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 Putnam 
 
 Edward MacDowell 
 Heminiscences and Romance 
 
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 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
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 Natalir Klbtn ^^utnam 
 
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 NataltP Mhm J^ulnam
 
 COPYRIGHT 1919 
 By The Author
 
 Music 
 Library 
 
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 iSelobeb £>on anb itlusic Companion 
 
 September 27, 1896 
 augugt 21. 1916 
 
 "/n ihis old world of love and joy and tears, 
 God meaiures us by deeds and not by y^ears. " 
 
 —Arthur Dillon. 
 
 i 21099 1
 
 PREFACE 
 
 TO THE READER :- 
 
 This booklet is the first of a series. It claims 
 nothing more than an attempt to arouse greater interest 
 among music students and music lovers in the music 
 of our greatest American composer, Edward Mac- 
 Dowell. 
 
 I make but one request. Please "try over on your 
 piano" the compositions of his which I have named. 
 
 The second booklet will relate impressions of Peter- 
 borough, as it is today, gained by a summer's personal 
 sojourn there. It will also include "storied or pic- 
 torialed" interpretations of a dozen or more of Mac- 
 Dowell's New England "nature-music" sketches. 
 
 The third booklet will present a more serious and 
 comprehensive summary of MacDowell as a teacher, 
 some characteristic qualities of his music, helpful sug- 
 gestions for its study, to the amateur pianist or music 
 student. These last two books will soon be published. 
 
 Very sincerely, 
 
 MRS. GRAHAM F. PUTNAM. 
 (Pupil of Edward MacDowell.)
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PART I 
 REMINISCENSES OF EDWARD MacDOWELL 
 
 PART II 
 
 ROMANCE 
 
 Page 
 
 Prologue 36 
 
 Romanza 41 
 
 Lover 49 
 
 Sweetheart 49 
 
 An Old Love Story 52 
 
 A Deserted Farm 59 
 
 From a Log Cabin 64 
 
 By Smouldering Embers 65 
 
 Epilogue 66
 
 REMINISCENCES 
 
 The following reminiscences of Mr. MacDoweil are 
 simply a few of my own experiences with him during 
 an acquaintance bearing the relationship of teacher 
 and pupil. Will the reader therefore kindly overlook 
 the constant repetition of the first personal pronoun, 
 as its use seems unavoidable. Some years ago I 
 needed a music teacher. There was nothing unusual 
 about such a need, but the teacher I required must be 
 unusual. All my life practically had been devoted to 
 music either as a student or teacher. My musical 
 instruction had been most thorough and always the 
 best obtainable. None other was ever, I am thankful 
 to say, allowed me. Besides I had had years of teaching 
 experience. Consequently my need was not a pre- 
 paratory need, but one much greater. For a few years 
 just preceding, I had been out of active music work and 
 desired to resume it. So I wished, first of all, for some 
 one v/ith mentality enough to understand and appreciate 
 the situation ; one who would sympathize with my hopes, 
 and aid me in finding and picking up the lost stitches; 
 one who would bridge over the gap and reconstruct as 
 completely as possible without tearing out and destroy- 
 ing former labor and accompHshment. In fact I wanted 
 a real teacher, one who taught the pupil, not merely a 
 method. But where was I to find my ideal? 
 
 At that time my home was in the far middle west 
 so my search was perforce directed eastward. After 
 much careful investigation my decision had almost 
 been reached, tho not entirely to my satisfaction, when 
 fate kindly intervened in the form of a chance meeting 
 with a fellow musician just returned from New York. 
 Consulting her in my perplexity, she immediately with 
 unrestrained enthusiasm urged me to go to Edward 
 MacDoweil, and gave me such a glowing account of 
 him as a teacher that I instinctively felt my search was 
 over 
 
 —9—
 
 This was about the year 1900. The musician of 
 today may be surprised when told that MacDowell was 
 then practically unknown as far west as I was living 
 and I, as well informed probably as anyone in our city, 
 knew scarcely an)rthing about him or his music. This 
 friend, a brilliant pianist, had been in New York on a 
 visit and learning of course of MacDowell's prestige had 
 immediately taken advantage of a great opportunity 
 and become his pupil. As a result of our conversation 
 I at once began a correspondence with Mr. MacDowell 
 and eventually decided to take a chance, and indeed it 
 was quite that as can be seen from the following ex- 
 cerpt taken from one of the letters I received containing 
 various requested information. 
 
 381 Central Park W., Jan. 16. 
 "My dear Madam: 
 
 In answer to your letter I beg to say that probably 
 there would be no reason why I could not give you the 
 desired lessons. At the same time it would be necessary 
 for me to hear you play before absolutely PROMISING 
 you. This is a rule I always keep to but in your case 
 ***** Should you desire it I would appoint a 
 time to hear you play as soon as you might arrive." 
 
 I remain, 
 Truly yours, 
 
 Edward MacDowell. 
 
 In fear and trembling at the thought of that terri- 
 fying ordeal ahead of me suggested by the wor!s "It 
 would be necessary for me to hear you play," I plucked 
 up courage to take the long wearisome journey across 
 the country and learn my fate. 
 
 There formerly existed the idea that because Mac- 
 Dowell was head of the department of music in Columbia 
 he taught piano there. To my own certain knowledge 
 this idea still quite generally prevails tho most erroneous- 
 ly. More than once in announcing my intention to 
 
 —10—
 
 study with him if permitted, some musician friend 
 would remonstrate remarking, "Why go to MacDowell, 
 anybody can get lessons from him by just joining his 
 music school!" As I had not then authentic informa- 
 tion to contradict I could only answer, "I do not beUeve 
 it. A man who has arrived as MacDowell has can 
 assuredly choose his pupils." So upon my arrival in 
 New York I immediately made inquiries and found that 
 MacDowell did no piano teaching at all in the college, 
 that his piano pupils v/ere strictly private pupils and 
 their lessons were always given in his own home. His 
 work at Columbia consisted of lectures, their aim being; 
 "First, to teach music scientifically and technically with 
 a view to training musicians who shall be competent 
 to teach and compose. Second ; to treat music historical- 
 ly and aesthetically as an element of liberal culture." 
 Did it not seem a terrible calamity that so broad a 
 vision was doomed to disapprobation. MacDowell but 
 lived ahead of his age, his prophetic foresight is now 
 becoming clearly visible to many others. Have you 
 all read "Critical and Historical Essays?" This book 
 was published after his death and is a compilation of 
 the portion of his lectures preserved. It is a most 
 illuminating exposition of his ideas and extremely 
 valuable from an educational view point. The re- 
 markable versatility and intellectuality of MacDowell 
 will surprise many who think of him as a musician only, 
 and do not realize his scholarly attainments. 
 
 There is always an exception to prove a rule. I 
 might state there was one time, and one time only, 
 when MacDowell gave his private pupils their lessons 
 at Columbia and it occurred while I was studying with 
 him. One morning the mail brought me a little note 
 with the request that I please go to the College for my 
 next lesson and, with the customary consideration 
 always shown by both MacDowell and his faithful 
 
 — u—
 
 amanuensis M. M. (Marian MacDowell), it also in- 
 cluded minute directions for finding South Hall. A 
 case of small pox had suddenly appeared, some quar- 
 antine restrictions had been placed upon the occupants 
 of his building and MacDowell had undergone, so I 
 was told, a precautionary operation along in the wee 
 small hours of the night before, more for the sake of 
 safety to others than for his own. So for the length 
 of two weeks MacDowell did give piano lessons at 
 Columbia! 
 
 According to promise the date of my tryout was 
 quickly arranged for after my arrival. The interview 
 was dreaded probably by both of us, by him because he 
 disliked meeting prospective pupils, an extra drain 
 upon his time and strength, and by me for fear of the 
 outcome. As the appointed hour approached I wended 
 my way to his apartment which faced Central Park 
 and commanded as much view of nature as the congested 
 metropolis afforded. After loitering around the en- 
 trance as long as I dared without arousing suspicion 
 I finally forced myself to enter and ask the elevator boy 
 if Mr. MacDowell Uved there. Until he answered in 
 the affirmative I did not realize how much I was in- 
 wardly hoping I had made a mistake and that there 
 was still a chance for me to escape. But no! With 
 heartless alacrity the elevator door was thrown open, 
 I was ushered in and whirled to the top floor with no 
 waste of time in quite characteristic New York "step- 
 lively" fashion. However, in that rapid rise I fully 
 sensed, I think, the insignificance of such a one as I and 
 my troubles in that city's immense rushing stream of 
 humanity, and realized the magnificence of the success- 
 ful struggle of pushing thro the crowd, in gigantic 
 stride outstripping all competitors. In those few 
 momentous seconds I seemed to feel intuitively before 
 ever seeing him the potency of MacDov/ell and that I 
 
 —12—
 
 was soon to meet a truly great man. Of course these 
 reflections did not make life any easier for me and just 
 at that moment I wanted nothing more than to ride right 
 down again. No encouragement to do so was offered 
 me. Instead I was silently invited out as I hesitated to 
 take the fatal step and nearly expired of heart failure 
 when the elevator boy called out "There's Mr. Mac- 
 Dowell's door bell." Just as if it was an ordinary bell 
 too and the simplest thing in the world to press your 
 finger upon it ! Why ! It was one of the hardest things 
 I ever did in my life! You know a regular rhythm 
 repeated o'er and o'er is very effective at times. So I 
 found myself saying again and again, "Faint heart ne'er 
 won great teacher," and the foolish words did help. 
 
 What a comfort it would have been to me had I 
 only known then of MacDowell's own experience, many 
 years before, of a similar nerve test, when he went for 
 his first interview with the great European master 
 Liszt. He too wandered back and forth and all around 
 the entrance screwing up courage to enter; he likewise 
 feared to face his fate and was similarly unaware of 
 the good fortune av/aiting him within the coveted place. 
 How deeply human all truly great people are! Liszt 
 received the talented composer with the greatest 
 cordiality and gave him inspiration v/hich lasted the 
 rest of his life. How many bridges I had crossed 
 before crossing MacDowell's threshold and how use- 
 lessly! My first glimpse of this wonderful artist will 
 always remain in my memory. And to think I had 
 dreaded it so ! 
 
 Always in the choice of a teacher I had found certain 
 traits of personality absolutely essential to my best 
 development. An instant's scrutiny of MacDowell 
 firmly convinced me he possessed them and I mentally 
 resolved that nothing must prevent my becoming his 
 
 —13—
 
 pupil. He had evidently been at the other end of the 
 room giving a lesson for, as I was shown in, he turned 
 and walked towards me. 
 
 Eyes are ever the first feature to attract my interest. 
 The eyes of MacDowell were the kind that are never 
 forgotten. They were blue, a luminous deepest blue, 
 humourously kind, yet keenly penetrating. They seemed 
 to look first at me, kindly 'tis true, then thro me, most 
 searchingly, and finally beyond me and I knew his 
 judgment of me had been made. I tried bravely to 
 respond to the first glance; during the second I felt 
 my stature perceptibly diminish and the last glance 
 almost compelled me to look behind and see the "writ- 
 ing on the wall." Eyes are the windows of the soul, 
 and disclose all its secrets. The scars of his own trag- 
 edies were plainly traceable in the tinge of indefinable 
 haunting gaze. But it contained only much sweetness, 
 gave out no bitterness. His eyes betokened the practise 
 of his life, the aim to help others, and which he expressed 
 in these words. "After all the only thing is to be as 
 useful as we can." 
 
 Of one thing I was very sure; he had learned to 
 read and understand the human heart. None knew 
 better than MacDowell, "How empty learning and how 
 vain is art, but as it mends the life and guides the heart." 
 Some critic has said that "MacDowell's purity of 
 character means more to us than even his genius." 
 All people know our greatest composer's life was as 
 noble and sweet as his music. It could hardly have 
 been otherwise for he lived in such intimate com- 
 munion with nature and his heart eternally called him 
 "back to the more of earth, the less of man." There 
 is no truer sentiment than this "To be a true artist one 
 must be a true man." In the mirror of those deep blue 
 eyes was reflected clearly the spirituahty of the man. 
 
 —14—
 
 His life was steeped in many colors. It was not all 
 golden sunlight and azure sky. Sometimes the gray 
 gloom of night and black cloud of despair darkened his 
 horizon. Then the glad light turned to sad light but 
 he never lost the power to look at life with "child eyes." 
 
 Next to his eyes MacDowell's most attractive feature 
 was his winning smile. I rarely heard him genuinely 
 laugh, for I knew him during days of trials, but when 
 he did the sound of it was a veritable chuckle of com- 
 pressed fun and most infectious. MacDowell must 
 often have thanked his Celtic ancestry for his gift of 
 humour, without the saving grace of which he could 
 not have vanquished as easily as he did almost un- 
 conquerable obstacles, or survived them as long as he 
 did. But the sm.ile I later knew and loved the best 
 was the smile of the eyes. The roguish twinkle that 
 sparkled there, alas too seldom, was a real deUght 
 contrasted as it was with remaining features perfectly 
 serious and decorously posed. Smiling eyes are rarely 
 seen; their possession betokens a lovable character. 
 
 Admirers of MacDowell universally agreed in 
 pronouncing him a handsome man, sUghtly Scandinavian 
 in coloring. His few intimate friends thought him 
 beautiful for they knew the character back of the ap- 
 pearance. He possessed a well proportioned physique of 
 medium size. I seldom saw him in any suit but one 
 of rough grayish texture, loose-fitting and broad cut 
 in the prevailing style and that tended to accentuate 
 his stature, so that I remember him as larger than he 
 probably was. 
 
 This impression v/as strengthened by sight of his 
 hands. They always seemed to me rather large but 
 of splendid shape — resembling a hand like Rubin- 
 stein's rather than that of Liszt, and so muscular in 
 appearance. I have never seen hands possessing so 
 
 —15—
 
 much strength and extending from wrist to finger tips. 
 His fingers had a marvelous dexterity and his execution 
 of trills, rapid scales and arpeggios was astounding. 
 The velocity of their motions was amazing and some- 
 times almost uncontrollable. The size of his hands 
 sometimes caused him trouble by their overstretch 
 so that he had to be careful not to include a note beyond 
 the one desired. In chord playing MacDowell was 
 unsurpassed. Memory will hold forever those deeply 
 pressed, soul satisfying, glorious chord harmonies 
 produced by his powerful gripping grasp. I have always 
 imagined that MacDowell's hands largely influenced 
 his style of composition. Hands are considered a true 
 index to one's character. It is also said that to be a 
 genuine musician three H's are absolutely essential, 
 "Head, Heart and Hands." All these requisites are 
 undeniably evident in the music of MacDowell. Part 
 of what has just been told is knowledge I gained as 
 time passed, but much of it is first impressions. Of 
 one thing I was fully conscious during the first meeting, 
 that I was in the presence of a personality highly charged 
 with magnetism, charm, power. The very air breathed 
 it, there was no escaping it nor had I the slightest wish 
 to do so. On the contrary I deemed myself highly 
 privileged and was devoutly grateful to be allowed to 
 come within the circle of the vivifying, stimulating in- 
 fluence of a man who was as wonderful a teacher as 
 he was a composer and pianist. 
 
 Had MacDowell's hand clasp of greeting been any 
 criterion of his feelings I might have considered my- 
 self welcome for life! It was the grasp of six note 
 chords! Somewhat apprehensively I wondered if my 
 fingers were not temporarily paralyzed but v/ith the 
 pressure of that grip removed they seemed to resume 
 normal condition. So the secret hope that I had been 
 incapacitated for playing was taken from me. 
 
 — 10—
 
 MacDowell proceeded to ask me numerous questions 
 and was extremely interested in our western people 
 and conditions. Our freedom from the customs of a 
 grandfather's day, our progressive boldness of action, 
 seemed to appeal to him strongly. So when he asked 
 me what I wanted of him I summoned as much "western 
 nerve" to my aid as I could possibly muster and very 
 bravely informed him that I wanted to know as much 
 of what he knew as I possibly could. This remark 
 does not sound very intelligble; neither did it then I am 
 quite sure. Whatever it was that I did say amused 
 MacDowell very much tho only the merry eyes betrayed 
 him. It was a laugh without a sting in it, and I could 
 join in it much to my relief. The tension was broken. 
 He courteously and considerately spared my feelings 
 by refraining from any comment upon my incoherent 
 remarks and instead suggested that I play for him. 
 
 The worst had come! No excuse was acceptable. 
 How I found my way across his salon, and seated myself 
 before a large Steinway Grand piano I never have known ! 
 At least that was the name I afterwards read, the letters 
 then for some reason did not seem legibly stamped on. 
 The keys were apparently having a little dance, a 
 demon's dance it must have been, and would not stay 
 in their accustomed places. The pedals too were so 
 far off, probably due to a more wobbly tremulo in my 
 knees than ever found in any organ stop. No matter 
 how hard I tried no sound came to my ears but a faint 
 buzzing. Perhaps some of my readers know by painful 
 experience all these sensations. 
 
 Again if I had but known! When I was better 
 acquainted v/ith MacDowell I asked him if he had ever 
 experienced the terrors of stage fright. His answer 
 was a most expressive affirmative and he told me of 
 various experiences he had endured. He concluded 
 by saying that the hardest thing he could do was to 
 
 —17—
 
 walk from a stage entrance to the piano across a plat- 
 form, the observed of all observers; that he usually 
 had some one accompany him right to the door and 
 literally force him thro it lest even then he turn and 
 flee. But once seated upon the piano bench, his fears 
 vanished completely, and the minute his fingers caressed 
 the keys he became utterly oblivious to everything but 
 the music. The public found it difficult ever to make 
 a "matinee idol" of MacDowell. He disliked too 
 decidedly a disquieting crowd and simply shrank from 
 being the centre of attraction. As much as he possibly 
 could he refused to be the "lion of the evening." Tho 
 often forced to attend "functions" he frequently managed 
 to escape if not carefully watched. 
 
 Who says the age of miracles is gone? It is not! 
 Of that I am positive for one happened right while I 
 was trying my best to entertain MacDowell with my 
 playing. Had it not occurred so auspiciously I fear the 
 great privilege of becoming a private pupil of MacDowell 
 would never have been mine. In the midst of despair, 
 at the moment I was beginning to recover some poise 
 and had determined I would play my best, "do and then 
 die" if necessary, rescue came. 
 
 My one sensible thought all this time was that Mac- 
 Dowell stood watching me closely. To add to my 
 discomfort the pupil had also remained. I remember 
 wishing they would both go farther away and give my 
 music the benefit of distance. Suddenly after only 
 a moment's playing MacDowell leaned over, impulsively 
 picked up one of my hands in his, and showing it to the 
 second listener remarked, "Did you ever see a more 
 perfect hand?" The answer held no especial interest 
 for me. My chief concern was to follow my hand and 
 increase the distance between the piano and myself 
 as quickly as possible. In some way I succeeded in 
 doing this unnoticed by them, for both were in an ani- 
 
 — IS—
 
 mated discussion over hand values. It is not said 
 boastfully but I have always possessed splendid hands 
 for piano. Yet never in all my life have I been so thank- 
 ful for them. Happening to glance at a clock MacDowell 
 was surprised at the lateness of the hour and dismissed 
 me most kindly, promising to communicate with me very 
 shortly. I begged him not to waste any time consider- 
 ing the matter but just send a message stating the hour 
 and date of my first lesson. And this he did. A few 
 days later the mail brought me this desired information 
 and I entered upon a series of lessons which I value 
 more and more each passing year of my life. 
 
 Once upon a time I had studied with Wm. Mason, 
 America's famous pedagogue and I recall his telling me 
 of a lesson he once had from Liszt, for which he paid 
 what he considered at the time the fabulous sum of 
 $20.00. He went on to say that he would not take any 
 amount of money for that one lesson. His sentiment 
 expresses a similar gratitude and valuation which I 
 have always felt towards my lessons from MacDowell. 
 
 In order to accept me MacDowell was forced to 
 appoint my lesson hour late in the afternoon at the end 
 of a long day. This time gave me exceptional oppor- 
 tunity for no one followed to interrupt. Consequently 
 my half hour of regular lesson period quite regularly 
 extended to twice that and often more. You know 
 MacDowell was "temperate in all things but work" 
 and begrudged his pupils nothing. I can best describe 
 my lessons by caUing them "conversational" or "in- 
 formational." Perhaps I may be allowed to use the 
 term "musical rejuvenation" as best expressing my 
 need as I presented it to him. I wanted to acquire all 
 possible knowledge which I could later assimilate and 
 exemplify. These lessons were to me untold treasure. 
 There was scarcely a subject connected with music or 
 musicians, classic or modern, that was not discussed. 
 
 —19—
 
 Sometimes remembering his unstinted generosity of 
 time and effort I am conscience smitten at my acceptance 
 of so much, and it is a real comfort to remember that 
 MacDov/ell himself called my "different" lessons his 
 "rest lessons" and personally assured me more than 
 once that "he really looked forward to them." I 
 attended every concert of any merit whatsoever, and 
 before and following each, distinctive features both 
 technical and educational were commented upon. 
 Often I carried to a lesson a dozen or more pieces of 
 music to be used as practical illustrations of interesting 
 points, technical, theoretical, analytical. Much use was 
 made of MacDowell's own "Technical Exercises," 
 splendid aids to muscular development. The wrist 
 exercises I recall particularly. Certain work had been 
 directed for me at one of my lessons and so strenuous 
 were my endeavors to carry this out that the nail on 
 every finger had been broken off to the quick. Con- 
 sequently my fingers were very sore and oozed bloody 
 marks over the piano keys. Nevertheless I persevered 
 until the next lesson when in executing these same 
 gymnastic studies I left a trail upon his piano also. 
 Upon noticing it his surprised look changed to one of 
 real consternation when he perceived the cause, as if 
 he had been guilty of some genuine crime. However, 
 I considered myself quite sufficiently rewarded by his 
 smile and words of approval for my perseverance. I 
 also appreciated his tactful omission of comment upon 
 my lack of judgment. Incidentally this same book of 
 "Technical Exercises" is a very practical illustration 
 of the exceptional muscular development of his own 
 hands. 
 
 From my overtime lessons dates my acquaintance 
 with Mrs. MacDowell. This was limited to the sound 
 of her voice for of her in those days I stood in wholesome 
 awe. As the hour grev/ late, a door would softly open 
 
 —20—
 
 enough for a head to appear and a modest soft voice 
 would say, "Edward, remember you have an engage- 
 ment," words which sounded a warning. As a result 
 preliminary steps would be taken to end the lesson but 
 little definite action. Thereupon, after a few moments, 
 the door would again be opened, again could be heard, 
 firmer this time, the same voice repeating the warning. 
 Sometimes even this was not instantly obeyed and a 
 third summons would be given. Neither teacher nor 
 pupil ever disregarded that tone of decision and finality. 
 And that is why I never dared cultivate more closely 
 Mrs. MacDowell's acquaintance until many years after. 
 
 At one of my first lessons I thought to give Mac- 
 Dowell a pleasant surprise and proceeded to inform him 
 that tho from the "wild and woolly west" I did know 
 and played one of his compositions. He seemed de- 
 lighted and inquired, "which one?" "Pride surely goeth 
 before a fall!" I shall never forget his disgusted look 
 when I answered, the "Witches Dance," which I had 
 found in a copy of "The Etude." Right then I received 
 enlightening information from headquarters and learned 
 how great composers feel regarding earlier compositions. 
 MacDowell expressed decided regret that he had ever 
 written this piece as well as others of the same period 
 and really abhorred the thought that he might always be 
 known as a composer of music like that rather than his 
 later individualistic creations. Notwithstanding the 
 very natural attitude of MacDowell towards the "Witches 
 Dance," it is a very captivating piece of music and if 
 you have ever heard Carreno play it you know how it 
 should sound. Unfortunately it is an especial "pet" 
 of students and suffers many tortuous renditions. 
 However do not think because this music bears Mac- 
 Dowell's name you know the real MacDowell music. 
 The "Witches Dance" could have been written by most 
 
 —21—
 
 any talented composer but such a master piece as the 
 ' 'Keltic" sonata by no other less great than MacDowell. 
 
 That lesson taught me much ! I remember thinking 
 if any one could profess disdain of what seemed to me 
 then very lovely music that person must be even greater 
 than I had imagined and I more ignorant than I had 
 known. Not appreciating "the bliss of ignorance," I 
 immediately bought every piece of MacDowell music 
 at that time published and ever since his compositions 
 have been my life long close companions. Thro inter- 
 course with him I studied his music, thro it I gained 
 greater understanding of him, and from both I obtained 
 a liberal education. 
 
 A great poet has told us, "A man should hear a 
 little music, read a little poetry and see a fine picture 
 every day of his life." This precept if obeyed would 
 certainly make each one of our lives a world of beauty 
 unto itself and to each other. Should you be one of 
 the many who fail to adopt this bit of wisdom may I 
 suggest that you study and perform MacDowell's 
 music. You will find it a rare and satisfying substitute 
 and be well repaid. MacDowell was a poet, an artist, 
 and best of all a musician; so the poetry, the picture, 
 the music are all there, combined and attuned as one 
 glorious art. 
 
 Personally I have met v/ith many amusing incidents 
 connected with the general public's ignorance regarding 
 our greatest American composer. 1 happily confess 
 they belong to the past for the most part. Some lady 
 supposedly well informed remarked one day to me. 
 "You studied with Mr. MacDowell, didn't you, I heard 
 him play once." Prospects of pleasurable reminiscences 
 loomed up before me, only to be abruptly destroyed 
 when she continued, "I met him last summer in Salt 
 Lake City and heard him give one of his lovely organ 
 
 -22—
 
 recitals." I yielded to temptation and left her in 
 contented blissful ignorance. It is within very recent 
 years that this incident also occurred and in a large 
 music store in one of our best known cities. It sounds 
 incredible but is nevertheless absolutely true. Know- 
 ing that Mrs. MacDowell had hoped to make some 
 records of her husband's music and anxious to hear 
 them as soon as possible I went into the record depart- 
 ment of this store and asked the clerk if she had any 
 records of MacDowell's music. Being loyal to the 
 store's reputation she immediately answered, "Oh yes! 
 We have them all. They are always sent to us as soon 
 as MacDowell makes them." Now I had often curiously 
 speculated upon the music he and all other music makers 
 are producing in that world of music above. Oh, what 
 heavenly strains they must be! (I say this in all serious- 
 ness.) Sometimes I have wondered if a genius is not 
 simply a medium, who transfers thro his expression of 
 art a little part of Heaven's glories for man's v/onder- 
 ment. However I had never expected such surmises 
 upon my part to be actually verified. I asked the clerk 
 to let me see what she had. She v/as gone some length 
 of time and finally returned looking rather puzzled, say- 
 ing the stock seemed to be out but if I would return a 
 little later she would send a new order at once. While 
 waiting for her return I had been listening to a splendid 
 record of Chopin's "Ballade in G m., always a favorite 
 composition of mine. So I asked her the question per- 
 haps foolishly misleading, "Who is playing that record?" 
 She obligingly looked and volunteered the information 
 that "Chopin was playing." I politely thanked her and 
 remarked in turn that I was very glad that I had hap- 
 pened in for I had always wished to hear Chopin play. 
 Critics declare that the music of Chopin and that of 
 MacDowell are splendid complements of each other for 
 program use. This incident I know alv/ays associates 
 the two composers in my mind. It is still regrettable 
 
 —23—
 
 that as yet no records of MacDowell's music have suc- 
 cessfully materialized. All music lovers are earnestly 
 hoping that Mrs. MacDowell will surely in the near 
 future personally make MacDowell records that posterity 
 may so advantageously possess authentic interpretations. 
 
 My study with MacDowell came during the years 
 shortly preceding his resignation from Columbia. 
 Looking back I can recognize several little occurences, 
 not noticeable at that time but which I now believe 
 were sUght indications of his approaching illness. One 
 I remember did singularly impress me tho I could not 
 tell the reason. It was connected with my trial per- 
 formance, which MacDowell himself had interrupted. 
 At my first lesson something seemed to be troubling 
 him. Finally he abruptly asked, "What did you play 
 for me, I can't seem to remember." Fearing a repeti- 
 tion might be demanded I hurriedly ansv/ered, "I did not 
 play anything for you, Mr. MacDowell. You wouldn't 
 listen to me," and eagerly resumed my lesson. I 
 recalled afterwards that he did not seemed satisfied tho 
 he said no more at that time. But at the next lesson he 
 repeated his question. I felt that for some reason the 
 matter seemed to him important, so I gave him a de- 
 tailed account of v/hat had happened, to his apparent 
 relief, for he remarked it troubled him that he could 
 not remember and he did not see why he could not. 
 Years after I knew the reason of his mental disturbance 
 and feel sure that even then he felt some slight pre- 
 monition of impending disaster. 
 
 Another day he appeared so physically weary I 
 could not refrain from begging him to take a rest and 
 omit my lesson. He only shook his head by way of 
 refusal and in voice that was more of a sigh than any- 
 thing else said to me, "I have not the time, my time 
 is too short as it is, much too short for what I want to do, 
 must do." Turning to a desk nearly covered with 
 
 —24—
 
 manuscript he picked up some sheets and continued 
 *'I must finish this." That manuscript belonged to 
 the "Keltic" sonata which at that time was practically 
 completed. I do not believe I mistate when I say there 
 is no more sublime conception existent in the world's 
 musical library than this sonata. It is a most noble 
 climax of grandeur. V/hen I recall that I have seen and 
 held some of its original copy in my hands I involuntarily 
 think of some shrine or sacred treasure which one views 
 only in silent homage and reverential attitude. 
 
 For many years this sonata has lain upon my piano 
 in full view or within easy reach so that I could frequently 
 spend a few moments playing it. I have found it the 
 best of company. As years passed I taught its wondrous 
 beauties to my son, a promising young musician. For 
 months and months and months he practised almost 
 daily the "Appassionata" sonata of Beethoven and the 
 "Keltic" sonata of MacDowell, in his opinion the two 
 greatest of all compositions. Both he had thoroughly 
 memorized and minutely analyzed. The former offered 
 no harmonic difficulties. But after hours of study on 
 perhaps one chord formation he would say, "I can't see 
 where MacDowell ever got that chord" and add with 
 all the confidence of youth, "If he really got it anywhere 
 I'll find out where." The copy he used is covered with 
 various annotations denoting deep analytical study. 
 This son was with me v/hile I was studying with Mac- 
 Dowell and usually accompanied me to my lesson. 
 He was just four years old but was playing easy com- 
 positions from Bach, Mozart, Schumann and others. 
 While I was engaged he would sit so quietly upon a 
 chair apparently absorbed in all he heard and saw that 
 he soon attracted MacDowell's interest. One day he 
 said to John, "Sometime perhaps you will love music 
 as your mother does and will also play." Without a 
 second's hesitation John replied, "I play now" and pro-
 
 ceeded to climb up on the piano bench without further 
 invitation. MacDowell was much amused but soon 
 astonished to hear so small a person play a Bach Prelude. 
 After that day I never dared appear without my boy and 
 when the time arrived for us to return home it was a 
 parting agreement between both MacDowell and him 
 that some day in the future they would meet again as 
 teacher and pupil. "Remember, John, I expect great 
 things of you" were words the boy carried as incentive 
 thro many years of work. Then one summer he and 
 I started off for a rest at the beach. I had forbidden his 
 taking any music but at the last moment he said, "Mother 
 please let me take the "Keltic," I just can't go without 
 it." A few days later a treacherous ocean had claimed 
 another victim and a beautiful spirit had been called 
 home. I feel quite sure he is now doing the "great 
 things" MacDowell had predicted for him and, who can 
 tell, perhaps under the composer's own guidance he has 
 learned where the wondrous chords of the "Keltic" 
 sonata, his last beloved companion, were found. 
 
 "Somewhere in God's Great Universe, my boy 
 
 Obeys his Captain, does his duty well. 
 His work, his loyalty still gives me joy. 
 
 No letter now is needed, news to tell. 
 I know his Leader, know the loving care 
 
 With which his work is watched in that new place. 
 I love to think of his promotion there. 
 
 I can be happy, even though his face 
 Shines only in my memory, and his voice 
 
 Comes in my dreams to bid me still rejoice." 
 
 Mary L. French. 
 
 MacDowell was eager to go west and was already 
 planning to concertize during his sabbatical year of 
 freedom soon due. He desired to include my home 
 city in his itinerary and requested my help in local 
 management of a concert. I gladly promised all the 
 aid in my power, at the same time warning him "it 
 
 —26—
 
 couldn't be." Somewhat surprised it was his turn to 
 ask **why" and I who answered, "You may not believe 
 me but your name is almost unknown and seldom heard 
 out there and so very few have ever heard of your music." 
 This statement he did not really credit until he began 
 his tour. Every attempt possible was made to arrange 
 a program. The guarantee could not be raised even 
 tho he eventually materially reduced his price, and that 
 locality lost forever the opportunity of hearing a great 
 composer interpret his great thoughts. In justice to all 
 I repeat that these things all took place close to twenty 
 years ago and conditions there as elsewhere have 
 greatly changed. 
 
 A very few years later when this great intellect was 
 slowly drifting from us I once more attempted a concert; 
 this time for him. The response was generous and for 
 the first time in the history of that section of the country 
 a program was given consisting wholly of MacDowell 
 music to a most appreciative audience and presented 
 by the best local artists. There, as everywhere, all 
 tried to share and lend some comfort in a wide world 
 tragedy. 
 
 No matter how long MacDowell might have Uved 
 he would never have accumulated worldly riches. His 
 nature was too generous and there are many who have 
 reason to know this. Terms for lessons were sup- 
 posedly in advance nor would he bother with a pupil 
 for less than ten lessons, and those taken but once a 
 week. So at my first lesson I tendered him some money. 
 He hesitated a moment, more I think from the fear of 
 hurting my feelings by his offer, but finally suggested, 
 "You will want to hear all the music you possibly can 
 while in New York and this will cost you money. Keep 
 this and pay me later but hear all you can." I protested, 
 insinuated that I was a stranger, warned him of the risk 
 
 —27—
 
 he ran but he insisted. When a few lessons later I 
 made payment in full for lessons but never for the 
 generous act I think he had actually forgotten even the 
 existence of my debt. 
 
 A concert by Hoffman had been announced the date 
 of which unfortunately conflicted with my lesson hour 
 As I had heard him as a boy prodigy I was rather anxious 
 to attend his concert but hated to lose my lesson. Trust- 
 ing that an opportunity to hear Hofifman would come 
 again I decided in favor of the latter. During the hour 
 I informed MacDowell of my conflicting desires sug- 
 gesting, with good intentions but short sighted dis- 
 cretion, that perhaps he also would have liked to go. 
 
 I discovered that he seldom attended a concert or 
 if he did never remained till the end. There were two 
 reasons for this attitude toward public concerts. As a 
 musical connoiseur he could not of course receive much 
 inspiration from the usual performance. The classics 
 he knew too well himself to gain much from other's 
 impartations. Modern music he told me he did not 
 wish to hear because he feared he might quite un- 
 consciously absorb some quality of it and instil it in his 
 own and thus destroy the stamp of inimitable individ- 
 uality and originality he was so earnestly striving to 
 estabhsh. 
 
 At great personal self denial this ambition was 
 assuredly accomplished. MacDowell music is so dis- 
 tinctive as to have earned the name "MacDowellish" 
 or "MacDowellized." From Liszt was learned an 
 enduring lesson "not to squeeze music into traditional 
 molds but to crystalize into own shapes." 
 
 Upon mere cursory thought it seems curious that a 
 creative artist loses active interest in "the children of 
 his fancy" as soon as his inspiration becomes a finished 
 
 — 2S—
 
 product and is visualized to the public eye. When it is 
 given out to the world the "oneness" with its creator is 
 severed, a new inspiration engages his thoughts. The 
 period spent in the creation of a work is the memory 
 retained by the artist. I have heard many artists ex- 
 press this sentiment so it must contain some truth. 
 
 Perhaps for that reason MacDowell did not often 
 enjoy hearing his own music performed by indifferent 
 interpreters. He was most particular in his taste and 
 insisted upon having it "either rarely or well done." 
 Nothing but the best satisfied him and he expected 
 nothing less from others. He seldom gave his music 
 to his pupils. A very well known concert pianist pupil 
 spent the larger part of a lesson hour begging per- 
 mission to take up one of his greater compositions. 
 Her persistency finally won a reluctant impatient, "Well 
 take it if you are so anxious." I asked his objections 
 and he repHed, "When you have heard things live here 
 (placing his hand upon his head) you do not want to 
 hear them any other place, they never sound the same." 
 I remember hinting that it might be true altruism upon 
 his part to teach as many people as he could his most 
 desirable interpretation in order to insure future au- 
 thentic rendition of it. Incidentally I might mention 
 MacDowell's disHke of wasteful discussion. His opinion 
 usually meant changeless conviction and with an "un- 
 afraid spirit he maintained his positiveness." 
 
 One day I witnessed the trial of a pianist who had 
 come all the way from Seattle to obtain lessons from 
 MacDowell. She played most briUiantly but he refused 
 positively to accept her, notwithstanding her urgent 
 pursuasions and tears as well. Again I queried "why." 
 "I couldn't have stood her two lessons" he replied. 
 It seems she impressed him as entirely lacking in self- 
 effacement, her self-insistence was too evident. In- 
 
 —29—
 
 stead of aesthetic absorption she exhibited merely 
 technical incUnations. 
 
 MacDowell's life has been compared by some one 
 to his own "Tragica" sonata which "in its final move- 
 ment changes from glorious triumph to overv/helming 
 misery." "Joy and woe, hope and fear and peace and 
 strife" had all been mingled "in the thread of human 
 life." Do not retain any painful impression of Mac- 
 Dowell's closing years. Time simply "turned back- 
 ward for him in its flight and made him a child again" 
 for just those few years; gave him a "wonderful un- 
 earthly beauty, no lack of intelligence in his eyes, and 
 kept him usually happy." A book of fairy tales became 
 again a chief deHght as it had been once before in 
 childhood days. One memory remained with him, 
 he always recognized his wife. Her presence never 
 failed to bring a happy smile to his face. Hour after 
 hour she gave him pleasure by playing for him his own 
 wonderful music. Ever she watched his face and by 
 its varied expression knew when she had pleased him. 
 Sometimes she had to play the same passage many 
 times over before the happy contented smile would 
 come. Does any one wonder that she can now interpret 
 her husband's music in the way he wished and that 
 she has permeated it with a vital intimacy belonging 
 to no one else! 
 
 Some one has declared that composers of music 
 have done more for the world's civilization and happi- 
 ness than any other people and that music would be the 
 last thing next to religion to be spared from life. They 
 are the "fooUsh people" "who make the world move on" 
 while the "wise people" take the world "as they find 
 it," Yet posterity knows only the names of the "foolish 
 
 ones." 
 
 ?.o—
 
 Blessed be the music makers and thrice blessed 
 the name of MacDowell. May his memory relive in 
 
 his music forever and ever. May the song be heard 
 eternally tho the singer has passed away. May "God 
 be with them all who have passed into the land of 
 Singing Shadows, and may God send us more of their 
 like." 
 
 —31—
 
 ROMANCE 
 
 Many times had I dreamed a beautiful dream. 
 After long, patient waiting, much earnest striving, the 
 dream came true. For years had I longed to see Peter- 
 borough, that uniquely interesting New England home 
 of Edward MacDowell. At last my desire became a 
 realization amazingly satisfying, in its fulfilment far 
 surpassing even my highest anticipation. I roamed, 
 fairly drugged with "deep breathing moments," over a 
 land of enchantments; I was entranced by its magic 
 spell of visible and invisible "presences;" overwhelmed 
 by its all pervading spirit of romanticism and mysticism ; 
 speechless, in awe and reverence, before such stupend- 
 ous and glorious harmonies of sight and sound, all so 
 beautifully woven by masterly handicraft of God and 
 man. 
 
 Truly is Peterborough a Land of Dreams, every 
 touch of it inspirationally symboUstic of the ideals of 
 that far-seeing, clear-visioned, prophetic Idealist, Edward 
 MacDowell. From rare and hallowed atmosphere is 
 reflected a wondrous beauty; yet back of nature's 
 artistry seems something even greater. Imperatively 
 is sensed the tremendous influence of a powerful, 
 omnipresent motif, the motif of altruism. To this 
 haven of rest and remoteness, serious-minded creative 
 artists are privileged to come. Here they labor un- 
 remittingly and conscientiously, for the advancement of 
 art, and while working in pure, unadulterated joy of 
 creation, indulge the hope and expectation that the 
 world will be some richer for their contributions. 
 
 The MacDowell Colony is rightly called a "Work- 
 shop." I soon discovered that "everybody" there was 
 "somebody" and decided I must, in some way, escape 
 
 —33—
 
 the undesirable appellation of "nobody." Some one 
 has used the phrase "volcanically stimulated," and I 
 know of no other term which so aptly describes the 
 dynamic desire aroused in every "Colonist" to do 
 something. 
 
 This little book, disproportionally small compared 
 to the amount of "volcanically stimulated" effort con- 
 sumed in its making, is the something I attempted. 
 For permitting so inadequate a conception to venture 
 into public view, may I offer the excuse of obedience to 
 the following advice; "Use what talent you possess, the 
 woods would be silent if no birds sang, but those which 
 sing best." Also I hasten to state, lest my song sound 
 presumptous, that it is not sung for judgment by the 
 sophisticated professional, or efficiently cultured musi- 
 cian — for, "Tis with our judgments, as our watches, 
 none go just alike, yet each believes his own." 
 
 I firmly believe that there is latent talent or em- 
 bryonic genius of some form in every mortal, which 
 can always be reached by the right appeal. Not all 
 humanity is attuned to the same art. To one the 
 message comes by music, to one by picture, to another 
 by poetry, to still another by story, yet the fundamental 
 unity of each art is the same. Upon the interpreter 
 devolves the duty of comparing, or paralleling, one art 
 with another, and, in that way, making very clear the 
 close relation of all arts. Music claims the gift of 
 reaching and stirring deepest the human heart. It 
 belongs to every one, is universal, and yet for some 
 needs interpretation, by application of some other art. 
 
 Twenty-five years of practical, professional ex- 
 periences with the average music student and audience 
 music lover, have conclusively proven to me that mere 
 note-playing does not satisfy them; nor do mere facts 
 meet their needs. But I have found that an appeal to 
 
 —34—
 
 the imagination brings gratifying results, hence began 
 my use of "storied" or "pictorialed" illustrations. 
 
 The music of MacDowell is peculiarly amenable 
 to imaginative fancies, as most of his compositions he 
 either entitled or prefixed with verse text, thereby 
 making quite evident the thought, in his own mind, 
 when composing. But he always most emphatically 
 disclaimed any prescribed interpretation (indeed he 
 really desired that to be as varied as the interpreter) ; 
 and gave but one command concerning his music, 
 "Make it beautiful." If interpreted at all intelUgently, 
 it can be nothing else. Artists, unfortunately, must 
 endure the inevitable fate of being made famous by 
 some one work, usually easy of comprehension. Among 
 the (so-called) "Mac Dowellish" miniatures few have 
 attained sufficient meritorious public recognition ex- 
 cept "The Wild Rose" and "To a Water-Lily," both 
 so lovely, no wonder people are content with these. 
 There are however, many others less intimately known 
 but equally beautiful, equally attainable technically, 
 and it is of these that I have herein made use. 
 
 This story now appears in print in answer to oft 
 repeated requests from many who have expressed 
 pleasure in hearing it. You the reader, may fall in 
 with its whimsical mood, or you may think it fooUsh. 
 Be that as it may, the mission of this little book will 
 have been well accomplished if it will only arouse your 
 interest and stimulate in you greater desire to cultivate 
 a closer acquaintance with these lovely miniatures, 
 which some one says "should be a household word." 
 Again I quote, this time sUghtly paraphrasing a favorite 
 saying of Queen Victoria, "My little book may not be 
 able to be great, but it does want to do good." It con- 
 tains a very simple story; to be exact a story divided 
 into two parts. One is really founded upon facts and 
 is practically chronological ; the other makes no pretense 
 
 —35—
 
 of being logical, is quite regardless of time and entirely 
 a product of fancy, tho what plot possesses was 
 gathered from life and its clues were discovered in 
 titles and texts. This rambling preface must be accepted 
 as the voice of the 
 
 "Prologue" 
 
 which now appeals to you in tuneful melody. "In 
 sturdy good humour," "petulantly" even "threatening- 
 ly" or "crossly;" then "pleadingly," "mockingly," 
 "calmly;" at times deep "like a bass drum;" softly 
 as the end draws near, then in climax of triumphant 
 fortissimo; in all these widely varying moods does it 
 bespeak your interest. Most skilfully does this melo- 
 dious voice portray, in its constantly changing motif, 
 the many different phases of human life. Surely the 
 message of understanding, expressed so plainly by this 
 music, will reach all hearts, will suit all moods. 
 
 Choose, reader, the mood most to your taste, but 
 try, will you not, to enter into the spirit of this romance, 
 this applied fairy-tale? Be once again as the child 
 who asked, "Mother, where do we go when we go to 
 Fairy-land? I know, I know, we go into God's heart." 
 Perhaps you have lost your childhood gladness ; perhaps 
 the youth of you has departed, stealing from your heart 
 something you miss and wish would return, perhaps 
 the future is yet as a dream before you. Whoever you 
 are, will you not go to Fairy-land? Take the trip, it 
 will gladden your souls, will release your tired shoulders 
 from burdens that weigh heavily upon wings that might 
 joyfully soar to this country, not far distant, yet scarcely 
 known to our work-a-day v/orld. 
 
 Some call it Fairy-land, or the Land of Dreams or 
 Imagination; some, the World of Ideals, the Abode of 
 Hearts' Desires, or the Realm of Visions. Others 
 know of it as the Kingdom of Possibilities, the Goal 
 
 —36—
 
 of Success, the Home of Science, the Domain of Ambi- 
 tion. The name does not matter; it is the place that is 
 so marvelous; so transcendent with beauty, so en- 
 riched by priceless treasures. Within its boundaries 
 are held in bondage the phenomenal secrets of all ages, 
 by discovery of which, men have embettered the world of 
 Art and Science with every new thing, every potentiality 
 existent. From its luminous, celestial light has emanated 
 the enlightenment, the development of all civilization. 
 By it, the shackles of old dispensations have been burst 
 asunder and every new spiritual and material force 
 has been released for the world's progress and evolu- 
 tion. In this place has originated the wielding power 
 necessary to the construction of life's entire framework; 
 from conception of the unmanifest to fruition of the 
 manifest, from vagueness of the invisible to lucidity 
 of the visible, from imaginary dreams to works of reality. 
 This land has already yielded great wealth for the good 
 of all humanity, but incredible possibilities remain 
 unexplored, undiscovered, because so few people have 
 dared to wander from the beaten paths. 
 
 Since it is an imaginative sphere, its inhabitants 
 are not just like every day people. The ordinary 
 observer may not perceive in them any unusual external 
 appearance, the difference lies deep hidden in "centre 
 within," in the sanctuary of the heart. Each one of 
 these specially blessed persons wears a lucky charm, 
 formed of clarified vision and purified motive, which 
 endows him with discriminating power of discernment 
 and reveals to him the innermost secrets and depths of 
 this neglected romantic world. Its secrets are securely 
 guarded and he who gains possession of them must 
 patiently strive. He must think — he must dream — he 
 must imagine — unceasingly — utterly oblivious to all 
 outside distractions. He must keep his vision con- 
 stantly before him lest it. grow dim and he lose it.
 
 "God pity the man who has lost his vision." The 
 world will call him, '^rather derisively but secretly 
 enviously), Dreamer, Idealist, Visionist. If he will 
 pursue his way persistently, he will soon be conscious 
 of an indescribable power, a subtler sense, the highest 
 fairy gift ever granted to mortals. It is a spark, in- 
 finitely divine, transfiguring the possessor into a heavenly 
 soul, from other humans far apart. This rare and pre- 
 cious being is called a "Genius." A genius may be 
 born. Nevertheless, tho this be true, he must prove 
 his right of birth to occupy a niche of fame above all 
 others. Nor can such honor be obtained under false 
 pretenses; the prize must be fairly earned. 
 
 There is no road to the Land of Breams that is not 
 long and toilsome. The path is narrow and winding, 
 the climb steep and dangerous and the end ever beyond, 
 out of sight. Many there are who start on this weari- 
 some journey, but few there be who reach the entrance 
 of this coveted land, few who find the magic key to 
 xmlock its door and enter thru its fairy portals. 
 
 No common key suffices. It must be one of work- 
 manship of rarest skill, carved by a Master Artist and 
 so deUcately traced as to exact minutest perception to 
 appreciate its intricate design. Sympathy, sorrow, 
 poverty, truth and purity, sacrifice of self, love of all 
 things good, hatred of all things bad, renunciation, 
 patience and perseverance, labor, unappreciation; all 
 these attributes and many more of life's choicest ma- 
 terials are found necessary to the molding of this un- 
 usual masterpiece. 
 
 In the face of so many difficulties is it strange 
 that most people prefer the outer v/orld of pleasure 
 seeking ease and fleeting excitements and only a few 
 desire this inner world, few challenge the struggle, 
 few win the victory. Novr and then one gains a crown 
 
 — :;8—
 
 and, in doing so, reaps the terrible loneliness of great 
 men; grasps his goal only to learn that his life must 
 henceforth mean one of service to others. For himself 
 there will be nothing but the happiness of serving, with- 
 out fear of punishment or hope of reward. He must 
 grow indifferent aUke to the plaudits of friends, or 
 scoffing of enemies; must suffer all sacrifices and 
 resign himself to being misunderstood. For himself 
 contentment, nay happiness, must come from the 
 knowledge that he has proven himself worthy to be 
 this wonderful instrument, a genius, God-given to the 
 world, for the purpose of bringing Heaven into the 
 hearts of men. In loyalty to duty, a genius must 
 strive to fulfill his mission of ennobling other souls, by 
 seeking to understand them and thereby making them 
 understood Therefore his own character should be 
 wholly noble and pure, and his highest aim in life will 
 be to "lift up men." Down thro the ages has rung in 
 majestic, clarion tones from voices of Masters of Art 
 from historic past, this stern changeless decree, "I 
 will not go down to the people, I will bring the people 
 up to me." This heritage has been bequeathed the 
 genius of each succeeding generation and has de- 
 manded from him a life of all-giving, but small-receiving. 
 He must live always with these precepts in mind. 
 
 "I would be true for there are those who trust me, 
 I would be pure for there are those who care, 
 I would be strong for there is much to suffer, 
 I would be brave for there is much to dare, 
 I would be friend of all, the foe, the friendless, 
 I would be giving and forget the gift, 
 I would be humble for I know my weakness, 
 I would look up, and laugh, and love, and lift." 
 
 E. D. Knight. 
 
 -39—
 
 Considering all these things, is it to be wondered 
 at that so few ever seek the joy everlasting, that comes 
 from serving as part of the human life, thus gaining 
 life eternal as part of the living God These rare souls 
 never die; they stand like "solitary towers in the city 
 of God," feeling perfect peace of heart, knowing their 
 reward enough, that the hearts of men were touched 
 and made happier by their songs, songs that will live as 
 long as time itself. After all is not this land worth 
 living in; have not its dwellers their compensations? 
 Is not their escape from mediocrity, thro its medium, 
 in itself sufficient return for all effort? Is not a genius 
 so thrilled by emotions unutterably profound, beside 
 which the restless undercurrent of life's ordinary 
 turmoil fades into meaningless insignificance? In lofty 
 remoteness from its turbulent surging and roaring, lives 
 the dreamer, the romanticist, in a world of his own full 
 of possibilities. 
 
 The Land of Dreams is a beautiful world, full of 
 love and peace. Go find it for yourself, live in it as 
 often as you can, and when you have learned to love 
 it, as I am sure you will, then may I ask you without 
 fear of your matter-of-fact, every-day-life's scornful 
 answer, "Is Romance dead?" Then may I feel certain 
 that you will answer "Surely not," tho the constant 
 whirl and rush of our modem life of over-predominating 
 commercialism may seem to have surfaced it over. 
 Hidden deep, underneath it is there, for Romance 
 lives eternal in an unseen world, and its romantic 
 spirit is a mystic substance greedily sought by the lover 
 of dreams. "Is Romance dead?" Never, while live 
 people, who see visions of things, not as they are, but 
 as they ought to be; who yearn and strive to make all 
 men realize that monarchs may Uve, die and lie for- 
 gotten ; that crowns, even tho they be of priceless value, 
 will fall into atoms; that he who leaves behind him a
 
 vision bequeaths the world a treasure that will endure 
 forever. A dream visualized can fairly obliterate the 
 routine of a daily life. 
 
 Were the truth all told each one of us could reveal a 
 romance "stranger than any fiction." However, no 
 romance ever reveals the whole truth ; the real interest- 
 ing half is but temptingly suggested, then left to the 
 reader's imagination. Such statement might be made 
 concerning this particular one, which is quite true, 
 yet vitally interesting just the same, tho it unfolds more 
 like a fairy tale than one of real life and contradicts 
 an undeserved reputation of prosaicism. It is a real 
 story about real people. The happenings of their lives 
 were originally recorded in the sublimental language 
 of music, more expressive by far than any other. For 
 the sake of those who cannot clearly read that language, 
 I offer as translation this tale. 
 
 It is imaginative or romantic in its application to 
 the musical compositions of Edward MacDowell, who 
 was one of those rare beings previously spoken of, a 
 genius. In fact, all people acknowledge him as "the 
 greatest genius America has yet produced." From 
 Celtic ancestry he inherited a super-sensitive nature, 
 and all his life he dreamed "Dreams that had had 
 Dreams for Fathers." He was also called sometimes 
 a ' Romanticist," and his life might be spoken of as 
 having been one continued vision. 
 
 In a "song without words," entitled 
 
 "Romance" 
 
 he has told us in music, what a vision meant to him. 
 In full cello-like, singing tones he speaks his thoughts, 
 meditatively serious, as befits a great soul assuming 
 life's heavy responsibilities. A lovely melody con- 
 tentedly expresses his prophetic vision. This contem- 
 
 —41—
 
 plative, serene mood, suggestive of youth's untroubled, 
 confident outlook upon the future, is broken into by an 
 underlying, march-like theme of fate, almost monotone 
 in character, as if hinting of the restlessness of later 
 years. In increasing intensity it typifies, by muffled 
 beat, the world's onward march in which he, like all 
 others, must join. But always, thro all the years to 
 come, while his feet tramp to the steady rhythm, he 
 keeps in his heart the soulful melody of his youth, 
 which sings and sings; sometimes sweetly, breathing 
 hope and faith, and "All is well;" sometimes in strong 
 triumphant outburst, exclaiming success. In final 
 dying strains it whispers, in reminiscent tones, the 
 melody of youth with its fulfilled promise; and sings, 
 to the end, of the vision that gave him "music all the 
 way." 
 
 MacDowell played a most exacting and important 
 role in the march of life, winning enthusiastic praise 
 and warmest admiration from all observers. In the 
 interest of some not well acquainted with his heroic 
 life, which he dedicated to the cause of "Art for Art's 
 sake only," a brief biography is here inserted. Oftimes 
 when I have spoken much of his great achievements, 
 my audience has regretted that I have not told more of 
 him. Years back in the past, his grandfather, Alexander 
 MacDowell, was born of Scotch-Irish parents in Belfast, 
 Ireland. Later he came over to New York, and there 
 married a countrywoman, named Sarah Thompson. 
 They had one son, Thomas. Years after, Frances 
 Knapp, an American woman of English birth, became 
 his wife. To them on the 18th day of December, 1861, 
 in a home now destroyed by commercial progress, 220 
 Clinton Street, New York, was born Edward Alexander 
 MacDowell, named for father and grandfather. This 
 heritage of ancestral racial mixtures proved an endowed 
 legacy of potential influence and permeated the character 
 
 of his whole Hfe. 
 
 —42—
 
 For several years Edward was just the genuine 
 article called boy, fond of out-door life, delighting in all 
 sports. He bore none of the earmarks of an abnormal 
 prodigy, tho at an early age he exhibited signs of several 
 talents. His grandfather had been a Quaker, and 
 careers of Art, were not, in the opinion of that time, 
 good for the soul. Consequently, when his son Thomas 
 displayed a special skill for painting, it was too sinful 
 to be indulged — so the talent reluctantly repressed 
 in him was handed down to his son Edward, and by 
 him considerably developed. Edward was also an 
 insatiable reader of books, particularly of fairy-lore, 
 legendary literature, in all of which, in later years, he 
 became a recognized authority. He loved to write 
 poetry and composed many lovely bits, using them to 
 prefix his music. These poems are now pubUshed 
 separately in an attractive little book. It is said that 
 his school books were quite plentifully and uniquely 
 decorated, the margins of their pages being literally 
 covered with samples of momentary inspirations of 
 poetry and drawing. Happily, best of all, he gave 
 decided indications of musical talent, tho it has been 
 told he quite frequently went to his music lessons with 
 dirty hands, just Uke any ordinary boy coming from 
 school to his music teacher. As you see, his versatiUty 
 was at times almost an inconvenience, for as he grew 
 up he could not decide which career to choose. 
 
 When about eight years old he was given piano 
 lessons by Mr. Juan Buitrago — doubtless his first 
 teacher, and later was placed with Paul Desvernine. 
 Then he was fortunate enough to receive some in- 
 struction from Carreno, the beloved pianist so sorely 
 missed from our concert platform of today. She was 
 of great assistance and inspiration to MacDowell in his 
 boyhood ; and in future years, by playing his music upon 
 her programs everywhere, did much to make it known to
 
 the public. When he reached the age of fifteen his 
 parents decided he must commence to study system- 
 atically. According to the custom then deemed neces- 
 sary, now no longer considered desirable, of going to 
 Europe in order to complete musical education, his 
 mother took him abroad. He easily and successfully 
 passed entrance examinations to the Conservatory of 
 Paris, and became a pupil of Marmontel in piano and 
 Savard in theory and composition. 
 
 Please observe he was "going at" his study in the 
 right way, and knew that just taking piano lessons 
 would never make him a musician. Struggles with 
 various knotty problems now seriously confronted 
 him. Rules, generations old, of pedantry, routined 
 conservatism, ultra-arbitrary methods, all re-acted dis- 
 couragingly upon MacDov/ell's untrammelled, spontan- 
 eous temperament and caused several changes of 
 location and teachers, before the right atmosphere was 
 found. 
 
 From Paris, from Stuttgart, on to Wiesbaden he 
 searched — working a summer in this last named town, 
 under the famous pedagogue, Louis Ehlert. It was he 
 who wished Von Bulow to accept MacDowell as a 
 pupil, but who declined, remarking "he could not waste 
 any time on an American boy." 
 
 During this period of unrest, he gave much time to 
 drawing and his meritorious work attracted the interest 
 of eminent artists, who, by flattering ofifers of future 
 training, very nearly succeeded in robbing us of our 
 promising composer. His mother's influence deter- 
 mined his ultimate choice of a life work in favor of 
 music and multitudes of people render her grateful 
 thanks that he finally decided to paint with "brush 
 dipped in harmonies rather than colors." 
 
 —44—
 
 Incidentally, lasting tribute should be paid this 
 lovely, sweet-faced mother, Vv^ho could understand her 
 boy so well, and, with infinite patience and sympathy, 
 could so unerringly direct his footsteps. The world 
 would be seriously handicapped without the mighty 
 power of its mothers' songs of inspiration, courage, love. 
 The famous big-hearted mother, Schumann-Heink 
 has summed up motherhood in apt phrase, "When 
 God found he could not attend to all the little details of 
 this world, he made mothers." 
 
 No conscientious effort is ever lost; an apparently 
 fruitless season is really the most productive, for it 
 signifies the implanting of seed in a receptive mind. 
 The dark hour of its underground life often seems 
 long and despairing. Suddenly, some element, often 
 quite trivial to superficial perception, pierces thro the 
 surface soil, nourishes the seed, and lo, all at once the 
 green root fairly shoots up into full grown plant, matured 
 for harvesting. This vexatious period of earnest 
 thoughts, but disappointing results thro' which Mac- 
 Dowell passed, was like a seed-time, forcing upon him 
 the great importance of a thorough "within acquaint- 
 ance," vitally essential to the accomplishment of per- 
 fect self-advancement. At the same time he was 
 being provided with an external equipment of extra- 
 ordinary technique; also a broad foundation of a com- 
 plete knowledge of the theory of music. The soil was 
 constantly growing more fertile, and at last a ray of 
 sunshine brightened his disheartened hopes. 
 
 It appeared in the guise of a performance of the 
 well known "Tschaikowsky Concerto" in B fiat minor, 
 given by the pianist Nicholas Rubinstein, brother of 
 the famous Anton. This style of performance repre- 
 sented to him the epitome of the standards and methods 
 he had previously tho' vainly sought. All former un- 
 
 —45—
 
 certainty vanished. At length his highest anticipations 
 were fulfilled in the excellent Conservatory at Frankfort- 
 on-Main and the year, 1879, saw him ideally settled 
 there with Joachim Raff in composition and Karl Hey- 
 mann in piano. Both instructors v/ere, pedagogicaliy, 
 pillars of strength and ability, and their requirements 
 and expectations of the new pupil were most exacting 
 and exhaustive. Both men were exceedingly interested 
 in his exceptional talent and greatly loved him personal- 
 ly. In consequence, the following few years, MacDowell 
 thrived luxuriantly in an atmosphere of warmest sym- 
 pathy, idyllic surroundings and congenial associates. 
 
 Those were years, productive not only of splendid 
 pianistic, but of prolific creative results. During this 
 period, which might be termed formative or imitative, 
 he composed much interesting music. Probably the 
 best known works are the "First and Second Modern 
 Suites;" "Prelude and Fugue," for piano-forte; the 
 "First Concerto" in A minor for piano and orchestra, 
 now quite frequently used by foremost concert pianists; 
 two poems, "Hamlet and Ophelia" and "Lancelot and 
 Elaine" for orchestra; two opus numbers of very tuneful 
 pieces for piano, four hands; and several songs. 
 
 MacDowell has often been called a "tone-poet," 
 or "tone-painter." He, himself, admitted "making 
 use" when composing "of all the suggestion of tone- 
 painting possible," and wove into the harmonies of 
 his music his love of the picturesque and delineative. 
 He re-incarnated it, so to speak, with his pictorial 
 talent, a talent his conscience forbade him to waste. 
 Raff also is classified a tone delineator, so there existed 
 between master and pupil a close bond of marked simi- 
 larity and mutuaUty of interests. The death of Raff 
 in 1882, was a deep shock and grief to MacDowell, 
 from which his strong ^emotional nature was slow re- 
 covering. 
 
 —46—
 
 Luckily about this time he attracted the attention 
 of the musicians' patron saint, Liszt, and played for him, 
 among other things, his "First Concerto." The composer 
 afterwards dedicated this work to his generous bene- 
 factor in grateful appreciation. The unstinted approval 
 of Liszt was a most advantageous "Sesame," opening up 
 to him many public performances of high honor not 
 easily procurable and entailing impartial plaudits from 
 the German musical public. Indeed many nationalities 
 have learned to love MacDowell's music. 
 
 Unfortunately, pecuniary remuneration was not as 
 plentiful as required. MacDowell never so long as he 
 lived, condescended to produce a "pot-boiler," but 
 faithfully and tenaciously cherished his idealic standard 
 of Art. Therefore he found it impossible to accumu- 
 late material wealth. His mind, however, was enriched 
 with perfect satisfaction and sweet contentment, riches 
 of priceless value, of which no one could deprive him. 
 With his poet's nature, he was building himself a world 
 of romance, the quintessence of beauty, and was dwell- 
 ing therein, a romantic, in peaceful exclusion of outer 
 disturbances. 
 
 Meanwhile, unbeknown to him, the Fates were 
 busily determining his destiny. The thread of human 
 life was being spun, and twisted, and twined into a 
 marvelous design of incomparable texture. In the 
 hands of the Fates let us, for a few years, safely leave 
 our hero, hopefully dreaming and curiously speculating, 
 as almost every one does, upon the unknown future. 
 
 The Fates know that no romance is complete that 
 does not include a woman. So at their command the 
 thread of destiny must now be trailed clear across the 
 ocean, and the scene of our story must temporarily 
 be changed and laid in a Uttle exclusive town — called 
 Waterford, Connecticut. The object of our search is a 
 
 —47—
 
 new and exceedingly interesting character, Miss Marian 
 Nevins, who is now introduced to the reader as our 
 heroine. She was born (the exact year we considerately 
 refrain from mentioning) in one of those picturesque, 
 old fashioned New England houses, so peculiarly 
 fascinating and charmingly attractive. 
 
 Houses in that part of the country are historical 
 land marks, the owners highly valuing their age, and 
 the number of generations they have been in the same 
 family. Miss Nevins was the eighth generation to be 
 born in her old family home. As most of the houses are 
 generations old, and each generation has made some 
 addition or improvement as the family or modern way 
 of living necessitated, their style of architecture is 
 often very irregular, but decidedly alluring and attrac- 
 tive. The interiors are especially inviting, with im- 
 mense hospitable fire-places and heirloom furnishings. 
 It is a genuine pleasure to wander around one of these 
 homes, tho you need not be surprised to find you need 
 a guide to pilot the way. You are apt to find it puzzling, 
 and your sense of direction slightly mixed. Think of 
 the secrets, the romances, the thrilling tales of love and 
 death, those silent walls might reveal, could they but 
 speak! What chapters of history, what tragedies and 
 comedies have been inscribed upon their memories! 
 
 Marian was the eldest of six children, so undoubtedly 
 received considerable experience in assuming responsi- 
 bihties, one which was to prove valuable to her in days 
 to come. Like our hero, our heroine decided to go to 
 Europe for further musical education, and by queer co- 
 incidence she too went to Frankfort-on-Main, expecting 
 to study with Clara Schumann, Here, she also was 
 confronted with meaningless red-tape, for Frau Schu- 
 mann, regardless of the efficiency of an applicant, in- 
 sisted upon preparatory instruction of a year or so with 
 one of her daughters. As Miss Nevins had already 
 
 —48—
 
 acquired a very thorough foundational training of several 
 years from her aunt, Mrs. Roger Perkins, of Camden, 
 S. C, a most excellent musician, who after the vicissi- 
 tudes of the Civil War had come North to live, she re- 
 fused to spend so much time futilely. In an interview 
 later with Raff, whom she consulted for advice, he 
 unreservedly recommended MacDowell as a most 
 competent instructor. 
 
 This seems an opportune moment to repeat an 
 interesting bit of hearsay, concerning prospective 
 teacher and pupil. I do not vouch for its truth, it may 
 all have been mere gossip a "little bird told me," but 
 it has been said that neither MacDowell nor Miss Nevins 
 was overly pleased (at that time) with the arrangement 
 suggested by Raff. He was not eager for American 
 pupils, because they did not work seriously enough, and 
 were always seeking the "short cut" to knowledge; she 
 was disappointed for she had not traveled the long 
 distance to Europe to study with an American teacher. 
 Notwithstanding objections, the arrangement was ef- 
 fected. 
 
 For several years MacDowell preserved the role 
 of an earnest, painstaking teacher, promoting to his 
 best ability the musical advancement of Miss Nevins, 
 while she proved to be, contrary to his fears, an ex- 
 ceptionally apt and talented pupil. Work was a serious, 
 important problem to each one. 
 
 Happily Time, true to his reputation, proved a great 
 healer, and at the end of four years, both showed a 
 decided change of heart. Just when the relationship 
 of teacher and pupil became that of 
 
 "Lover" and "Sweetheart" 
 
 "the little bird" has never told, except to intimate that 
 the two most concerned did not seem to realize the 
 
 —49—
 
 transformation until the time arrived for Miss Nevins to 
 return to America. He may have hinted however, that 
 probably every one else around them had known con- 
 ditions for sometime, as the people most concerned are 
 the last ones in the world to discover what is an open 
 secret to all others. You know the whole world loves 
 a lover, and every one claims a right to watch him. 
 He is quite public property, yet luckily in blissful ignor- 
 ance of the fact. 
 
 How adorably sly the little God Cupid can be! 
 What pranks he and his tiny messengers do play upon 
 innocent people with their well-primed, sure-aimed 
 arrows ! Their results are sometimes slow, sometimes 
 quick, but usually sure, and the ways and means of 
 accomplishing them so effectively concealed that the 
 victims are quite unaware of danger. Most unob- 
 trusively do these agents transact their errands, and 
 quite blind, for the time being, do they make their 
 victims. 
 
 Therefore it is not at all surprising that Miss Nevins, 
 generally a most alert, wide awake person, never even 
 dreamed of their efforts in her behalf, nor imagined for 
 a moment that the Fates had issued orders to God 
 Cupid to place her name upon his list and "get busy." 
 In obedience to the command Cupid probably had 
 consulted his waiting list of names; had decided the 
 name of MacDowell v/as a substantial impressive one ; 
 had heard its possessor bore extraordinary qualifications ; 
 had concluded both candidates v/ere exceptionally 
 well mated so had dispatched his invisible messengers 
 to them, in order to make preparation for speedy ful- 
 filment of plans. Moreover Cupid had used much dis- 
 cretion in the execution of his plans. For four years 
 he had allowed them many opportunities to become 
 intimately acquainted and to cultivate a most con- 
 genial companionship, based upon mutual interests 
 
 —50—
 
 and ideals. Wisely he had builded for them the only 
 foundation upon which true lasting wedded structure 
 should be erected. 
 
 Very noticeably pervading MacDowell's music is 
 a quality, which lends it an indescribable charm and 
 power of unmistakable appeal. This quality is most 
 appropriately called "a heart interest," without which 
 music is nothing. No phase of human emotion seems 
 to have escaped this composer's sympathetic under- 
 standing. Much of his wisdom was gained by personal 
 experience, consequently acquired from a most practical 
 teacher. Therefore we do not wonder that he could 
 depict so well in the music of the "Lover" the various 
 stages of emotions, which doubtless exist in the mind 
 of a peculiar species during that particular period of 
 floundering uncertainty. 
 
 Very beautifully the "Lover" informs us his quest 
 is gravely important for the reward he covets is the 
 most valuable gift of God to man, a good wife. "Long- 
 ingly" his thoughts are turned towards the prize he 
 earnestly seeks. Emotion so over-strained he cannot 
 long endure ; man-like what he wishes he must have, he 
 "passionately" declares. Somehow this mood is not 
 satisfying, it quickly vanishes and gives way to one 
 more irresistible. He "sweetly" pleads his cause, 
 then, lest his masculine dignity and importance be 
 undervalued, he rather "expansively" submits the 
 merits of his side of the case. If you will notice, how- 
 ever, it is done in pianissimo tones as if he were not 
 quite sure of the strength of his arguments. Alas, 
 an occasional doubt (is it possible of his own unworth- 
 iness), creeps in, his confidence seems to waver, he 
 "questioningly" ponders, in hesitancy apparently in- 
 creasing, he grows "sadly" despondent. Gradually he 
 recovers an optimistic spirit, regains his confidence 
 
 — .il—
 
 and decides to put his fate to the test. This determina- 
 tion once declared, his normal condition is restored 
 and "serenely" he continues his day dreams, calmly 
 hopeful of a happy ending to them. 
 
 Now tho MacDowell found the mind of man easily 
 read, did not even he confront a changeless puzzle in 
 the mind of woman ! Perhaps even for him, it remained 
 unsolvable, sphinx like! Apparently he dared not 
 venture to translate so freely, even in music, the 
 thoughts that "simply," "sv/eetly" yet oft "passionately" 
 pass thru the mind of the "Sweetheart." Was it pre- 
 monition of a future loaded with responsibilities and 
 endless vicissitudes that makes the music of the "Sweet- 
 heart" seem permeated with some force stronger than 
 that of the "Lover"? Is it the strength, untold but 
 implied, that is always given a good woman, to preserve 
 her "pure and true as blades of steel;" that encases 
 her in an unassailable armor of self-sacrifice and faith- 
 ful devotion, and securely fortifies her to meet with 
 courageous endurance, any need, no matter how great. 
 To take much and be content with the present, is man- 
 like. Knowing she must give much, 'tis woman-like 
 to peer dimly into the future and listen for its voice of 
 promise coming down to her in faintest echo, "very 
 soft and as from a distance." 
 
 Was it mere coincidence or intention that the music 
 of the "Lover" and "Sweetheart" is in the same key, 
 and therefore the dominating chord of one is like that 
 of the other? Rather may we not believe it was be- 
 cause the ears of both were attuned to the same pitch. 
 
 So both heard as tho in kinship one theme, the 
 theme of love; and listened to the "sweetest story 
 ever told" in ages past or ages to come. Never has it 
 been told more beautifully than in the lovely music of 
 
 "An Old Love Story." 
 
 —52—
 
 "Music," they say, "is love in search of a word." 
 What words fail to express, it can. A heart's desire 
 is "simply and tenderly" disclosed in the soulful strains 
 of this charming miniature. "Very softly" its music 
 speaks, sometimes as a voice, sometimes as an accom- 
 paniment. "As soft as possible" it whispers of happi- 
 ness too deep for spoken words to mar the golden 
 silence; it bespeaks a reverential wonderment mingled 
 with a joyous knowledge that henceforth their Uves 
 would have not only "music all the way" but love. 
 
 Do you, reader, dare to doubt the power of love, 
 or place a limit upon its possibilities? Should you 
 by any chance be such a skeptic, learn of the love story 
 of Edward MacDowell and Marian Nevins. There is 
 no more notable love idyl in the history of the world. 
 Let it remain with you "to keep alive in your heart 
 the glories of life as you trudge over the hill of time 
 into the golden valley of the great sunset." 
 
 Now perhaps the liberty of romancing "without 
 license" has been taken in relating this story. It may 
 be MacDowell was not the lover whose love secrets 
 have just been exposed, nor this particular sweetheart 
 his pupil, Marian Nevins. Perhaps she did not hear 
 an old love story told in music's sweetness, but guessed 
 its truthful message written by him in words of poetry, 
 
 "And hand grasps hand at parting 
 Heart finds heart in song 
 Unspoken love sing tenderly 
 Twill last as life is long." 
 
 This may not be their romance at all, only, as was 
 forwarned, a fanciful tale, liable to happen to most any 
 one. No positive verification of it is herein offered. 
 However, for the benefit of those who are still earth- 
 bound and demand plain, unvarnished facts, the follow- 
 ing undisputable assertions are vouchsafed; that Miss 
 
 —33—
 
 Nevins returned to her home in America, that the 
 next year MacDowell followed, remained a month, 
 married his former pupil and carried her back with 
 him to Europe. These events occurred in June and 
 July, 1884. 
 
 Outward appearances, at least, all tended to con- 
 firm our story as truthful, and moreover again proved 
 that "where there's a will there's a way." Most 
 every one knows that "they lived happily ever after," 
 even tho life sent them vicissitudes enough to over- 
 come the most courageous hearts. "God gave them 
 love," "God gave them youth," therefore they had no 
 fear of the world. 
 
 After brief sojourns in London, Paris, Frankfort, 
 they settled, for 1885-86, in the quiet town of Wies- 
 baden. Later in 1887, MacDowell bought a tiny 
 house, just on the outskirts of the village, adjacent to 
 the woods, overlooking the Rhine and including about 
 half an acre of land. Here he devoted his entire 
 energy and time to composition, increasing his fame, 
 but not to any appreciable extent, the exchequer. 
 Fortunately his wife had a little money; still more 
 fortunately she was of a practical turn of mind. Tho 
 unacustomed to many of her new duties, she proved 
 an expert manager and made it possible for them to 
 remain there nearly four years. 
 
 In previous mention of compositions belonging to 
 this period abroad, I neglected to include in the list the 
 quite famous "Witches Dance." Besides, there are two 
 perfectly delightful books of sketches. One is called 
 "Six Poems after Heine," the poet whose poems Mac- 
 Dowell considered the most singable of that time. The 
 musical setting given them is very melodic and rythmic, 
 easily comprehended. This opus contains the widely- 
 played "Scotch Poem" loved for its mood of pathos and 
 
 —54—
 
 tragedy. The other book is composed of "Six Idyls," 
 charmingly delineative of nature phases. The "Flute" 
 is especially dainty with its tinge of wood freshness. 
 None offer technical difficulties. A romantic flavor is 
 attached to this opus. Mrs. MacDowell had suffered a 
 severe illness and was slowly recovering. She felt that 
 her husband was giving more attention to her than to his 
 music, so suggested he write a piece of music every 
 day for a week. The "Six Idyls," were the result of 
 his promise. 
 
 Is it not true that nearly every famous man of Art 
 or Science has needed and been aided by a good woman 
 before he has accompHshed his greatest work? An 
 old conumdrum queries — "Why have men greater 
 creative power than women?" The answer is equally 
 familiar. "Because woman has been directly or in- 
 directly man's constant source of inspiration." 
 
 For practically a quarter of a century, MacDowell 
 was divinely blessed with a companion, whose mentality 
 equalled his; whose musicianship placed her upon a 
 plane of understanding sufficiently high to enable her 
 to comprehend and promote his genius ; whose forceful 
 personality, energetic, practical nature was just the 
 complement of tonic and stimulant necessary to counter- 
 act his own super-sensitive, rather easily depressed 
 and naturally retiring disposition. Without her as a 
 source of inspiration one doubts if MacDowell would 
 have gained such starry heights. Furthermore it is a 
 great satisfaction to be able to offer this remarkable 
 example of marital felicity in contradiction to the oft 
 repeated assertion that domestic happiness is in- 
 compatible with artistic temperaments. Those early 
 wedded years were very happy ones; the hours busily 
 employed, with a few leisure ones passed in needed 
 recreation of simple pastimes. 
 
 — 55 —
 
 Some parts of Germany are very beautiful, con- 
 sequently MacDowell lived in the midst of lovely 
 natural surroundings. His spirit thrived by close 
 contact with Mother Nature; her beauty reacting upon 
 him like healing balm to a tired soul. Nature every- 
 where is filled with rhythms and melodies if one but 
 delve deep enough to find them. Our tone-poet was 
 singularly endowed with senses acutely attuned to 
 her oft unrecognized music. To this dear old mother 
 he confided his thoughts and she in return whispered 
 to him sweetest of strains, lovely harmonies which he 
 gratefully named in her honor. "In the Woods," 
 "To the Moonlight," "Silver Clouds," "The Blue Bell," 
 "Clair de Lune," "In the Forest," "To a Wild Rose," 
 "In Autumn," "Starlight," "To a Water-Lily," "To 
 the Sea," "The Joy of Autumn," "Summer Song," 
 ' A Humming Bird," are some of the dainty bits, charm- 
 ing musical phases MacDowell gleaned from the heart 
 of her. 
 
 Mrs. MacDowell's married life was one of un- 
 broken complete devotion to her husband's ideals, 
 of self-sacrifice and self-effacement, as generous and 
 unselfish as his — tho the world has been slower learning 
 of it. Very soon after their marriage she realized that 
 their "fairy palace" was not spacious enough to quarter 
 two active musicians. Then too there was no one to 
 attend to other essentials of living. Possessing a strong 
 determination and a mind of her own, moreover the 
 faculty of "quickly making it up," she wisely reasoned 
 that her husband's musical power being creative was 
 much more valuable than her own pianistic ability, 
 however promising and that the fruition of his labors 
 would be known and loved by all posterity. Therefore 
 she unselfishly decided, tho much against his wishes 
 to give up her own ambitions and bend every effort 
 of that astounding energy which to this day is a marvel 
 
 — 5G—
 
 to all who know her, to further his artistic development 
 and to preserve his physical condition. The abandon- 
 ment of her own promising career, after so many years 
 of training, is only one striking example of her wonderful 
 strength of character. There could be cited many 
 others. 
 
 F>raise and fame are very comforting to the ear, 
 but not sustaining to the flesh. Both the former poured 
 in plentifully, but greater pecuniary remuneration now 
 became imperative. Alluring inducements were made 
 to MacDowell to return to his native land, and so 
 persistent were they, that the year 1888, found him 
 comfortably settled in Boston — famous immediately 
 because of so much European prestige, besieged by 
 pupils and awarded enthusiastic recognition for his 
 compositions. Altogether the highly cultured atmos- 
 phere of Boston was just the suitable one to appeal to a 
 genius of lofty attainments. 
 
 Concert work was always a trial to him and only 
 force of circumstances prevented entire elimination 
 of public appearances. His playing of accepted classics 
 was strange and confounding to conservatives of firm 
 convictions. It amazed, electrified, but did not uni- 
 versally please. He was a virtuoso of astounding 
 dynamics, but his renditions were noticeably marked 
 by unheard of qualities for those days. It might have 
 been called ultra-modern in comparison and the tonal 
 effects produced by his originality of style were not 
 unreservedly received or wholly approved until he prac- 
 tically abandoned the performance of any music but 
 his own. As a composer-pianist he enraptured and 
 completely captivated his audiences, both by the music 
 and his dramatic interpretations. Programs of his 
 own works were demanded all over the eastern and 
 middle west country and for almost ten years he periodi- 
 cally concertized. Mention must be made here of the 
 
 —57—
 
 large number of compositions completed during Mac- 
 Dowell's time in Boston. Included among them are 
 the well known "Concert Etude," the "Marionettes," 
 "Twelve Studies," the familiar "Woodland Sketches," 
 many songs, the "Indian" suite for orchestra, the 
 splendid "Second Concerto," and greatest of all two 
 sonatas, "Tragica" and "Eroica." In the midst of 
 unsurpassed gratification and prosperity attending eight 
 years of Boston life, when his magnetic personality and 
 over-towering genius had made him a centre of musical 
 activities, MacDowell, after long consideration, decided 
 to accept the repeated proposal of Columbia University, 
 New York, to take the professorship of its department of 
 music. The regular income would banish all monetary 
 problems, thus relieving him of much anxiety for the 
 future of himself and wife. Besides he had long 
 cherished some specific views concerning pedagogical 
 ideas and methods, so he entered in 1896, upon his 
 new duties at Columbia highly elated at prospects of 
 unhampered exposition of his ideals. He also ac- 
 cepted the conductorship of the Mendelssohn Glee 
 Club, composing for its use several splendid male 
 choruses. 
 
 The future appeared most auspicious. With the 
 most prodigal energy he labored, sparing neither time 
 nor strength, until the responsibility of many burdens 
 grew overwhelming. Excessive over-work, and, sadder 
 still, bitter disappointment, caused by the lack of co- 
 operation accorded his deeply cherished aims and 
 plans for the musical department of Columbia culmi- 
 nated in his resignation from his position; also in re- 
 sultant nervous collapse. During the seven years 
 of terribly strenuous life in New York, days of cease- 
 less, intemperate labor, MacDowell produced his 
 greatest compositions. 
 
 But his work of composing had to be compressed 
 into brief vacation times, and under stress of stupendous 
 
 —58—
 
 concentration. Lack of time and unatmospheric en- 
 vironment tragically handicapped outpourings of spiritual 
 creations. "Back to Nature" was the continual cry of 
 his starving soul. The call was answered. After various 
 experiments in different locations, an idyllic place was 
 discovered about a mile outside the historic town of 
 Peterborough, N. H. It consisted of a farm of about 
 eighty acres, most of which was densely wooded. 
 Happily the price was not prohibitive, so the place 
 was soon purchased and MacDowell became a land 
 owner. Had it been made to order, no more beautiful 
 spot could have been found or even desired The farm 
 meant to him happiness personified, too deep for words 
 to express. 
 
 So he wrapped his joy around each beautiful note 
 and sent out to the world a musical message fairly 
 teeming with inmost emotion and revealing the feeling 
 of peace that comes when a vision dreamed begins to 
 live and endure. This wordless song he named 
 
 "A Deserted Farm." 
 
 To me it is his autobiography, condensed into two 
 short pages of manuscript, a marvel of concentration 
 and elimination, dramatic intensity and serene confi- 
 dence of hopes; a veritable musical embodiment of 
 the two supreme ideals of his own life. 
 
 Environment most poignantly and vitally affected 
 MacDowell's super-sensitive tendencies. He sympa- 
 thized with other artists suffering Hkewise from dis- 
 tasteful surroundings; was keenly alive to the fact that 
 all too frequently in proportion to the greatness of the 
 artist is the smallness of his financial remuneration. 
 That stern teacher, experience, had taught him only too 
 well that the daily problem of providing material ex- 
 istence was generally a grinding struggle and meant 
 
 —59—
 
 only too often the smothering and final death of the 
 spiritual. Rejoicing in the good fortune afforded him 
 by his retreat, a deep rooted altruistic spirit fostered 
 the wish to assist others to escape, similarly, a little 
 while each year from irksome toil; a generous heart 
 earnestly desired to help them find a haven of rest, 
 such as his, with perfect silence and undisturbed 
 leisure for development of God-given talents. 
 
 This philanthropic thought in the mind of Mac- 
 Dowell and also that of his wife (for she was always 
 his helper, heart and soul), gradually assumed the 
 form of a definite purpose, to make his deserted farm 
 some day this earthly Paradise for creative artists. 
 
 By the term artists MacDowell did not mean 
 musicians only, but included representatives from all 
 arts. He believed that artists were usually too self- 
 centered, contending that each one would receive 
 immense benefit if more closely associated with another; 
 also he strongly urged that each artist should acquire 
 sufficient knowledge of the other's art for intelligent 
 comprehension and sympathetic appreciation of it. 
 Nor did he merely theorize; he practised what he 
 preached. As an artist of extraordinary versatility 
 he could speak with the authority of self-experience. 
 
 MacDowell did not live to see his altruistic hopes 
 fulfilled, but since his death, his wife, by incredibly 
 heroic personal efforts, has already made his "dream 
 come true," and the once deserted farm now holds 
 such a wonderful unique niche in the world of American 
 Art that pages of words cannot proclaim half its glories. 
 The dream that now lives and throbs so vitally, was 
 one of the ideals of our greatest composer. 
 
 There was another one perhaps even greater; an 
 unwavering faith in the future of American music. 
 This faith never faltered— remained changeless through- 
 
 — GO—
 
 out all struggle and emerged triumphant from every 
 ordeal of discouragement and opposition. MacDowell 
 served as a pioneer in the cause of American music, 
 paved the way for its coming; day after day toiled un- 
 rewarded, his vision fixed upon the goal desired. For 
 this cause he sacrificed all, and died a martyr's death. 
 No American artist of today denies the rapidly ap- 
 proaching realization of this dream of MacDowell's. 
 
 Do you wonder that the music of "The Deserted 
 Farm" fairly pulses with beats of heart interest; that 
 each note is a throb of love for all humanity and his 
 beloved Art; that it vibrates with deepest feeling and 
 translates into two lovely "motifs" these wonderful 
 ideals? 
 
 The first "motif" typifies Peterborough, the material 
 realization of crying needs of mere physical existence; 
 it delineates nature's environment demanded by an 
 artist's delicate temperament which is spiritually starved 
 when transplanted from native soil, and consequently 
 stunted from fully developed growth. Some natures 
 are too ethereal, too near being God-like, to endure 
 harsh contact with the world's thoughtless throng. 
 MacDowell was one of these sacred beings ; his complete 
 expansion required certain nourishment. 
 
 The first theme consists of a restful bit of melody 
 and indicates, "with deep feeUng," peacefulness, per- 
 fect care-freedom, contented release from trammelling 
 conventionalities; its sweetness and serenity create 
 in the heart an emotion like "the quiet of the strength 
 one gets from God only." The music flows along as 
 meditatively as MacDowell many a time wandered 
 over hill and dale; lost in thoughts of how much the 
 deserted farm meant to him and would mean to others 
 like himself; rapt in visions of his honored art and the 
 increasing public appreciation of her value. The call 
 
 —61—
 
 of the future American music he clearly heard; just as 
 clearly he interpreted that prophetic call and introduced 
 it as the second theme. This opens with a single 
 note, that forcibly attracts and holds your undivided 
 attention and rings out in resolute but repressed tones, 
 clarion-like yet softly, distinctly penetrating. It must 
 be heard for it has a message of vital interest to impart. 
 Straining our ears to catch the sound of its voice, so far 
 no more than an echo, "as heard from afar," these 
 prophetic words are heard, "softly" floating down; 
 "Wait 'twill come," "Work 'twill come," "Just work, 
 just wait, 'twill surely come." The sounds "diminish," 
 the voice drifts into silence, the second theme dies 
 away, and the first theme returns. Once more its 
 repeated melody sings of contentment with droams 
 of the present, and unalloyed hope of the future. But 
 again the note of prophecy, still resolute, unvanquish- 
 able, rings to the end. Like unwavering faith it per- 
 sistently sounds above a minor chord, denoting the 
 present sadness, that so few could understand or 
 sense the significance of its message. A finale of 
 intermingled complete harmony reflects an illumined 
 vision, a revivified spirit, an undimmed trust in the 
 faith that makes a dream come true. 
 
 Upon the knoll of one of the gently sloping hills 
 belonging to the deserted farm stood (and still stands), 
 a picturesque, rambling farm house. The name given 
 it, "Hill Crest," was undoubtedly suggested by its 
 location, which commanded a panoramic vista of charm- 
 ing loveliness, an ever changing mosaic of green hills, 
 fertile pastures, stately tall pines, beauteous opalescent 
 sky. The house, and its connecting barn in true New 
 England style, was some distance from any neigh- 
 boring building, and its view open and far-perspective. 
 After the smoky, stifling atmosphere of the city, how 
 refreshing and invigorating the country's prodigal fresh- 
 
 —62—
 
 ness must have seemed to MacDowell; how often must 
 he have said, when wearied in body and sore at heart, 
 
 "My thoughts at the end of the long, long day 
 Fly over the hill and far away." 
 
 "Hill Crest" was remodeled somewhat and enlarged 
 by MacDowell, the addition of a music room being 
 perhaps the chief improvement made. There, in most 
 artistic surroundings, the composer put into tangible 
 form the marvelous mysteries concealed in his brain. 
 
 Still was MacDowell haunted by an unsatisfied 
 yearning. He desired even greater seclusion, in fact 
 longed for complete detachment from everything and 
 every one. The craving to draw still closer to the heart 
 of nature was finally appeased by building a tiny "work- 
 shop," placed beyond the possibility of any disturbing 
 element. The building was made of logs, grown and 
 cut from his own estate and consisted of one room 
 only; was protected in front and on one side by a small 
 porch and so situated upon a sloping hillside as to 
 give its supports the appearance of stilts. Domed by 
 bluest of skies the little house snugly nestled in a deep 
 pine grove, apparently perched in the tops of historic 
 trees. 
 
 The deeper silence MacDowell sought and here 
 found was broken only by the songs of the birds, the 
 whispering winds of the pines, the "whisk of the leaves." 
 To him these sounds were the voices of the fairies, for 
 his Celtic imagination peopled the enchanted woods 
 with the airy presences. 
 
 Who knows but what this super-sense, so subtle 
 and delicate, may have been a gift of the fairies. Surely 
 it must have been an insight more than human that 
 drew him from the world apart and inspired in him 
 
 —63—
 
 music sublime and divine enough to have come straight 
 from the spheres above — floating out thro the open 
 portals of Heaven itself. Truly could MacDowell 
 have said had he ever been self-confident, "I was at 
 one with the soul of things and knew myself fruitful." 
 
 "From a Log Cabin" 
 
 undoubtedly emanated the inspiration responsible for 
 the greatest creative period of his life. During the 
 eight years he was connected with Columbia, he com- 
 posed unceasingly and presented the world with price- 
 less musical treasures. These works are all monuments 
 of stupendous solidity and colossal dignity, and builded 
 in transfiguring beauty. The structure of nobility and 
 simplicity, colored so richly by originality and indi- 
 viduality will withstand the most discriminating opinion 
 of contemporary or posterity. 
 
 Important compositions identified with this period 
 of maturity include the well known "Sea Pieces," 
 "Fireside Tales," "New England Idyls," some lovely 
 songs and two unsurpassed sonatas — the "Norse" 
 and the "Keltic." 
 
 The Log Cabin is now a famous place and hundreds 
 of people journey yearly to view it. The visitor with 
 a kindred artist soul goes as a pilgrim to a shrine, 
 silent and reverent in worship, overcome by an emotion 
 utterly unspeakable. He feels indescribably conscious 
 of the nearness of an all-pervading presence and over- 
 whelmed by a deepening reaUzation of the pure nobility 
 of a great spirit and its far radiating mystical influence. 
 
 The plainness of the little building surprises the 
 average visitor. The interior is roughly finished, the 
 furnishings meagre as a poor man's cottage, including 
 only a few chairs, a wooden table and couch, a few 
 pictures upon the walls. It is indeed just a "work-shop." 
 
 —64—
 
 On the mantel are some fire arms, historical relics, 
 excavated by MacDovvell himself while digging in his 
 land. 
 
 Attracted by the large open fire-place, the one touch 
 of luxurious comfort to be found in the cabin, the 
 visitor's glance is arrested and fascinated by an in- 
 scription upon its hearth stone, evidently traced while 
 the cement was yet soft. The handwriting is that of 
 MacDowell; and the words, which one reads with a 
 feeling of intrusion upon an intimacy not intended for 
 public gaze, are the names of himself and wife — 
 "Edward and Marian." The inscription is brief, but its 
 meaning is indelibly significant. No greater homage 
 or loving tribute could have been paid by lover to sweet- 
 heart than this simple testimonial of perfect wedded 
 union. 
 
 It is said that no day ever ended without a few 
 moments at least being spent in interchange of thought. 
 Therefore it requires no stretch of the imagination to 
 see them, at the close of a toilsome day sitting "By 
 Smouldering Embers," dreaming dreams together, for- 
 getting disappointments and hardships in the comfort 
 of a great love, seeing visions in the fireUght "bright 
 enough in its dying color to bring hope for each to- 
 morrow." 
 
 Peculiarly expressive of the Log Cabin are the 
 words of MacDowell in dedication of it 
 
 "A house of dreams untold 
 It looks out over the whispering tree-tops 
 And faces the setting sun." 
 
 Reflecting upon the wisdom found in these words, 
 reluctantly the visitor departs from the house of dreams, 
 awe-bound as a disciple of old who has sat in learning 
 
 —65—
 
 at the feet of a Master. Lingeringly he descends the 
 moss covered stone-steps, leading down to the natural 
 spring of water, dug and walled by MacDowell. If 
 not too choked with emotion he may drink of its cool- 
 ness and then thoughtfully, silently wend his way 
 over path of wooden planks, uneven and worn by much 
 usage. Along the trail of ferns and flowers, thro the 
 dense pine forest, on and up he wanders, until, at last, 
 the open road is reached and there in front of him, 
 invitingly hospitable, hangs the white swinging gate 
 of "Hill Crest." 
 
 No matter how long the day, the close of it found 
 MacDowell going home. For him the swinging gate 
 meant the shutting out of all care, an opening into great 
 happiness. A few steps farther up to the crest of the 
 hill was home, and as he wearily climbed, in his heart 
 he gratefully, joyously sang, "In our home is deep rest." 
 
 "Epilogue" 
 
 " 'Tis but as when one layeth 
 
 His worn out robes away 
 
 And taking new ones — sayeth 
 "These will I wear today!" 
 
 So putteth by the Spirit 
 
 Lightly its garb of flesh 
 
 And passeth to inherit 
 
 A residence afresh." — Sir Edwin Arnold. 
 
 Thus for MacDowell was "the garb of flesh" put 
 by. It had been over-burdened, was wearied and 
 worn out. His heroic spirit heard a call, answered its 
 summons and "returned unto the God who gave it." 
 Peacefully he passed on to another home of rest, even 
 more perfect because eternal; entered another land of 
 greater promise, where the dreamer may pursue his 
 dreams and visions unhindered by trials or obstacles, 
 
 —66—
 
 unmeasured by time, where all things are possible. 
 "He is not dead, the Artist never dies." Let us not 
 think or write the word "Finis" to MacDowell's life. 
 For such as he was it not, rather, but just begun? 
 
 It is true a terrible un-understandable tragedy 
 hushed for earth his voice, and made a whole world 
 grieve and mourn and wonder why "so many pitchers of 
 rough clay should prosper and the porcelain break in 
 two;" caused aching hearts to doubt if the price the 
 dreamer must always pay for his dreams, the price of 
 life itself, were really worth while. Oh the seemingly 
 merciless toll of Death! 
 
 But did he toil in vain ! Does one not live "who dies 
 to win a lasting name!" Will not words extolling Mac- 
 Dowell's heroic life and tragic sacrifice be ever in the 
 mouths of men; ever in their hearts the sound of his 
 heavenly strains? Will not all musical humanity — 
 nay more — all humanity be wiser and better for his 
 suffering and loss; will not his memory be lastingly 
 cherished in loving tribute? Has he not but gained 
 a richly deserved promotion and reached a life of higher 
 service? God's messenger commanded, "Come to the 
 life of harmonies inexhaustible, it is tuned for thee." 
 And so he did but venture out upon the greatest of all 
 adventures, passed thro the "Gates of Mystery," 
 which in welcome swung wide open. Some one tells 
 us — "For music the very gate of Heaven stands ajar." 
 If this is true think of the exaltation of that life above, 
 for such as he. 
 
 And we — we have inherited the golden wealth of 
 his music, parting gifts, priceless, invaluable, for our 
 future encouragement and advancement. He showed 
 the way to a goal, he trod the lonely rough path of a 
 pioneer, that discovery of treasure by future seekers 
 might be made with fewer difficulties.
 
 On Jan 23, 1908, MacDowell's tired spirit left this 
 world. All that is mortal of him rests, in the utmost 
 simplicity befitting the tastes of his life, in a grave 
 situated upon a sloping hill belonging to his deserted 
 farm. A mound in the center of a grass covered lot, 
 surrounded by a low stone wall grown over with vines 
 and flowers, marks his burial place. A huge boulder, 
 roughly hewn in nature's own design, is the only monu- 
 ment, its solidity and lack of artificiality a fitting symbol. 
 Back of it rise two or three trees, their whispering tops 
 gracefully swaying to the rhythm of the gentle breeze and 
 breathing out to all who can hear, the message of hope 
 and love left us by the great soul of MacDowell, whose 
 body they are now so protectingly guarding. It is a 
 lovely spot, and overlooks the fertile farms and home 
 like dwellings of the village of Peterborough. The 
 gaze travels from them over tops of tall pines to far 
 off ridges of gently rolling mountains, the outUne of 
 their summits silhoutted against a wondrous iridescent 
 sky. The vista is far reaching and one of great beauty. 
 
 With eyes turned towards the golden west, as his 
 so often were, to face the setting sun; with heart filled 
 with grateful reverence, unspeakable and inexpressible, 
 these words come to the mind, words dedicated to 
 brave heroes like him, who have made the sacrifice 
 supreme for a faith, an ideal. 
 
 "For your tomorrow, they have given their today. 
 Their today, their everything, can you ever hope 
 repay?" — L. Isaacs. 
 
 The Fates spun for MacDowell a marvelous pattern, 
 in design inimitable. So swiftly did they accomplish 
 an almost incredible task, the time seemed to come 
 all too quickly for the cloth to be pulled off and cut from 
 the loom. They had spun in the morn of hope, in the 
 heart of noon, in the calm of evening, and their work 
 
 —68—
 
 had been wel' done. But the cloth was not quite 
 finished. It had been woven in fragments, had been 
 pieced together in blocks of the past and present. Those 
 belonging to the future were missing, were awaiting 
 "the loom of time." 
 
 For every mortal is conceived and drawn up a 
 perfect design, but its completeness is known only 
 to the All-Master Artist. He alone knows its entirety 
 and can finish it; He only can say "It is good and for the 
 best;" He only knows the reason why. 
 
 "A Weaver sits at the loom of time, 
 And weaves a cloth of wondrous art. 
 Fringed with the jewels of faith and hope. 
 
 Ne'er bought nor sold in earthly mart. 
 The Weaver is God, and the cloth He weaves 
 Is the golden cloth of the human heart." 
 
 — Carrigan. 
 
 Do Dreams live! What else in all this wide world 
 does live but Dreams ! 
 
 — G9-
 
 Interpretative Programs 
 
 OF 
 AND 
 
 Bta Mmxc 
 
 FOR 
 
 Music Clubs, Drama Clubs, General Clubs, 
 High School Music Students, etc. 
 
 For particulars address 
 
 MRS. GRAHAM F. PUTNAM 
 
 600 So. Rampart Street 
 
 Los Angeles, Cal.
 
 I 
 
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