torture, sought and borne with equal joyous- 
 ness, and we considered ourselves by that time 
 quite hardened, when an unearthly yell made 
 us realise the rashness of the thought. It was 
 a yell not of pain, but of transcendent, frantic 
 joy, and issued from the next enthusiast who, 
 evidently not content with the gratification 
 those poor eight or ten darts in every part of 
 his head could afford him, had taken hold of a 
 substantial dagger, was now placing its point 
 into the corner of his right eye, and making it 
 move rapidly by rubbing the handle between 
 the palms of his hands, caused the eye to bulge 
 out of its socket a fearful, sickening sight- 
 all the while shouting and dancing and laugh- 
 ing, I was going to say like a madman, but 
 there was no " likeness " about it, it was the 
 real thing. Imagine all these things going on 
 to the exasperatingly relentless accompaniment 
 of voices and drums, and in an atmosphere 
 growing more and more stifling and objection- 
 able. I think we were about ready to go, and 
 only waiting for an opportunity of doing so 
 unobserved, when the anticipation of the next
 
 xiii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 20S 
 
 " act," by seeing one of the attendants take 
 out a formidable scimitar, whilst an expectant 
 victim was stripped to the waist by the other, 
 and a consequent look at our ladies, who 
 appeared in imminent need of smelling - salts, 
 prompted us to dispense with ceremony, and, 
 observed or no, a minute later fortunately 
 we had been sitting near the exit we breathed 
 a sigh of relief as the door of the Inferno closed 
 behind us and we found ourselves once more 
 under the deep blue dome of Heaven, " clad 
 in the beauty of a thousand stars." 
 
 That night, at the hotel I always was fond 
 of experimenting I borrowed a good-sized 
 needle from the chambermaid, and forced it 
 through the skin of my left thumb above the 
 nail : it didn't hurt a bit. 
 
 The morning following we left, and the 
 absorbingly interesting journey, by rail, from 
 Constantine to Biskra, made us soon forget the 
 nightmare of the evening before, in the thought 
 of actually being on the way to the Sahara ! 
 I envied those double-headed heraldic eagles ; 
 to have been able to look out of both windows 
 at the same time would have been a great 
 advantage ; though, as it was, the constant 
 jumping from one side of the compartment to 
 the other, so as not to lose any of the sights we 
 were passing, as for instance the colossal, cone-
 
 204 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xm 
 
 shaped tomb of the ancient Numidian kings, 
 or some flamingos by the lakes near Yagout, 
 proved a very welcome and wholesome exercise. 
 The nearer we approached to the end of our 
 journey the finer the landscape seemed to be- 
 come and the greater our excitement ; and just 
 before El Kantara was reached, we felt, even 
 if our guide-book had not prepared us for it, 
 that something wonderful was soon to happen. 
 Slowly and laboriously our train was wending 
 its way through the ever-narrowing gorge. On 
 the right and left huge rocky heights, from out 
 of a recess in which that most graceful of 
 animals, the timid, lovely gazelle would cast a 
 frightened glance on us before bolting into a 
 place of greater safety ; now and then a little 
 bridge over a rushing river, banked by palm- 
 trees and oleanders, and now, with surprising 
 suddenness the great Sahara burst into view, 
 bathed in glorious sunshine. Another hour of 
 exquisite sights, the rose and orange Aures 
 mountains in the distance, dense forests of 
 huge date-palms in the foreground, and the 
 Queen of the Desert, as the Arabs call Biskra, 
 was reached. 
 
 Arriving only a few minutes before sunset, 
 we did not even stop to superintend the dis- 
 tribution of our various trunks and valises 
 into the rooms they were to go to, but im-
 
 xiii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 205 
 
 mediately rushed up the three flights of stairs 
 to the flat roof of our hotel, a fine, arcaded 
 building in the purest Moorish style, and 
 higher still, to the gallery of the minaret which 
 gracefully rises from it. We should have been 
 more than satisfied and happy with the over- 
 whelmingly beautiful view on which our eyes 
 feasted unable to utter a word we merely 
 looked at each other wonder-struck but, as 
 luck would have it, we had hit on the last day 
 of the races, usually celebrated by what is 
 known as a " Fantasia." There they came 
 at full gallop, the Kaids with the elite of the 
 different tribes, each tribe under its own colour, 
 mounted on their spirited, gaily caparisoned 
 horses, with silver-and-gold-embroidered saddles 
 and broad stirrups, the riders in their flow- 
 ing coloured cloaks all the while discharging 
 their guns and carbines into the air to their 
 hearts' content, for there's nothing the Arab 
 loves more than that, the deepening red of the 
 setting sun throwing a magic glow over the 
 scene it was actually living in a fairy-tale, as 
 indeed every day of that memorable journey 
 seemed to me. The market-place, covered with 
 all sorts of merchandise spread out on the 
 ground before the crouching sellers and alive 
 with a white-robed, turbaned crowd the call 
 to prayer by the Muezzin at sunrise and sunset
 
 206 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xm 
 
 from the four corners of the minaret the 
 Moorish cafes in the evening with those hand- 
 some, naughty Ouled-Nail dancing-girls in their 
 gorgeous costumes and jewels, who when they 
 get a silver or gold coin have a way of blowing 
 on it and, with a quick movement, making it 
 stick to their foreheads, which sometimes are 
 completely decked with them the witnessing 
 of the starting of a Caravan, an event of which 
 one is apprised by the unearthly noises issuing 
 from the throats of refractory camels refusing 
 to be laden the passing of a regiment of 
 Spahis, looking every one of them a sultan the 
 wonderful garden of the Chateau Landon with 
 its acres of flowers and specimen trees and 
 shrubs of all climes, which an army of gardeners 
 keep in so distressingly neat a state of order 
 that actually not a stray leaf blown on to the 
 paths is allowed to remain for a moment 
 (labour must be cheap in Biskra) the visit, in 
 a carriage, to Sidi Okba, with its venerable 
 mosque, considered to be the oldest Moham- 
 medan building in Africa, and the school 
 attached to it where we for a minute attended 
 a Koran class one impression chasing the other 
 in infinite variety. Not, however, being a 
 poet, I shall spare my readers a recital of 
 details, which from my pen would, I fear, be 
 no better than, or perhaps even, more likely
 
 xni MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 207 
 
 not as good as a page from a Practical Guide 
 for Travellers. So I take leave of bewitching 
 Biskra, and from among the rich store of sub- 
 sequent incidents select only one more. 
 
 On my first stroll through the streets of 
 Algiers, whither we went from Biskra and 
 where we made a prolonged stay, I experienced 
 the rare joy of suddenly getting a whiff of the 
 beloved Scottish Highlands, which tended to 
 increase in me the feeling of which, amid all 
 the date-palms and rubber -trees and cedars 
 and olives I had been conscious from time to 
 time during the journey a perfect longing for 
 the sight of a Scotch fir, the scent of heather 
 and bracken. In the main street of the 
 European quarter, over a grocer's shop, what 
 should I read but the name " Macpherson " ! 
 Needless to say I rushed in, almost embracing 
 the proud bearer of it, and buying a lot of 
 things I didn't in the least want. He knew the 
 neighbourhood of my home in Inverness-shire, 
 and we had a beautiful time together. He did 
 an excellent business on week-days, and on 
 Sundays was the beadle of the dear little 
 Scottish Church in Mustapha Superieur, where, 
 on the Sunday following, I presided at the 
 organ, and, " leading the praise," singing the 
 dear familiar hymns and psalms, I felt like the 
 prodigal son come home. And now, Good-bye
 
 208 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xm 
 
 to the land of Arabian Nights. I took away 
 with me a wealth of exquisite, unfading 
 memories. Nay, more ; for, hardly credible 
 as it may seem, even those few weeks among 
 the Arabs I made a point of not only watching 
 them, but also talking to many of those who 
 could speak French have actually made a 
 difference in my way of looking at life. The 
 Arab impressed me as wonderfully indifferent 
 to outside influences, quite unconsciously self- 
 contained. Being a strong believer, in the true 
 religious sense of the word, he thinks of his soul 
 more than of his body, and the soul being 
 always with him, it does not seem to matter 
 with him where his body might happen to be. 
 Hence, for instance, the utter absence of any- 
 thing like hurry. (True, our friend in Tunis 
 did run, but his hurry was, not to get anywhere, 
 but rather the opposite, to run away from what 
 he must have thought the fiend incarnate.) It 
 is really amusing to see the leisurely way of an 
 Arab walking behind his ass with a load on the 
 animal's back, evidently not caring in the least 
 if he reach his destination to-day, to-morrow, 
 or the day after. He thinks, " What does it 
 matter where I am I am here." It really has 
 taught me quite a good deal. Things that 
 would have annoyed or irritated me before, I now 
 almost always succeed in shaking off with the
 
 xiii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 209 
 
 thought, " What of it ? What does it matter ? " 
 And as to running to catch a train or a bus I 
 never do that now, I simply wait for the next. 
 But nothing, I think, gives a better illustration 
 of the Arab character than the famous letter 
 written years ago by a Kaid in whose province 
 and among whose tribe a British diplomatist 
 had been residing for a considerable period. 
 The letter may probably be known to some 
 of my readers, but those to whom it is new, 
 will no doubt relish the reading of it more than, 
 in all probability, its recipient did at the time. 
 
 The Englishman, intending to write a book 
 about the Arabs, and particularly the district 
 in which he had been living, wrote to his good 
 friend, the Kaid, asking him to be good enough 
 to supply him with certain information regard- 
 ing the history and statistics of the place, and 
 this was the Arab chief's answer : 
 
 MY ILLUSTRIOUS FRIEND AND JOY OF MY LIVER 
 
 The thing you ask of me is both difficult and 
 useless. Although I have passed all my days in 
 this place I have neither counted the houses nor have 
 I inquired into the number of the inhabitants ; and 
 as to what one person loads on his mules, and the 
 other stows away in the bottom of his boat, that is 
 no business of mine. But, above all, as to the previous 
 history of this city, God only knows the amount of 
 dirt and confusion that the Infidels may have eaten 
 before the coming of the sword of Islam. It were 
 
 P
 
 210 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xm 
 
 unprofitable for us to inquire into it. O my soul ! 
 O my lamb ! seek not after the things which concern 
 thee not. Thou earnest unto us and we welcomed 
 thee : Go in peace. 
 
 Of a truth thou hast spoken many words, and there 
 is no harm done, for the speaker is one and the listener 
 is another. After the fashion of thy people thou 
 hast wandered from one place to another, until thou 
 art happy and content in none. We (praise be to 
 God) were born here, and never desire to quit it. Is 
 it possible, then, that the idea of a general intercourse 
 between mankind should make any impression on 
 our understandings ? God forbid ! 
 
 Listen, O my son ! There is no wisdom equal 
 unto the belief in God ! He created the world : and 
 shall we liken ourselves unto Him in seeking to 
 penetrate into the mysteries of His creation ? Shall 
 we say, Behold this star spinneth around that star, 
 and this other star with a tail goeth and cometh in 
 so many years ? Let it go ! He, from whose hand 
 it came, will guide and direct it. 
 
 But thou wilt say unto me, Stand aside, O man, 
 for I am more learned than thou art, and have seen 
 more things. If thou thinkest that thou art in this 
 respect better than I am, thou art welcome. I praise 
 God that I seek not that which I require not. Thou 
 art learned in the things I care not for ; and as for 
 that which thou hast seen, I pour confusion on it. 
 Will much knowledge create thee a double belly, or 
 wilt thou seek paradise with thine eyes ? 
 
 O my friend 1 If thou wilt be happy, say, There 
 is no God but God ! Do no evil, and thus wilt thou 
 fear neither man nor death ; for surely thine hour 
 will come ! The meek in spirit (el Fakir). 
 
 IMAUM ALJ ZADE.
 
 XIV 
 
 DURING one of my earliest visits to Liverpool I 
 remember meeting at a dinner-party a young 
 married woman whose fine Roman features 
 and fiery eyes unmistakably betrayed talent 
 and enthusiasm. Whether for art or literature 
 { could not know, having never seen her before, 
 but was hardly surprised when after dinner 
 she told me of her passionate love of music. 
 She wondered if I would care to hear her 
 sing, which, on the following day, I did. She 
 sang Brahms' Von ewiger Liebe, and, on my 
 expressing my delight at the beautiful quality 
 of her voice and the true musicianly feeling of 
 her rendering of the song, asked me if I would 
 teach her. Needless to say, I only too readily 
 and gladly agreed ; the lady came to London 
 soon afterwards, and " Marie Brema," the name, 
 now famous, by which she elected to be pro- 
 fessionally known, became one of my first pupils 
 in England. 
 
 The season of 1878-79 was a particularly 
 
 prosperous one in business circles. There had 
 
 211
 
 212 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xiv 
 
 been what I think is called a " boom " huge 
 fortunes were made in a short time and private 
 palaces sprang up in the neighbourhood of Hyde 
 Park like mushrooms. One tells of one of those 
 multi-millionaires being informed by the land- 
 lord's agent that the cost of his proposed house 
 must not be below twenty thousand pounds, 
 and politely replying that that was just the 
 sum he intended spending on his stables. At 
 one of those house-warming parties I remember 
 being present. The spacious hall and lofty 
 staircase of the beautiful though perhaps a 
 little too luxurious house were conspicuous by 
 an extraordinarily large number of niches, 
 destined probably at some future time to 
 receive statues executed by the first sculptors 
 of the day. On that occasion all those niches 
 were filled with a profusion of the most lovely 
 roses, a wonderful sight no doubt ; in my 
 diary, however, against the date of that party, I 
 find nothing but the short, I fear somewhat 
 naughty entry : 
 
 House Niches and roses ; 
 Company Riches and noses. 
 
 A rising of the Stock Exchange barometer 
 generally means a spell of fair weather to 
 the arts, and the musical season proved to 
 be a particularly prosperous one. Among the
 
 xiv MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 213 
 
 songs and ballads I used to sing at that time 
 none was more popular with the public than 
 Schumann's " The Two Grenadiers," and few 
 indeed were the occasions when, especially at 
 private concerts, I was not asked to include 
 that fine and truly inspired composition in 
 my programme. In February 1879 it served 
 as the subject of a rather interesting episode. 
 The occasion was a soiree at Marlborough House 
 in honour of the Prince Imperial of France 
 prior to his departure for Zululand whence, 
 alas, he was not to return alive. The inevitable 
 " Two Grenadiers " was on the programme of 
 the concert about to commence, when I was 
 summoned to the Princess of Wales, who 
 expressed a doubt as to the advisability of 
 having that song, with the " Marseillaise " at 
 the end, in the presence of the Prince Imperial. 
 I of course was quite ready to substitute 
 another song, but as I was moving towards 
 the piano, the royal host, having evidently 
 been told by the Princess of he proposed 
 change, and remembering perhaps not so much 
 the melody as the words of that stirring final 
 stanza of the ballad, bade me by all means 
 sing it, as in his opinion it would be " the very 
 thing the Prince Imperial would like." And 
 he was right. The young Napoleon, a very 
 handsome young man, with most engaging
 
 214 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xiv 
 
 manners, stood close to the piano whilst I 
 was singing, and when he recognized the martial 
 strains of the " Marseillaise " at the end with 
 the wonderful climax on the words " Then, 
 fully armed, I will rise from my grave, the 
 Emp'ror, my Emp'ror defending," his eyes 
 flashed with excitement and, full of emotion, 
 he came up to me and thanked me. 
 
 Years afterwards I was staying at Frimhurst, 
 Farnborough, as the guest of General and Mrs. 
 Smyth, when one afternoon Ethel and one of 
 her sisters and I were asked by their neighbour, 
 the Empress Eugenie, to come over and have 
 tea with her. I shall never forget the im- 
 pression it made on me when that quiet, still 
 very beautiful lady showed us the Prince 
 Imperial's room, left untouched ever since 
 he left it for his ill-starred journey in '79. 
 Many objects in it, like chair -backs or port- 
 folios, had stamped on them the letter N with 
 the imperial crown above and a Roman IV 
 beneath it, and at one end of the room there 
 stood on an easel a large oil-painting depicting 
 the last moments of poor young Napoleon the 
 Fourth. Standing alone in the vast veldt, he 
 is on the point of mounting his restive horse ; 
 in the left hand the reins, the left foot in the 
 stirrup, he turns his head toward the distance 
 from which one sees the rapid approacli of
 
 xiv MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 215 
 
 half a dozen Zulus swinging their spears and 
 evidently shouting their savage war-cries ; his 
 right hand is grasping the hilt of his sword, 
 his face is pale, his eye full of fearless determina- 
 tion a painfully impressive, affecting picture. 
 I told the Empress of that evening at Marl- 
 borough House and the Schumann ballad, 
 and she begged me to sing it to her, which I 
 did no easy task seeing before me the pathetic 
 figure of the bereaved mother who, when it 
 was over, shook my hand in eloquent silence. 
 
 Only quite lately I was told the source from 
 which Heine drew the inspiration for his im- 
 mortal poem. As I do not think the story is 
 very generally known to me it was quite new 
 I will give it here. 
 
 Among the guards of the Grande Armee 
 who returned with Napoleon from Russia, 
 broken in health and spirits, the shadows of 
 their former selves, there was one who, before 
 he went out, had been a well-to-do man, 
 owning a little house with a garden in the out- 
 skirts of Paris. That house was now all that 
 was left him besides a few hundred francs. 
 On his reaching Paris at last, he went straight 
 to a celebrated sculptor and said, " I shall not 
 live much longer. Here is all the money I 
 have in the world. I know it is not a tenth 
 of what you are in the habit of getting for your
 
 216 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xiv 
 
 work. Take it and make me a statue of my 
 Emperor which I want to put up in my garden." 
 The sculptor, greatly touched by such devotion, 
 refused the money but promised to do the 
 man's wish, and the statue in due time, to the 
 unspeakable joy of the brave old soldier, was 
 delivered and placed in the middle of his garden. 
 The poor, worn-out man soon afterwards died, 
 and his will contained the following directions : 
 " I wish to be clad in my uniform when I am 
 dead ; with the sword on my side, the cross 
 of honour pinned to my breast, and the musket 
 in my arm. And in my garden, at the foot 
 of the Emperor's statue, there bury me, in 
 an upright position, like a sentry." 
 
 The truth of this pathetic little story is 
 vouched for by the eminent French writer 
 and diplomatist, M. Paleologue. 
 
 Not many years later it was I who would 
 gladly have been excused from singing a song 
 because of the presence among my listeners 
 of an exalted personage in whom I thought 
 that song might conjure up sad and painful 
 memories. This time the scene was Clarence 
 House, the residence then of the Duke of 
 Edinburgh. My wife and I were bidden, at 
 very short, indeed only a few hours' notice to 
 come and make a little music in the evening 
 " there would be only about a dozen people
 
 xiv MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 217 
 
 besides the Duke and Duchess and their guest, 
 Queen Isabella of Spain." The Duke who, it 
 will be remembered, was quite musical even to 
 the extent of being the leader of the violins in the 
 Royal Amateur Society orchestra, particularly 
 fancied a song which I used to sing a good deal 
 when I first came to England, a song which 
 was very dear to me too as an echo from my 
 early youth when the opera from which it 
 was taken, Lort zing's Czar and Carpenter, 
 was a great favourite all over Germany, and 
 my father and mother loved to hear me sing 
 that indeed very lovely song, set to words 
 put into the mouth of Peter the Great of 
 peculiar charm and pathos. 
 
 In the first stanza the Czar remembers his 
 boyhood, when he played with a crown and 
 a sceptre, and from the surrounding crowd of 
 courtiers and servants loved to return to his 
 father's caresses. " Oh blessed," he exclaims, 
 " oh blessed, a child still to be ! " 
 
 In the second stanza he is himself the Czar 
 now crown and sceptre have ceased to be 
 toys ; his only thought is for the welfare of 
 his people, but in all his royal purple he feels 
 alone and friendless. " Oh blessed," he calls 
 again, " a child still to be ! " 
 
 In the last stanza he thinks of the end. 
 The strife over, a monument of stone will be
 
 218 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xiv 
 
 all his reward, where he craves one in the 
 hearts of his people. Alas, earthly greatness 
 vanishes like a dream, and full of grief and 
 bitterness he cries 
 
 But when, Heavenly Father, 
 Thou call'st me to Thee 
 Then blessed, oh blessed, 
 Thy child I shall be ! 
 
 Simple, touching words ; simple, touching 
 music. Well, imagine my feelings when, after 
 a few Schubert and Schumann songs the Duke 
 asked for that Czar's song ! How could I 
 sing it, with the Duchess, the daughter of the 
 good and kind Czar Alexander, whose cruel 
 assassination in 1881 sent a thrill of horror 
 and indignation and compassion throughout 
 the civilized world, sitting there in front of 
 me ? For a moment I was dumbfounded. I 
 attempted to excuse myself, pretending not 
 to know the song by heart. " Why, Henschel," 
 the Duke exclaimed, " it was only a fortnight 
 ago I heard you sing it at St. James's Hall ! " 
 What should, what could I do ? Suddenly 
 I had an inspiration : I would sing only two 
 stanzas, and by melting the second and third 
 into one evade at least the allusion to that 
 sad " monument of stone." Extremely happy 
 to have found a way out of the dilemma, I 
 sat down and sang, imagining, however, I could
 
 xiv MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 219 
 
 feel the fine, serious features of the Duchess 
 grow more serious with every bar. 
 
 Hardly had I finished when the Duke sprang 
 up, " But, my dear sir, you have left out the 
 most pathetic part of the song ! " and he took 
 me aside and told me how the money for a 
 monument to " his poor father-in-law " had 
 long been collected, but as to the monument 
 itself heaven only knew when it would be 
 put up. 
 
 I really think he would have had me sing 
 the whole song over again, unabbreviated, but 
 fortunately it was getting late and there was 
 no more music that night.
 
 XV 
 
 DURING these first seasons I gave two or three 
 musical parties, and I particularly recall one 
 at which I had among my guests George Eliot 
 and George Henry Lewes, whom I had re- 
 peatedly met at the house of Mr. Triibner the 
 publisher. They were neither of them beautiful 
 to look at, but, somehow or other, after a few 
 minutes' conversation you seemed to forget 
 all about their outward appearances. George 
 Eliot had a low musical voice and a very gentle, 
 charming way of talking, whilst with Lewes 
 it was just the opposite, an almost ferocious 
 vivacity, emphasized by his large protruding 
 front teeth, which fascinated you. They were 
 both passionately fond of music, and on more 
 than one occasion Lewes, standing with his 
 back to the fireplace, his hands in his trouser 
 pockets and the tails of his coat flung over his 
 arms, would make me sing one song after the 
 other, excitedly shouting, " I know it's cruel, 
 but go on ! " 
 
 Robert Browning, too, was a great lover of 
 
 220
 
 xv MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 221 
 
 music. There was especially one song which 
 he was particularly fond of and often asked 
 me to sing to him, an air " Rend' il sereno al 
 ciglio " from Handel's Sossarme, of which some- 
 how or other an adaptation to English words 
 must have existed, though I never succeeded 
 in tracing it in that disguise, for Browning 
 protested he knew the air as " Lord, remember 
 David." I frequently met Browning at dinner- 
 parties when, dinner being over, the lady of 
 the house would have to send the butler to 
 the dining-room more than once requesting 
 the men to join the ladies; before we could 
 tear ourselves away from the enchantment 
 of Browning's after-dinner talk. 
 
 At one of these parties I remember a repre- 
 sentative of the great inventor Edison dis- 
 playing to the astounded company the wonders 
 of that new invention, the phonograph, then 
 in its first stages, with a cylinder in place of 
 the present disk. 
 
 After much persuasion Browning consented 
 to speak into the instrument, and chose the 
 beginning of " How they brought the News 
 from Ghent." Some of the company had now 
 and then to prompt him until at last, impatient, 
 he burst out into the words, " Bother I've 
 forgotten it." After a while the cylinder 
 was placed from the receiving into the re-
 
 222 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xv 
 
 producing instrument, and the awe and wonder 
 with which we listened to the reproduction 
 of Browning's voice, with him standing there 
 among us, was turned into great hilarity when 
 after a while from the uncanny thing there 
 issued forth, parrot-like, the half-angry, half- 
 amused exclamation above recorded. 
 
 Frederick Leighton, most accomplished and 
 fascinating of men, was another of those who 
 looked upon music as a never-failing source 
 of joy and recreation. The musical evenings 
 at his famous studio were not so much parties 
 as services, at which Joachim, Halle, Piatti, 
 Mme. Norman-Neruda (later Lady Halle), and 
 other great instrumentalists happening to be in 
 London, officiated as high priests with singers 
 as acolytes. 
 
 Leighton's favourite song was Schubert's 
 little known, beautiful, and pathetic " Nacht- 
 stiick," which he often requested me to sing to 
 him. 
 
 It will be seen that altogether I had what 
 they call " a beautiful time," tasting all the 
 joys of London life, of which the theatres 
 offered some of the choicest. What a glorious 
 period of the stage that was : Henry Irving, 
 Ellen Terry, the Bancrofts, the Kendals, John 
 Hare, Lionel Brough, Toole, Clayton, Arthur 
 Cecil, William Terris, Mrs. John Wood, Mrs.
 
 xv MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 223 
 
 Stirling, to which galaxy of stars a few 
 years later was added yet another of dazzling 
 brilliancy with the advent of the incompar- 
 able Mary Anderson whose peerless beauty as 
 Hermione and Perdita was a joy for ever. 
 
 Can performances like those of School, 
 Caste, Masks and Faces, The Queen's Shilling 
 ever be forgotten ? Or the bewitching loveliness 
 of Ellen Terry as Olivia, the touching tender- 
 ness of Irving as the Vicar of Wakefield ? I 
 do not think I have ever met a man whose 
 smile was sweeter than Irving' s, on or off the 
 stage. I had the privilege of meeting him 
 rather frequently, and often was asked to his 
 fascinating little suppers on Saturday nights 
 after the play, and when, in 1879, he produced 
 an adaptation of Goethe's Faust, he did me 
 the honour of asking me to tell him what I 
 knew of the way that play was produced 
 in Germany and particularly how old Doring 
 of the Royal Playhouse in Berlin, considered 
 then the finest Mephistopheles on the stage, 
 interpreted that part. I remember, among 
 other things, drawing Irving' s attention to the 
 fine scene in which Mephistopheles, hearing a 
 young student approach, asks Faust to lend him 
 his doctor's gown and, putting it on, receives 
 the young man in the disguise of Dr. Faust and, 
 as such, gives him fatherly advice which, how-
 
 224 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xv 
 
 ever, coming as it does from the devil, is apt, and 
 indeed intended, to pcison the mind of the unsus- 
 picious innocent youth whom he finally dismisses 
 utterly bewildered and confused, after having 
 written in his album the mysterious words : 
 
 Eritis sicut Deus, 
 Scientes bonum et malum. 
 
 Irving was delighted with the scene, of which 
 I must have given him a rather dramatic 
 description, for he wrote me afterwards : " My 
 dear Henschel, you would have made a splendid 
 actor, your c student ' was delicious," and 
 decided to have it in. He played it for several 
 nights Norman Forbes, I remember, making as 
 excellent a student as did George Alexander a 
 fine, manly, handsome Valentine after which, 
 much to our regret, it had to be sacrificed, 
 being, as Irving said, " caviare to the public." 
 
 Having often heard people say that the 
 frequenting of churches no less than that of 
 theatres greatly aided in mastering the language 
 of the foreign country you happen to find your- 
 self in, I made it a point to go to some church 
 or other once in a while for the purpose of 
 improving my gradually increasing knowledge 
 of English. Soon, however, I found that listen- 
 ing with the ear alone renders such improve- 
 ment rather a slow process, and it was not
 
 xv MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 225 
 
 until after a kind providence had, one Sunday 
 morning in the early 'eighties, directed my 
 steps to the little Bedford Chapel in Blooms- 
 bury, now no more, which stood at the junction 
 of Old and New Oxford Streets, near the 
 Tottenham Court Road, that I began to realize 
 the benefit claimed for churches as a means of 
 linguistic education. The picture which pre- 
 sented itself to my eyes as I entered the chapel 
 stands before me now as clear and luminous 
 as it did then. 
 
 It was a lovely spring morning. A broad 
 shaft of sunlight pierced the religious dimness 
 of the sanctuary crowded with worshippers, 
 over the heads of which it fell straight upon 
 the pulpit, and in the pulpit there stood as 
 magnificent a man as I had ever beheld in 
 my life. In a voice full of sympathy and 
 emotion and wonderfully capable of modula- 
 tion I heard the words ring out through the 
 deep stillness, " Jerusalem, Jerusalem, thou 
 that killest the prophets, thou that stonest 
 them which are sent unto thee," and I stood 
 spellbound. Not a word of the beautiful 
 sermon, uttered with rare eloquence, dramatic 
 to a degree, but never even verging on the 
 theatrical, escaped me, and Sunday after Sunday 
 I went to sit at the feet of this great poet- 
 preacher, Stopford Brooke. Imagine there- 
 
 Q
 
 226 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xv 
 
 fore my delight when, only a few months after 
 that first experience, I met him face to face. 
 It was at the house of friends where I had been 
 asked to dine one night, and as the butler 
 opened the door to usher me into the drawing- 
 room, there, to my joy, stood the admired man 
 talking to the lady of the house, who at once 
 introduced me to him. A concert at which 
 he had heard me sing served as the subject 
 of a conversation cut short by the announce- 
 ment of dinner at which, however, lucky 
 fellow that I was, I had been placed opposite 
 him. If, some weeks before, his powers as a 
 preacher had fairly carried me away, I was 
 now utterly captivated by the irresistible 
 charm of the man, simple, warm-hearted, 
 broad-minded, cheerful, beautifully human. A 
 closer talk after dinner was soon followed by 
 an invitation to dine with him, and our ac- 
 quaintance gradually developed, in spite of 
 the disparity of age he was my senior by 
 seventeen years, into a friendship which en- 
 dured to the end of his full and splendid life 
 thirty-four years later, a friendship which has 
 been, as its memory is now, a source of infinite 
 delight, profit, and help to me. Many an un- 
 forgettable hour I spent in the cosy den at 
 the top of his house in Manchester Square, 
 where, surrounded by his beloved books and
 
 xv MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 227 
 
 flowers, of which latter there always was an 
 abundance in variously shaped vases and glasses 
 of all sizes about him, he loved to work or, in 
 his leisure hours, comfortably reclining on a 
 couch by the fireplace and enjoying the fragrant 
 weed he was exceedingly fond of, to receive 
 and talk with his friends, none of whom I am 
 sure ever left that room without being the 
 better for the privilege of his invigorating 
 company. And what a poet he was ! His 
 love drama Riquet of the Tuft, of which I 
 shall never forget a charming performance 
 by his daughters one night at his house, 
 is a poem of rare tenderness and imagin- 
 ation, interspersed with lyrics of exquisite 
 beauty. 
 
 Take, for instance, Riquet's song : 
 
 O long ago, when Faery-land 
 Arose newborn, King Oberon 
 Walked pensive on the yellow strand, 
 And wearied, for he lived alone. 
 
 " Why have I none," he said, " to love ? " 
 When soft a wind began to fleet 
 Across the moonlit sea, and drove 
 A lonely shallop to his feet. 
 
 Of pearl, and rubies red, and gold, 
 That shell was made, and in it lay 
 Titania, fast asleep, and rolled 
 In roses, and in flowers of May.
 
 228 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xv 
 
 He waked her with a loving kiss, 
 Her arms around him softly clung ; 
 And none can ever tell the bliss 
 These had when Faery-land was young. 
 
 If there are many finer in the English 
 language, I should like to know them. 
 
 Altogether Stopford Brooke was a great per- 
 sonality. Love was the keystone of his nature, 
 Love and an indomitable Faith. Who can 
 without emotion read his last letter to me the 
 letter of a man past eighty-four written on 
 Christmas Eve 1915, only a few months before 
 his death ? It runs : 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND All good wishes, happy greetings 
 and dear love, and every blessing from Him who 
 loves us and lives for us, be with you and yours on 
 Christmas Day. Think of me then and of our 
 constant friendship, and give my love to your wife 
 and Georgina. I am fairly well, and shall have 
 some of my family with me. This is a brief letter, 
 but it carries a deal of love with it. Ever affection- 
 ately yours S. A. B. 
 
 It is good to think of him in the last years 
 of his rich life upheld by this Love and Faith, 
 unimpaired in mind and body, enjoying to 
 the full the peace of the beautiful home he 
 built for himself and a devoted daughter on 
 one of the sweetest spots in Surrey where, in 
 the garden among the trees and flowers he 
 loved, his ashes are laid.
 
 xv MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 " At last," to quote the end of his own 
 deep-felt sermon on the Fourth Psalm, one of 
 the series delivered in the spring of 1910 at 
 Rosslyn Chapel, Hampstead, the church of 
 his friend, the Rev. Henry Gow, " At last 
 and may this be our blest experience all is 
 rest. The storm within has been made a calm. 
 We have reached our haven after the tempest, 
 and the ship of life lies under sheltering cliffs 
 upon the glassy waters. Soft are the airs and 
 still the evening sky above the soul, and from 
 the land beyond the music of the heavenly 
 host is heard. ' I will lay me down in peace,' 
 the poet cries, ' and take my rest. It is thou, 
 Lord, only that makest me dwell in safety.' 
 
 " So let it be with us, in this our later time, 
 when trouble is doubled on our head. And 
 then, when after many days the last and 
 loneliest trouble arrives and the house of earthly 
 life, dissolving, feels wave after wave of weak- 
 ness break in that final storm upon the outward 
 man, and the great shadow creeps on, while 
 as yet its under edge is not coloured with the 
 rosy dawn which rises behind it, in that cold 
 hour between the old and the new, when the 
 known is gliding from our grasp and the un- 
 known is rending the hush in which the new 
 life lies as yet unfolded, when all that is out- 
 ward is undergoing this supreme disturbance
 
 230 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xv 
 
 within, as before in the lesser storms of life, 
 there is unspeakable peace. The light of God's 
 countenance is lifted on the waiting soul. The 
 eyes of faith are radiant with it. Gladness 
 beyond all earth's measure fills our heart, and 
 in the silence we say our kind farewell to earth. 
 The coming life arises even in the arms of 
 death, and immortal joy begins its reign. 
 Light deepens, infinite light. Then, on the 
 verge of the eternal day, in that swift passage 
 from the life of earth to the life of heaven, 
 even while we die, we cry to our Father ' I 
 will lay me down in peace and take my rest. 5 '
 
 XVI 
 
 CONSIDERING the great fame to which the 
 subject of a little incident in my early London 
 days attained only a few years after it had 
 occurred, I trust I am justified in thinking it of 
 sufficient interest to find a place in these pages. 
 I was sitting in my room in Chandos Street 
 early one morning in the year 1879, when a 
 letter was brought up to me, signed by Messrs. 
 Harper Brothers, the American publishers, in- 
 forming me that their firm intended publishing 
 in an early number of Harper's Magazine an 
 article on " Musicians in London," which 
 among other illustrations was to contain a 
 reproduction of my portrait by Alma Tadema, 
 exhibited in February of that year at the 
 Grosvenor Gallery. In that letter I was asked 
 to " kindly permit " bearer, a " young American 
 artist," to make a drawing of my London 
 " studio " as an additional illustration to the 
 article mentioned. The " kind permission " was, 
 needless to say, readily granted. My " Show 
 the gentleman in, please," was soon followed 
 
 231
 
 232 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xvi 
 
 by the appearance in my room of a short, 
 thick-set, powerful young man, with a pair of 
 very bright, clever eyes and a charming smile, 
 who after the exchange of a few words and my 
 invitation to make himself at home, went to 
 work at once, begging me not to notice his 
 presence. Before long, however, we were en- 
 gaged in a lively conversation which his ver- 
 satility he also seemed to be very fond of 
 music his ready wit, and a sort of dry humour, 
 rendered exceedingly enjoyable to me. Before 
 luncheon the little study of my study was 
 done, an excellent, wonderfully finished, de- 
 tailed, very clever pencil drawing. I expressed 
 the hope of soon meeting him again, and he 
 left me his card : EDWIN A. ABBEY. That 
 drawing, cut in wood it was before the time 
 of photographic illustrations can be found in 
 the February number of Harper's Magazine 
 of 1880, and when after many years the 
 famous painter wished to present me with the 
 original, it had somehow or other disappeared ; 
 at any rate Messrs. Harper Brothers could not 
 produce it, much to our regret. 
 
 Years afterwards, in 1888, I made in a 
 hardly less original way the acquaintance of 
 another man who to-day holds a high position 
 in the art-world. 
 
 It was at the Accademia delle Belle Arti in
 
 xvi MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 233 
 
 Florence, through the glorious rooms of which 
 I was walking one morning, that my attention 
 was attracted by a modestly attired young man 
 standing before a huge easel on a scaffold and 
 copying a large altar-painting by Andrea del 
 Sarto. I had watched him already from a 
 distance, as he appeared to be particularly 
 earnestly absorbed in his work, and in coming 
 nearer to him I was greatly struck by the 
 uncommon freedom of his manner of copying. 
 Most of the people who copy pictures in galleries 
 you see bending over their work, evidently 
 intent upon slavish imitation. This young 
 man seemed to be looking at his objects four 
 over-life-size saints as at living models, and 
 having taken in just what he wanted for the 
 moment, boldly putting his impressions on the 
 canvas before him, spontaneously, as it were, 
 with the result that his copy, besides being 
 truthful in every detail, seemed to breathe 
 the very spirit of the original ; to such an 
 extent indeed, that to - day, looking at it 
 with the colours in these twenty-nine years 
 mellowed down to a rich maturity, one would 
 find it difficult to realise one was standing 
 before a copy. Well, I thought how beautiful 
 that picture would look hanging in the hall 
 of my house in Bedford Gardens, which I had 
 taken only a few months before, and ventured
 
 234 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xvi 
 
 to address the young man, asking him whether 
 in making that copy he was perhaps executing 
 an order. His answer being, " No, he was 
 doing it merely as a study," I went further : 
 " Would he mind doing the copy for me ? ' 
 " Not at all very pleased." The price asked 
 being as modest and agreeable as the young 
 man himself, the bargain was made there and 
 then. I gave him the address to which to send 
 the picture, or rather pictures, for there was 
 another, smaller one, of two lovely " putti," 
 completing the set, and he in return gave me 
 his card : CHARLES HOLROYD. 
 
 So I had given a commission to the future 
 Director of the National Gallery ! 
 
 The pictures are hanging now in the music- 
 room of my home in the Highlands, and some 
 day I hope Sir Charles will come and sign 
 them. 1 
 
 But to return to 1879. My knowledge of 
 London life and London society would have 
 been sadly lacking in completeness without a 
 day at the races, and I shall never forget my 
 satisfaction and pride on being asked by a live 
 lord to be one of a party to be driven by him 
 on his four-in-hand to Ascot on Ladies' day. 
 To be perfectly in style one had to appear at 
 
 1 Since this was written, death has, alas, " untimely stopp'd " 
 the hand of the genial friend.
 
 xvi MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 235 
 
 that function in a grey frock-coat suit, and Mr. 
 Arthur Chappell having soon after my arrival in 
 London introduced me to a firm of famous 
 tailors in Savile Row, I felt in duty bound to 
 order such a suit for the occasion. In due time 
 it was delivered ; a grey top-hat, white spats, 
 and a stout pair of Negretti and Zambra glasses 
 in the regulation leather case to hang over the 
 shoulder, completed the outfit, and punctually 
 at the appointed hour the four-in-hand stopped 
 before No. 6 Chandos Street. I am sure few 
 people who happened to see a faultlessly attired 
 young swell step out of the house and climb up 
 to the seat behind the aristocratic driver would, 
 under that disguise, in which, strange to say, 
 I did not feel at all uncomfortable, have re- 
 cognized a musician, and that really quite a 
 decent one. I do not remember which of the 
 many sensations of the day I enjoyed most : 
 the drive to the course on that perfect spring 
 day, winding, after having left the streets of 
 the town, through lovely lanes between hedges 
 of briar roses, and neat little villages, over hill 
 and dale seeming a realisation of some of 
 Ralph Caldecott's charming pictures or the 
 picnic luncheon, or the astonishing way in 
 which the phalanx of policemen cleared the 
 course before each race as by magic, or the 
 races themselves the whole thing was one
 
 236 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xvi 
 
 huge excitement, a wonderful experience, 
 " well worth the money," which in this case 
 meant quite a good deal, for, needless to say, 
 I never wore that Ascot suit again. 
 
 Somewhere, in one of the darkest recesses 
 of my wardrobe, that grey coat must be lying 
 yet, carefully folded and discreetly packed 
 away, a reminder of youthful folly my Ass- 
 coat I called it.
 
 XVII 
 
 IT was in March 1879 that a thing happened 
 to me which marked a turning-point in my 
 life, offering at the same time a striking 
 illustration of the fact that the most momentous 
 incidents in a man's existence are often the 
 result of accident. 
 
 One fine afternoon I chanced to meet in 
 the street the wife of the conductor of the 
 Philharmonic Society, Mrs. Cusins, to whom a 
 few days before I had sent my regrets at being 
 unable to accept her kind invitation to dinner 
 on March 9, owing to a previous engagement. 
 " So sorry do try to come after dinner," she 
 begged, " a very charming young girl from 
 Boston is going to sing, and we want your 
 opinion, too, as to whether she sings well 
 enough for an appearance at one of the Phil- 
 harmonic Concerts. . . ." 
 
 I promised to do my best, and little thought, 
 as on the evening of the 9th of March I entered 
 the Cusins' drawing-room in Nottingham Place, 
 that two years later, to a day, the young lady 
 
 237
 
 238 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xvn 
 
 I had come to hear would be standing at my 
 side before the minister of the Second Church 
 in Boston, Massachusetts, who pronounced us 
 man and wife. Of course Lillian Bailey sang 
 well enough for a first appearance in England 
 at the Philharmonic, which took place soon 
 afterwards. Indeed I doubt if ever at those 
 venerable concerts a girl of nineteen had met 
 with a more cordial reception. In the second 
 part of the programme she had in the mean- 
 time become my pupil I had the privilege 
 of joining her in the duet " Caro "-" Bella " 
 from Handel's Giulio Cesare, and when, a few 
 weeks later, at one of those charitable Guild 
 dinners in the City we repeated that duet, and 
 the stentorian voice of the Toast-master com- 
 manded " Silence for Miss Lillian Bailey and 
 4 Her ' (his way of pronouncing ' Herr ') 
 Henschel," he was not very far out. In July 
 of the year following the good ship Australia 
 of the Anchor Line, sailing from Victoria 
 Docks, London, to New York, had on board 
 Mr. and Mrs. Bailey, Master Hayden Bailey, 
 Miss Bailey and, indeed, " Her " Henschel. 
 
 A journey across the Atlantic was, thirty- 
 seven years ago, considered quite an undertak- 
 ing ; to such an extent even that, for instance, 
 when a young American girl embarked on her 
 first visit to Europe, her friends would send a
 
 xvii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 239 
 
 bundle of letters to the purser with the request 
 to deliver to her one of them on every day of 
 the voyage. People, after the boat had left her 
 berth, unpacked and prepared themselves for 
 a more or less comfortable sojourn, on board, of 
 nine or ten days or even, as in our case, a full 
 fortnight. 
 
 To enable my younger readers of the present 
 generation fully to realise the difference of a 
 crossing then from what it is now, I give here 
 verbatim the description in the Times of April 
 1914, of the then newest and largest British 
 steamer, 950 feet long and of 58,000 tons : 
 
 Public rooms comprise magnificently appointed 
 dining-saloon, Ritz-Carlton restaurant, a reproduc- 
 tion of the Ritz-Carlton in New York ; tea-room, 
 verandah cafe, palm gardens, a luxuriously appointed 
 ball-room, equipped with a stage for theatrical 
 performances. The state-rooms (fitted with marble 
 washstands and running water), public saloons, 
 staircases, four electric passenger elevators, and 
 decks are remarkable for their spaciousness. There 
 are also electric, turkish and steam baths, gym- 
 nasium, fitted with the latest Zander apparatus, and 
 swimming bath, decorated in Pompeian style. ..." 
 
 Now our dear old Australia was three 
 thousand tons, that is to say, of about the size 
 of a Flushing or Harwich boat of to-day. The 
 dining-saloon was a compartment fitted with 
 one table only, to seat about twenty-five people.
 
 240 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xvn 
 
 and the sleeping cabins, also called " state- 
 rooms," were situated all around it, so that, if 
 I wanted to get from my seat at the dining- 
 table into my cabin, all I had to do was to give 
 a turn to the revolving chair, get up, step 
 across, and there I was. In fair weather that 
 was all right. But in a storm imagine the 
 sensations of those obliged, for obvious reasons, 
 to remain in the seclusion of their cabins, with 
 the odour, at meal-times, of food in their 
 nostrils and the sound of rattling china and 
 clinking glasses in their ears ; or, on the other 
 hand, the feelings of the more fortunate, brave 
 diners, eating their meals to the accompani- 
 ment of the piteous groans emanating from 
 the suffering victims in the surrounding cabins ! 
 Some of our London friends had sent us 
 various delicacies on board, whilst I myself, 
 acting on the advice of experienced ocean- 
 travellers, had a case of champagne put on 
 board for me, as the wine-list, I was told, 
 showed only sherry, port, and one sort of red 
 and one of white wine, all the same price. 
 The journey proved to be an excellent and 
 rather interesting one. A smooth summer sea 
 and the exceedingly low speed of the vessel 
 made the motion hardly perceptible, and there- 
 fore highly enjoyable, and when for two days, 
 owing to something having gone wrong with
 
 xvii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 241 
 
 the engines which had to be repaired, we had 
 to have recourse to the sails all ships still 
 carrying sails then the sensation was really 
 delightful. Half way over the weather grew 
 quite tropical it was August and we sighted 
 a great number of whales, of which I distinctly 
 remember one alarmingly near us, turning his 
 enormous bulk round and round as if playing, 
 and sending huge columns of water high up 
 into the air. 
 
 There were a good many emigrants on board, 
 among them a large number of Polish Jews, 
 and one day there was great excitement, and 
 a vague rumour reached our ears of a revolt 
 in the steerage on account of the food. Now 
 the food and cooking in the first cabin being 
 really remarkably good, and the master of the 
 vessel a very humane, kind-hearted man, we 
 thought there must be a mistake, and sure 
 enough when the deputation of the emigrants, 
 headed by a man carrying a dish of what to 
 us looked like very nice, appetising food, laid 
 their complaints before the captain, the speaker 
 indignantly exclaiming, " Look here, sir, this 
 is what they give us sour peas," it was 
 found that not one of them had ever seen or 
 tasted that excellent and savoury dish known 
 as " Boiled mutton and caper-sauce " ! 
 
 Rather amusing, too, was a transaction I 
 
 R
 
 242 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xvn 
 
 had with my steward there were no separate 
 sets of them for table and cabin on the early 
 morning of the fourteenth day out. We had, 
 of course, sighted land the night before, and 
 now I asked him at what time we should be 
 likely to land. "' About ten o'clock, sir." 
 
 " How many bottles of my champagne are 
 there left ? " 
 
 " One, sir." 
 
 Knowing I should not be allowed to take it 
 ashore without paying a heavy duty, if at all, 
 I generously said, " You may keep that for 
 yourself." 
 
 " Thank you, sir." 
 
 Well ten o'clock came half-past eleven 
 . . . eight bells announced mid-day, and there 
 was still a good deal of water between the 
 Australia and her berth in New York harbour. 
 From moment to moment the scene became 
 more picturesque and lovely. It was an ideal 
 summer's day, August 12th, a brilliant sun, 
 high up in the " raw, bleeding sky," as Henry 
 James calls it, tempered by a lovely breeze ; 
 our boat looking spick and span with the decks 
 scrupulously scrubbed, the brass neatly polished, 
 the woodwork freshly painted, the awnings 
 stretched across the decks ; innumerable little 
 craft shooting merrily over the steel-blue 
 waters, huge three-deck ferry-boats furrowing
 
 xvii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 243 
 
 their way from one shore to the other, their 
 whistles, tuned in harmonious chords, making 
 joyful sounds all fitting in wonderfully with 
 the expectant joy in the hearts of the affianced 
 couple on board. 
 
 " There will be luncheon in the saloon at 
 half-past one," was the message the steward 
 brought us. 
 
 Luncheon . . . " Champagne ! " it flashed in- 
 stantly through my brain. This would be the 
 very time for it, to celebrate my first arrival 
 in the New World. But the only champagne 
 on board was my own, and that I had given 
 away ! To ask the steward to let me have it 
 back was of course out of the question. So 
 what could be done ? I called him to me : 
 " I say, will you sell me that bottle of cham- 
 pagne ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir," with a merry smile. 
 
 " How much ? " 
 
 " I leave that to you, sir." 
 
 And we had champagne for our luncheon, 
 excellent champagne, at fancy only a dollar 
 the bottle ! 
 
 How can I adequately describe my first 
 impressions of New York ? Here was indeed 
 another world, utterly and completely different 
 from anything I had seen before or imagined, 
 and those who only know the New York of
 
 244 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xvn 
 
 to-day will hardly be able to credit the state- 
 ment that no more than thirty-seven years ago 
 it looked more like a huge village than an 
 important town. Broadway, its main business 
 street, was only partially paved. Of the un- 
 sightly telegraph poles alongside of it, placarded 
 all over with advertisements, not two were 
 standing upright, some leaning to one side, 
 some to the other ; dirty little yellow cars, 
 drawn by small, bony horses, passed wearily 
 along the row of warehouses between which 
 there were still a goodly number of wooden 
 shanties, painted in all kinds of impossible 
 colours ; wooden planks still constituted here 
 and there the side - walks ; at nearly every 
 second corner there was a " saloon " with its 
 double swing-doors, characteristic in that they 
 reached only half-way down to the ground, 
 so that from outside the various legs of the 
 people at the bar could be seen, but not their 
 heads. Lumbering old stage-coaches plodded 
 on, bumping and thumping over the slightly 
 undulating muddy road strange sights, all of 
 these. To this busy thoroughfare the quiet 
 dignity and elegance of " Fifth Avenue," with 
 its brown-stone-front houses, formed a remark- 
 able contrast, and as to dear old Washington 
 Square, made immortal by Henry James' 
 classical novel of that name, it seemed a
 
 xvn MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 245 
 
 veritable patrician next to Broadway the 
 plebeian. At 59th Street, the beginning of 
 Central Park, the .town practically ended, and 
 I remember a little hut among trees, and cows 
 grazing before it, on the site where now the 
 Savoy Hotel stands. Through some of the 
 streets the Elevated Railroad wended its way 
 to the South Ferry, which carried you over 
 the river to Brooklyn, whither every Sunday 
 the great preacher and orator, Henry Ward 
 Beecher, attracted so great a number of people 
 that he was justified in answering a lady who 
 asked him for directions as to how to find his 
 church, " Take the Ferry and when you get 
 out, follow the crowd." His eloquence was 
 indeed marvellous. Not only what he had to 
 say and said, but the electrifying way in which 
 he gave utterance to it, was what fairly carried 
 the people away, and I remember one Sunday 
 his sternly rebuking his congregation for actually 
 bursting into applause, as in a theatre, after 
 one of his impassioned sentences. The music 
 in American churches, often, I am bound with 
 great regret to say, rather secular and un- 
 worthy, is generally supplied by a vocal solo- 
 quartet, supported by the organ. The organist 
 at Beecher's Church was then a young man, 
 Robert Thallon, a fellow - student of mine in 
 the old Leipsic days. His parents, dear old
 
 246 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xvn 
 
 Scots people, had when quite young emigrated 
 to the States, where Robert was born. During 
 my first visit to the States I was for a few days 
 their guest in Brooklyn, and one incident of 
 my visit is, I think, worth mentioning here as 
 an illustration of the strange fact that when a 
 man in the full possession of all his senses is 
 suddenly and momentarily deprived of the use 
 of one of them, the others, also momentarily, 
 seem paralysed or to lose their keenness. Old 
 Mr. Thallon, to set up his son in the profession, 
 had furnished the young musician's studio, 
 where he was to teach, with two brand-new 
 grand pianofortes of the same makers, and I 
 was invited to try them, which I did. They 
 were indeed magnificent specimens of the piano- 
 maker's art, and I expressed my delight and 
 admiration in the most glowing terms, re- 
 marking at the same time that the one next 
 to the window was even better than the other, 
 having an easier touch and a still mellower, 
 rounder, sweeter tone. " Do you really think 
 there is any difference," asked Mr. Thallon, 
 wondering what could possibly account for such 
 a thing, as both instruments had been finished 
 and had left the same factory on the same day. 
 I could, of course, not explain it, but, trying the 
 pianos again, was even more sure than before 
 that the one next to the window was the finer
 
 xvii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 247 
 
 instrument of the two. " Now do you think," 
 asked Mr. Thallon, " you could distinguish them 
 from each other blindfolded ? ' : I laughed to 
 scorn any idea of doubt on the subject (how 
 glad I am that neither the Thallons nor I were 
 of the betting kind !) but readily agreed to 
 submit to the task, extracting from my friends 
 as the only condition the assurance that I should 
 not be placed before the same piano twice. 
 
 Securely and effectively blindfolded, and, in 
 addition, with my eyes tightly closed beneath 
 the bandage, I was in deepest, blackest dark- 
 ness led to one of the pianos and played on it. 
 Immediately I had made up my mind as to 
 which of them I was playing on. Then I was 
 conducted to the other. I sat down and played 
 played played again, and was confused. 
 " You are not deceiving me ? " I asked, " I 
 have played both pianos ? ' : Old Mr. Thallon 
 pledged his word of honour. I begged to be 
 allowed to try once more both pianos. To make 
 a long story short, not if my life had depended 
 on it could I have told the difference. 
 
 How can this be explained ? Could it 
 possibly have been that when I played the two 
 instruments with all my senses unimpaired, the 
 greater light in which one of them that by 
 the window stood, had affected my judgment 
 in regard to it ? The experience certainly was
 
 248 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xvn 
 
 so remarkable and strange that I think it would 
 be worth while for a man of science to make 
 similar experiments with a view to solving 
 what to me seemed quite an extraordinary 
 phenomenon. 
 
 On my way to Haydenville in Massachusetts, 
 the old homestead of my fiancee's family on 
 the mother's side, I made a few days' halt 
 in Boston, whither the Baileys had removed 
 from Columbus in Ohio, the birthplace of their 
 daughter, when that young lady was quite a 
 little child. 
 
 " How otherwise upon me works this sign ! " 
 I could exclaim with Goethe's Faust. How 
 different the impression Boston made on me 
 as compared to that of New York ! In the first 
 place the streets had names, not numbers. 
 Somehow or other " Mount Vernon Street," 
 "Boylston Street," " Tremont Street" does 
 sound more homely than East 10th or West 
 llth, practical as the latter denomination may 
 perhaps be from a commercial standpoint. 
 And then the " down-town," i.e. business part of 
 the city : narrow streets and crooked lanes, a 
 dear old church with a beautiful portico, still 
 called the " King's Chapel," the old State- 
 house, with the Lion and the Unicorn still in 
 its gable, the " Old Corner Book-store," and 
 numerous other old-world landmarks all this
 
 xvii M.USINGS AND MEMORIES 249 
 
 made me feel quite at home. And indeed only 
 a little more than a year later Boston did 
 become a home where I was to spend three 
 happy and prosperous years. 
 
 How this came about I will tell when I 
 return from England, whither I had to sail 
 before long, to sing at the Leeds Festival. 
 London in September being what they call 
 " empty," I did not expect to find any of my 
 friends there, and was therefore doubly glad 
 when, stopping at Queenstown and the mail 
 being brought on board together with the 
 customary fresh supply of fish people who 
 after a week's voyage from New York have 
 experienced the delight of a meal on freshly 
 caught " Prime English Sole " will appreciate 
 this reference to an eagerly looked - for and 
 most welcome change in the ship's bill of fare, 
 there was among my letters one from Dr. 
 Schlesinger, characteristic of his never-failing 
 humour : 
 
 " MY DEAR FRIEND," he writes, " Of all the people 
 whom you had left behind, I am the only one that 
 has held out in London till now. The horrid Orient 
 question, to which I am sure neither you nor Lillian 
 have ever given a thought, kept me tied here, whilst 
 the other friends were roaming through the world 
 and my wife is attempting an ascent of Mont-Blanc. 1 
 Gradually the travellers return. You too, dear 
 1 His way of intimating that his wife was in Switzerland.
 
 250 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xvn 
 
 fugitive, even if only for a short time. Welcome to 
 old Europe. With the exception of the Cologne 
 Cathedral which, at considerable expense and trouble, 
 I have completed in your absence, you will find 
 everything pretty much as you left it : the climate, 
 morals, Sir Julius (Benedict), the British constitution, 
 the Archbishop of Canterbury, the noble art of 
 music. Tadema has had his floors so scrubbed and 
 polished as to make them accessible only to moun- 
 taineers accustomed to glacier - climbing. Sylvia 1 
 is more reckless than ever ; the old Kaiser getting 
 younger, Mrs. J. . . . prettier, I older and the Greek 
 question more complicated from day to day. To 
 escape the fogs we are going to Brighton where various 
 arms are always open for your reception. Myself 
 however you will find most days of the week in town, 
 either at my office in the Strand or at the Garrick 
 or else worshipping in some modest little church. 2 
 Let me see your face before you swim back to your 
 Lillian and the redskins of the West. ..." 
 
 To Brighton, therefore, at that time perhaps 
 even more than it is now the favourite resort 
 of busy Londoners in want of a change of air 
 and surroundings, I went, glad ever after for 
 having done so, for I was never again to see 
 the face of the dear, genial friend who died 
 a few months later whilst I was in Boston. 
 Thither I hurried after the Leeds Festival, 
 equipped with letters of introduction from 
 
 1 One of his daughters, a charming young lady of a particularly 
 gentle and retiring disposition. 
 
 2 I doubt if he had ever been inside one for that purpose.
 
 xvn MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 251 
 
 Robert Browning to Charles Perkins, a Boston 
 philanthropist, and from Lord Houghton to 
 Longfellow. Lord Houghton, one of the house- 
 party at Elmete Hall, Sir James Kitson's seat 
 near Leeds, where I, too, was staying during 
 the Festival week, had greatly impressed me, 
 not only by his personality, which without 
 an actual resemblance somehow reminded me 
 of the famous Seneca bust in Naples, but also 
 by the animation and wit of his conversation 
 and by the peculiarly clear and precise manner 
 in which he gave utterance, now and then in 
 a poetical phrase, to what he had to say.
 
 XVIII 
 
 ACCREDITED by such people to their friends in 
 the new world, I was now doubly eager to 
 return to Boston, which had already attracted 
 me so much at first sight. Renowned as a 
 seat of learning Cambridge with its Harvard 
 University being practically part of it, it was 
 then not only the home of men like Longfellow, 
 Oliver Wendell Holmes, William Dean Howells, 
 Thomas Bailey Aldrich, James Russell Lowell, 
 Henry James, then still "jr.," but also acknow- 
 ledged as the musical centre of the United 
 States. Among the numerous institutions 
 which provided the good people of Boston with 
 music of the best kind were the still flourishing 
 Handel and Haydn Society, originally founded 
 for the performance of choral works of the two 
 masters whose names it bore, and the Harvard 
 Musical Society, both under the conductorship 
 of Carl Zerrahn, an able and conscientious 
 Kapellmeister of the good old German type. 
 The members of the orchestra of the Harvard 
 Musical Society had grown old with it, a fact 
 
 252
 
 xvin MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 253 
 
 which naturally led to a gradual lessening of 
 the technical and intellectual power of in- 
 terpretation and, consequently, to a decrease 
 of attraction as regards the public. Their last 
 orchestral concert of the season 1880-81 
 happening to fall upon a date only a week or 
 two previous to my marriage to Miss Bailey, 
 she and I thought it would be a nice thing 
 to offer our joint services as soloists on that 
 occasion. The offer was made and gratefully 
 accepted and, as a counter-compliment, I was 
 asked to conduct, at that same concert, one 
 of my own works. I chose a MS. Concert- 
 Overture in D Minor, an early and rather poor 
 composition which, after its subsequent per- 
 formance in London under Hans Richter a 
 year or so later, I promptly destroyed. 
 Whether it was that I had succeeded in im- 
 parting some of my youthful enthusiasm to 
 the aged band, or that the players were deter- 
 mined to show the newcomer what they were 
 capable of in an emergency, the performance 
 certainly went exceedingly well, and had not 
 only considerable success but, as will be seen, 
 far-reaching consequences. 
 
 There was among the audience on that night 
 one who, although a keen business man, partner 
 in the old-established, highly respected banking 
 firm of Lee Higginson & Co., had a very deep
 
 254 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xvin 
 
 affection for music, in fact had as a young man 
 spent some time in Vienna for the purpose of 
 studying that art with a view to making it 
 in the first place through the means of the 
 pianoforte his profession, and only been pre- 
 vented from carrying out his intention by an 
 accident to one of his arms. Colonel Henry 
 Lee Higginson for after his return from Vienna 
 he had served in the United States Volunteers 
 during the Civil War, becoming Major and 
 Brevet Lt.-Colonel in the 1st Massachusetts 
 Cavalry, and being severely wounded at Aldie 
 in Virginia in 1863 was and, I am happy to 
 add, still is one of those high-minded, public- 
 spirited men of whom any community might 
 well be proud. Fearless, just, kind, upright, 
 and honourable in every fibre of his being, he 
 cared for the good of the Commonwealth as 
 much as for that of his own flesh and blood. 
 His wife, a daughter of the great scientist, 
 Louis Agassiz, was one of a small circle of 
 ladies who held what in France they call a 
 " salon," at whose afternoon teas the repre- 
 sentatives resident or transitory of art and 
 science, music and literature, used to meet and 
 discuss the events and questions of the day. 
 These highly cultured women, among whom I 
 recall with delight dear old Mrs. Julia Ward 
 Howe, the authoress of that stirring battle-
 
 xviii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 255 
 
 hymn of the Republic, " Mine eyes have seen 
 the glory of the Coming of the Lord," Mrs. 
 George D. Howe, witty Mrs. Bell and her 
 sister, Mrs. Pratt, Mrs. John L. familiarly 
 Mrs. Jack Gardner, were the leaders of what 
 certainly was society in the highest and best 
 meaning of the word. Mrs. Gardner, by the 
 way, afterwards built that wonderful Italian 
 palace, " Fenway Court," in Boston, a unique 
 manifestation in stone of genius in woman, 
 demonstrating what a discriminating love and 
 knowledge of art, combined with perseverance 
 and wealth, and united in and guided by one 
 and the same mind, can accomplish. 
 
 Mentioning the name of Julia Ward Howe 
 recalls to my mind an incident during my 
 Boston days which, considering its consequences, 
 will, I think, be deemed of more than local 
 interest. 
 
 Among the young men living in Boston in 
 the early 'eighties there was a nephew of Mrs. 
 Howe's who seemed to have given his aunt 
 and his guardians his parents were both dead 
 considerable anxiety as to his future. He 
 was of extraordinary physical beauty both as 
 regards face and figure. So might a Greek 
 statue of a Roman youth have looked, come to 
 life and put into modern clothes, and I wonder 
 if this fact may not perhaps to some extent
 
 256 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xvm 
 
 have accounted for his seeming somewhat 
 spoiled, very likely by doting relatives and 
 admiring friends, especially of the fair sex. 
 Certain it was that all efforts to make him 
 work and choose a profession appeared to have 
 failed so far. The last attempt in this direc- 
 tion had been journalism in India, from which 
 country the young man had just returned at 
 the time I met him, handsomer and more 
 unemployed than ever. Mrs. Howe and others 
 interested in him, among them an uncle of his, 
 were at a loss to know what to do with him, 
 whose tastes in dress and food, and living 
 altogether, were sadly out of proportion to his 
 means of gratifying them, when it suddenly 
 occurred to some of them that perhaps he 
 might become a professional singer, for he had 
 a certain amount of musical talent and was 
 possessed of a baritone voice of good compass 
 and rather agreeable quality, having, I heard, 
 often given pleasure to a small company of 
 friends, by the singing of an occasional Schubert 
 song. So I was approached in the matter. 
 After being made fully to understand and 
 appreciate the seriousness and importance of 
 the question and the responsibility which 
 rested on them and me, I was asked to hear 
 him sing, test his musical and vocal capabilities, 
 and give my opinion as to the advisability of
 
 xvm MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 257 
 
 his studying music and singing in particular 
 with a view to making a profession of it. The 
 young man himself was very keen on the 
 subject, and it was with genuine regret that, 
 after hearing and thoroughly examining him, 
 I had to break to him my conviction that it 
 would be of no use : he could not sing, nor, in 
 my opinion, be made to sing, in perfect tune, 
 and must give up all dreams of ever becoming 
 a singer or of making a living by music. His 
 disappointment at seeing shattered what seemed 
 his last hope for he was getting on in years, 
 being then twenty-seven was pathetic. His 
 handsome eyes, dimmed with tears, seemed to 
 look into the future with something like despair, 
 and I could not help being truly sorry for him, 
 little thinking that my verdict would prove a 
 blessing in disguise. We went together to his 
 aunt, with whom was the aforesaid uncle. 
 After my report on the fatal examination there 
 was a sad silence. Then the uncle said to the 
 downcast young man, " Why don't you write 
 down that little story you told me some time 
 ago of that strange experience you had in India 
 don't you know ? . . ." Somehow or other 
 the suggestion seemed to commend itself to the 
 nephew, who parted from me hopeful and with 
 my best wishes. That was in January 1882. 
 At Christmas of that year the novel-reading
 
 258 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xvm 
 
 public of Great Britain and the United States 
 were devouring a little book, Mr. Isaacs, by 
 F. Marion Crawford, and when, many years 
 later, I met the author in Sorrento, where his 
 steadily growing success had enabled him to 
 surround himself with all the comfort and 
 luxury of a beautiful home, he gratefully re- 
 minded me of that awful afternoon in Boston, 
 when my stern decree had unconsciously laid 
 the foundation of it. 
 
 It was at the house of Mrs. Geo. D. Howe 
 that, a few days after that concert of the 
 Harvard Musical Society, Colonel Higginson 
 asked me to meet him ; and there, in a few 
 words, as was his wont, he revealed to me 
 his plan of establishing in Boston, on a firm, 
 financial basis, an annual series of orchestral 
 concerts on a large scale, and asked me if, 
 eventually, I would undertake to form the new 
 orchestra and be its first conductor. There 
 would be no committee. I would be my own 
 master as regards the making of the pro- 
 grammes, number of rehearsals, indeed in every 
 respect. He also hinted at a very substantial 
 salary, being, as he remarked, sensible of the 
 fact that such a position would naturally not 
 leave me as free to earn as much by my singing 
 as would otherwise be the case. 
 
 The offer was a very tempting one, especially
 
 xviii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 259 
 
 since the regular conducting of a big symphony 
 orchestra had for a long time been one of my 
 ambitions, but there was the question of casting 
 myself perhaps for good adrift from so much 
 that was dear to me in Europe, and I begged 
 to be allowed to think the matter over. 
 
 Two days after my marriage, it was in 
 Washington, where part of our honeymoon was 
 spent, I received a telegram from Colonel 
 Higginson, followed by a letter, in which he 
 definitely offered me the post. And since we 
 had already in our first interview agreed that 
 it would be better for us not to bind ourselves 
 for more than a year, thus giving, after the 
 expiration of it, each of us the option of either 
 renewing or discontinuing the agreement, I 
 accepted. All details were settled upon after 
 my return to Boston. I engaged the members 
 of the orchestra, selecting them, at Mr. Higgin- 
 son's very wise suggestion, as nearly as possible 
 from those of the old Harvard Society and 
 among other local players, so as not to arouse 
 too much opposition. 
 
 During my visit to Germany I bought a 
 very extensive orchestral library, taking great 
 pleasure and pride in personally indexing and 
 cataloguing the nearly three hundred works I 
 had acquired. Rehearsals commenced early in 
 October, and on the 22nd of that month
 
 260 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xvm 
 
 the " Boston Symphony Orchestra," as with 
 Colonel Higginson's assent I had christened 
 it, was launched on its public career and I 
 became, for the time being, a resident of the 
 United States.
 
 XIX 
 
 How different an aspect things assume when 
 looked at from different points of view ! To 
 see a foreign country as a visitor of a few weeks 
 is one thing; to find oneself established in it 
 and move among its people as one of their 
 number, quite another. I had to get accus- 
 tomed to many things which at first simply 
 amused me, as, for instance, the familiarity 
 with which people or perhaps I should rather 
 say men treated each other, independent of 
 their social status. Things may have changed 
 since then, but I remember an incident which 
 furnishes a particularly striking illustration of 
 that trait in the American of forty years ago. 
 It was in one of those little yellow horse-tram- 
 cars in New York. A man had just entered 
 the car, and in handing his fare to the conductor 
 asked to be put down at the corner of " So- 
 and-so Street." The conductor looked puzzled ; 
 doubtfully repeating the name of the street, he 
 shook his head and, after a little more thinking, 
 turned to us other men in the car with the 
 
 261
 
 262 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xix 
 
 question : " Does any one of you chaps know 
 So - and - so Street ? " Fancy such a thing 
 happening in a London bus ! 
 
 In referring once to some member of the 
 household staff in the old Haydenville establish- 
 ment as " servant," that word was gently 
 corrected into " help," a circumstance which 
 with considerable amusement I recollected 
 when calling, twenty-five years later, upon a 
 friend staying at one of the newest, up-to- 
 date hotels in New York, and seeing with my 
 own eyes half-a-dozen powdered " helps " in 
 gorgeous liveries, loitering in the lobby ! 
 
 In some private houses and most of the 
 hotels then they had " coloured help," or in 
 other words, negro servants, and somehow or 
 other you didn't mind their familiarity half as 
 much as that of white people. On one occasion 
 it was vastly exhilarating. My wife and I 
 were staying at a hotel in Philadelphia, and, 
 having a recital in the evening, took our dinner 
 in the public dining-room, but by ourselves, 
 two hours before the official dinner-hour. We 
 were the only guests in the room, and had the 
 honour of being served by the head waiter, a 
 highly elegant, faultlessly attired, nice-looking, 
 polite negro. He was scrupulously attentive 
 to us, and must have known our identity, for 
 when we had finished our meal and got up to
 
 xix MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 263 
 
 leave the room, he courteously removed our 
 chairs, and, a broad smile brightening up his 
 countenance in which, but for the duskiness 
 of it, I am sure I would have been able to 
 discover a faint blush, said to us : "I hope 
 you'll have a great success to-night Fve been 
 in the show-business myself " ! 
 
 There was another negro servant at the 
 famous " Fifth Avenue Hotel," then the premier 
 hotel of New York, now a memory, whose 
 business it was to stand at the door of the 
 dining-room and take the hats of the gentlemen 
 as they passed into it at meal- times. Often 
 he must have handled in that way from two 
 to three hundred hats within an hour, but 
 though he never gave number-checks for them, 
 merely taking the hat and placing it on one of 
 the numerous receptacles for that purpose, he 
 would unostentatiously hand back his hat to 
 each guest as he left the room after the meal, 
 without ever being known to make a mistake. 
 A friend of mine would hardly believe such a 
 feat of memory possible, and on having one 
 day personally convinced himself of the fact, 
 could not resist asking the man, " I say, how 
 on earth do you know this is my hat ? J! "I 
 don't know this is your hat, sir," was the quick 
 reply, " I only know it's the hat you gave me." 
 
 Speaking of hotels my curiosity as to why
 
 264 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xix 
 
 to every one of them there should be, as was 
 the case, a separate " Ladies' Entrance," gener- 
 ally through a side-door, was not long in being 
 gratified. To try to reach the clerk's counter 
 of a hotel by the ordinary front door meant 
 pushing one's way through a crowd of " gentle- 
 men " in the lobby, half their number, during 
 the hot season, in their shirt sleeves ; some 
 standing about in groups, toothpick in mouth, 
 some sitting or rather lying on rocking-chairs, 
 with their feet on the window-sills or radiators, 
 smoking, or chewing tobacco or gum or else 
 the suspicious coffee-bean, with a " spittoon " 
 in safe proximity, the latter however a com- 
 modity which, to judge from the unmistakable 
 circumstantial evidence on the floor, appeared, 
 by some of the more Bohemian, that is to say 
 less refined customers, to be considered rather 
 a time-wasting luxury. Never before in my 
 life had I seen so many business men gathered 
 together, all intently engaged in the pursuit of 
 doing nothing. Loafing seemed to have become 
 a fine art ; and of the way really busy people 
 had to guard against its being practised in 
 their offices, my friend, John Thallon, Robert's 
 brother, a well-to-do merchant, one day afforded 
 me an opportunity of seeing a rather striking 
 exemplification. I had been invited by him 
 to inspect his business premises in New York,
 
 xix MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 265 
 
 and being shown through the different depart- 
 ments and rooms, I noticed every now and 
 then a neat little placard suspended in con- 
 spicuous places, from hanging-lamps or nails in 
 the wall, bearing, in clear, large type, the 
 mysterious legend " Please don't look at my 
 back ! " 
 
 " What does this mean ? " I asked, handling 
 one of them. " Well, turn it over ! " I did, 
 and was highly amused to read on the other 
 side, printed in large type, the words : " Don't 
 you think ifs about time to go? " 
 
 " You see," Thallon said, " really busy 
 people have no time to notice these cards. It 
 is only men who come here without any genuine 
 business purpose, hanging about the place and 
 stealing my time, who, disregarding the warning 
 on the front of the placard, cannot resist looking 
 at the reverse. The result is most gratifying. 
 They generally sneak away after a minute or 
 two, and my office knows them no more." I 
 thought this little device exceedingly clever, a 
 very happy combination of Scottish shrewdness 
 and American humour. 
 
 Travelling, too, had its amusing sides. Not 
 infrequently you had to put up with so-called 
 conveniences which, especially to people ac- 
 customed to European ways, turned out to be 
 so many nuisances.
 
 266 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xix 
 
 I don't know whether the custom is still 
 flourishing, but in the early 'eighties a train 
 had hardly left the platform of the starting- 
 station, called the " Depot," when itinerant 
 hawkers commenced to proceed from one end 
 of the train to the other, calling out their wares : 
 apples, pop-corn, bananas, pea-nuts, molasses- 
 candies, chicken-sandwiches, chewing-gum, and, 
 worst of all, " the latest novels " (generally 
 pronounced " nav'ls "). The latter they would 
 actually place on unwary, defenceless pas- 
 sengers' knees and leave them there until their 
 return journey through the car. I remember 
 Henry James telling me how, exasperated by 
 the vile practice, he once, without a word, 
 making a catapult of his thumb and index- 
 finger, precipitated one of the obnoxious volumes 
 which had been deposited on his knees, on to 
 the floor of the carriage, as you would an 
 offensive insect or an objectionable crumb, 
 whereupon the imperturbable young Autolycus 
 picked it up and, half pityingly, half disdain- 
 fully exclaimed, " Well, you ain't travelled 
 much ! " 
 
 And the sleeping - cars ! There were from 
 twelve to sixteen so-called " sections " in each 
 of those, as a rule, exceedingly badly ventilated 
 sleeping - carriages, situated on both sides of 
 the narrow middle passage, each section con-
 
 xix MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 267 
 
 sisting of a lower and upper berth which, when 
 occupied by a would-be sleeper, were curtained 
 off. The tickets for the berths being issued 
 according to priority of application, and there 
 being no separate sections for the two sexes, it 
 was no infrequent occurrence for a lady to be 
 seen climbing into an upper berth with a 
 gentleman snoring in the lower. At one end 
 of the car there was an open wash-room, con- 
 taining three or four basins ; and to see in the 
 early morning the male passengers, one after 
 the other, clad in neither coat nor waistcoat, 
 without collar or tie, in fact alarmingly en 
 neglige, flourishing a sponge or a razor or a 
 tooth-brush, making a dash for that wash-room, 
 or to watch the queue of those who, finding 
 the basins already in possession of other " very 
 imperfect ablutioners " (dear W. S. Gilbert 
 these three words alone would have made thee 
 immortal !), were waiting their turn, was a sight 
 to be remembered. Fortunately these cars 
 were provided with two little private sleeping 
 compartments, one at each end, and possessing 
 each its own toilet commodities. By engaging 
 one of these compartments you could, at a 
 considerable extra fare of course, remain by 
 yourself all through the journey, a privilege 
 of which, not caring to turn Anthropologist, 1 
 
 1 "Anthropology Study of man as an animal" (Oxford 
 Dictionary).
 
 268 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xix 
 
 I was not slow in availing myself ever 
 after. 
 
 But to return to Boston. In the spring of 
 1876, when only just sixteen years old, Lillian 
 Bailey had made her debut there at a concert 
 given by Boston's leading musician, Benjamin 
 J. Lang, who on that occasion was assisted also 
 by a pianist and composer rapidly rising into 
 prominence Arthur Foote. These two men, 
 natives both of historical Salem in Massa- 
 chusetts, the scene of Nathaniel Hawthorne's 
 master romance, The Scarlet Letter, had from 
 that time on taken a most kindly interest in 
 the young lady, whose rare talent, earnestness, 
 and charming personality had greatly impressed 
 them ; and it was only natural that they should 
 have been the first of her many friends to whom 
 my young wife was anxious to introduce me. 
 Mr. Lang, originally a pianist, having received 
 his training from Liszt, Alfred Jaell, and other 
 masters in Germany, was organist of King's 
 Chapel, conductor of the Cecilia Society and 
 of the Apollo Club, and a much sought after 
 teacher of the organ and the pianoforte. 
 Thorough and enthusiastic musician, broad- 
 minded, tactful, of great general culture and a 
 rare kindness of heart, he was the acknowledged 
 leader of the musical community of Boston.
 
 xix MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 269 
 
 Arthur Foote, a graduate of Harvard, held the 
 post of organist at the First Unitarian Church, 
 and, though considerably Lang's junior, was 
 already then one of the foremost composers 
 and teachers in the States, of the growth of 
 whose fame beyond the boundaries of his 
 native continent the performance of a Trio of 
 his at one of the Monday Popular Concerts in 
 London by Sir Charles and Lady Halle and 
 Signor Piatti in 1887, gave most gratifying 
 evidence, whilst one of his many songs, the 
 charming and sympathetic setting of Sir Gilbert 
 Parker's " Irish Folk Song," has gained a world- 
 wide popularity. These two men exercised a 
 decided and most beneficent influence on the 
 musical life of Boston and the development of 
 its taste. And their friendship and generous 
 support from the very first, which former in 
 the case of the younger man has, I am happy 
 to say, survived to this day dear genial Mr. 
 Lang, alas, being no more among us will 
 ever be a source of deepest gratitude to me. 
 Indeed, I doubt if without them I should 
 have come out of the first season of the Boston 
 Symphony Orchestra alive. That the sudden 
 assumption of so much power in the affairs of 
 music in Boston by so young a man as I then 
 was I had just turned thirty-one and a 
 stranger into the bargain, would be hailed with
 
 270 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xix 
 
 enthusiasm or meet with universal approval, 
 neither Mr. Higginson nor I for a moment 
 expected. And particularly as regards the 
 attitude of the press, it most decidedly was 
 not.
 
 XX 
 
 THE simple and straightforward announce- 
 ment made by Mr. Higginson in the Boston 
 papers at the end of March 1881, headed " In 
 the Interest of Good Music," plainly stating 
 the accomplished fact of the establishment 
 of the new orchestra and giving my name as 
 that of its first conductor, came as a great 
 surprise to the general public, not wholly 
 agreeable, I fear, to some musicians, and 
 evidently a positive shock to most critics, 
 one of whom promptly delivered himself of 
 the following declaration : " Some protest is 
 certainly needed to stem this tide of adulation 
 that rises and breaks at the feet of Mr. Henschel. 
 We have had conductors in Boston, and good 
 ones. It is a mistaken idea of Mr. Henschel's 
 friends if not of his own that we have 
 waited here, all unconscious of our own poverty 
 and great needs, for this musical trinity com- 
 bined in the person of Mr. Henschel oratorio 
 exponent, composer and orchestral conductor. 
 
 271
 
 272 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xx 
 
 We are not, and have not been, half as ignorant 
 as they suppose." 
 
 Others followed suit in similar terms, though 
 apparently with little effect on public opinion, 
 for when, early in September, the sale of tickets 
 for the first season commenced, both Mr. 
 Higginson and I were greatly astonished and 
 gratified at the demand for them. As early 
 as six o'clock on the morning of the sale people 
 commenced getting into line before the doors 
 of the old Music Hall, one paper even asserting 
 this to have taken place in the afternoon of 
 the previous day. The Transcript, Boston's 
 premier evening paper, asked in bewilderment : 
 " Where does all the audience come from ? 
 Where have all these symphony - goers been 
 during the last ten years that they have hidden 
 themselves so completely from public view ? " 
 This was encouraging. I was by that time 
 rehearsing industriously and enthusiastically 
 with the orchestra, with all the members of 
 which I stood on the most friendly footing, 
 and to whom, previous to the commencement 
 of rehearsal, I had issued this letter : 
 
 To THE MEMBERS OF THE BOSTON SYMPHONY 
 ORCHESTRA 
 
 GENTLEMEN I beg leave to say a few words to 
 you now, in order to avoid waste of time after our 
 work has once begun. Wherever a body of men are
 
 xx MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 273 
 
 working together for one and the same end, as you 
 and I, the utmost of unity and mutual understanding 
 is required in order to achieve anything that is great 
 or good. 
 
 Every one of us, engaged for the concerts we are 
 on the point of beginning, has been engaged because 
 his powers, his talents have been considered valuable 
 for the purpose. Every one of us, therefore, should 
 have a like interest as well as a like share in the success 
 of our work, and it is in this regard that I address 
 you now, calling your attention to the following 
 points with which I urgently beg of you to acquaint 
 yourselves thoroughly : 
 
 Let us be punctual. Better ten minutes before 
 than one behind the time appointed. 
 
 Tuning will cease the moment the conductor 
 gives the sign for doing so. 
 
 No member of the orchestra, even if his presence 
 be not needed for the moment, will leave the 
 hall during the time of the rehearsals and 
 concerts without the consent of the conductor. 
 
 The folios containing the parts will be closed 
 after each rehearsal and concert. 
 
 Inasmuch as we are engaged for musical purposes, 
 we will not talk of private matters during 
 rehearsals and concerts. 
 
 Hoping that, thus working together with perfect 
 understanding, our labours will be crowned with 
 success. I am, gentlemen, your obedient servant, 
 
 G. H. 
 
 Being absolutely my own master as regards 
 the orchestra and its work, I tried several 
 experiments in the way of the placing of the
 
 274 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xx 
 
 orchestra, dividing, for instance, the strings 
 into equal halves on my right and left with 
 the object of enabling the listeners on either 
 side of the hall to have the full effect of the 
 whole string - quintet. Those experiments I 
 submitted in letters, illustrated by diagrams, 
 to Brahms, who most kindly, in his answers, 
 commented upon their practicability or other- 
 wise. " But," he writes on one occasion, 
 ; ' by far the best feature in all your arrange- 
 ments of the orchestra, is the fact that no 
 committee will be sitting in front of it. There 
 is not a Kapellmeister on the whole of our 
 continent who would not envy you that ! " 
 In the making of the programmes I endeavoured 
 to be guided by the principles laid down by 
 the famous German writer, Gustav Freytag, 
 whose book, The Technique of the Drama, I 
 had studied in my Leipsic days, principles 
 which he had evolved from the study of the 
 great dramatists from Sophocles to Shakespeare. 
 In that book Freytag maintains that a drama 
 should have an uneven number of acts, either 
 three or five. The interest should steadily 
 ascend during the first two or, in the case 
 of a five-act play, during the first three acts. 
 Here should be the climax, after which, in the 
 last act or, in the case of a five-act play, in 
 the last two the interest should gently descend
 
 xx MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 275 
 
 until, at the end, it has reached the level of 
 the outset. 
 
 Accordingly, with hardly an exception, I 
 arranged my programmes so that, commencing 
 with an overture, after which there came a 
 solo, either instrumental or vocal, the climax, 
 viz. the symphony, stood at the end of the 
 first part which generally took up, as regards 
 the length of the concert, two - thirds of the 
 whole. The second part then was a gentle 
 " letting-down " from the more or less acute 
 mental effort claimed by the first part. The 
 scheme seemed to meet with the approval 
 even of the critics. Anyhow, at all the concerts, 
 which took place every Saturday evening for 
 twenty-four successive weeks, the hall was 
 crowded, and as to the public rehearsals on the 
 Friday afternoons, for which no tickets being 
 sold beforehand one paid twenty-five cents 
 (one shilling) at the door to every part of the 
 house, there was many an afternoon when 
 people had to be turned away. I shall never 
 forget the public rehearsal for the last concert 
 of the first season, when Beethoven's Ninth 
 Symphony the preceding eight had all been 
 given in the course of the series was on the 
 programme. I had left my house in Otis 
 Place for old Music Hall the magnificent 
 " Symphony " Hall of the present day did not
 
 276 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xx 
 
 exist then and was crossing the Common, 
 when in the distance I observed, fully three or 
 four minutes' walk to the Hall yet, a huge 
 gathering of people. " What a pity," I said 
 to myself, thinking some accident had happened, 
 '' this should occur just to-day, when it will 
 interfere with the progress of people wanting 
 to go to the rehearsal ! " Imagine my surprise 
 and, needless to add, my gratification when, 
 on coming nearer, I found that the crowd was 
 slowly moving towards Music Hall they were 
 the very people trying to get admission to the 
 rehearsal ! I had to beg and elbow my way to 
 the hall, and even there men and women 
 sitting on the steps leading to the platform 
 encountered some difficulty in my endeavour to 
 reach the conductor's place in time. As far, 
 therefore, as regards the public, there was 
 nothing to complain of. But the critics ! 
 It was after the unquestionable success of the 
 very first concert that the seemingly organized 
 newspaper attacks commenced. Nothing was 
 good. My tempi, my " untraditional " way 
 of conducting, even the seating of the orchestra 
 furnished abundant reasons for adverse criticism, 
 the growth of which in violence appeared to 
 keep pace with that of the favour the concerts 
 found with the public from week to week. 
 I was, by one critic, considered " a veritable
 
 xx MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 277 
 
 Brahmin " in my passion for Brahms. " There 
 are more dissonances in Music Hall in a week 
 now," he wrote, " than there used to be in a 
 year." Ridicule, sarcasm, venom, wit not 
 always free from vulgarity were called upon 
 to serve the purpose of defeating Mr. Higginson's 
 scheme. At one of the concerts I was an- 
 nounced to play a MS. Pianoforte Concerto 
 of my own which soon afterwards, in spite of 
 its momentary success, shared the fate of that 
 significant Concert-Overture and this afforded 
 the critics a welcome opportunity for the 
 activity of all the above requisites of warfare, 
 a warfare which, however, was of a decidedly 
 one-sided kind, as neither Mr. Higginson nor 
 I ever took the slightest public notice of these 
 attacks. Here is a little sample : 
 
 Mr. Henschel will appear as pianist, composer, 
 and conductor, and he has already appeared as a 
 singer in the series. That is a good deal for one man 
 to do. But he will do it with all satisfaction to the 
 public, which seems to be entirely captivated by him. 
 The only thing he cannot do is to appear as a string 
 quartette, or sing duets with himself. 
 
 In another paper there appeared a parody 
 on the programme : " Eggshel Concert ; Con- 
 ductor, Henor Eggshel." Conductor, composer, 
 manager, performers, all had the name of Egg- 
 shel, and the items of the programme were
 
 278 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xx 
 
 " Zum Andenken," " Vergiss-mein-nicht," "And 
 don't you forget it," " Souviens-toi," " Then 
 you'll remember me," and so on really very 
 amusing. Certainly the amount of free adver- 
 tising I got was amazing. That some people 
 minded this sort of thing more than I did, was 
 shown by a letter which appeared in the 
 Boston Herald, headed " Mr. Henschel's Critics 
 criticized," and signed " Pro bono publico." 
 It began thus : 
 
 " Let me ask, is it fair, just, honourable, or even 
 decent for the managers of these papers " quoting 
 the Saturday Evening Gazette, the Advertiser, and the 
 Transcript " to permit such critics to vilify, malign, 
 abuse and ridicule a gentleman of Mr. Henschel's 
 abilities, a born musician, a simple, earnest, devoted 
 worker for the highest and best in music at all times ? " 
 and ended : "If the gentlemen of the press desire to 
 organize a clamour against Mr. Henschel, they will 
 find his friends quite ready to meet them. The fact 
 has been established that Mr. Henschel is a success 
 as a conductor. He has had serious difficulties to 
 overcome on account of the indifferent and demoralized 
 condition of his men. He has not been able yet to 
 prevent some of the old fiddlers from doubling their 
 backs like cobblers and drawing their bows as they 
 would so many wax-ends ; but he has, nevertheless, 
 added new blood, and imparted much of his own 
 enthusiasm, ardour, and life into the mechanical 
 old stagers, so that the result has been an agreeable 
 surprise to all of us, and which has never been seen 
 under the baton of any other conductor. As a whole,
 
 xx MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 279 
 
 the orchestra is certainly equal to any we had ever 
 had in Boston, and, if it is not already, by the end of 
 the season I doubt not it will be the best one of its 
 class in America." 
 
 This was very pleasant reading for a change, 
 although it had very little effect on the critics. 
 The public, however, continued to flock to the 
 concerts in ever-increasing numbers, and the 
 members of the orchestra showed their good- 
 will to me by the gift of a silver salad set, which 
 was presented to me at one of the concerts 
 in February '82, happening to fall on my 
 birthday, in full sight of and with the evident 
 warm approval of the audience. 
 
 Just at that time, it being near the end of 
 the first season, Mr. Higginson and I had 
 several meetings in regard to the arrangements 
 for the next one, the result of which was a 
 circular letter to the members of the orchestra, 
 of which I quote the following paragraphs, 
 heralding, as they did, a phase in the organiza- 
 tion of orchestras entirely new in the history 
 of musical Boston : 
 
 Your services will be required on each week 
 between October 1 and April 1, on the 
 following days : Wednesday morning, after- 
 noon and evening ; Thursday morning, after- 
 noon and evening ; Friday morning and 
 afternoon ; Saturday morning and evening. 
 
 On Wednesday and Thursday all of your time
 
 280 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xx 
 
 will, of course, not be required, but you must 
 be ready when needed. You will be expected 
 to play during these four days either at 
 concerts or at rehearsals, as required. If it is 
 necessary to give a concert occasionally on 
 Friday, you will be asked to give that evening 
 in place of another. 
 
 On the days specified you will neither play 
 in any other orchestra nor under any other 
 conductor than Mr. Henschel, except if 
 wanted in your leisure hours by the Handel 
 and Haydn Society, nor will you play for 
 dancing. . . . 
 
 Then followed the offers of salary to the 
 individual players. This letter drew forth a 
 perfect eruption of indignation on the part 
 of the critics. " It is a good thing for Mr. 
 Henschel," one of them wrote, " that he received 
 his silver salad set from his orchestra two 
 weeks ago. Just at present there is no desire 
 to give Mr. Henschel anything except censure. 
 The cause of this sudden revulsion of feeling " 
 (!!) the exclamation marks are mine " is 
 that Mr. Henschel's efforts at musical reform 
 appear to have suddenly become a little too 
 sweeping, and seem to include the centraliza- 
 tion of Boston's music in the hands of this 
 conductor. . . . Mr. Higginson's circular is a 
 direct stab at the older organizations and 
 rival conductors of Boston , , the manner
 
 xx MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 281 
 
 in which the proposal is made is one which 
 forebodes tyranny. Some of the oldest members 
 of the orchestra, men whose services to music 
 in Boston have entitled them to deference and 
 respect, are omitted altogether, and will be 
 left out of the new organization. . . ." 
 
 Another paper accused Mr. Higginson of 
 " making a corner " in orchestral players, 
 characterizing his gift as an " imposition " : 
 " something that we must receive or else look 
 musical starvation in the face. It is as if a 
 man should make a poor friend a present of 
 several baskets of champagne and, at the same 
 time, cut off his whole water-supply. . . ." 
 The Gazette even went so far as to describe 
 Mr. Higginson's " monopoly of music " " an 
 idea that could scarcely have emanated from 
 any association except that of deluded wealth 
 with arrant charlatanism " ! 
 
 All this deluge of abuse affected Mr. 
 Higginson and me as water does the pro- 
 verbial back of a duck. The newspapers were 
 eagerly searched for replies from either him or 
 me, people anticipating with glee the great 
 fun of a " regular fight " ; and when at last, on 
 March 21, there really appeared a letter from 
 Mr. Higginson in the papers, I would have 
 given much to have seen the faces of some of 
 the people who read the following announce-
 
 282 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xx 
 
 ment, most characteristic in its shortness and 
 simplicity, and, as a rejoinder to the enemy's 
 onslaughts, really amusing : 
 
 When last spring the general scheme for the 
 concerts of the Boston Symphony Orchestra was put 
 forth, the grave doubt in my mind was whether they 
 were wanted. This doubt has been dispelled by a 
 most kindly and courteous public, and therefore the 
 scheme will stand. The concerts and public re- 
 hearsals, with Mr. George Henschel as conductor, 
 will go on under the same conditions in the main as 
 to time, place, programmes and prices. Any changes 
 will be duly made public when the tickets are ad- 
 vertised for sale. 
 
 HENRY LEE HIGGINSON. 
 
 And when the tickets were advertised and 
 the sale had commenced, this is what the 
 newspaper had to say about it on Monday 
 morning : 
 
 The interest taken in the coming series of Sym- 
 phony Concerts under the direction of Mr. Henschel 
 is shown by the demand for season tickets. A few 
 people appeared at the Box Office at Music Hall on 
 Saturday morning for the purpose of securing positions 
 in the line of purchasers. As Music Hall was to be 
 used they were not allowed to stand in the passage- 
 way and, accordingly, stood in line on Winter Street. 
 Some time in the afternoon others came and formed 
 a line in Music Hall Place. When this was noticed 
 those around the corner made a rush, and some who 
 had secured good positions in the first place were not 
 so fortunate at the time of the change. Early Sunday
 
 xx MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 283 
 
 evening the line rapidly lengthened, and at seven 
 o'clock there were more than a hundred persons in 
 line, and at nine o'clock the number had increased 
 to at least two hundred. Chairs, camp-stools, and 
 even a long wooden settee were in the service of 
 these patient ones, and the floor of the doorway leading 
 to the vestibule was covered by about a dozen in- 
 dividuals lying packed as close as sardines. The 
 time was passed in smoking, chatting, and by occasion- 
 ally taking a promenade, a neighbour securing the 
 seat of the absent one until he returned. When the 
 sale of tickets began, there were about three hundred 
 and fifty persons in line, many of them boys who were 
 holding positions for others. Some who intended 
 purchasing only two tickets would take orders for 
 four more, six tickets to each person being the limit. 
 It is said that the second man in the line sold his 
 position for thirty-five dollars. . . . 
 
 This certainly was encouraging, and if it 
 did not entirely change the attitude of the 
 press, it had at least some influence on their 
 tactics. They now contended the concerts 
 did not fulfil their intended mission of minister- 
 ing to the large mass of the public. One man, 
 referring to the first season, wrote : 
 
 I saw but few whom I should believe to be poor 
 or even of moderate means. ..." Full dress " was to 
 be seen on every hand. ... I should be very glad 
 to take my family to hear these educating and refining 
 concerts, but I have not the means to go in full 
 dress. . . . Is not Mr. Higginson's scheme a failure, 
 practically? . . .
 
 284 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xx 
 
 Another : 
 
 Symphony Concerts may be given for a number 
 of years in Boston at a rate which will certainly 
 involve pecuniary loss ; but it is not at all probable 
 that Mr. Higginson will have his successor in any 
 such unappreciated system of philanthropy. . . . 
 How long the r61e of King Ludwig is to be played in 
 Boston, it is impossible to determine. Certain it is 
 that no one is profiting by it save the distinguished 
 conductor of the Boston Symphony Orchestra. 
 
 Well, as I said before, neither Mr. Higginson 
 nor I heeded these things, and the second season 
 commenced " as advertised." I was greatly 
 amused on reading in the Transcript on the 
 day after the first concert : " Either Mr. 
 Henschel has converted the critics, or the critics 
 have converted Mr. Henschel. Which is it ? ' 
 And actually, after this, there seemed -to 
 prevail a more conciliatory tone in the utterings 
 of the critics, with now and then a flickering 
 of the old spirit, as will presently be seen. 
 The programme of the concert for Saturday, 
 February 17, 1883, had in the usual way been 
 announced on the last page of the preceding 
 one, but whilst rehearsing the same on the 
 morning of Tuesday the 13th, the news of 
 Wagner's death at the Palazzo Vendramini in 
 Venice was brought into the hall, whereupon 
 I immediately decided to abandon the adver-
 
 xx MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 285 
 
 tised programme and substitute for it one 
 entirely consisting of works from the pen of 
 the dead master. This was the programme : 
 
 Prelude (Tristan and Isolde) ; Lohengrin's Legend 
 and Farewell, sung by Mr. Charles R. Adams ; Siegfried 
 Idyll ; Elizabeth's Greeting to the Hall of Song, from 
 Tannhauser, sung by Mile. Gabriella Boe'ma ; Prelude 
 to the Master singers of Nuremberg ; Pogner's Address 
 from the same opera, sung by myself and conducted 
 by Mr. Listemann, the leader; Prelude to Parsifal, 
 and the Death March from the Gotterdammerung. 
 
 The Parsifal prelude I had introduced to 
 Boston earlier in the season, playing it both at 
 the beginning and at the end of the same 
 concert, a proceeding which, much to my gratifi- 
 cation, had found considerable favour with the 
 musicians as well as the public. 
 
 This Wagner - Memorial Concert was thus 
 criticized by the Gazette : 
 
 A tribute of respect to the dead composer crowded 
 the front of the first gallery, and consisted of some 
 mourning drapery decorated with laurel, and a 
 portrait of Wagner. The Orchestra wore black 
 instead of the customary white neckties. The pro- 
 gramme was gloomy enough in all conscience, and 
 the necessity for its performance gave one more 
 cause for regret at the composer's death. The whole 
 concert was an elegiac nightmare. We doubt if ever 
 Music Hall echoed to a longer stretch of cacophonous 
 dreariness within the same length of time. 
 
 Incredible !
 
 286 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xx 
 
 A year later, on the anniversary of Wagner's 
 death, the programme contained, in memory 
 of the event, three of his compositions. This 
 time one of the critics, and a very clever one, 
 Mr. Louis C. Elson, who has, among other 
 meritorious work, done some excellent English 
 versions of a great number of German songs, 
 blossomed into poetry : 
 
 Oh, Henschel, cease thy higher flight, 
 
 And give the public something light ! 
 
 Let no more Wagner themes thy bill enhance, 
 
 And give the native workers just one chance. 
 
 Don't give the Dvofak symphony again ; 
 
 If you would give us joy, oh, give us Paine ! 
 
 The last line is really quite witty, for Mr. 
 John K. Paine, Professor of Music at Harvard 
 University, and a composer of considerable 
 skill and erudition, had written a " Spring 
 Symphony " which was " not half bad," and 
 which I brought to a hearing during the series. 
 From the reference to Dvorak it will be seen 
 that the task I had set myself, of introducing 
 the works of living composers new to Boston, 
 was not a very grateful one. It does seem 
 almost as incredible now as the " cacophonous 
 dreariness of Wagner " to have, for instance, 
 the Adagio from Brahms' Serenade in D likened 
 by one of the critics, as it was, to " the sapient 
 musings of some brilliant idiot " ! " We are
 
 xx MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 287 
 
 told," that gentleman continued, "by an 
 eminent musician of the orchestra, that thirty 
 years will make a wondrous change in our 
 views concerning Brahms' idiosyncrasies. Let 
 us not run so unwelcome a risk. Let us die 
 in peace, with none of the abortive 4 transition 
 to plague our life away, that might be expected 
 by some of the so-called future school of 
 music. . . ." 
 
 Poor man ! The thirty years have passed, 
 and wondrous indeed the change they have 
 wrought. Debussy, D'Indy, Ravel, Scriabine, 
 Richard Strauss, Reger, Schonberg what has 
 my friend, if he be still among the living, to 
 say of these ? 
 
 " Tempora mutantur, nos et mutamur in 
 illis." But, thank God, not all of us. Some 
 there are left to whom the names BACH, 
 BEETHOVEN still stand for all that is highest, 
 noblest, purest, holiest, most lovable in our 
 art.
 
 XXI 
 
 DURING the second year of my conducting the 
 Boston Symphony Orchestra my heart was 
 occasionally made heavy by letters from Europe, 
 expressing disappointment at my remaining 
 over there so long. Mme. Clara Schumann 
 wrote : " Do you want to forsake Europe 
 altogether ? You can imagine how the news 
 of your having accepted for a second year 
 astonishes me, and how much I, and doubtless 
 many with me, deplore it. What will Brahms 
 say to it ? . . . ' And Brahms, from Ischl, 
 in June 1882, writes : " That you have under- 
 taken to conduct another series of twenty-five 
 concerts in Boston is a very nice thing in itself, 
 only not exactly to us a cause for rejoicing. . . ." 
 Early in '83 I received another letter from 
 him in which he refers to my Boston position, 
 and which, I think, is characteristic enough to 
 be given in full : 
 
 VIENNA, 1883. 
 
 DEAR HENSCHEL With mortification I thank you 
 at last for so many kind and good news. You really 
 
 288
 
 xxi MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 289 
 
 have deserved that one should settle down comfortably 
 to write a comfortable reply but I beg you once for 
 all to remember that with me the moment is still to 
 come when I shall write the first letter with pleasure. 
 
 Moreover, it is most aggravating to write to one 
 who has left us so completely and whom we could 
 make such excellent good use of here ! 
 
 I dare say it's useless to ask you if you would at 
 all entertain the idea of taking the position at Breslau 
 which Scholz l resigns this winter ? 
 
 For your friendly pressure regarding a manuscript 
 work for performance I must thank you. But it 
 would be the first time I had allowed a MS. to go out 
 of my hands. A new piece of mine I like to hear 
 several times (in MS.). If then it appears to me so 
 accidentally worthy of being printed, it cannot, for 
 any length of time, escape that operation. Otherwise 
 I do not give it into other hands. 2 
 
 But we can and shall make provision that you 
 have such novelties over there sooner than other 
 people. Could you make use of a choral work ? In 
 that case Simrock just now would have a rather 
 pretty little one which you might secure ! 3 
 
 Now, please give my greetings to yours and ours ; 
 I mean our colleagues. Greet them from my heart 
 and let me have the pleasure of being allowed to keep 
 in contact with them, though it be only by means of 
 programmes and newspapers. 
 
 1 Bernhard Scholz, composer, Director of the Hoch'sche Con- 
 servatory of Music at Frankfort-on-the-Main, then conductor of 
 the Symphony Concerts at Breslau. 
 
 2 I was, however, later on successful in procuring from Brahms 
 the MS. of his Concerto for Violin and Violoncello (Op. 102) for 
 first performance in England. 
 
 3 That " pretty little one " was no less important and serious a 
 work than the Gesang der Parzen (Song of the Fates), Op. 89. 
 
 U
 
 290 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxi 
 
 I quite see that I am not worthy of frequent news 
 by letter ! But you don't know my grateful dis- 
 position ! 
 
 Again and beforehand many thanks. Heartily 
 yours, J. B. 
 
 Still, I had grown so fond of my orchestra, 
 to work with whom under such uniquely ad- 
 vantageous and gratifying conditions was a 
 source of constant delight to me, that I accepted 
 Mr. Higginson's offer of a continuation of my 
 services for a third term, during which the 
 scheme of giving concerts in places outside 
 of Boston was inaugurated, confined however, 
 for the time, to towns in New England. But 
 when at the end of the third season Mr. 
 Higginson, now assured of the stability of the 
 institution, submitted to me a contract the 
 acceptance of which would practically have 
 meant settling in the States for good, I felt 
 that the ties which bound me to the old country 
 were too strong for me, prosperous and happy 
 and profitable in every sense as these three 
 years had been, and I decided to return to 
 Europe. 
 
 As I write this I see before my mind's eye 
 the crowded Boston Music Hall on the evening 
 of the last concert of the season '83-84. The 
 first number on the programme was Schumann's 
 overture to Manfred, which opens with
 
 xxi MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 291 
 
 an impetuous " forte " phrase, syncopated, 
 quick, and requiring a very decided, strong 
 down-beat. I had raised my baton to attention 
 and except the garland of flowers which 
 friendly hands had wound around my desk 
 nothing seemed to indicate an unusual state of 
 things was just on the point of letting it 
 come down with a will, when shall I ever 
 forget the peculiar sensation it gave me I saw, 
 as in a dream, the leader and, with him, the 
 whole orchestra rise to their feet, and before 
 I could realise what was happening, the 
 familiar, affecting strain of " Auld Lang Syne " 
 filled the vast hall, played by those dear 
 fellows of the orchestra and sung by the 
 audience, which I noticed, in turning round 
 bewildered and embarrassed, had risen too. 
 I was touched to a degree, far too much so for 
 thinking of speaking. At a subsequent semi- 
 public farewell gathering of friends I found on 
 my seat at the table the following apostrophe, 
 in a neat hand, and on a nice, old-fashioned 
 sheet of paper with embossed edges : 
 
 Henschel ! Henschel ! 
 
 Women and men shall 
 Sit at thy feet and list to thy song. 
 
 Henschel ! Henschel ! 
 
 Ah, where and when shall 
 Such rapture once more to us belong ?
 
 292 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxi 
 
 Henschel ! Henschel ! 
 
 Never again shall 
 Leader or Singer be half so dear. 
 
 Henschel ! Henschel ! 
 
 Sing thou and then shall 
 Earth be forgotten and Heaven draw near ! 
 
 If whoever wrote this be still among the 
 living and happening to read this book, I should 
 be very grateful for a revelation of his or her 
 identity. Surely it was not easy for me to 
 tear myself away from so much kindness and 
 affection ! 
 
 Before leaving this for me so memorable 
 and important chapter in the history of my 
 career I am sure I shall be pardoned if I quote 
 just one more extract from the papers of the 
 time, as, in the light of subsequent developments, 
 it seems amusing enough to be almost pathetic. 
 
 The fact of my decision to return to Europe 
 after the end of the third season had become 
 known and the name of Wilhelm Gericke of 
 Vienna been announced as that of my successor. 
 It was also a matter of common knowledge 
 that, during that last season, the attendance of 
 the public at the public rehearsals had become 
 larger than ever before, whilst that at the 
 evening concerts had shown a slight decrease ; 
 a circumstance easily accounted for not only 
 by the considerably greater cheapness of ad- 
 mission to the rehearsals, but also by the fact
 
 xxi MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 293 
 
 that those public rehearsals were identically 
 " as good " as the concerts, even as regards 
 the appearance of the soloists. I cannot recall 
 a single instance of an interruption at these 
 rehearsals, or a repetition within a number 
 of the programme for the sake of correction. 
 But there it was : Decrease of Attendance at 
 the Boston Symphony Concerts ! What did 
 it matter if the total weekly average of attend- 
 ance close on 4500 at both concerts and 
 rehearsals, showed a steady improvement on 
 the two previous seasons ? Here was an alarm- 
 ing and significant symptom, which no self- 
 respecting critic could afford losing the oppor- 
 tunity of making a handle of for a weapon to 
 strike one last weighty blow. And this was it. 
 (I will be charitable and refrain from revealing 
 the name of the prophetic paper) : 
 
 I believe that a large number attended the Sym- 
 phony Concerts for the first two seasons simply be- 
 cause they were fashionable. Now the force of the 
 fashionable commandment Thou shalt not miss a 
 symphony concert has spent itself, and the audiences 
 are smaller than in the opening seasons of the enter- 
 prise, although the orchestra plays better and the 
 programmes are more interesting. Poor Mr. Gericke ! 
 He comes from Vienna just in time to take charge 
 of an enterprise in which public interest is waning, 
 and lucky Mr. Henschel, he will leave it in a manner 
 which will enable him to say that it only prospered 
 when under his direction. But I will not croak out
 
 294 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxi 
 
 " Ichabod, the glory is departed," before I am quite 
 sure that it has really and entirely left. That it has 
 partially gone is undoubted. 
 
 That was written in 1884. 
 
 During the more than thirty years that 
 have passed since then, the Boston Symphony 
 Orchestra has uninterruptedly continued its 
 splendidly beneficent work in the cause of 
 music, and not only in Boston, but throughout 
 the length and breadth of the United States, 
 work which has been described in greater 
 detail in a just-published History of the Boston 
 Symphony Orchestra, admirably written by 
 M. A. de Wolfe Howe. It reads like some 
 chapter in the Old Testament : 
 
 After Henschel came Gericke ; after Gericke 
 came Nikisch ; after Nikisch came Paur ; 
 after Paur came Gericke ; after Gericke Karl 
 Muck ; after Muck Fiedler, and after Fiedler 
 again Muck. And this last named had the 
 happiness and gratification of conducting a 
 concert on the eightieth birthday of that 
 grand old man, the founder and supporter of 
 one of the very finest orchestras in the world 
 who, on entering the hall, was greeted by 
 orchestra and audience with an outburst of 
 enthusiasm equalled only by that with which 
 the toast of his health was pledged by the 
 many friends and admirers as they sat down
 
 xxi MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 295 
 
 to the Jubilee dinner in Mr. Higginson's honour, 
 and listened to what the modest man had to 
 say in answer to it, words which are worthy 
 to be recorded as a lasting inspiration : 
 
 Several times when I have faltered in my plans 
 for the future, 1 I have taken heart again on seeing the 
 crowd of young, fresh schoolgirls, of music students, 
 of tired school teachers, of weary men, of little old 
 ladies leading grey lives not often reached by the 
 sunshine, and I have said to myself : " One year 
 more, anyway." To us all come hard blows from 
 the hand of fate, with hours, days, weeks of suffering 
 and of sadness. Even boys and girls know this early 
 and know it late. At these times music draws the 
 pain, or at least relieves it, just as the sun does. 
 Considering these things, can I have done harm by 
 the concerts ? Are they not worth while, even if they 
 cost me years of work and worry ? What were we 
 made for ? We are all bound in our day and genera- 
 tion to serve our country and our fellow-men in some 
 way. Lucky is he who finds a fair field for his work, 
 and when he has put his hands to the plough, he may 
 not lightly turn back. He may not too easily say, 
 " Enough, I am weary." 
 
 Surely admiration, affection, and gratitude 
 will follow the name of Henry Lee Higginson 
 for generations to come. 
 
 1 In regard to the Symphony Concerts.
 
 XXII 
 
 THE holidays between the concert seasons were 
 generally spent among the hills of Massa- 
 chusetts. I had read and heard a good deal 
 about the particular attractiveness, and now 
 had plenty of opportunity to verify all that 
 had been said and written in praise of country 
 and life in New England, by which name the 
 six north - eastern states of Massachusetts, 
 Connecticut, Rhode Island, Vermont, New 
 Hampshire, and Maine are known collectively. 
 Looking back on the period into which those 
 first visits fell, I find it difficult to realise so 
 truly old new-worldy it all appeared to me 
 that it is only thirty-seven years since I passed 
 my first summer there. One seemed to breathe 
 the very spirit of the Pilgrim Fathers in the 
 simple, vigorous life of the people in those 
 villages around Northampton, of which Hayden- 
 ville was one of the prettiest. Founded by, 
 and named after my wife's maternal ancestors, 
 a family of mechanics who, two generations 
 back, had built a brass foundry on the banks 
 
 296
 
 xxii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 297 
 
 of the river there, it was a peaceful, quietly 
 flourishing place when I came to know it. 
 The main street of the village was a broad 
 avenue of those magnificent elm-trees for which 
 the country all about is famous. Set back a 
 few yards from the side-walk, which not in- 
 frequently consisted of wooden planks, and 
 connected with it by plots of grass containing 
 well-cared-for flower-beds or else fine specimens 
 of trees walnuts, chestnuts, or planes stood 
 the dwelling-houses, all in their own grounds. 
 The two most distinguished among them were, 
 not unnaturally, the homes of Josiah Hayden, 
 my wife's grandfather, and Joel, his brother. 
 Quite imposing buildings they were, with 
 broad steps up to a portico, the triangular roof 
 of which was supported by four Ionic columns. 
 That these were of wood, painted white, and 
 not of marble, did not take away a bit from 
 their stateliness ; neither did the houses seem 
 in the least out of place in the simple New 
 England village. You instinctively felt that 
 the Greek portico merely testified to a love, 
 in the owners, of the beautiful, independent of 
 surroundings. There was dignity without pre- 
 tence to grandeur outside, and within, true 
 comfort in the shapes of cosy armchairs, sofas, 
 large fireplaces, wide four-posters, books, 
 pictures in plenty. How I remember those
 
 298 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxn 
 
 patriarchal Sunday afternoons when all the 
 available members of the families would as- 
 semble on the verandah called " piazza, "- 
 and, distributed in groups between the Greek 
 columns, the old people in easy-chairs, mostly, 
 I fear, of the rocking species, the younger ones 
 on the steps, keep up tradition by singing 
 hymns and psalms as in the days of Josiah 
 and Joel, who had already joined the Choir 
 Invisible. Josiah other biblical names in the 
 family were Joseph, James, Samuel, David, 
 Sarah, Ruth, Esther had been a Methodist 
 minister, said to have had a beautiful voice, 
 and the hymns we sang were chiefly of that 
 church, like " Jerusalem the Golden," " Every 
 hour I need Thee," " Why not come to Me 
 now. ..." Commonplace as some of them 
 unquestionably are from the musical stand- 
 point, it is remarkable how their naive sincerity 
 invests them with a quality almost amounting 
 to beauty. The devotional, artless singing of 
 them, too, in the open air, for every passer-by 
 to hear, and in the simplest possible harmonies, 
 was most impressive. Add to that the strange 
 force of mental association, and there is perhaps 
 no wonder these hymns seem lovely to me to 
 this day. Who does not know that fine Love- 
 song from Schubert's Miillerlieder, with the 
 impassioned and beautiful refrain :
 
 xxii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 299 
 
 
 Thine is my heart, thine is my heart, and shall re - main, re - 
 
 
 main for ev 
 
 and yet the very inferior setting, by Kursch- 
 mann, a long-forgotten composer, of the same 
 poem : 
 
 Thine is my heart, thine is my heart, and shall re - 
 
 main 
 
 seems to me even to-day lovelier and preferable, 
 because it rings in my ears as my mother used 
 to sing it to me in the days of my childhood. 
 
 Not far from the two Hayden houses, farther 
 up the street, were the church, a simple wooden 
 structure with a graceful spire, and the school- 
 house ; on the other side of the river various 
 houses, all built of wood, with the usual comfort- 
 able and sociable "piazza" round the ground- 
 floor and a " yard," as the little plots of grass 
 or garden rather irreverently were called ; also 
 a few shops for the necessities and conveniences 
 of daily life and the " drug-store," containing 
 the post office whither one had to go or send for
 
 300 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxn 
 
 one's mail, and where, on Saturday afternoons, 
 the boys were treating the girls to a sip of the 
 American nectar, an ice-cream soda. Farther 
 off, strewn about over the slopes of the hills 
 and nearer the railway line, stood a number 
 of small " frame " cottages for the poorer class 
 of the inhabitants, mostly mill-hands ; for be- 
 sides the " Brass-shop " there was also quite 
 a good -sized cotton -mill in the place. The 
 little railroad branch from Northampton ex- 
 tended to the town of Williamsburg, one station 
 beyond Haydenville, and on hearing, some 
 distance off, the cheery sound of the clear and 
 powerful bell which was attached to the engine 
 and rung by the driver for some minutes when 
 nearing our village, to walk to the station and 
 witness the arrival of the diminutive train, 
 consisting of locomotive, passenger-coach, and 
 van, as it leisurely drew up at the platform, 
 used to be one of the excitements of the day. 
 Things have changed since then, when it took 
 over thirty hours to go from New York to 
 Chicago instead of the present eighteen ; and 
 the answer of the negro porter at a Western 
 station who, on being asked if the Louisville 
 Express stopped there, disdainfully replied : 
 " Thtop ? Doethn't even heth'tate ! " is doubt- 
 less of recent date. 
 
 The drives through the country about
 
 xxii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 301 
 
 Haydenville were very varied and attractive, 
 and the owner of the hotel needless to say 
 the only one in the place did a good business 
 during the summer months, letting his buggies 
 and horses to those that could afford this more 
 luxurious way of enjoying the really beautiful 
 scenery, or else of doing their shopping in 
 Northampton, a prosperous town charmingly 
 situated among the hills and famous for one 
 of the best young ladies' schools in the States,. 
 Smith College. 
 
 There is a singular attractiveness in the 
 American "buggy," especially for young 
 people the one - seated species, which just 
 accommodates two, one of whom must be the 
 driver. It is a very light vehicle, with four 
 large thin wheels of equal size, made of the 
 sinewy, steely hickory wood, which plough 
 through the heavy, sandy roads like the cutters 
 of a sleigh through the snow. Sharp turns 
 in narrow roads are, on account of the height 
 of the wheels and the absence of a lock, only 
 negotiable by backing the machine often more 
 than once just as one has to do with motors 
 nowadays ; so, with a good horse in the shafts 
 and mine host of the Haydenville House had 
 some excellent pacers which he only let out to 
 particularly favourite customers a spin through 
 the country was not only a most exhilarating
 
 302 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxn 
 
 experience but also something of a sport. 
 Pacing was at that time much en vogue in the 
 States, some towns even boasting of roads, 
 called " Speedways," specially made for the 
 purpose, and there were any number of horses 
 known to be capable of doing a mile in two and 
 a half or three minutes. One tells of a man who, 
 very proud of the swiftness of his mare, capped 
 a rather extravagant story of some other 
 horse's speed, by saying, " Well, that's nothing. 
 I took a friend for a run behind my mare the 
 other day, and after a while he asked me, 
 " What churchyard is this we are driving 
 through?" "Churchyard?" I said, "why, 
 man, these are milestones ! " 
 
 I remember driving to Northampton one 
 morning alone in such a buggy this apropos 
 of shopping and, much to the amusement of 
 the family, coming home with eleven huge 
 water-melons. I had hitched my mare to one 
 of the wooden posts outside a greengrocer's, 
 unaware of the dangerously close proximity 
 of a large pyramid of gigantic water-melons 
 piled up on the side-walk. Returning to my 
 conveyance after having made my purchases 
 and some calls in different parts of the place, 
 I found that the clever animal, evidently bored 
 at standing idle for so long, had been having 
 a beautiful time during my absence, innocently
 
 xxii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 303 
 
 sampling eleven of the popular vegetable by 
 nibbling off a little round piece of the thick 
 rind. Of course I had to buy the lot, which 
 I distributed among the population. There 
 was quite a good doctor in Haydenville. 
 
 Another amusing experience of a very 
 different kind we had in Boston at the end of 
 the summer of 1887. The Hub of the Universe 
 had always been the acknowledged centre of 
 spiritualistic activity in the States, a fact to 
 which W. D. HowelPs delightful romance, The 
 Undiscovered Country, bears witness. At that 
 time the southern part of the town was par- 
 ticularly noted for houses in which the cult of 
 spiritualism was practised, and it was to one 
 of those that William James, Henry's brother, 
 proposed to take us. 
 
 William James, charming and fascinating 
 to almost the same degree as his more famous 
 brother, had made research into psychic 
 phenomena and investigation of the truth in 
 matters spiritualistic a life-study, and his very 
 earnestness on the subject rendered him all 
 the more eager to expose sham and fraud 
 wherever he was likely to find it. It was 
 therefore with no small excitement and antici- 
 pation none of our party, excepting our 
 amiable guide had ever been present at a real 
 seance that we set out with him one fine
 
 304 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxn 
 
 evening on our expedition to the undiscovered 
 country. After alighting from the rather dingy 
 " horse- car," where we had found ourselves in 
 very mixed company (the most conspicuous 
 member of which was an unusually large, 
 evidently well-to-do negress of the blackest 
 dye, in a dainty muslin dress with white 
 and light - green stripes, a large straw hat 
 with a huge purple feather, a red sunshade, 
 and big diamonds stuck in the lobes of her 
 ears and glittering on two of her dusky 
 fingers), we wended our way through narrow, 
 dirty, dimly-lighted streets, before most of 
 the houses in which there stood wooden barrels 
 or zinc bins holding the refuse ready for the 
 scavenger's rounds next morning, until at 
 last we reached the haunted house in Rutland 
 Street, one of a long row of poor, shabby- 
 genteel residences, the front doors of which 
 are reached by a short flight of steps with the 
 wooden banisters painted over with a stone- 
 coloured substance to make them look like hewn 
 granite. On our pulling the bell the door was 
 opened by a solemn-looking, elderly, nondescript 
 gentleman in a black frock-coat suit, something 
 between minister of the gospel and shop-walker. 
 The look of distrust with which he viewed our 
 party was, I have hardly a doubt, due to the 
 presence with us of Nettie, a daughter of
 
 xxii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 305 
 
 Huxley's, the possessor of a fine contralto voice, 
 who had accompanied us on our visit to the 
 States, in order to continue her only lately 
 commenced singing studies with me. She was 
 uncommonly tall and muscular, and full of 
 that boyish mischief twinkling in her large 
 eyes a paternal inheritance which seemed to 
 be up to all sorts of fun. I should not wonder if 
 our spiritualistic host had suspected her of being 
 a young Harvard student, masquerading they 
 were known to do that sometimes for a wager 
 as a woman. At last the man, still somewhat 
 hesitating, asked us to follow him, and con- 
 ducting us to the end of a dark, narrow passage 
 leading to the back-parlour, bade us enter the 
 sanctum, a large, stuffy, musty- smelling room, 
 the walls of which were hung with a dirty, 
 dark - green, flower - patterned, glazed paper. 
 From the ceiling was suspended a gasolier 
 without globes, on each of the three arms of 
 which was burning a very diminutive bluish 
 flame, just sufficient to allow us to distinguish 
 a few silent people of both sexes seated on small 
 wicker-bottomed chairs and, at the end of the 
 room, stretching from one side of it across to 
 the other and hiding a sort of stage, slightly 
 raised, a thick black curtain. On the level of 
 the floor, close to the wall, a poor, emaciated, 
 
 humpbacked girl of about sixteen, dressed in 
 
 x
 
 306 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxn 
 
 black, was seated before a little portable 
 American organ, endeavouring to squeeze some- 
 thing resembling a hymn -tune out of the 
 wheezy instrument which, besides labouring 
 under a great difficulty of respiration, had the 
 hiccups in a most distressing manner. Its 
 sufferings being over for the moment, the man 
 in black addressed the audience or should I 
 say the congregation dwelling on the delicate 
 and sensitive nature of the spirits who, in- 
 stinctively divining the presence of scoffers, 
 of which he hoped there were none among us, 
 were not unfrequently apt to refuse to appear 
 altogether. Then he most naively took out of 
 his pocket a gas-key and, having extinguished 
 two of the flames, turned down the remaining 
 one so low as to make the room practically 
 pitch-dark ; and out of that darkness, amidst 
 expectant silence, his voice was heard to ask 
 the solemn question, " Are you there ? ' : No 
 response. Then, to encourage the humble 
 spirits, some more hiccups and more silence, 
 after which there came at last a feeble knock 
 from behind the curtain, and then another, and, 
 in quick succession, some stronger ones, and 
 then will you believe it ? several spirits in 
 white phosphorescent robes rose suddenly from 
 behind chairs, noiselessly flitting across the 
 floor as if in the happy possession of mortal
 
 xxii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 307 
 
 feet, and disappearing in the direction of the 
 curtain. If only the key had not been in the 
 man's pocket, what fun it would have been 
 to turn on the light during these apparitions !- 
 As it was, suppressed exclamations of awe on 
 the part of devout believers could be heard in 
 some portions of the room, Whilst there was a 
 distinct sound of something like, I am afraid, 
 suppressed giggling coming from where we sat. 
 That settled it. Some of the spirits must have 
 communicated the outrage to their still im- 
 materialized brethren, for in spite of the 
 redoubled efforts of the girl at the harmonium 
 to appease the wrath of the offended spirits, 
 there was no sign of a willingness on their part 
 to honour us again. We began to get a little 
 uneasy and to wonder how it would end, when 
 the lugubrious voice of the gentleman in charge 
 of the proceedings promptly terminated our 
 suspense. In doleful notes of deepest emotion 
 and regret he told us that owing to the presence 
 in the room of frivolous yes, he used that harsh 
 word frivolous scoffers, the spirits absolutely 
 refused to work. And then out came the gas- 
 key ; the lights were turned on, and we morally 
 speaking out. Once in the street our own 
 private spirits, relieved of the fetters of good 
 breeding, rose to heights of hilarity not gener- 
 ally attained by people who have seen a ghost.
 
 XXIII 
 
 IN the spring of 1884 I had removed my " Lares 
 et Penates " to London, from where, however, 
 I soon took my wife and little daughter on a 
 visit to my family and to see old friends in 
 Germany. A propos of this visit I cannot 
 refrain from mentioning a little bird story 
 which I should hardly have credited had it 
 been told to, instead of actually experienced 
 by, me. My sister Hedwig, widow of the 
 painter Theodor Grosse, late member of the 
 Royal Academy of Dresden, and famous for 
 his frescoes in the loggia of the Leipsic Museum, 
 was very fond of a bullfinch which she had had 
 for many years, and which piped to perfection 
 the tune " God save the King." It had 
 always been a delight to me, when on a visit 
 to my sister, to hear the clear flute-like notes 
 and the wonderful rhythm with which the little 
 fellow executed the song, even embellishing it 
 now and then with a little grace-note. 
 
 This time my sister, who lately had given 
 the bird the companionship, in an adjoining 
 
 308
 
 xxiii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 309 
 
 room however, of a canary, told me to be 
 prepared for a great surprise. The canary, 
 she said, had gradually learned the song from 
 the bullfinch, first by single notes, then by 
 whole bars, until, at the end of less than half 
 a year, he had absolutely acquired the tune 
 and sang it, also in the same key, as well as its 
 unconscious master, the finch. 
 
 I told my sister I had always understood 
 such a thing to be possible, and hardly as un- 
 common as she seemed to think. " Wait," she 
 said, " you will hear at least I hope you will 
 whilst you are with me ; it only happened once, 
 and I really could not believe my ears then. ..." 
 
 Well, it did happen, and this is what " it " 
 was. I was sitting one afternoon at the cosy 
 hour of the " Kaffeestiindchen " the five- 
 o'clock tea of England with my sister, when 
 the bullfinch, in our room, commenced to sing : 
 
 and then stopped for a moment, after which 
 he repeated these two bars. Again he broke 
 off and began once more, this time singing the 
 first six bars of the tune : 
 
 Here he stopped longer than before, and during 
 the silence we, too, interrupted our talking,
 
 310 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxm 
 
 hoping he would go on. Whilst we were 
 waiting patiently, the interruption, evidently, 
 lasted too long for the canary, for to my 
 unutterable surprise and my sister's great 
 gratification it was this she had been waiting 
 for the canary in the next room took up the 
 song where the bullfinch had left off, singing, 
 lustily and jubilantly, and with what sounded 
 like a conscious pride and satisfaction, the 
 remainder of the tune : 
 
 to the very end : 
 
 After an extended professional tour on the 
 Continent during the winter of 1884-1885 we 
 returned to London, where, in the spring of the 
 following year, Jenny Lind having just resigned 
 her position as Professor of Singing at the Royal 
 College of Music, of which the genial George 
 Grove was the director, I had the honour of 
 being appointed her successor. This circum- 
 stance, as well as my repeated appearances at 
 the concerts of the Bach Choir, then conducted 
 by her husband, Otto Goldschmidt, brought 
 me into rather frequent contact with the re- 
 nowned couple, who, ever since my first appear-
 
 xxm MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 311 
 
 ance in 1879, seemed to have formed an 
 agreeable opinion of me Jenny Lind, in her 
 letters to me, invariably signed herself, " Ihre 
 Kunstschwester " (" Your Art-sister ") and I 
 had now become a regular visitor at their home 
 in Brompton, a perfect treasure-house of most 
 interesting mementoes of the great singer's 
 wonderful career, the history of which she often, 
 when I happened to be her only guest at the 
 tea-table, would illustrate by a little story. 
 On one of these occasions I remember our 
 coming across the programme of her first 
 concert in the United States, and the story she 
 told me in connexion with that is, I am sure, 
 worthy to be retold : 
 
 The manager under whom Jenny Lind had 
 made her first tournee in America in 1850, 
 had been no other than the great Barnum, 
 then known only as the most enterprising and 
 successful menagerie- and circus-man of the 
 age. The contract Jenny Lind had signed 
 was, according to English ideas at that time, 
 a most advantageous one. When, however, 
 the great Prima Donna arrived on the other 
 side of the Atlantic she found that, whereas 
 in England and on the European continent 
 she had appeared before audiences of 2000 
 or perhaps, at the utmost, 3000 people, in 
 America she was called upon to sing in halls
 
 312 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxm 
 
 capable of holding as many as 8000 and more. 
 No ordinary concert halls being large enough 
 to hold the vast number of people eager to 
 hear the famous Swedish nightingale, railroad 
 stations were temporarily transformed into 
 temples of song, yea, her first appearance in 
 New York, the memorable event when " Knox 
 the hatter " paid 300 dollars for his seat, took 
 place at Castle Garden, the vast receptacle for 
 the thousands and thousands of immigrants 
 whom the weekly steamers poured into the 
 country. Naturally, Jenny Lind soon realised 
 how out of all proportion to justice and equity 
 the conditions were under which she had 
 agreed to tour the United States, but also how 
 it was now too late, a contract being a con- 
 tract. A few days, however, after that first 
 appearance, when Barnum was dining with 
 her, she could not resist the temptation of 
 telling him, in a very pleasant and good- 
 humoured way, of her disappointment, and how 
 she had had no idea, when signing the contract, 
 that she would have to sing in halls three 
 times as big as any she had ever appeared in 
 before. Imagine her surprise when Barnum, 
 without a moment's hesitation, took out of 
 his pocket the precious document with Jenny 
 Lind's signature, and, tearing it into little 
 pieces, said to her, " Madam, send me your
 
 xxm MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 313 
 
 lawyer to-morrow, and I will sign any contract 
 he might see fit to submit to me." 
 
 The world at large will perhaps remember 
 Barnum merely as the great showman, but 
 to us, who know this rare little story, he 
 will to quote a phrase from Tennyson's In 
 Memoriam 
 
 . . . ever bear without abuse 
 The grand old name of gentleman. 
 
 One day, in 1880, Mr. Otto Goldschmidt, 
 contemplating a performance by the Bach 
 Choir of Brahms' German Requiem, had 
 asked me if I would do him the favour of 
 writing to Brahms with the object of ascertain- 
 ing if the metronome marks at the head of the 
 different movements of the Requiem should 
 be strictly adhered to. This is the character- 
 istic letter containing Brahms' answer : 
 
 VIENNA, Feb. 1880. 
 
 DEAR HENSCHEL Your letter reaches me just as 
 I am happening to be at home for a few days ; a very 
 rare occurrence this winter, worse luck ! 
 
 Post festum my best congratulations upon the 
 success of your concert, 1 which indeed must have 
 been splendid. 
 
 The question in your letter received to-day is 
 somewhat obscure, indistinct ; I hardly know what 
 
 1 On December 2, 1879, 1 had conducted at St. James's Hall the 
 first performance in England of Brahms' Triumphlied for double- 
 chorus and orchestra, Op. 55.
 
 314 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxm 
 
 to answer : "If the indications by figures of the 
 tempi in my Requiem should be strictly adhered to ? " 
 
 Well just as with all other music. I think here 
 as well as with all other music the metronome is of 
 no value. As far at least as my experience goes, 
 everybody has, sooner or later, withdrawn his metro- 
 nome marks. Those which can be found in my 
 works good friends have talked me into putting 
 them there, for I myself have never believed that my 
 blood and a mechanical instrument go well together. 
 The so-called " elastic " tempo is moreover not a 
 new invention. " Con discrezione " should be added 
 to that as to many other things. 
 
 Is this an answer ? I know no better one ; but 
 what I do know., is that I indicate (without figures) 
 my tempi, modestly, to be sure, but with the greatest 
 care and clearness. 
 
 Remember me kindly to Mr. Goldschmidt, and tell 
 him, please, that there is only one thing in the coming 
 performance I dislike thinking of, and that is, that 
 No. 5 1 will not be sung by his wife. I do wish I 
 could have heard that once from her ! 
 
 It will always remain a matter of great 
 regret to me that, when I knew Jenny Lind, the 
 days of her public performances as a soloist 
 were over. I say, " as a soloist," for if during 
 the first years of the Bach Choir concerts you 
 had asked, on one of those occasions, who 
 that interesting - looking lady was there in 
 the front row of the sopranos, the lady with the 
 somewhat stern expression in her face, and her 
 
 1 The beautiful soprano solo, " Ye now are sorrowful."
 
 xxm MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 315 
 
 hair done in the early Victorian fashion, as 
 you can see it, for instance, in Winterhalter's 
 well-known portrait of the youthful Queen, 
 the answer would have been, " That's the 
 conductor's wife, Jenny Lind." 
 
 I remember once, when we were talking 
 about the technique of singing, her favouring 
 me with a little illustration of her own ways 
 and means, and I shall never forget my wonder 
 when, asking me to watch the outside of her 
 throat, she showed me how she used to sing 
 the trill for which she had been so famous. 
 During such a trill, which she continued for 
 an astonishingly long time, increasing, de- 
 creasing, and again increasing it, her throat 
 would be visibly quavering with the rapid 
 pulsations of every succeeding little group of 
 the two notes, exactly like the throat of a 
 warbling canary bird. It was a marvellous 
 performance. Although she could be rather 
 brusque in expressing her opinion, and never 
 hesitated to say what she had, and wanted, to 
 say without mincing matters more than one 
 young lady who had entered Jenny Lind's 
 house to sing to her and get her opinion, left 
 it bathed in tears she was a very kind, warm- 
 hearted, charitable woman, exceedingly simple 
 and unaffected. Many were the times when, 
 after luncheon or tea, and I happened to be
 
 316 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxm 
 
 the only guest, she would, on my taking leave, 
 accompany me to the porch, there perhaps 
 commencing a new topic of interest and, 
 continuing it, leave the house with me, just as 
 she stood, with no hat on, round the corner of 
 Moreton Gardens, down the street, until I 
 insisted on escorting her back. 
 
 At that period I had many private pupils 
 in singing, especially from the United States, 
 and some of my experiences in that respect 
 were highly amusing. One morning I found 
 among my mail a large advertising sheet, 
 something like a poster, headed in big letters : 
 Miss XYZ, the great Californian something or 
 other I think it was the usual nightingale. 
 I had repeatedly seen before, in atlases, charts 
 illustrating the comparative heights of the 
 mountains and church-steeples of the world. 
 Well, this was a similar sort of chart, only, 
 instead of to the heights of mountains and 
 cathedrals, it had "reference to the voices of the 
 famous prima donnas of the world. Down at 
 the bottom was a poor A flat with the name, 
 against it, of the unfortunate female who could 
 boast of nothing higher than that ; then came 
 a B natural with another celebrated name 
 opposite, then a C sharp, and so on, until the 
 apex was reached with an A flat an octave 
 higher than the first-mentioned, and against
 
 xxiii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 317 
 
 that wonderful achievement was placed in red 
 emblazoned letters, twice as big as those of the 
 poor rivals, the name of Miss XYZ. Wonder- 
 ing why this valuable document should have 
 been sent to me, I opened the letter accom- 
 panying it. It was headed, in print, by the 
 words, "Miss XYZ, Mr. So-and-so, manager." 
 (When I showed it, a few days later, to my old 
 friend Henry James, he exclaimed : " Why, 
 my dear Henschel, this isn't a person, it's a 
 locality ! ") And the letter, written from New 
 York, ran as follows : 
 
 DEAR SIR Miss XYZ, the great soprano whose 
 fame on this continent has no doubt reached you 
 before this, is sailing for England on Saturday fort- 
 night, to put herself under your tuition. I am sure 
 I need not point out to you the advantage which 
 will accrue to you by her so doing. I should be much 
 obliged if you would meet her on the arrival of the 
 steamer at Liverpool. In a few weeks I expect to 
 be in London myself, when I will call and consult 
 with you as to the best way in which to place her 
 before the British Public in a chaste and dignified 
 manner. 
 
 I wonder, do my readers know me well 
 enough by this time to answer correctly the 
 question : Did I or did I not go to Liverpool 
 to receive the precious charge ?
 
 XXIV 
 
 IT was not long after my return to London that, 
 strengthened by my three years' experience 
 in the United States, during which I had con- 
 ducted over a hundred concerts and four times 
 as many rehearsals, I conceived the idea of 
 doing for London something similar to what 
 Higginson had done for Boston. I was, after 
 all, even as a conductor, no stranger to the 
 musical public f of the metropolis my con- 
 ducting there, in 1879, of the first perform- 
 ance in England of Brahms' magnificent 
 Triumphlied for double - chorus and orchestra 
 having elicited a good deal of very friendly 
 comment. The Times of December 3rd had 
 even considered the concert, at which I also 
 conducted Brahms' First Symphony in C Minor, 
 " the most important event of an, up to the 
 present, anything but interesting season. It 
 happily combined a charitable purpose " I 
 had destined the proceeds to the Victoria 
 Hospital for Children, of which Princess Louise, 
 Marchioness of Lome, whose singing teacher 
 
 318
 
 xxiv MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 319 
 
 I had the honour of being, was the patroness 
 " with artistic excellence. . . . For the per- 
 formance we have nothing but praise, Herr 
 Henschel proving himself as efficient and in- 
 telligent a conductor as he is an accomplished 
 singer." 
 
 Moving, as I did, among a society which 
 included a good many devoted lovers of music, 
 I could not help becoming aware of the exist- 
 ence of a widely felt and growing sense of de- 
 privation as regards orchestral music during 
 the winter season. It will be remembered 
 that in London proper there were at that time 
 no orchestral concerts .whatever until after 
 Easter, when the Philharmonic Society and, 
 since 1879, those "Orchestral Festival Concerts" 
 founded by the violinist Hermann Franke 
 and conducted by Hans Richter, under whose 
 name they afterwards became famous, com- 
 menced their season. I thought, therefore, the 
 time had come for making, at any rate, the 
 experiment of establishing a series of orchestral 
 concerts in London during the winter season. 
 To do this on my own financial responsibility 
 was, of course, out of the question. Fortunately, 
 however, there were among my musical friends 
 a sufficiently great number whose wealth was 
 equalled by their love of the art as well as by 
 their kindness. Their number being, moreover,
 
 320 
 
 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxiv 
 
 augmented by personal friends of the Princess 
 Louise, to whom that gracious lady had most 
 kindly given me introductions for the purpose, 
 it was in a surprisingly short time, though 
 not without hard and by no means always 
 agreeable work, that I was able to make public 
 the list of guarantors, which, as a bit of history, 
 musical and social, will, I believe, be found 
 sufficiently interesting to be quoted in full : 
 
 The Marchioness of Water- 
 ford 
 The Dowager Countess of 
 
 Airlie 
 
 The Countess of Desart 
 The Countess of Lathom 
 The Countess of Pembroke 
 Viscountess Folkestone 
 Lady George Hamilton 
 Louisa, Lady Ashburton 
 Lady Blanche Hozier 
 Lady Mary Loyd 
 Lady Agneta Montagu 
 Lady Sandhurst 
 Lady Wantage 
 Lady Windsor 
 Lady Colvile 
 Lady Fairer 
 Lady Goldsmid 
 Lady Paget 
 The Hon. Mrs. Stafford 
 
 Northcote 
 
 The Hon. Mrs. R. Talbot 
 The Hon. Mrs. Eliot Yorke 
 Mrs. Arthur Cohen 
 
 Mrs. Conrad 
 
 Mrs. Earle 
 
 Mrs. Douglas Freshfield 
 
 Mrs. C. A. Fyffe 
 
 Mrs. Lawrence Harrison 
 
 Mrs. Robert Harrison 
 
 Mrs. Edwin Henty 
 
 Mrs. Francis Jeune 
 
 Mrs. Sam. Joshua 
 
 Mrs. Charles J. Leaf 
 
 Mrs. Ernest Leverson 
 
 Mrs. George H. Lewis 
 
 Mrs. Alfred Morrison 
 
 Mrs. John Nix 
 
 Mrs. Edward Raphael 
 
 Mrs. George Raphael 
 
 Mrs. Victor Rubens 
 
 Mrs. Granville Ryder 
 
 Mrs. Alfred Schiff 
 
 Mrs. Schlesinger 
 
 Miss Flora M. Smith 
 
 Miss Tatlock 
 
 Miss Van de Weyer 
 
 Mrs. S. Winkworth 
 
 Mrs. Edmond R.Wodehouse
 
 xxiv MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 321 
 
 The Lord Chancellor (Lord 
 
 Herschell) 
 The Duke of Westminster, 
 
 K.G. 
 
 The Earl Beauchamp 
 The Earl of Dysart 
 The Earl of Lathom 
 The Earl of Wharncliffe 
 Viscount Barrington 
 Lord William Compton, M.P. 
 Lord Revelstoke 
 Lord Hillingdon 
 Alfred de Rothschild, Esq. 
 Baron Ferd. de Rothschild, 
 
 M.P. 
 Sir Fred. Leighton, Bart., 
 
 P.R.A. 
 Sir John E. Millais, Bart., 
 
 R.A. 
 Sir Thomas Brassey, K.C.B., 
 
 M.P. 
 Sir Henry Thompson, 
 
 F.R.C.S. 
 Sir Richard Webster, Q.C., 
 
 M.P. 
 The Rt.-Hon. A. J. Balfour, 
 
 M.P. 
 The Hon. Spencer G. 
 
 Lyttelton 
 
 Baron Herman de Stern 
 Hamilton Ai'de, Esq. 
 L. Alma Tadema, Esq., R.A. 
 Arthur Anderson, Esq. 
 Wm. Asch, Esq. 
 Gustav Aschenheim, Esq. 
 Gottlieb Bauer, Esq. 
 S. H. Beddington, Esq. 
 
 Alfred Benecke, Esq. 
 Egmont Bieber, Esq. 
 Leo Bonn, Esq. 
 Bernhard Bosanquet, Esq. 
 G. H. Boughton, Esq., 
 
 A.R.A. 
 
 Ernest de Bunsen, Esq. 
 Julius Cyriax, Esq. 
 G. Ellissen, Esq. 
 O. von Ernsthausen, Esq. 
 John M. Fletcher, Esq. 
 Cyril Flower, Esq., M.P. 
 E. H. Friedlaender, Esq. 
 Henry Graham, Esq. 
 Paul Hardy, Esq. 
 Lawrence Harrison, Esq. 
 Robert Harrison, Esq. 
 Max Hecht, Esq. 
 John P. Heseltine, Esq. 
 Ferd. Hess, Esq. 
 Philipp Hirschfeld, Esq. 
 John R. Hollond, Esq. 
 Wynnard Hooper, Esq. 
 Lieut.-General Hopkinson 
 G. Howard, Esq. 
 Luke lonides, Esq. 
 G. Jacobson, Esq. 
 Henry James, Esq. 
 Sam. Joshua, Esq. 
 Albert Kahn, Esq. 
 Charles Kahn, Esq. 
 John Kemp, Esq. 
 J. M. Koecher, Esq. 
 Morton Latham, Esq. 
 H. L. W. Lawson, Esq., M.P. 
 Charles J. Leaf, Esq. 
 Walter Leaf, Esq. 
 
 Y
 
 322 
 
 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxiv 
 
 Julius Levis, Esq. 
 Arthur James Lewis, Esq. 
 George H. Lewis, Esq. 
 Wm. Lidderdale, Esq. 
 Arthur Lucas, Esq. 
 Henry Lucas, Esq. 
 Edmund Macrory, Esq. 
 Henry F. Makins, Esq. 
 
 D. Meinertzhagen, Esq. 
 L. Messel, Esq. 
 
 Carl Meyer, Esq. 
 Bingham Mildmay, Esq. 
 A. B. Mitford, Esq., C.B. 
 S. Morley, Esq., M.P. 
 Charles Morley, Esq. 
 Howard Morley, Esq. 
 T. Douglas Murray, Esq. 
 Gustav Natorp, Esq. 
 John Nicholas, Esq. 
 
 E. Oesterley, Esq. 
 
 Henry Oppenheim, Esq. 
 Wm. S. Playfair, Esq. M.D. 
 Frederick Pollock, Esq. 
 Henry Pollock, Esq. 
 Edw. J. Poynter, Esq., R.A. 
 G. W. Rathbone, Esq. 
 Henry Roche, Esq. 
 George J. Romanes, Esq., 
 
 F.R.S. 
 
 A. Rommel, Esq. 
 Victor Rubens, Esq. 
 John C. Salt, Esq. 
 Leo Frank Schuster, Esq. 
 James Stern, Esq. 
 Thos. Threlfall, Esq. 
 Henry F. Tiarks, Esq. 
 Albert Vickers, Esq. 
 M. Wetzlar, Esq. 
 F. A. White, Esq. 
 Henry White, Esq. 
 
 And in the spring of 1886 I had the pleasure 
 and gratification of announcing the first series 
 to commence in the autumn of that year of 
 " The London Symphony Concerts," as I had 
 decided to call them, and under which name 
 they are still flourishing. To my utmost 
 satisfaction and delight the artistic success 
 of the first concert, the programme of which 
 included Mozart's Overture to The Magic Flute ; 
 Beethoven's Concerto for Pianoforte, Violin, 
 and Violoncello, played by Mme. Haas, Mr. 
 Richard Gompertz, then Professor of the Violin 
 at the Royal College of Music, and Signer
 
 xxiv MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 323 
 
 
 Piatti ; Brahms' Second Symphony in D ; the 
 
 Good-Friday's music from Wagner's Parsifal ; 
 and the Prelude to the third act of Mackenzie's 
 opera, The Troubadour, was considerable, and 
 the attitude of the whole press, with one or 
 two exceptions, most friendly and cordial. 
 If I here quote from what the papers of the 
 day had to say about the scheme in general, 
 and the first concert in particular, I do so partly 
 to supplement future histories of Victorian 
 music, but also to afford my readers some of 
 the amusement which especially one of the 
 above-mentioned exceptions caused me and my 
 friends. 
 
 The Times. The dearth of good orchestral music 
 in London during the late autumn and winter months, 
 when such music is even more likely to be appreciated 
 than in the season properly so-called, has been the 
 subject of general complaint. Herr Richter's autumn 
 campaign is generally confined to three concerts, 
 and after that lovers of symphonic music who shun 
 a journey to the Crystal Palace are met by the vacuum 
 which art no less than nature abhors. To fill up 
 that vacuum many attempts have been made, but 
 none of them have so far proved successful ; none, 
 indeed, could show anything approaching the con- 
 ditions of permanent success which augur well for 
 the immediate future of the London Symphony 
 concerts. Mr. Henschel, their founder and conductor, 
 is, fortunately for himself, a man of business as well as 
 a sound musician. Before disclosing his scheme to
 
 324 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxiv 
 
 the general public he collected a guarantee fund 
 sufficient to carry on his enterprise for more seasons 
 than one, even should the worst befall. Having 
 thus secured the nervus rerum, he set about engaging 
 an excellent orchestra quite capable of grappling with 
 the most difficult problems of modern music under a 
 musician who, although chiefly known among us as a 
 singer of great intelligence and refinement, can boast 
 of extensive experience and many achievements as 
 a conductor in America. Mr. Henschel's beat is 
 decisive ; he marks every point without confusing 
 the musicians by too many " cues," as inexperienced 
 and over-zealous conductors are apt to do. The 
 performance of Brahms' Symphony may be taken as 
 an example. It was worked out with minute care, 
 without wanting in spirit. The first and last move- 
 ments especially were played to perfection. . . . 
 
 The Daily Telegraph. Mr. Henschel has great 
 energy ; his enthusiasm is that of a thorough artist, 
 and he is a musician qualified by wide experience and 
 sound judgment for the conductor's delicate and 
 difficult functions. The performance of Brahms' 
 Symphony, conducted with admirable skill, was of a 
 high order and significant of the best possible results 
 to follow. . . . 
 
 Daily News. Mr. Henschel has already gained 
 distinction here in the several capacities of singer, 
 composer, and conductor, and his duties in this last 
 respect were fulfilled last night with care and in- 
 telligence. . . . 
 
 St. James's Gazette. Mr. Henschel deserves the 
 thanks of the musical public for instituting a series 
 of high-class orchestral concerts which, at com- 
 paratively short intervals, will occupy the autumn 
 and winter months from now until March. These
 
 xxiv MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 325 
 
 concerts promise to be of great interest ; and the 
 programme of last night included no small number 
 of fine works. The orchestra is well composed, and 
 Mr. Henschel is already known to be one of the most 
 competent of living conductors. . . . ' 
 
 The Globe. Throughout the evening Mr. Henschel, 
 who is favourably known to English amateurs as 
 singer and composer, and who has had considerable 
 experience in America and elsewhere as an orchestral 
 conductor, conducted with much ability. ... 
 
 Pall Mall Gazette. We congratulate Mr. Henschel 
 heartily on his debut as an orchestral conductor. He 
 is evidently a master of that art. . . . 
 
 Standard. Mr. Henschel's reputation as an earnest 
 and thorough musician is sufficient warranty that a 
 high artistic tone will be maintained throughout the 
 entire series. . . . The Allegretto of the Symphony 
 only escaped its customary encore by the firmness 
 and good sense displayed by the conductor in not 
 yielding to an absurd demand, and it is sincerely to 
 be trusted that the London Symphony Concerts will 
 set a pattern in the way of abstention from repeti- 
 tions. . . . Mr. Henschel conducted throughout the 
 evening without the score ; his labours towards the 
 attainment of success were thoroughly appreciated, 
 and at the close he was warmly called back to the 
 platform. . . . 
 
 Sunday Times (Nov. 21). New musical enterprises 
 are slow to win favour with our conservative public, 
 which beats every other public for the pertinacity 
 with which it sticks to its old loves. We may not 
 exactly be a " nation of shopkeepers," but our com- 
 mercial instincts are strong, and we like to feel sure 
 that we get a satisfactory quid pro quo when we lay 
 our money out. There should be every chance,
 
 326 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxiv 
 
 therefore, for the individual who offers a good article 
 at a reasonable figure, especially when the article 
 supplies a particular want. Knowing all of which, 
 Mr. Henschel may " take heart of grace " and hope 
 one day to find the London Symphony Concerts 
 firmly planted on excellent soil and yielding the best 
 of fruit. That the sapling is safe for two years, 
 thanks to a substantial guarantee-fund, is a great 
 point in its favour. There will be ample time for the 
 roots to spread and gather strength. Really, though, 
 we ought to make up our minds quickly about this 
 new venture. To begin with, it fills up a decided gap. 
 In London proper we have no regular orchestral 
 concerts during the winter months, and there is no 
 reason why we should be without them. On the 
 contrary, the fact that we are so is a disgrace only 
 second to that which attaches to another vacuum 
 in our winter musical existence the absence of 
 opera. This admitted, only one question needs 
 follow : Is Mr. Henschel's undertaking of a nature 
 to supply in worthy fashion the missing quantity ? 
 I answer, without hesitation, Yes. The eclectic spirit 
 that pervades his scheme, the assurance that native 
 talent will receive its fair share of exposition, the 
 excellence of the players who constitute the orchestra, 
 afford abundant justification for my reply, apart 
 from the promise of high achievement held out at 
 the opening concert in St. James's Hall on Wednesday. 
 Mr. Henschel's capacity as a conductor has to be 
 judged from a lofty standard. . . . Like Richter he 
 conducts without book, and reaps all the consequent 
 advantage of an unbroken attention to what the 
 orchestra is doing. He has the latter well under 
 control, and evidently possesses the power of moulding 
 it entirely to his will. ... A numerous and enthusi-
 
 xxiv MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 327 
 
 astic audience attended the concert, applauding Mr. 
 Henschel vigorously after each item and with special 
 warmth at the end of the symphony. Altogether 
 the new venture could not have been launched under 
 more favourable auspices. 
 
 Now for the precious Echo : 
 
 According to announcement, the first of sixteen 
 Symphony Concerts took place on Wednesday, the 17th, 
 under the conductorship of Mr. Henschel, whose bold- 
 ness in adventure decidedly exceeds his judgment, for 
 even the admirable Richter Concerts, with an artistic 
 combination too far in advance of Mr. Henschel' s 
 to be named in the same category, are seldom allowed 
 to exceed four, or at least (sic !) eight concerts during 
 any one season. There is certainly one feature of 
 Mr. Henschel' s enterprise deserving of all praise, and 
 that is, the candour which impels (!) the entrepreneur 
 to relieve the public mind from the fear that these 
 sixteen concerts will be poured out upon the long- 
 suffering ear under the specious guise of a " charitable" 
 enterprise. Whatever the London Symphony Con- 
 certs may ultimately prove to be, at any rate they 
 no longer mask the plain fact that they are a specula- 
 tion and, judging by the characteristics of the first 
 night's performance, one which may require more 
 charity to support than when, as formerly, that plea 
 has been urged for claiming patronage. The truth 
 is, and Mr. Henschel seemingly has yet to realise it, 
 that symphonic works have been, and can only be, 
 given with proper effect by orchestral performers 
 accustomed to play together under an experienced 
 chief. As a vocalist of the Teutonic order, Mr. 
 Henschel may continue to win the confidence of his
 
 328 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxiv 
 
 German listeners, especially whilst he substitutes 
 enthusiasm for the purer canons of art (!), but to 
 maintain public favour for sixteen occasions, under 
 the assumption of giving symphonic works, challenges 
 an amount of criterion which neither past nor present 
 experiences render it safe to rely on. The instru- 
 mental works were fairly rendered and, perhaps, 
 with sufficient merit to form an advertisement for the 
 threatened fifteen performances to come. 
 
 I afterwards understood the writer to have 
 been a man who, a year or two before me, 
 had tried his hand at conducting a series of 
 orchestral concerts in London ; with what 
 success may be gathered from a story which 
 went the round of musicians at the time, telling 
 how the gentleman opened the first concert 
 with " God save the Queen," which he began 
 conducting in four -fourths time, heroically 
 continuing until Mr. Carrodus later also my 
 excellent and esteemed leader of the violins 
 whispered to him, " Try three ! " 
 
 Well, if the attitude of the public towards 
 the new enterprise left nothing to complain 
 of, that of my brother- and sister-musicians 
 exceeded my keenest expectations. Quite a 
 good many of the soloists whom I had asked 
 to appear at the concerts expressed their 
 desire, or their willingness, to do so " for 
 love " or else for what in professional language 
 is termed a nominal fee, and their list is a very
 
 xxiv MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 329 
 
 notable one, including, among others, the names 
 of Lady Halle, Joachim, Arbos, Burmester, 
 Ondricek, Sauret, Cesar Thomson, Ysaye, 
 Maurice Sons, Piatti, Popper, Hugo Becker, 
 Robert Hausmann, Jean Gerardy, Mme. 
 Essipoff, Mme. Haas, Fanny Davies, Agnes 
 Zimmermann, Sir Charles Halle, Paderewski, 
 Max Pauer, Mme. Albani, Brema, Evangeline 
 Florence, Nordica, Lillian Henschel, Hope 
 Glenn, Edward Lloyd, William Shakespeare, 
 Santley. The last named, most genial of good 
 fellows, returned the cheque I had sent him 
 after his first appearance at these concerts, 
 with the words : 
 
 . . . You are an artist and I am only too pleased 
 to have been able to assist you. I hope you will 
 accept my services as a slight token of my friendship 
 and goodwill toward you. . . . 
 
 Another letter of his of the same year, 1887, 
 was received by me in the United States, 
 whither I had gone with my wife for a short 
 professional tour after the close of the London 
 Symphony Concerts' first season. In it he 
 says : 
 
 If you have time some day I shall be glad to hear 
 how you are doing over the water, and what is doing 
 generally. I think I ought to go over again some 
 of these days. I like the American audiences ; if 
 they do not always like what I like, they know what 
 they do like, and you know what to give them, which
 
 330 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxiv 
 
 I have always found a great difficulty in England. 
 There is such a deal of classical talk and unclassical 
 taste. ... I presume you intend carrying on the 
 Symphony concerts next season. Recollect I am 
 always good for one of them. . . . 
 
 All this was most gratifying and encouraging 
 to me, and I made up my mind to persevere. 
 Franz Liszt had been in London during the 
 season of 1886, and I would have given much 
 to have him play at one of my concerts, but 
 his age would not permit him to take part in 
 any but social functions in his honour, private 
 and semi-public, at one of which however a 
 reception given for him at the Grosvenor 
 Gallery by the late Sir Coutts Lindsay he 
 was persuaded, to the delight of the guests, 
 to sit down at the piano and play. I remember, 
 on the following day, meeting the then repre- 
 sentative of " Bechstein's," who, still quite 
 excited, told me to my regret I had been 
 prevented from being present how wonder- 
 fully Liszt had played on that occasion. 
 
 " What did he play ? " I asked. 
 
 " Why Bechstein, of course ! " was the 
 answer.
 
 XXV 
 
 DURING the summer of 1887 the Robert 
 Harrisons Mr. Harrison had taken a great 
 interest in the London Symphony Concerts, 
 even to the extent of most generously acting 
 as Hon. Treasurer had a charming house 
 near Henley-on-Thames, " Wargrave Hill," and 
 it was there, in August, I first met Sargent. 
 Already at that time some portraits of his, 
 sent to the Royal Academy from Paris, and, 
 among others done in England, that of Mrs. 
 Robert Harrison, had made quite a stir in 
 London art circles ; personally, however, he 
 was but little known in England, few people 
 as yet realising the tremendous power with 
 which he was soon to carry everything before 
 him in his truly triumphal progress. As 
 to' myself I knew little more of him than 
 that he was a painter, but felt myself quite 
 uncommonly attracted by his personality from 
 the first. For one who was already thought 
 and made much of by those who did know 
 him and his work, he struck me as exceedingly 
 
 331
 
 332 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxv 
 
 modest, inclined, I thought, to hide his light 
 under a bushel. He had built himself a little 
 floating studio on a punt on the river, where it 
 was a delight to see him, a splendid specimen of 
 manly physique, clad it was an exceptionally 
 hot and dry summer, I remember in a white 
 flannel shirt and trousers, a silk scarf around 
 the waist, and a small straw hat with coloured 
 ribbon on his large head, sketching away all 
 day, and once in a while skilfully manipulating 
 the punt to some other coign of vantage. A 
 very proficient executant on the piano, he was 
 exceedingly fond of music, a subject on which 
 he talked with the knowledge and understand- 
 ing of one who had made it a serious study rather 
 than a pastime. It was perhaps this which 
 brought us nearer and made us the good friends 
 I am happy and grateful to say we have been 
 ever since. It was less than two years later 
 that he painted the portrait of which the 
 frontispiece to this book is as faithful a repro- 
 duction as, lacking the colour, it is possible 
 to obtain of an oil-painting. I had only a 
 few sittings, certainly not more than five. 
 " Standings," I should rather say, for he made 
 me stand on a platform and sing from Tristan 
 and Isolde by preference whilst he was at 
 work. How I used to look forward to those 
 Sunday mornings ! For besides his always
 
 xxv MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 333 
 
 interesting and often most instructive con- 
 versation I could of course not go on singing 
 all the time it was a great delight to watch 
 him as he was constantly and intently studying 
 my face, talking and painting at the same time. 
 Now and then he would slowly and deliberately 
 recede about a dozen steps from the easel, 
 look at me steadfastly, stop for a moment and 
 suddenly, the brush lifted ready for action and 
 without ever taking his eyes off me, make a 
 dash for the canvas on which he then recorded 
 his impression, generally accompanying the 
 act by contentedly humming a little tune. 
 
 Never shall I forget that Sunday morning 
 in February '89 when, the final sitting over, 
 we put the wet canvas into the frame and, 
 in a hansom, took it to my house in Bedford 
 Gardens, where we were expected to luncheon. 
 My wife's exceeding delight and gratitude on 
 seeing the fine painting, and the unbounded 
 admiration expressed also by our other guests 
 dear Arthur Cecil and a Mrs. Toberentz, a 
 sculptor's wife and daughter of an old Wiesbaden 
 friend of mine, whom we had asked for Sargent's 
 special benefit because of her extraordinary 
 beauty seemed really to gratify him, and a 
 very happy jolly little party we were that day. 
 
 A week later my wife and I, with our little 
 daughter, were to leave for New York on a
 
 334 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxv 
 
 tour through the States, and I remember the 
 day before our sailing as one of the busiest of 
 that year and a particularly memorable one. 
 In the morning it was Wednesday, February 
 the 27th I conducted a rehearsal of the Ninth 
 Symphony with the Leeds Choir, who had 
 come to London for the last concert of the 
 series that afternoon. After the rehearsal, 
 to my utter surprise, the members of the 
 Orchestra remained in their seats a most 
 unusual proceeding, conductors will agree 
 and my first bassoon, the most picturesque 
 member of the orchestra, with his fine head 
 and flowing white beard who does not re- 
 member that excellent musician, splendid old 
 Wotton ? stepped down with an oaken case, 
 out of which he took a beautiful silver inkstand 
 and a pair of silver candlesticks which, with 
 a few affectionate words, he presented to me on 
 behalf of the orchestra, touchingly adding that, 
 there having been a little surplus, they hoped 
 Mrs. Henschel would kindly accept it in the 
 shape of the little silver scent-bottle he then 
 produced. . . . Those dear boys of the old 
 London Symphony Orchestra how I loved 
 them ! The concert in the afternoon, con- 
 sisting of Mendelssohn's Walpurgis-Night and 
 the Ninth Symphony, went off beautifully, 
 and we hurried home as quickly as possible
 
 xxv MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 335 
 
 to receive Princess Louise who had most 
 graciously announced herself for tea, to say 
 good-bye to us. The afternoon was marked 
 by an amusing little episode. Before leaving 
 us the Princess had taken our small daughter 
 Helen into her arms, kissing her and making 
 her promise to write her a letter from America. 
 I was then accompanying Her Royal Highness 
 to the door when, feeling some one pulling 
 at her skirt, she turned round and saw little 
 Helen looking up to her and calling " Princess 
 Louise?" "Yes, dear?". . . "Have you got 
 a number ? " The Princess, smilingly, " What 
 do you mean, dear ?"..." You asked me 
 to write to you but what is your number ? " 
 ... I still hear the Princess's hearty laughter 
 as she stooped down to the little girlie for 
 another farewell kiss. And Helen kept her 
 promise. Not long after our arrival in New 
 York she brought me the letter she had, quite 
 unaided, written to the Princess, and which 
 I forwarded in the original. It ended with a 
 postscript : " Please give my love to His 
 Majesty-ship Lord Lome." 
 
 But the day's work was not done yet. In 
 the evening I had to sing at a Gallery- Club 
 Concert and was quite ready for my rest on 
 coming home a little before midnight when
 
 336 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxv 
 
 another surprise kept me awake with pleasure 
 a little longer still : a letter from Sargent, 
 to whom I had written thanking him once 
 more for the portrait, before leaving. 
 
 " My dear Henschel," he writes, " if I had not 
 a sitting to-morrow morning from Irving, I should 
 go and say good-bye to you at the train for the 
 pleasure of seeing you once more. I thank you for 
 having written, and must tell you what a great 
 pleasure it has been to me that my venture of painting 
 you has resulted in such a generous expression of 
 satisfaction on your part and Mrs. Henschel's, greater 
 than I have ever met with, and that with my means 
 I have given you the pleasure that you always give 
 me with yours. And I should be quite satisfied with 
 my portrait if it created in you the sentiment of 
 sympathy which prompted me to do it. I hope that 
 you and Mrs. Henschel and little Helen will have a 
 pleasant and safe journey, and I shall see you soon 
 after your return perhaps at Baireuth. ..." 
 
 Both that letter and the portrait are precious 
 possessions, and it would be difficult to say 
 which one should be prouder of. Sargent 
 was then a man of thirty-three and already 
 famous. . . . Ye Rembrandt s and Titians of 
 the present day, "read, mark, learn, and 
 inwardly digest " !
 
 XXVI 
 
 IN 1888 I invited Brahms to conduct some of 
 his works and Hans von Biilow to play at my 
 concerts. Their characteristic letters in answer 
 to my request will, I think, be deemed of 
 sufficient interest to be quoted in full. Brahms, 
 from Vienna, writes : 
 
 DEAR H. I thank you for your kind invitation, 
 but am somewhat vexed at having to hear from you, 
 too, that common rumour of my dislike of the English, 
 etc. . . . 
 
 You really ought to know, having heard it from 
 me often enough, that solely love of comfort, laziness 
 if you like, and aversion to concerts generally, prevent 
 my going to England, but equally so to St. Petersburg 
 or Paris. 
 
 That my persistent refusal could be open to mis- 
 interpretation I am well aware of. It would, however, 
 be hopeless to explain all this, and to tell the people 
 how it has absolutely nothing to do with music if on 
 the one hand we here have a Bohemian Cabinet or 
 you over there a splendid opium-war, etc., etc. 
 
 It's all vanity anyhow ! 
 
 Again thanks. 
 
 Yours, J. B. 
 
 337 Z
 
 338 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxvi 
 
 Biilow, from Frankfort -on -the -Main, com- 
 mences his letter with a most flattering com- 
 pliment, prompted, perhaps, by an orchestral 
 experience of the God-save-the- Queen-in-four- 
 fourths-time kind : 
 
 " Much as I should like," he writes, " to accept your 
 gratifying invitation to play at one of your London 
 Symphony Concerts and I confess I would not wish 
 to be accompanied by any orchestra on the banks of 
 the Thames except under your conductorship I fear 
 there are insurmountable obstacles in the way. You 
 may perhaps have heard that by undertaking several 
 functions in North German cities, I have permanently 
 tied myself to such an extent as to be hardly able to 
 spare the time for a longish trip, least of all to fix a 
 date so long ahead. To come to the opening concert 
 of your season is moreover ' superlatively impossible,' 
 for the reason that in that epoch falls the preparation 
 for the Mozart Cycle at the Hamburg theatre. My 
 advancing ' treacherous age,' too, renders the risk 
 of hurried journeys unadvisable. ..." 
 
 A second attempt on my part, during the 
 following year, was, much to my regret, equally 
 unsuccessful. This time Billow's answer came 
 from Berlin, and ran as follows : 
 
 . . . Rarely has a non possumus come so hard to 
 me as that which I am obliged to pronounce in reply 
 to your honouring invitation. But you will under- 
 stand how I cannot give up old obligations in favour 
 of very likely more interesting new ones. And 
 since the gift of ubiquity is, alas, denied me, there
 
 xxvi MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 339 
 
 remains the absolute impossibility of playing in 
 London on March 6. I have to conduct here on the 
 5th and to play on the 8th, and every day of the 
 season is taken up with rehearsals and concerts and 
 opera in Berlin, Bremen, and Hamburg. I am heartily 
 ashamed to be obliged to meet your warm-blooded 
 eloquence with sober mathematical explanations, but 
 promises must be kept, if by not keeping them you 
 would be injuring other interests. Dunque i miei 
 piu vivi rincrescimenti ; sono dolente piu di ogni dire, 
 ma che vuole : " L'homme n'est pas parfait, mon 
 president," said the accused parricide. In haste 
 between two rehearsals of the Irish symphony, in 
 C. V. St.'s 1 presence, and Brahms' Double Concerto. 
 I am most truly yours, 
 
 H. VON BttLOW. 
 
 Later however in the same year, after the 
 continental season was over and the London 
 Symphony Concerts had completed the second 
 year of their existence, Billow came to London 
 for the purpose of giving a cycle of Beethoven 
 recitals, and his bringing with him a protege of 
 his, a tenor who was to make his first appear- 
 ance in England under Billow's auspices, re- 
 called to me an amusing incident, of which 
 that tenor was the rather sorry hero. 
 
 I had, in the spring of 1886, found myself 
 arriving in Cologne one fine Sunday afternoon, 
 when, on the way from the station to the hotel, 
 my eyes happened to fall on the announcement, 
 
 1 Charles Villiers Stanford.
 
 340 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxvi 
 
 on a big poster, of a performance, that very 
 afternoon, of Handel's Messiah. The cast was 
 a very attractive one, including the prima- 
 donna of the Dresden Opera and the famous 
 " Helden- Tenor " of another of the Court 
 opera - houses of Germany. I looked at my 
 watch : three o'clock. The performance, under 
 Ferdinand Hiller, had commenced at two. I 
 shall be just in time, I thought, for the great 
 air, " Thou shalt dash them." How I should 
 love to hear that splendid piece of musical 
 rhetoric rendered by an operatic " tenore 
 robusto," who will not hesitate to give^true 
 emphasis to that high A natural towards the 
 end of the air on the word " dash," and just 
 revel in it. ... So, after depositing my valise at 
 the hotel, I hurried to the Giirzenich where, as 
 I had anticipated, the bass was just finishing 
 the glorious air, " Why do the nations." Now 
 the orchestra struck up that fine introduction 
 
 etc., during which 
 
 -== 
 
 the great tenor, who evidently thought him- 
 self the " star of the afternoon " slowly got 
 up, displaying across his faultless shirt - front 
 it was the custom then on the continent 
 for gentlemen to wear evening - dress at any 
 official function, even in the morning a huge
 
 xxvi MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 341 
 
 gold medal, something like a first prize at 
 a horse -show, suspended from a red ribbon 
 beneath his collar. Having, with the last bars 
 of the introduction, raised himself to his full 
 height a fine-looking chap with a splendid 
 physique he inflated his huge chest and began. 
 I confess I was somewhat disappointed ; though 
 not bad, it was nothing out of the usual. 
 But wait, I thought, for that high A natural ! 
 I got quite excited in anticipation when it 
 came to those two preparatory crotchets 
 
 PP P 
 = which to me are like the wide- 
 
 Thou shalt 
 
 circling, swinging movement of the wood- 
 man's axe before its tremendous force strikes 
 the tree. Imagine, therefore, my disappoint- 
 ment, nay, my indignation, when those two 
 notes were followed, not by that glorious 
 
 sweeping octave 
 
 able augmented Fourth : 
 
 as if a rider to the hounds, supposed by the 
 onlooker to make joyfully for a fence in the 
 stirring passion of the chase, all of a sudden, 
 instead of clearing it, dismounted and, opening 
 a gate, meekly led his mount through. 
 
 Well, it was that gentleman who came to 
 London in 1888 and was to sing Beethoven's
 
 342 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxvi 
 
 beautiful song-cycle " To the distant Beloved." 
 A few days before the concert I accidentally 
 met him at a restaurant in Regent Street, 
 where I had luncheon with a friend who had 
 previously known him and, seeing him enter 
 the room and look for a seat, invited him 
 to join us. We were introduced, and though 
 inwardly flushing at the remembrance of that 
 Cologne experience when Mr. X had spoiled 
 Handel's air and my enjoyment, I was ex- 
 tremely polite to the offender. Luncheon over, 
 I took out my cigar-case, and, handing it across 
 the table, offered him one of the fragrant 
 weeds. " Oh, dear no thanks," he declined 
 with a deprecatory wave of the hand " if I 
 were to smoke a cigar now I could not sing 
 tenor for four or five days ! " This was too 
 much. Oblivious of all tenets of tact and good 
 taste, I burst out I really could not help 
 myself " Then, I am sure, you must, four or 
 five days before the Messiah performance in 
 Cologne two years ago, have smoked a par- 
 ticularly strong cigar ! v 
 
 Whether or not it be better for a singer to 
 refrain from smoking altogether is a question 
 which may be answered one way or the other, 
 but it seemed to me so utterly silly for a singer 
 who does smoke, to think the smoking of a 
 cigar on, say, a Monday, could in any way
 
 xxvi MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 343 
 
 affect his singing on the Thursday following. 
 Either you know how to sing or you don't. 
 In the first case, nothing which otherwise agrees 
 with your health could possibly have an 
 injurious effect on your voice or your art of 
 using it. Tichatschek, the great tenor who 
 had the distinction of being the first Rienzi as 
 well as the first Tannhauser in 1842 and 1845 
 respectively used to smoke from ten to twelve 
 cigars a day. I heard him sing Lohengrin in 
 Dresden and very finely when he was sixty- 
 two years old. And I have in my possession 
 a photograph of another great Tannhauser, 
 Albert Niemann, taken in his eightieth year. 
 The lapel of his dress-coat is completely covered 
 with stars and medals, but the proud expression 
 in his face seems due less to these distinctions 
 than to the big cigar he holds between the 
 fingers of his right hand, evidently waiting for 
 the photographer to hurry up and let him have 
 it between his lips again. 
 
 It must have been about that time that I 
 was sitting in my study one morning when a 
 card was brought up to me, " Antoine 
 Strakosch." " Oh," I thought, " one of that 
 famous family of concert-managers I wonder 
 what he wants." Although now remembered 
 by but very few people, the name of Strakosch 
 was quite a familiar one a generation ago.
 
 344 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxvi 
 
 The two brothers, Maurice and Max (not to be 
 confounded with the famous " Max and Moritz " 
 of Wilhelm Busch's creation) were impresarios 
 of high standing ; Maurice, Adelina Patti's 
 brother-in-law and agent, having also had 
 some reputation as a musician and teacher of 
 singing. " Show the gentleman up, please ! ' : 
 And in walked a little man whose outward 
 appearance at once suggested some connexion 
 with the musical profession other than British. 
 I don't know why it is, but somehow or other 
 that calling everywhere, except in Great Britain, 
 puts its hall-mark, or perhaps I should say 
 music-hall-mark on its professors. 
 
 Parry, except for his moustache, might pass 
 for an admiral of the fleet; Stanford for an 
 attorney-general ; Elgar for a cavalry officer ; 
 Mackenzie for the president of a Royal Medical 
 Society, but about the profession of a con- 
 tinental musician no mistake seems possible. 
 
 After introducing himself in perfect French, 
 which afterwards he changed into an equally 
 excellent English, as a cousin of his two re- 
 nowned namesakes, he brought me the friendly 
 greetings of the director of a well - known 
 Concert Society in Amsterdam, for whom my 
 wife and I had fulfilled some engagements only 
 the year previous, and, in the name of that 
 gentleman, came, he said, to ask if we happened
 
 xxvi MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 345 
 
 to be free to come over immediately after 
 Easter for four concerts, in Amsterdam, Rotter- 
 dam, the Hague, and Utrecht. In that case 
 he was authorized to settle the matter as to 
 dates and terms at once, and pay me the sum 
 of 25 down as a sort of earnest-money. Con- 
 sulting my engagement-book I found, Easter 
 being still some time ahead, that we could just 
 manage four concerts then, whereupon he began 
 making suggestions for our programmes. If 
 so far he had already given proof of his perfect 
 familiarity with all things musical in those four 
 towns, he now astonished me by seeming to 
 be acquainted with all the programmes we 
 had previously given there. " In your place," 
 he would say, " I should sing again Loewe's 
 4 Erlking ' in Amsterdam, where the people 
 still speak of it, whilst Mrs. Henschel should 
 by all means repeat her inimitable rendering 
 of Schumann's ' Der Nussbaum ' " ; or, on my 
 proposing a certain song, he would reject it 
 as too serious, or for some other good reason, 
 and recommend another item of my repertoire. 
 Well, the dates having been finally decided 
 upon, he took out of his pocket-book a draft 
 on a London Bank, signed by that Amsterdam 
 Concert - Director, remarking that, as it was 
 made out for 50, I'd perhaps not mind giving 
 him my cheque for 25 in exchange. ... Of
 
 346 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxvi 
 
 course not ! Whilst I was writing it, he begged 
 me to please not cross it, as he had no bank- 
 account in London. ... Of course ! . . . Just 
 then the luncheon-bell rang, and after asking 
 me if I would not do him the honour of lunching 
 with him at his club The Travellers' I think 
 it was which I gratefully declined, "Mr. 
 Strakosch " took his leave, and I joined my wife 
 at luncheon. I had hardly commenced telling 
 her of Mr. Strakosch's visit and its object, 
 when I abruptly sprang out of my chair without 
 more than an " Excuse me," and, snatching 
 my hat in the lobby, ran out of the house, 
 jumped into the first hansom I met : " London 
 & County Bank, High Street . . . Quick ! " . . . 
 and five minutes later I was informed by the 
 clerk that my cheque, the payment of which 
 I had come to stop, had been cashed ten 
 minutes before, and the one the rascal had 
 given me was a very clever forgery, not worth 
 a farthing. 
 
 No doubt my readers will have guessed long 
 before this that the man was a knave and I 
 a fool ; but such, on the one hand, was the 
 perfection of the gentleman's composure and 
 his talent for swindling, and, on the other, the 
 simplicity of my faith in the original goodness 
 of man that not until " Mr. Strakosch " had 
 actually disappeared from my sight did the
 
 xxvi MUSINGS AND 'MEMORIES 347 
 
 first glimpse of suspicion dawn upon the horizon 
 of my intellect. Mortified, as it was only 
 natural I should have been, at finding myself 
 thus duped, I could not help admiring the 
 ingenuity of the fellow, and somehow con- 
 gratulated myself on having got off so com- 
 paratively cheaply. When, in the evening of 
 that day, in the artists' room at St. James's 
 Hall I described my experience to some of my 
 colleagues, they wondered how it was I had not 
 read of the man in the papers which, it seemed, 
 had been exposing his doings for the last month 
 or so. In one case his ingenuity had been so 
 extraordinary as to deserve special mention. 
 He had played exactly the same trick on a 
 friend of mine, a very famous tenor, who, like 
 me, fell into the clever trap, but, more fortunate, 
 or perhaps quicker than I had been, arrived 
 at his bank in time to stop the payment of the 
 cheque, also for 25, he had given to "Mr. 
 Strakosch." When this gentleman, on present- 
 ing it to the clerk half an hour later, was 
 informed that they had orders not to cash the 
 cheque, he, evidently aware of the existing law 
 by which you cannot arrest a man without a 
 warrant, took it very calmly. Expressing to 
 the clerk his wonder why this should be so, he 
 quietly walked out of the building. Outside, 
 however, what should he do ? Drive to the
 
 348 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxvi 
 
 " Princes' Hall, Piccadilly ! " This was at that 
 time a very charming little concert - hall, ex- 
 cellent for sound, and in great demand for 
 chamber-music and other recitals. Having 
 asked to see the manager and introduced him- 
 self as concert-agent and impresario from Paris, 
 he wished to know on which dates he could 
 have the hall for four concerts he intended 
 giving in London with some famous French 
 artists. The dates agreed upon, the manager, 
 on "Mr. Strakosch " pretending to be ready to 
 depart, politely remarked it was the custom 
 (as if the fellow had not known and built 
 his plan on it !) to pay a deposit. " Oh," 
 he quietly exclaimed, " is that so ? ... Of 
 course. . . . I understand. . . . How much?' 
 "Ten pounds." . . . " Very well," taking out 
 his pocket-book. ..." So sorry, I am afraid I 
 have not as much on me ... oh no, wait a 
 moment, here is Mr. X's cheque, will that 
 do ? " " Certainly," replied the honest manager, 
 recognizing the familiar and, of course, genuine 
 signature of the famous tenor, took the cheque 
 after having made "Mr. Strakosch" endorse 
 it, and handed him the change in three clean, 
 beautiful Bank of England notes of 5 each ! 
 
 Now I call this genius. When, about half 
 a year later, " Mr. Strakosch " his real name 
 was Ullmann, and he had actually been an
 
 xxvi MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 349 
 
 impresario of some standing at the beginning 
 of his career was at last brought to bay, 
 caught and sentenced, it was with deep sym- 
 pathy and pity I thought of how useful a 
 member of society this talented man might 
 have been, had his moral faculties been led in 
 the right direction, and wondered on whose head 
 rested the responsibility for the shipwreck of 
 that life.
 
 XXVII 
 
 IN June 1890 it was my great privilege to 
 conduct the orchestral concert which intro- 
 duced to the English public a musician-pianist, 
 who, by virtue of his striking personality no 
 less than the power and poetry of his inter- 
 pretations, aided, as they were, by an unim- 
 peachable technique, leaped with one bound 
 into the place Anton Rubinstein had held for 
 so long in the hearts of British music-lovers ; 
 and that notwithstanding the fact of his being 
 heralded at first as " The Lion of the Paris 
 season," an error of judgment on the part of 
 an over-zealous impresario which at that time 
 was, if anything, apt to prejudice the public 
 rather to the disadvantage of a newcomer 
 than otherwise. 
 
 Tempora mutantur ! Twenty-five years ago 
 musical events of real merit used to be an- 
 nounced by the mere mention of the works to 
 be performed and the names of the executants. 
 Even so innocent a designation therefore as 
 
 350
 
 xxvn MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 351 
 
 " Lion of the Paris Season " was considered 
 somewhat unusual and against the canons of 
 professional etiquette. What would people 
 have then thought of advertisements such as you 
 may read nowadays, like " Mr. So-and-so, fresh 
 from his triumphs in America, or South Africa, 
 or Australia," or " Wagner's wonderful music " 
 to tableaux vivants from Parsifal at one of 
 the Music Halls " rendered in thirty minutes 
 by a double orchestra," or of the publication 
 even, intended N to prove artistic worth and 
 superiority, of the actual " takings " of artists 
 during their " phenomenal " tour, etc., etc. ? 
 Will there, I wonder, be a reaction in this respect, 
 as is sure to come some day in our beloved 
 art, when licentiousness will no longer be taken 
 for independence, brutality for strength ; when 
 order and sanity will again take the place of 
 eccentricity and morbidness, when the highest 
 mission of music will once more be thought to 
 consist in the lifting of humanity for the time 
 being from all that is of the earth earthy into 
 the purer, holier sphere of an ideal Heaven ? 
 God grant it. 
 
 Well, to return to the new pianist. The 
 simple announcement, after his first appearance, 
 of his name " Paderewski " was quite sufficient 
 to fill St. James's Hall with crowds of enthusi- 
 astic listeners such as, in the case of a single
 
 352 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxvn 
 
 artist, it had not known since the days of the 
 great Russian. Very soon there was hardly an 
 evening reception or garden-party, or other 
 social function at which the fascinating Pole 
 could not be seen, the centre of attraction, 
 surrounded by a host of admirers of both sexes. 
 On one of the unforgettable Sunday mornings 
 which it was my good fortune to spend in the 
 studio of Burne-Jones, playing the organ and 
 singing whilst that kind and gentle master 
 was painting, I took Paderewski with me to 
 introduce him to Burne-Jones, who, as I had 
 expected, was immediately and greatly struck 
 by the exquisitely delicate, pre - Raphaelitic 
 head, and on the spot asked its happy possessor 
 to sit for him a request the cheerful granting 
 of which resulted in one of the finest portraits 
 the pencil of the great master ever produced, 
 and that in spite of his considering my playing 
 and singing according to an entry in his 
 diary " good for the emotions, but bad for 
 the drawing." 
 
 What a lovable man Burne-Jones was ! His 
 very voice was sympathetic to a degree and, 
 with its musical inflexions, added a peculiar 
 charm to whatever fell from his lips. I shall 
 never forget the last time I saw him. It was 
 at one of those most enjoyable dinner-parties 
 for which the hospitable house, in Hyde Park
 
 xxvii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 353 
 
 Gate, of Monsieur and Madame Blumenthal was 
 famous. The spirit of gentle Bohemianism which 
 pervaded the atmosphere on these occasions 
 was just after the heart of Burne- Jones, who 
 could not abide stiffness and conventionality. 
 The rules of precedence, for instance, were 
 completely disregarded, and you might have 
 seen " Monsieur " woe to the hapless guest 
 who, in the hearing of " Madame," accident- 
 ally spoke of our amiable host as " Mr." or, 
 worse still, " Herr " taking down to dinner 
 a fascinating young actress, whilst a diamond- 
 tiarad, stately duchess would graciously give 
 her bejewelled arm to the latest arrival among 
 musical stars. These charming dinners were 
 invariably followed by largely attended re- 
 ceptions, at which eminent singers and instru- 
 mentalists would vie with each other in 
 contributing, of their best, to a programme of 
 excellent music ; and once in a while, on a fine 
 summer night, the pretty garden, fragrant and 
 luscious in the darkness, which a few stray 
 Japanese lanterns hanging among the trees 
 seemed to make all the more impressive, would 
 re-echo with the sound of old-world madrigals 
 and glees, daintily sung by members of a 
 famous Amateur Society, conducted by an old 
 friend of the house. Really unique evenings 
 
 were these. On one of them, in June 1898, 
 
 2A
 
 354 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxvn 
 
 Burne- Jones was there, rather silent and 
 thoughtful it seemed to me, as indeed he more 
 frequently appeared since the death, less than 
 two years before, of his beloved comrade, 
 William Morris, whom it had several times 
 been my delight to meet at Burne-Jones' on 
 Sunday mornings when I happened to arrive 
 early enough to find the two friends still in 
 the house, Morris ready to take his leave and 
 Burne-Jones to repair to the garden-studio to 
 work. 
 
 Burne-Jones seemed glad to see me. " Let's 
 go indoors," he said ; and we went into the 
 house and, finding the little back-room upstairs 
 empty, let ourselves sink down together in the 
 luxurious cushions of the broad oriental divan, 
 and there, the lovely music floating into our 
 ears through the open window, had a good 
 time talking of bygone days and, of course, 
 of Morris. " Ah, my dear fellow," Burne-Jones 
 said to me, " I feel as if a wall I had been leaning 
 against had given way. . . ." On my offering 
 to come and cheer him up by a little music as 
 of old, " Do, my dear man," he said, " do come 
 and bring the little apple," meaning my 
 daughter Helen and we settled upon the 
 very Sunday following, June 19. On that 
 day the dear hand I had grasped in parting 
 was resting for ever. The great painter,
 
 xxvii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 355 
 
 the sweet friend, had died on the Friday 
 morning. 
 
 An event of the summer of 1891 worthy of 
 note was the evening party given for the 
 German Emperor and Empress during their 
 visit to England by Lord and Lady Salisbury, 
 whose guests at Hatfield House they were 
 for two days. On the night of the day of their 
 arrival a concert, under the direction of my 
 old friend, the genial Paolo Tosti, was to take 
 place, at which I had been asked to sing. 
 
 The historic old English palaces and man- 
 sions had always had a particular fascination 
 for me, and I wondered if by any chance I 
 might be permitted to go to Hatfield in 
 the afternoon of the day appointed for the 
 concert, so as to be able to see some of the 
 treasures of art and relics of history stored up 
 in that ancient and beautiful seat of the Cecils, 
 perhaps to have a look at the famous stables, 
 once Queen Elizabeth's banqueting - hall, or 
 even for a moment to stand in the shadow of 
 the famous oak-tree in the park under which 
 the great Queen is said to have been found 
 sitting and reading when her accession to the 
 throne was announced to her. 1 
 
 1 In reference to this incident in Elizabeth's life the Rev. Jocelyn 
 J. Antrobus, in an admirable little book, Hatfield, Some Memories
 
 356 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxvn 
 
 It was therefore a most delightful and 
 welcome coincidence, little short of telepathy, 
 when a day or two after I had " booked " the 
 date for the Hatfield House Concert I received 
 a note from Lady Florence Cecil asking me 
 to luncheon on the day of the concert, " so that 
 she might show me a little of Hatfield House 
 during the afternoon." Lady Florence was 
 the daughter of the first Earl of Lathom, whose 
 house in Portland Place had been one of the 
 first of those which opened their doors to me 
 with a warm - hearted, generous hospitality 
 never to be forgotten. 
 
 Lord Lathom or rather Lord Skelmersdale, 
 as he still was when I first knew him had a 
 great fondness for music, shared by all the 
 members of his family, and the many occasions 
 when, quite informally and en famille, I 
 sat down at the piano to sing some of their 
 favourite songs are most pleasant recollections 
 of that period. Lord Lathom was a man as 
 kind and charming and courteous as he was 
 handsome and picturesque. Who that has 
 ever seen him as Lord Chamberlain, splendidly 
 
 of its Past, tells us that, " Dean Stanley, on hearing the story some 
 three hundred years later, threw doubts upon the possibility of 
 being able to read out of doors on a November day in England, 
 whereupon Georgina, Lady Salisbury, challenging his doubts, invited 
 him down to Hatfield during the month of November, and the 
 autumn sun being propitious, the Dean was forced to admit that 
 his doubts were unfounded."
 
 xxvn MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 357 
 
 erect he was over six feet in height the 
 suppleness of his elegant figure emphasised 
 by the becoming uniform, the front of which, 
 down to the chest, was almost completely 
 hidden by a beard, most wonderfully soignee 
 and of purest silver-greyish white, could possibly 
 forget that striking personality ? 
 
 Perhaps it was Lord Lathom to whom I 
 owed the distinction of being asked to take 
 part in the Hatfield House Concert ; the 
 special request, however, to include in my 
 programme my cycle of songs from The 
 Trumpeter of Sdkkingen I understood to 
 have come from the guest of the evening, 
 whose grandfather, William I., had, it seems, 
 done those songs the special honour of liking 
 them perhaps on account of the words. 
 
 Well, the day of the concert came at last, 
 a fine, sunny, not too hot July day, ideal for 
 an excursion into the country. Needless to 
 say, I had not been slow in accepting Lady 
 Florence's invitation and, under her charming 
 guidance, took in as much of the endless 
 beauties of Hatfield House and Park as was 
 possible in the limited time at our disposal, 
 for, naturally, we wanted to witness the arrival 
 of the Prince and Princess of Wales, which took 
 place shortly before tea. Soon after that an 
 incredibly long procession of brakes and vans
 
 358 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxvn 
 
 laden with innumerable boxes and cases and 
 trunks of all shapes and sizes and materials 
 leather, wood, zinc, followed by half-a-dozen 
 carriages containing servants, male and female, 
 indicated the near approach of the " Aller- 
 hochste Herrschaften," * the Emperor and 
 Empress, who indeed drove up a few minutes 
 later, respectfully greeted by the villagers 
 lining the broad drive in the grounds as far 
 as the magnificently imposing gate leading 
 to the main entrance of Hatfield House. 
 
 The concert in the evening took place in 
 the splendid drawing-room famous for the 
 over life-size bronze statue of King James I. 
 standing in a niche over the mantel and a 
 test of the fine proportions of the room not 
 looking in the least too big for it. Whilst 
 at the State concerts at Buckingham Palace 
 
 1 The literal translation of the word " Allerhochst," invariably 
 used in official reference to the members of a German reigning 
 family in their own respective countries, is " All-Highest," though 
 perhaps " Very Highest " comes somewhat nearer the meaning. 
 
 English expressions, for instance, like " the very best," " the 
 very last," could, rendered in German, only be " aZferbeste, aller- 
 letzte," etc. On the other hand, " Der Hochste " " The Highest " 
 is the epithet most frequently used in German pulpits, books, and 
 poetry instead of the word " God," so that it is not at all unlikely 
 the following actually appeared, as the story goes it did, in the 
 official Court circular of the doings of a Royal party which had 
 been on an excursion to some part of the country famous for a 
 remarkable formation of rocks : 
 
 " At this stage the ' Very-Highest parties ' alighted from the 
 carriages and, ascending to the top of the hill, deigned ("geruhten ") 
 to admire the wonders of the Highest"
 
 xxvii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 359 
 
 all the artists are required to be in their 
 places when the Royal procession enters, here, 
 it being a private, after-dinner affair, it was 
 different. Coming into the room we found 
 the host and hostess and their Royal, Imperial, 
 and other guests leisurely disposed in groups 
 and in lively conversation ; some standing, 
 some seated ; there had apparently been no 
 change made in the usual distribution of the 
 furniture, and the charming informality of the 
 occasion, of which the absence of the customary 
 row of little gilt chairs and settees was a most 
 agreeable feature, was further manifested by 
 the fact that the concert was allowed to proceed 
 in easy stages with plenty of time between the 
 different items for conversation, and occasional 
 changes of seats on the part of the audience. 
 My songs from The Trumpeter of Sdkkingen 
 came in about the middle of the programme. 
 The words were taken from Joseph Victor von 
 Scheffel's simple little romance of love, written 
 in blank verse and interspersed now and then 
 with charming lyrics. The whole book had 
 at that time achieved quite an extraordinary 
 popularity among the German people, to whom 
 a decided streak of sentimentality running 
 through the story seemed to have particularly 
 appealed. With few exceptions the lyrics put 
 into the mouth of the hero are of a wholesome,
 
 360 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxvn 
 
 virile sentiment and real poetry, and of those I 
 had set eight. Among the exceptions, however, 
 there is one poem in which sentimentality is 
 carried to the point of commonplace, as will be 
 seen from the refrain at the end of each stanza : 
 
 God guard thee, dear, it would have been too lovely, 
 God guard thee, dear alas, 'twas not to be ! 
 
 Naturally it was just that song which became 
 the most popular of all the lyrics in the book, 
 and when, in due time, a second - rate com- 
 poser had made an opera of the story in 
 which that particular song had been set to 
 music even more banal than the words, with 
 cornet obbligato, the success of the opera was 
 assured. It made the round of all the theatres 
 in Germany, and " God guard thee, dear " 
 became for a time the rage of the public, sung, 
 as it was, by love-sick maidens and lieutenants, 
 played in all the beer - gardens, on barrel- 
 organs, as Trombone solo, strummed on the 
 piano, whistled by the street-boys. Needless 
 to say, it was precisely that poem I had not 
 set, and it will be seen presently why I am 
 making a point of that fact. 
 
 When " my turn " came I accompanied 
 myself as usual the Kaiser happened to stand 
 not far off from the piano, his maimed arm 
 hidden behind his back, whilst not far from the
 
 xxvii MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 361 
 
 tail-end of the piano were seated the Princess 
 of Wales, the Empress of Germany, and 
 the Duchess of Portland. When I had finished, 
 the Emperor addressed a few words to me, 
 for the last of which Lady Salisbury, whom I 
 had noticed in the meantime to approach the 
 piano, seemed to be waiting. And, indeed, the 
 moment the Emperor had turned away, Lady 
 Salisbury, pointing with a movement of her 
 head in the direction of the three ladies, in- 
 formed me that the Princess wanted to see me 
 for a moment. I hurried to obey the command 
 of that gracious and beautiful lady who, gently 
 turning her head toward her neighbour, said 
 to me, " The Empress wishes to speak to you " 
 and this is what fell from the lips of Her 
 Imperial Majesty : 
 
 " How beautifully you sang." 
 
 Low bow on my part. 
 
 " What a fine voice. ..." 
 
 Another bow. 
 
 " How beautiful your songs are. . . ." 
 
 Lower bow. 
 
 " But will you not also sing us that most 
 beautiful other one ? " 
 
 " Which one does Your Majesty refer to ? " 
 I innocently ventured to ask. 
 
 44 The one I am sure you know . . . that 
 particularly beautiful one. ..."
 
 362 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxvn 
 
 " I am afraid I sang the whole cycle, 
 Ma'm. . . ." 
 
 " No, no ... I mean the one . . . don't you 
 know the best of all. ..." 
 
 And as I paused for a moment wondering if 
 it were really possible she could mean the . . . 
 Her Majesty removed all doubt on my part 
 by exclaiming, " Don't you know . . . God 
 guard thee, dear, it would have been too lovely ! ' 
 
 Tableau. I blushed, expressed my most 
 humble regret at this song not being in my 
 repertoire, as well as the fear that I could not 
 aspire to popularity such as that, and, with a 
 curt nod of the five huge emeralds in Her 
 Majesty's diadem, was dismissed.
 
 XXVIII 
 
 'TWAS in the lovely month, not of May as 
 Heine sings but, of June 1893 that London 
 welcomed within its walls . . . By the way, 
 " Within its walls " reminds me of a celebrated 
 German actor who was also an excellent 
 advertiser. Whenever the Court-Theatre of 
 which he was a member was closed for the 
 vacations, he travelled and appeared " as guest " 
 at every theatre in the land, and one could be 
 sure to read in the local papers, the morning 
 after his arrival, " Since yesterday there ' dwells 
 within our walls ' . . ." with the result that 
 after a while he was simply known as " The 
 Wall-Dweller " " Der Mauerweiler." 
 
 Well, in June 1893 there dwelt within the 
 walls of London for a while an unusually large 
 number of foreign musical composers who 
 had come to receive honorary degrees at 
 Cambridge on the occasion of the fiftieth 
 birthday of the Cambridge University Musical 
 Society, founded by William Thomson, after- 
 wards Lord Kelvin. Among the new Doctors 
 
 363
 
 364 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxvm 
 
 of Music were Arrigo Boito and Tschaikovsky. 
 The prologue to Boito's opera, Mefistofele, was 
 on the programme of the musical birthday 
 celebration, and as I had to sing the part of 
 the devil and the devil of a part it is ! the 
 composer called on me one afternoon. The 
 first impression he made on me, a most agreeable 
 one in every respect, furnished a remarkable 
 illustration of the mystery of heredity and, 
 in the case of the two parents being of different 
 nationalities, of the strange way in which the 
 one sometimes predominates over the other. 
 I had never seen Boito before, nor known any- 
 thing about him save his opera Mefistofele, 
 which I greatly admired as a fine, grandly 
 conceived, sincere work of art. The moment 
 Boito entered my room, accompanied by his 
 London host, our mutual friend Albert Visetti, 
 there appeared before my mind's eye the 
 vision of my old home in Breslau in the days 
 of my youlth. Every year during the famous 
 Breslau Wool-fair-week Polish noblemen would 
 come to my father's office and occasionally 
 honour our humble home by staying to the 
 mid-day meal. Those Polish land-owners had 
 always impressed me as the most charming 
 people I had ever seen. Their stately carriage, 
 graceful gestures, refined manners and address, 
 their unfailing politeness and bonhomie had
 
 xxviri MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 365 
 
 made them appear in my youthful eyes the 
 perfect realization of my idea of a gentleman. 
 And now one of these stood before me in the 
 person of Boito, whose very smile, on shaking 
 my hand, I seemed to have seen long years ago. 
 I could not help telling him my impression, 
 when to my surprise he said, " Well, this is 
 indeed strange, or perhaps it is not My mother 
 was a Polish Countess." 
 
 Tschaikovsky, whom I had the pleasure of 
 seeing nearly every day during his short stay 
 in London, seemed to me, though then on the 
 uppermost rung of the ladder of fame, even 
 more inclined to intervals of melancholy than 
 when I had last met him ; indeed, one after- 
 noon, during a talk about the olden days in 
 Petrograd and Moscow, and the many friends 
 there who were no more, he suddenly got very 
 depressed and, wondering what this world 
 with all its life and strife was made for, ex- 
 pressed his own readiness at any moment 
 to quit it. To my gratification I succeeded 
 in dispelling the clouds that had gathered over 
 his mental vision, and during the rest of the 
 afternoon as well as the dinner in the evening 
 he appeared in the best of spirits. That was 
 the last time I saw him, and less than five 
 months later a very strange thing happened. 
 What to call it I know not :
 
 366 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxvm 
 
 The sketch programmes of the series of 
 concerts by .the Scottish Orchestra, which, 
 under my conductorship, were to commence 
 in November, had as usual been printed and 
 published several months before the first concert, 
 which took place in Edinburgh on November 
 6th, 1893, and on the programme there figured 
 an Elegy for Strings by Tschaikovsky, written 
 in memory of a departed friend. I had 
 selected it as a fine example of the com- 
 poser's art as being deeply emotional and 
 impressive, even on so limited a scale and 
 without the colouristic wealth of the full 
 modern orchestra. The little work stood first 
 in the second part of the programme. After 
 the usual interval between the parts the 
 members of the orchestra had reassembled on 
 the platform, ready for me. As I made my 
 way through them towards the conductor's 
 desk, one of the gentlemen stopped me for 
 a moment and, handing me the Evening 
 News, pointed to the heading of a telegram 
 from Petrograd : Tschaikovsky had died that 
 morning ! . . . 
 
 Those concerts with the Scottish Orchestra, 
 recalling, by the absence of a committee and 
 consequent perfect freedom and independence 
 as regards programmes and rehearsals, those
 
 xxvin MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 367 
 
 happy years of my first experiences in Boston, 
 were a great joy to me, though to conduct over 
 seventy concerts in Glasgow, Edinburgh, and 
 a number of smaller towns north of the Tweed, 
 and at the same time keep up the London 
 Symphony Concerts as I did from '93 to '95 
 was, with all the rehearsals I insisted upon hav- 
 ing, rather too much of a good thing, necessitat- 
 ing living mostly in hotels and doing a great 
 amount of night -travelling, and threatening to 
 make a sort of " quick-change artist " of me, 
 for usually there was, between the end of the 
 concert and my jumping into the waiting cab 
 to catch the train for London, barely time to 
 change from evening clothes to travelling suit. 
 But with all that, my heart and mind were in 
 my work, and their power over matter is truly 
 wonderful. Try, for instance, to move your 
 wrist and arm in strict rhythm as a mechani- 
 cal physical exercise, and after less than five 
 minutes you will be utterly tired out and forced 
 to give it up. The Ninth Symphony takes 
 more than sixty minutes' conducting, and at 
 the end of it you feel like doing it all over again. 
 At least I did. 
 
 At the beginning of the year '95 it was 
 with no small gratification that I received the 
 Queen's command to take the whole Scottish 
 Orchestra to Windsor and give a concert before
 
 368 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxvin 
 
 Her Majesty at the Castle, an honour all the 
 more appreciated by members and conductor 
 as being the first time since the lamented death 
 of the Prince Consort that the Queen had 
 commanded and in person attended a concert 
 at any of her palaces. Princess Louise, the 
 Marchioness of Lome, had taken a most kindly 
 personal interest in the matter, and graciously 
 engaged to submit to the Queen the three or 
 four different programmes I had sketched for 
 Her Majesty's approval and selection, and to 
 superintend the printing of the chosen one, 
 one copy of which, for the use of Her Majesty, 
 had to be done on a foolscap size sheet in very 
 large, bold type. To the arrangements regard- 
 ing the stage and the accommodation of the 
 musicians I had already seen some weeks before 
 the event, together with the clerk of works at 
 the Castle, and now, on the day of the concert, 
 the 1st of March, I proceeded to Windsor 
 early in the morning to see myself to the 
 placing of the desks on the platform which had 
 been erected in the beautiful St. George's Hall. 
 The whole of that part of it which was behind 
 the gradually rising stage had been partitioned 
 off as dressing-rooms for the members of the 
 orchestra, who on their arrival in the afternoon 
 were received in the precincts of the Castle 
 by the Marquis of Lome, under whose interesting
 
 xxvm MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 369 
 
 guidance the tour of the grounds was made 
 previous to the final rehearsal and the very 
 substantial late " tea " in the Van Dyck room, 
 following it. At ten o'clock we were all in our 
 places on the platform. Already seated in the 
 body of the hall were the Empress Frederick, 
 the Princess Louise, and the Marquis of Lome, 
 Lord Edward Pelham Clinton, several ladies- 
 in-waiting, and in the background all the 
 available household servants, both female and 
 male. I was standing in my place before the 
 orchestra, baton in hand, my head however 
 turned toward the door at the end of the hall 
 through which the Queen was to enter, and 
 ready to commence on receiving the signal from 
 the equerry stationed there. It was quite 
 exciting. Punctually to a minute at the ap- 
 pointed time, a quarter past ten, the equerry's 
 handkerchief waved the signal. Everybody 
 rose, and amid the strains of " God save the 
 Queen," resounding gloriously imposing through 
 the nearly empty hall, Her Majesty appeared, 
 leaning on a cane and gently supported under 
 the left elbow by a tall, magnificent Indian 
 attendant in native costume, and followed 
 by more ladies and gentlemen of the court. 
 A member of the orchestra, a dear old Scot, 
 told me afterwards, in the train, that that 
 moment had been the most impressive of his 
 
 2B
 
 370 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxvm 
 
 life. He trembled all over, he said, and had 
 the greatest difficulty in repressing his tears. 
 The concert went off without a hitch. The 
 Queen, to whom I had the honour of presenting 
 the excellent leader of the orchestra, my dear 
 old friend Maurice Sons, seemed to have been 
 particularly pleased with the performance of 
 Mendelssohn's Scottish Symphony, and ex- 
 pressed her satisfaction to me in the most 
 gracious terms. At half -past eleven the Marquis 
 of Lome presided, again in the Van Dyck room, 
 at a sumptuous and highly relished supper, 
 and a little after one o'clock in the morning 
 a special train steamed out of Windsor station, 
 carrying men and instruments, without change, 
 back to Glasgow, where on the night following 
 I conducted the sixty-eighth concert of the 
 season. During the course of it I received a 
 telegram from Windsor Castle : " Queen hopes 
 you and your orchestra reached Glasgow safely, 
 and that no one suffered from the fatigue of 
 the long journey." Needless to say it elicited 
 a storm of applause as I read it to the audience, 
 who no less than the orchestra fully and grate- 
 fully appreciated this gracious and touching 
 thoughtfulness on the part of our revered 
 sovereign. 
 
 Soon afterwards, having carefully weighed 
 the pros and cons and decided, though most
 
 xxvin MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 371 
 
 reluctantly, to give up my post in Scotland, 
 another cause for feeling deeply gratified 
 reached me in the shape of this letter : 
 
 GLASGOW, March 7, 1895. 
 
 DEAR MR. HENSCHEL We cannot allow you to 
 leave Glasgow without expressing to you our high 
 appreciation of what you have accomplished as 
 conductor of the Scottish Orchestra. You have been 
 unremitting in your attention to every detail of the 
 work, and most unsparing of yourself in the labour 
 which the perfecting of the performances entailed. 
 You will no doubt find your reward in the high 
 reputation you have won for the orchestra, but our 
 thanks are none the less due to you for it. Regretting 
 that you could not see your way to give us the benefit 
 of your artistic co-operation in the work of the 
 orchestra for a further period We remain, yours 
 very sincerely, 
 
 JAMES BELL, Lord Provost, Chairman of the 
 Choral and Orchestral Union. 
 
 JAMES SUMMERS, President Glasgow Choral 
 Union. 
 
 JAMES A. ALLEN, Chairman Scottish Orchestra 
 Company (Limited).
 
 THAT those years of my conducting the London 
 Symphony and Scottish Orchestras were full 
 of interesting incidents and experiences, musical 
 and otherwise, goes without saying. On one 
 occasion I remember having had particular 
 reason to be grateful for being a singer as well. 
 The soloist announced for one of the London 
 concerts had been a foreign tenor, new to 
 London, who had made a very favourable 
 impression in musical circles and at other 
 concerts during the season. At the rehearsal 
 on the day before the concert all went well, 
 but on the evening of the concert he had not 
 yet arrived at the time I was ready to com- 
 mence, which I always liked to do with un- 
 relenting punctuality. Much to my discomfort 
 I had to wait a minute or two, but then went 
 to conduct the overture, trusting he would 
 come during its performance. Returning, how- 
 ever, after it, to the artists' room, I found, 
 instead, a telegram from the gentleman, greatly 
 
 372
 
 xxix MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 373 
 
 deploring his sudden indisposition, and utter 
 inability to sing a note. His solo was to have 
 been Beethoven's beautiful " Buss-Lied " (Song 
 of Penitence), also one of my own favourites, 
 and on going back to the platform and announ- 
 cing the disappointment to the audience, I 
 added that, if they didn't mind, I would sing 
 the song myself, which I promptly did, accom- 
 panying myself, as usual, on the piano. After 
 the concert Deichmann, leader of the second 
 violins and the wit of the orchestra, remarked 
 that of course nothing could have been more 
 appropriate than the " Buss "-Lied being sung 
 by the conductor. Dear Deichmann ! Some 
 of my older readers will remember the genial 
 old man who had sat at the head of the second 
 fiddles for nearly a generation. Nothing, I 
 think, would have induced him to change 
 his place for one among the first. He seemed 
 to have known and lived up to a saying 
 of Joubert's : " II faut aimer sa place, c'est- 
 a-dire la bassesse ou la superiorite de son 
 etat. Si tu es roi, aime ton sceptre ; si tu es 
 valet, ta livree." Deichmann's livree was his 
 art, which he loved enough to be content 
 with serving her according to his limitations. 
 A shining example of conscientiousness. . . . 
 Requiescat in pace ! 
 
 Another occasion I remember was a concert
 
 374 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxix 
 
 by the Scottish Orchestra in one of the smaller 
 towns, not far from Glasgow. Saint - Saens' 
 picturesque " Danse macabre " was on the 
 programme, and about an hour before the 
 concert the librarian coolly informed me that 
 the xylophone had been left behind ! Those 
 of my readers who may not know what a 
 xylophone is I will try to enlighten on the 
 subject. It is a musical instrument made on 
 the same principle as and very much like those 
 little toy-pianos children love to amuse them- 
 selves with. Only whereas in those the flat 
 pieces corresponding to the keys of a real 
 piano are made of metal or glass, in the xylo- 
 phone they are made of hard wood. These 
 pieces of wood, gradated in size, are tuned to 
 scale, and lightly rest on tiny disks of wood 
 or leather, or on a bed of straw, so as to make 
 the sound vibrate, even if, naturally, only for 
 an instant. The sound produced by striking 
 these ' :t keys " with little hammers is quite 
 pleasing, though perhaps somewhat weird. I 
 know of no musical work of serious intent in 
 which a more appropriate use of that instru- 
 ment is made than just this French Dance of 
 Death, especially where, towards the end, as 
 the orgy, before the cock-crow, is at its highest 
 and wildest, it illustrates the rattling of the 
 bones of the dancing skeletons in the grimmest,
 
 xxix MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 375 
 
 most wonderfully realistic fashion. To play 
 the work without the xylophone would have 
 been a wrong to the composer by depriving 
 the orchestration of one of its most ingenious 
 and characteristic factors, and yet, the librarian 
 having brought no other music but that re- 
 quired for the concert, there was no possibility 
 of substituting another work for it. It was 
 an awkward predicament I found myself in, 
 and I really did not know exactly what to do, 
 when all of a sudden it came to me : I knew 
 that in the score nearly every note given to 
 the xylophone was duplicated by the same 
 note in the oboe ; it was therefore not so much 
 the actual musical note of the xylophone which 
 mattered, as rather the mere sound of the wood 
 struck by the hammers. So I called for the 
 gentleman of the percussion, gave him the 
 xylophone part, and instructed him to play 
 the whole of it on the leg of a chair ! The 
 result was an unqualified success. Nobody 
 saw the chair, everybody heard the sound of 
 the wood, which even we musicians could have 
 sworn came from a xylophone. And why 
 not ? The chair was made of wood (xylon), 
 and it gave a sound (phone). Meeting the 
 composer in Paris the year following I told 
 him the story, and he was as much amused by 
 it as we had been at the time.
 
 376 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxix 
 
 Socially too these eleven years were fraught 
 with interesting events of the most varied kind. 
 Every succeeding year seemed to see a widening 
 of the circle of our friends, among whom to 
 count Professor and Mrs. Huxley was one of 
 our greatest and most cherished privileges. 
 I was not given to entering in the diary 
 I have kept ever since 1873 anything beyond 
 the mere facts of the day's happenings, but 
 after our first dinner en famille with those 
 rare people I find the record of that event 
 commented on in the words, " Like a refreshing 
 bath in a clear mountain stream." And in- 
 deed I shall never forget the impression left 
 by those only too few and short hours of purest 
 happiness spent at the Huxleys' home in St. 
 John's Wood, one of those old-world, cosy 
 country-houses standing in their own grounds, 
 which, alas, are more and more disappearing, 
 even from the suburbs of London, making 
 room for hideous barracks - like tenements. 
 It was inspiring, elevating to a degree, to see 
 the great savant in the bosom of his family, 
 wonderfully simple, unassuming, sweet, affec- 
 tionate, and full of humour and wit ; full, too, 
 of mischief, which he seemed to relish with 
 the youthful mirth of a schoolboy. When a 
 few weeks later my wife, who had engaged 
 to sell autographs and signed photographs of
 
 xxix MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 377 
 
 celebrities at a Charity Bazaar at the Royal 
 Albert Hall, it was called the Silver Fete, 
 though I forget for what reason, wrote to 
 Professor Huxley begging him to let her have 
 some of his for that purpose, I should not 
 wonder if it was in remembrance of that 
 " jolly " evening I can find no other word, 
 incongruous though it must sound in reference 
 to that great and learned man that, in com- 
 plying with her request, he accompanied the 
 precious autographs with the following note : 
 
 MY DEAR MRS. HENSCHEL I enclose the auto- 
 graphs and four photographs, a supply which I am 
 afraid you will find in excess of the demand. I trust 
 you will appreciate the sternly philosophic air of the 
 photographs. If ever you have suspected me of a 
 capacity for frivolity, banish the thought this is the 
 real man ! 
 
 Strangely enough, this was not the first time 
 a request for autographs had elicited from the 
 yielding victim a personal observation greatly 
 enhancing the value of a mere signature. In 
 the early 'eighties there prevailed among ladies 
 a sort of craze for " autograph fans," i.e., fans 
 of sandalwood, each rib of which was intended 
 for the signature of a famous man or woman. 
 My wife was the happy possessor of such a 
 treasure and when, in Boston, she sent it for 
 that purpose to Oliver Wendell Holmes, that
 
 378 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxix 
 
 dear old man returned it with the following 
 lines : 
 
 MY DEAR MRS. HENSCHEL It delights me if I 
 can in any way please you who have lent so much 
 happiness to the air we breathe. I only fear that you 
 will find it hard to get a cool breath from a fan which 
 holds the names of so many warm friends.
 
 XXX 
 
 IN the year 1898 I had commenced the writing 
 of a three-act opera, based on a novel by 
 Richard Voss, then one of the most popular 
 writers in Germany, entitled Nubia, which 
 my friend Max Kalbeck in Vienna had made 
 into a libretto for me. The action of the 
 story being laid in Italy I was only too happy 
 to find in that fact an excuse for spending a 
 good part of the winter in that country, hoping 
 perhaps to be able to visit the remote little 
 village of Saracinesco, three thousand feet 
 above the sea, in the Sabine Hills, the scene 
 of the first and second acts, that of the third 
 being Rome, and thus to get some " atmo- 
 sphere " or, at any rate, some local colour for 
 my work. For some reason or other very 
 likely I was to look at and engage suitable 
 rooms before letting the family follow I first 
 went to Rome alone, where, for a week or so, 
 I was the guest of a dear and deeply mourned 
 friend he died in 1908 Harry Brewster. 
 
 379
 
 380 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxx 
 
 - 
 Difficult as it must always be to convey in 
 
 words a clear idea of so wonderful and mysterious 
 a thing as a human being, it would require the 
 exquisite pen of a Henry James to do anything 
 like justice to a personality of such rare qualities, 
 such striking originality, to a character at 
 once so simple and complex as that of Harry 
 Brewster. American by parentage, he yet had 
 never lived in America, but made his home 
 in Paris, the city of his birth, and in Rome, 
 occasionally coming over to England for a 
 more or less protracted visit. Being what is 
 called a man of leisure, he was able to follow 
 the bent of his heart and mind and devote a 
 good deal of his time to the pursuit of science, 
 literature, and the fine arts, and did it with an 
 inborn fastidiousness as severe in regard to 
 these as to matters of dress and food. He was 
 both philosopher and poet, and not only was 
 but lived both. His books, The Prison, The 
 Statuette and the Background, L'dme pa'ienne, 
 are masterpieces of style and logic, written, 
 moreover, with a keen and unerring sense of 
 beauty, making them fascinating reading even 
 to one who, like myself, must confess to never 
 having derived much pleasure nor, for that 
 matter, much benefit from the perusal of 
 philosophical books. His poems, too in 
 French of which only a few have, recently,
 
 xxx MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 381 
 
 been published, are both as to sentiment and 
 language perfect examples of what there is 
 best in the modern French School of poetry. 
 To all these accomplishments, which in his 
 almost bashful modesty he would have re- 
 pudiated as such, were added a charming 
 sense of humour, great kindness of heart, a 
 calm serenity of mind, and a rarely beautiful 
 body. As, looking up from writing this, my 
 eyes rest on Sargent's charcoal drawing of 
 Brewster on his death-bed, it seems to me I 
 have never seen a more wonderfully impressive 
 presentment of the nobility, the majesty, 
 the glory of death. 
 
 The stuff a man is made of can often be 
 gauged best by the knowledge of something 
 he did or said (as has been shown by the little 
 story I told of Alma Tadema), and the follow- 
 ing incident in Brewster's life will, I am sure, 
 give a better idea of his character than I have 
 been able to do in the preceding sketch. 
 
 In the large households of Italy, particularly, 
 I think, in Rome, it is not unusual for a family 
 to have a major-domo, that is to say, a sort 
 of superior cook-housekeeper who, besides his 
 salary, gets a certain sum per month to " run 
 the house " on. Brewster's establishment in 
 that splendid old " Palazzo Antici Mattei " 
 in Rome was founded on that system. His
 
 382 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxx 
 
 was the good luck of having a major-domo 
 who not only gave him every satisfaction as 
 such, but whom he also esteemed as a man, 
 and who, in his turn, seemed greatly and almost 
 affectionately attached to his master. It was 
 therefore a great shock to Brewster when one 
 day, in examining the books which were brought 
 to him at regular intervals for that purpose, 
 he seemed to detect some irregularities in the 
 keeping of the accounts. At first he ascribed 
 it to a probable oversight on his own part, 
 and, loath to believe in the possibility of dis- 
 honesty on that of the trusted servant, waited 
 for the next occasion, and again the next, until, 
 alas, he could no longer reject the proofs in 
 his hands. There was no doubt the man had 
 for some time past deliberately and systematic- 
 ally deceived and robbed him. Having grown 
 to be sincerely fond of the man, the discovery 
 caused Brewster pain amounting to a real 
 grief. This he carried about with him for several 
 days, unable to decide on the course that would 
 appear the best to be taken in a matter which 
 affected him very deeply. At last his mind 
 was made up. Seated before the writing- 
 table in his study, the proofs of the man's 
 guilt spread before him, he rang the bell and 
 asked for the major-domo to be sent to him. 
 The man entered, visibly turning pale at the
 
 xxx MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 383 
 
 sight of his master's serious face, and evidently 
 divining the reason for this unwonted summons. 
 There was an ominous silence in the lofty 
 room as the two men faced each other, until 
 Brewster broke it by quietly telling his servant 
 how great a grief it was to him to have found 
 that for some months past he had been cheated 
 by him . . . that he could only assume the 
 salary he had been paying him had been in- 
 sufficient, and that from that day on he would 
 double it. ... That was all. Doubtless a 
 risky thing to do ; one which might, in nine 
 cases out of ten, have proved an utter failure. 
 But Brewster knew the sort of nature he had 
 to deal with. There were no words of response 
 from the servant. Prostrating himself before 
 his master and kissing his hands, he silently 
 sobbed until Brewster bade him get up. The 
 man then left the room as one in a daze not 
 only a better, but a good man for the rest of 
 his life. 
 
 Such was dear Harry Brewster. To be 
 for some time under the immediate influence 
 of his soothing, yet inspiriting personality, 
 was a real joy to me. He showed great interest 
 in the opera I was writing by the way, it 
 was he who wrote the libretto to Ethel 
 Smyth's The Wreckers and enthusiastically 
 entered into my proposition of a trip to
 
 384 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxx 
 
 Saracinesco. He knew the very man who 
 would organize the expedition : a native of 
 the place, owner of one of those innumerable 
 little shops in Rome where you can find all 
 sorts and conditions of antiquities, from an 
 old Spanish carved shrine of the Virgin to a 
 broken nose or finger of a bronze Roman 
 emperor, from a patinated little vestal lamp 
 to a marble sarcophagus ; oil - paintings too ; 
 perhaps he was the identical man of whom it 
 is told that, when offering for sale two " genuine 
 Titians," and being asked the reason why one 
 of them considering the two canvases were 
 of exactly the same size was more expensive 
 than the other, replied " Ah, you see, this one 
 is still more genuine ! " 
 
 Well, the man his name was Belisario 
 was negotiated with, a day was settled upon 
 and a charming party made up, consisting 
 of Brewster, his daughter, and an equally 
 courageous lady friend for there was a good 
 deal of physical exertion, perhaps even a little 
 danger, involved in the enterprise a very 
 congenial and musical attache of one of the 
 embassies, and myself. At the last moment 
 another mutual friend, a very entertaining 
 American, begged to be allowed to join the 
 party, a proposal which was gladly accepted, 
 though not without some misgivings as to
 
 xxx MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 385 
 
 accommodation and commissariat, there being 
 no hotel at Saracinesco. Belisario, however, 
 vouched for the thoroughness of the arrange- 
 ments, of which he had the entire charge, and 
 on the appointed day our merry party started 
 for Vicovaro, the little wayside-station beyond 
 Tivoli from which the pilgrimage to Saracinesco 
 was to be made. 
 
 Alighting from the train we found Belisario 
 waiting and ready to receive us. His large- 
 brimmed, soft felt hat, wide, sleeveless cloak, 
 and high boots made the gun slung over his 
 shoulder look as if meant for attacking rather 
 than eventually protecting a harmless and 
 peaceful little party of travellers. Exciting 
 too was the sight of a row of six mules standing 
 patiently with their drivers awaiting our arrival. 
 After having packed what little of luggage, 
 and the few dainties in the way of food we 
 had brought, which we could not expect Belisario 
 to provide, on the back of those of the mules 
 which were not required for the accommodation 
 of the ladies or any of us who should feel in- 
 clined to ride, we set off. The lovely spring 
 day, the glorious scenery, and perhaps also the 
 novelty of the experience had given us all a 
 buoyancy beyond the usual, and the first hour 
 passed as quickly as if we had been promenading 
 
 leisurely on Monte Pincio instead of climbing 
 
 2c
 
 386 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxx 
 
 on the stony zigzag path of a rather steep, 
 rocky hill. Now and then the services of a 
 mule would be requisitioned for a change, and 
 before long the continued exertion as well as 
 the heat of the sun, growing with the day, 
 seemed to result in our taking our task some- 
 what more seriously. We should indeed have 
 greatly wondered how people could ever have 
 thought of building homes on the summit of so 
 high and bare a rock already, after the second 
 hour, trees and shrubs had ceased utterly had 
 we not beforehand endeavoured to make our- 
 selves more or less acquainted with the history 
 of the strange place we were going to see a 
 history closely interwoven with that of Rome 
 and the Popes. 
 
 Early in the ninth century, when Gregory 
 IV. was Pope, the Saracens had invaded 
 Italy, and after repeated successful raids forti- 
 fied themselves in some of the high commanding 
 places in the land. For more than a hundred 
 years they proved a scourge to the country, of 
 which they devastated whole provinces. When 
 at last, A.D. 916, they were finally beaten and 
 destroyed in the Roman Campagna, those few 
 that had escaped fled to the fortresses in the 
 hills, of which Saracinesco appears to be the 
 only one that has survived to this day. Thus 
 the inhabitants of Saracinesco have been for
 
 xxx MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 387 
 
 more than a thousand years the descendants, 
 from generation to generation, of those Moors ; 
 and Arabic names like Mastorre, Argante, 
 Almanzor, Margutte are still in frequent use 
 among them and preferred to those of Latin 
 origin. No wonder they are a proud race, 
 being able to look back on ten centuries of 
 ancestors. We were told, for instance, that 
 no Saracinesco maiden, though their beauty is 
 famous, will ever be found among the crowd of 
 picturesque girls in the Piazza di Spagna for 
 the painters to choose their models from. 
 Marrying outside their own community is an 
 almost unheard of occurrence. 
 
 Well, we were approaching the summit at 
 last, and could see a few huts on a prominence 
 of rock almost perpendicularly above our 
 heads. Soon we met a few of the inhabitants, 
 who, prepared by Belisario for our coming, 
 had evidently been unable to restrain their 
 curiosity, and preceded the others to see the 
 arrival of strangers in their midst a most rare 
 event according to Belisario, who assured us 
 that it had been years since his people had 
 looked upon a " foreigner," as even the Italians 
 are called by them. 
 
 And now our little caravan had reached its 
 goal. Before Belisario's " Villino " we halted ; 
 our mules having been delivered of their
 
 388 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxx 
 
 burdens, these were taken into the house, the 
 only one worthy of the name as we soon 
 learned. By this time the entire population 
 had turned out to welcome us, and a truly 
 wonderful crowd it was. Both the women, 
 who appeared to be in the great majority, 
 and the men were extraordinarily handsome 
 creatures tall, supple, beautifully grown, with 
 dusky but clear complexions, large expressive 
 eyes, finely arched brows, and deep-black 
 slightly wavy hair. Their costumes, too, struck 
 us as quite remarkable, not only because of the 
 faded gorgeousness and great variety of colour, 
 but also by the stately, almost royal way the 
 people wore them. Every one of the women, 
 some of them carrying in their arms the 
 sweetest little bambini imaginable, wrapped 
 in shawls of strangest tints and textures, looked 
 to me, bearing herself like a queen, proud and 
 splendid in her rags, the very prototype of my 
 beloved operatic heroine, Nubia. Never shall 
 I forget my horror on seeing, several months 
 later, at the first dress-trial rehearsal on the 
 stage of the Dresden Opera House, the famous 
 Royal Court singer who had been cast for the 
 part, emerge from the wings in a scrupulously 
 clean, beautifully starched and ironed, brand 
 new, altogether irreproachably proper costume, 
 such as you see on Roman picture post cards I
 
 xxx MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 389 
 
 It required a good deal of tact on my part to 
 break it to her that that would not do ; and only 
 with the greatest difficulty could I persuade 
 her that beauty and rags are by no means in- 
 compatible, and that the generous, great heart 
 of a fine, lovable woman like Nubia would 
 shine only the more by contrast with her 
 beggarly clothes. Still, even then, at the 
 performance her make-up could not compare 
 with that of Scheidemantel dear to the 
 memory of Covent Gardeners by his splendid 
 Hans Sachs who impersonated, in my opera, 
 Argante, her lover. That was really perfect. 
 His dark-green, faded old cloak, for instance, 
 made purposely for the occasion, looked as if 
 he had inherited it from his great-grandfather, 
 and the rest of his make-up was quite in keeping 
 with it. 
 
 But to return from make-believe to reality. 
 It was difficult for us to tear ourselves away 
 from the rare spectacle these people and all 
 our surroundings presented ; but Belisario 
 announced that the various baskets and cases 
 containing provisions had been unpacked, 
 and a repast was awaiting us inside. Like 
 a king he bade us enter his palace, where 
 we hurried through a meal which under 
 ordinary circumstances we should have been 
 glad to lengthen ; but we were anxious to get
 
 390 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxx 
 
 out again as soon as possible. Before however 
 doing so, Belisario made another announcement, 
 rather startling, to the effect that we were one 
 bed short. The two ladies were to share one 
 room with two beds ; Brewster and I to have 
 each a room and a bed of our own ; but for 
 the attache and the American there was only 
 one bed, and one straw mattress on the floor. 
 The American, who it will be remembered 
 had joined our party at the last moment, was 
 up to the occasion. Witty and shrewd fellow 
 as he was, " Let's toss up," he called to the 
 attache : " What am I thinking of blue or 
 yellow ? ' : " Yellow," replied the guileless 
 attache. " Wrong blue ! You take the 
 mattress." And so thoroughly in earnest did 
 he seem that it was not until the next morning 
 we all, needless to say amidst great hilarity, 
 saw the joke, and realised that it would not 
 have made the slightest difference which way 
 the loser had guessed. And now we started on 
 our stroll through the village, a motley collection 
 of little huts built of clay and rough stones 
 without foundations, so that the floors were as 
 uneven as the roads themselves, and, like these, 
 paved with cobbles. Hardly any of the huts 
 we entered had more than just one room, 
 which in some cases we noticed had to accommo- 
 date a family of from four to six people, not
 
 xxx MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 391 
 
 to speak of the goat and the ass. The only 
 sign of an attempt at agriculture was now 
 and then an occasional patch of cabbages and 
 potatoes by the hut of some better-to-do 
 inhabitant. All the capable men go down 
 to the valley in the spring to work, remaining 
 there for months at a time, and we were 
 lucky to find so many youths in the village 
 owing to the Easter holidays. 
 
 All the time during our stroll we were ascend- 
 ing until we came to the old fortress, a small 
 plateau on the very top of the hill, in the midst 
 of which a huge tree, apparently very old 
 I forget what kind it was spread its branches 
 over the most interesting relic of the old days : 
 two cisterns built by the founders of the place. 
 To that spot we made up our minds to return 
 in the evening. I had been very anxious to 
 hear some of their music and to see some of 
 their dances, and all scruples as to the propriety 
 of such things on a sacred day it was Good 
 Friday, March 31, 1899 were overcome by 
 the promise of a generous supply of Velletri 
 and the consideration that, after all, there was 
 no one to consider. The priest came up from 
 Vicovaro only very rarely to minister to the 
 spiritual needs of the community, and Belisario, 
 to whom the people seemed to look as a leader, 
 a sort of elder or provost, raised no objection. 
 
 I
 
 392 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxx 
 
 So after a substantial tea we all repaired to the 
 plateau where, apprised by Belisario, the whole 
 population had already forgathered, prepared 
 for high festival. The scene was glorious 
 beyond description. Three thousand feet below 
 us the vast stretch of the Campagna was spread 
 out before our enchanted eyes ; a fine mist, 
 delicately tinted by the glow of the setting 
 sun, was beginning to rise from the deep ; blue 
 shadows were slowly creeping up to the rosy 
 tops of the surrounding hills, and in the far 
 distance we could just distinguish, phantomlike, 
 the majestic dome of St. Peter's. Some of 
 the older men had brought up their pifferi 
 (instruments similar to our Scottish bagpipes), 
 and, taking their places on a little elevation, 
 commenced tuning them. The rest of the 
 people had formed a ring, out of which stepped 
 two young women and two young men, the 
 latter with sheep-skins thrown over their 
 shoulders, looking veritable fauns. They placed 
 themselves in position, the two women opposite 
 the two men, saluting each other by gracefully 
 courtseying and bowing. There was a certain 
 solemnity in the action. The people, by re- 
 ceding a few steps, widened the ring to give 
 the dancers more room, the pipes struck up, 
 and now the dance, a sort of gavotte, began. 
 First the maidens had it alone, then the boys,
 
 xxx MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 393 
 
 and so for a while alternately, until the women, 
 pretending to run from the men, were pursued 
 and gently caught by their lovers. The dance 
 of the two couples now assumed a livelier 
 character, and it was difficult to say which of 
 the two maidens or youths were the more 
 graceful. When the dance was finished, there 
 was a short rest for the pifferari, after which 
 two fresh couples entered the arena and the 
 whole thing was done over again. There was 
 a charm and a fascination about it all which 
 it would be impossible to describe. Grace and 
 dignity are, no doubt, innate to these simple 
 mountain folk ; but how on earth and where 
 could they have acquired a perfection in the 
 art of dancing which even later Russian Ballet 
 experiences could not dwarf ? In the pauses 
 between the dances both executants and on- 
 lookers refreshed themselves by draughts from 
 one of the long -necked, large -bellied fiaschi 
 of luscious, golden Velletri, several dozen of 
 which stood in serried rows Belisario had 
 evidently made his preparatory arrangements 
 with cunning forethought beneath the tree. 
 It was now growing dark ; the light of the 
 waning moon in the deep -blue sky, though 
 enhancing the loveliness of the scene, proved 
 insufficiently powerful ; lanterns were fetched 
 from the huts, whilst some of the men brought
 
 394 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxx 
 
 torches, by the fitful glare of which the dancing 
 was resumed. More and more couples now 
 entered the ring, quicker and quicker grew the 
 pace of the music, wider and wider the circles 
 of flowing skirts and sheep-skins, redder and 
 redder the cheeks of the dancers, we had at 
 last arrived at the Tarantella. The excited 
 onlookers, shouting every now and then at the 
 top of their voices a short musical phrase of 
 
 Ai - a, Ai - a - Eh ! 
 
 unmistakably Eastern origin, spurred into a 
 state of frenzy the young dancers, who accom- 
 panied certain accents of the rhythm with 
 shrieks of joy, the wildness of which would 
 make a Scottish reel seem funereal in compari- 
 son. It was all very wonderful ; most wonderful 
 perhaps as we were conscious all the time of the 
 deep, silent Campagna far below and the stillness 
 of the Eternal City in the distance. . . . 
 
 Arduous and eventful though the day had 
 been, none of us felt inclined to leave so engag- 
 ing a scene. It was long after midnight when 
 at last we tore ourselves away and sought our 
 beds the attache his palliasse ; and the faint 
 sounds of singing and dancing reaching our ears 
 whilst we were waiting for " Nature's soft nurse," 
 seemed to make reality and dream melt into one.
 
 xxx MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 395 
 
 Richer for the extraordinary impressions 
 of this memorable Good Friday, and deploring 
 the fleetness of the hours, especially the happy 
 ones, we set out on our return journey early 
 the following morning, accompanied part of 
 the way by nearly the whole of the populace, 
 to whom our visit had brought pleasure as 
 well as profit ; for who that has ever been in 
 Italy does not know the irresistibility of those 
 fascinating beggars, particularly those charming 
 piccoline when, holding out their dirty little 
 brown hands, they keep running beside you, 
 piteously crying " Ho fame, fame," all the while 
 smiling roguishly, well knowing that their 
 plump little ruddy cheeks are belying their 
 words. 
 
 We made for Tivoli which, through the 
 beautiful valley of the Empiglione, we reached 
 after five hours' walking, ready for the ex- 
 cellent meal mine host of the famous Osteria 
 delle Cascade prepared for us in a most oblig- 
 ingly short time ; and a few hours later, from the 
 train that took us back to Rome, we cast a 
 parting and loving look in the direction of 
 Saracinesco, where we had realised more than 
 ever before that " Nature is the art of God." 
 
 When not long afterwards we left Rome, 
 where, although it was my work which had 
 been the primary object of our visit, we
 
 396 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxx 
 
 certainly had not allowed ourselves to lag behind 
 other visitors in our zeal as regards sightseeing, 
 I could not help remembering, sadly appreciat- 
 ing its truth, a bon mot with which the late 
 Pope Pius IX. was credited : Giving audience 
 during a medical Congress to a number of 
 famous professors attending the same, and 
 addressing one of them, he asked him how 
 long he intended staying in the Eternal City. 
 " Three months," the professor was happy 
 to reply. " I am afraid," rejoined the Pope, 
 " you will not know much of Rome when you 
 leave." Then, turning with the same question 
 to another, whose answer was " Four weeks " 
 " Well," said the Pope, " you'll see a good deal 
 of Rome." Upon the third expressing pro- 
 found regret at his visit being necessarily 
 limited to ten days " Ah," exclaimed His 
 Holiness, " you'll see all Rome ! " 
 
 Alas ! we had been of the " Three months " 
 species. 
 
 But I fear I must leave off some time or 
 other, though, as regards material, I am sure 
 I could go on for quite a while yet ; but, having 
 come to the end of the century, I might as well 
 let this be the end of the book too. In laying 
 down my pen and taking leave of those of my 
 readers who have been patient enough to follow
 
 xxx MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 397 
 
 me thus far, I cast a last surveying glance over 
 the past and, with feelings of sadness and 
 keen disappointment, realise how grievously 
 short of my aspirations and endeavours has 
 fallen what I have been able to accomplish 
 in my life. Is it perhaps that my natural 
 talents have been too diverse I even dabbled 
 in painting and often regretted not having 
 chosen it as a profession and that instead 
 of concentrating all my energies upon one 
 object from the beginning, I allowed them to 
 be scattered over too many, thus achieving 
 nothing notable in any ? Two things only 
 I can think of, which conscience permits me 
 to contemplate with something resembling 
 satisfaction. One is : I have never betrayed 
 the ideal of my art by consciously stooping 
 to the unworthy, to the commonplace. The 
 other : Music in England at this moment is 
 on a very high level. Nowhere in the world, 
 for instance, can there now be found orchestras 
 superior to the best we have here. If it really 
 could be, as generous and forbearing friends 
 would have me believe, that by founding, thirty 
 years ago, at a time when there was no oppor- 
 tunity of hearing orchestral music during the 
 winter season in London proper, the London 
 Symphony Concerts, and in the face of great 
 difficulties conducting them for eleven years, I
 
 398 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES xxx 
 
 have given the impetus, or even in some 
 measure contributed, to the marvellous develop- 
 ment of Music, creative and recreative, in this 
 beloved land, I should die content in the 
 thought of not, after all, having lived in vain.
 
 INDEX 
 
 Abbey, Edwin A., 231-2 
 Alexander, Sir George, 224 
 Alice, Princess, 93-4 
 Alma Tadema, Sir Lawrence 
 
 and Lady, 147 
 Anderson, Rev. James, 69 
 Anderson, Mary, 223 
 Archer, Miss, 144 
 Auer, Leopold, 59 
 
 Bailey, Lillian, 182, 238, 253, 288 
 Bartli, Richard, 80-81 
 Bayreuth, 132 
 Beecher, Henry Ward, 245 
 Bergheim, John S., 191 
 Blumenthal, Monsieur et 
 
 Madame, 353 
 Boito, Arrigo, 364 
 Brahms, Johannes, 45, 54, 73, 
 
 97 and ff., 313, 337 
 Brema, Marie, 211 
 Brewster, Harry, 379 
 Broadwoods, the, 75, 152 
 Brooke, Stopford A., 225 
 Browning, Robert, 220, 251 
 Biilow, Hans von, 31, 337 
 Burne-Jones, Sir Edward, 352 
 
 Costa, Sir Michael, 181 
 Cowen, Sir Frederic, 26, 168 
 Crawford, F. Marion, 255 
 Cui, Cesar, 58 
 Cusins, 168, 237 
 
 Damrosch, Dr. Leopold, 12 
 Davidoff, Charles, 55 
 Davies, Mary, 187 
 Deichmann, Carl, 373 
 
 Edinburgh, Duke of, 216 
 Elgar, Sir Edward, 168, 344 
 Eliot, George, 220 
 Elson, Louis C., 286 
 Essipof'f, Madame, 59, 78 
 Eugenie, the Empress, 214 
 Ezechiel, Moie, 35 
 
 Foote, Arthur, 268 
 Forbes, Norman, 224 
 
 Franck, Eugen, 25 
 Frederick William, Crown Prince 
 of Germany, 52 
 
 Goetze, Prof., 23 
 Goldschmidt, Otto, 313 
 Grimm, Julius Otto, 80 
 Grosse, Theodor and Hedwig, 
 308 
 
 Haas, Madame, 14, 322 
 
 Halle, Sir Chas., 177, 186, 222, 269 
 
 Harrison, Robert, 331 
 
 Hatfield House, 355 
 
 Hausmann, Robert, 35 
 
 Haydenvitte, 296 
 
 Hecht, Edward, 187 
 
 Heermann, Hugo, 88 
 
 Henschel, George, parentage, 3 ; 
 first music lessons, 13 ; first 
 appearance as a pianist, 14 ; 
 as a singer, 15 ; in Leipsic, 
 20 ; with Liszt in Weimar, 
 30 ; concert with Rubin- 
 stein, 32 ; in Berlin, 34 ; 
 his canine friend, Severe, 
 35 ; at the Nether-Rhenish 
 festivals, 44, 75, 165 ; first 
 meeting with Brahms, 45 ; 
 in Vienna, 54, 73 ; in 
 Russia, 55, 136 ; at the 
 Kiel festival, 76 ; in Paris, 
 77 ; at the Minister festival, 
 80 ; touring with Brahms, 
 84 ; at the New Palace, 
 Darmstadt, 93 ; the Brahms 
 diary, 97 ; at Bayreuth, 
 132 ; first London season, 
 141 ; Belgrave Square 
 Soiree, 168 ; with Rubin- 
 stein at Windsor Castle, 
 173 ; first Oratorio in Man- 
 chester, 180 ; from Belfast 
 by special train, 182 ; in 
 Berlioz' Faust, 187 ; in 
 Tunis and Algeria, 193 ; 
 the Kaid's letter, 209 ; 
 Soiree at Marlborough 
 
 399
 
 400 
 
 MUSINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 House, 213 ; at Clarence 
 House, 216 ; at Ascot, 234 ; 
 engagement to Miss Bailey, 
 238 ; first journey across 
 the Atlantic, 239 ; first 
 visit to Boston, 252 ; the 
 Boston Symphony Or- 
 chestra, 259 ; life in Boston, 
 261 ; in the country, 296 ; 
 Spiritualistic stance, 303 ; 
 return to Europe, 308 ; the 
 London Symphony Con- 
 certs, 318; Handel's " Thou 
 shalt dash them," 340 ; the 
 false " Strakosch," 343 
 Hatfield House party, 355 
 the Scottish Orchestra, 366 
 Command Concert at Wind- 
 sor Castle, 367; in Rome, 379 
 Hesse, Landgravine of, 88 
 Hesse-Barchfeld, Princess of, 88 
 Higginson, Henry Lee, 253, 258, 
 
 295 
 
 Hipkins, Alfred James, 156 
 Holmes, Oliver Wendell, 377 
 Holroyd, Sir Charles, 233 
 Houghton, Lord, 251 
 Howe, Julia Ward, 255 
 Huxley, Professor, 376 
 Huxley, Nettie, 304 
 
 Imperial, the Prince, 213 
 Irving, Sir Henry, 223 
 
 James, Henry, 252, 266, 317 
 
 James, William, 303 
 
 Joachim, Joseph, 34, 48, 49, 75, 
 
 76, 179, 222 
 Joachim, Madame, 39 
 Joachim, Mrs. Henry, 158 
 
 Kalbeck, Max, 111, 379 
 Kit son, Sir James, 251 
 
 Lang, B. J., 268 
 Lathom, Lord, 356 
 Leighton, Lord, 222 
 Leschetitsky, 58 
 Levi, Hermann, 116, 134 
 Lewes, George Henry, 220 
 Lewises, the George, 158 
 Lewis, Kate and Arthur, 162 
 Lind, Jenny, 310 
 Liszt, Franz, 30, 330 
 Lloyd, Edward, 182, 187 
 Louise, Princess, 320, 335, 368 
 
 Mackenzie, Sir Alexander, 137, 
 
 168, 344 
 
 Martineau, Edith and Gertrud, 69 
 Maszkowski, 84 
 Moscheles, Ignace, 21 
 Muncacszi, 77 
 
 Norman-Neruda, Mme. (Lady 
 Halle), 222, 269 
 
 Paderewski, 350 
 
 Parry, Sir Hubert, 168, 344 
 
 Patti, Adelina, 138 
 
 Piatti, Alfredo, 154, 222, 269, 323 
 
 Redeker, Augusta (Lady Semon), 
 
 43 
 
 Rietz, Julius, 24 
 Rubinstein, Anton, 31, 42, 59, 
 
 136, 173 
 Rubinstein, Nicolai, 59 
 
 Santley, Sir Charles, 182, 329 
 Sarasate, Pablo de, 166 
 Sargent, John S., 331 
 Scheidemantel, Carl, 389 
 Schlesinger, Dr. Max, 151, 249 
 Schnorr von Carolsfeld, 17 
 Schumann, Clara, 39, 41, 288 
 Schuvaloff, Count Paul, 58 
 Semon, Sir Felix, 43, 141 
 Semon, Lady. See Redeker, 
 
 Augusta 
 
 Sexton, Selina, 143 
 Simrock, Fritz, 39, 124 
 Smyth, Ethel, 176, 214 
 Sons, Maurice, 370 
 Stanford, Sir Charles, 137, 168, 
 
 339, 344 
 " Strakosch," 343 
 
 Tausig, Carl, 31, 33 
 Terry, Ellen, 223 
 Thallon, Robert, 245 
 Theatres, 222 
 Thompson, Lady, 163 
 Tschaikovsky, 60, 364, 365 
 
 Verdi, Giuseppe, 165, 166 
 Victoria, Queen, 173, 368 
 Visetti, Albert, 364 
 
 Whistler, James M'Neill, 160 
 William I., German Emperor, 53 
 William II., German Emperor, 
 355 
 
 Zichy, Count, 77 
 
 Printed by R. & R. CLARK, LIMITED, Edinburgh.
 
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