MR

R. LAWRENCE GILMAN is the author of a book, "Stories of Symphonic Music." We allude to it here chiefly to show that there must be a public for such a volume, a public that wishes to know "the real meaning" of symphonic music, that hearers may not make foolish mistakes about symphonic poems by Strauss, Loeffler, Liszt and other composers of program music. The volume also shows the modern tendency among composers to translate a book, drama, picture into music. The old picture in Punch of an esthete "playing the plate" he has a highly decorated plate on the piano rack-would not now seem funny. Mr. Gilman's book, by the way, is a compilation, a collection of excerpts from annotated programs in New York, Boston, Chicago.

IT

T WAS SAID recently that Mr. Messager, in his endeavor to raise the performances at the Paris opera to a higher level, will produce "Faust" with great care and with a particular eye toward stage effects. Thus the duel will be fought in a snow storm. Why not in a thunder-storm or during the burning of Marguerite's house? Meanwhile, there is a lively discussion in Paris. Mr. Combarieu thought it his duty to write to the Temps that the decorations of "Faust" should be gothic, not those characteristic of the Renaissance. Ingenious gentlemen reply that the gothic period goes from the end of the 12th century to the beginning of the 16th; that there is no precise period that can be called gothic. We quote from the Guide Musical: "Here is the initial error of Mr. Combarieu, professor at the Sorbonne: the legend of 'Faust' is not one. of the Middle Ages, it is one essentially of the Renaissance. It is closely connected with the invention of printing." It appears that the legend was an invention of monks to aid in "the eternal war of the Roman Church against science."

Faust, then, should be represented in the first scene as a boss printer. His invocation to the devil would be all the more natural, and he might be fitly discovered rummaging a "hell-box." We invite the attention of Messrs. Conried and Hammerstein to this point.

O GO BACK to the learned Frenchmen. That "Faust" is of the Renaissance period is proved by the pictures of Tischbein in the first illustrated edition of Goethe's works; by the pictures of Kaulbach and by the decorations and costumes in the opera houses of Berlin, Munich, Vienna!

Mr. Blavinhac says: Miss Farrar first taught Parisians that Marguerite should not wear the fine dress of a Chatelaine. "It was an event when Miss Farrar appeared in the kermess scene with the head-dress of Magdalene in "The Mastersingers'." He insists that Marguerite was a peasant; others say she was of the bourgeoisie. And why should the maidens in the dance wear traditional ballet costume? Why should four young women in "tutu" and with diadems, pirouette nimbly? It's all wrong, cries out Mr. Blavinhac; these dancers. should be village maidens dancing in appropriate costume on allemande.

Mme. Sembrich once had her own opera company in this country, for she, too, has been We remember the dancers in in Arcadia. "Faust" were then dressed as Mr. Blavinhac would have them, and they danced as the German maidens in the country dance to-day. The scene was one of simple merriment, and it was in keeping with the story, but nine-tenths of the audience would not have it.

T

HEN THERE IS poor Siebel. It is asked why he is dressed so that he seems to belong to neither sex, with a Henry II. cap, yellow boots and a short and snugly fitting coat. We have seen strange operatic sights during the last thirty years and certain Siebels have been among them, but never have we seen the enormity of yellow boots. What self-respecting contralto or mezzo-soprano would in this country consent thus to hide her attractiveness, to put aside the chief excuse for taking the part?

Mephistopheles, these deep thinkers say, should wear neither a red, a gray, nor a black costume, nor should he follow the example of a distinguished Russian singer and show a vast expanse of singed skin. We remember that when Mr. Maurel appeared at the Paris opera in 1880 as Mephistopheles, he was criticised adversely for wearing a black cloak, and the red costume of Faure and Gailhard was preferred as being more in keeping with the

"somewhat carnivalesque" demon of Gounod. The modern would-be reformers say that the manager should read Goethe whose Mephistopheles has the appearance of "ein fahrender scholasticus"; his hair is red and curled close to his head, and he has a goat's hoof so that he limps. "But if Mephistopheles should not arise through a trap, all in red, the audience. would demand back its money."

Not long ago Miss Garden wore a black garment at Brussels in the last scene, instead of the traditional white or gray, and for this "daring innovation" she was criticised adversely. There are some that take opera very seriously.

TH

HE Pan-Celtic Congress endeavored to identify the sackbut mentioned in the Book of Daniel-“Then an herald cried aloud, To you it is commanded, O people, nations, and languages, that at what time ye hear the sound of the cornet, flute, harp, sackbut, psaltery, dulcimer, and all kinds of music" with the modern bagpipe. This goes with the old legend that the British Isles were first colonized by the Lost Tribes, and that Gaelic, not low Dutch, was the local dialect in the Garden of Eden. This identification of the sackbut is nothing new. The name of this instrument of Nebuchadnezzar's band is "sabeca" in the original, and it was unfortunately translated into English "sackbut." The sackThe sackbut of Europe was a kind of bass trumpet, but the "sabeca" was in all probability the "sambuca," a harp known to Greeks and Romans as "an ingredient of Oriental luxury." The sambuca was probably a large and powerful harp, though some think it might have been a small harp of high and shrieking pitch. The great harps of the Egyptians stood nearly seven feet high, and they were fitted with 18 sonorous bass and tenor strings. (See Rowbotham's gorgeous description of Egyptian instruments in his "History of Music," not the little condensed and dry edition, but the edition in three volumes, one of the most fascinating and at times incredible books in the whole range of musical literature.)

N CHICAGO Mr. Theodore Butawitz, who reveres the classics, lives over Mr. Michael Hodowicg, a violinist, who delights in ragtime music. Mr. Butawitz at last could stand it no longer. He visited the violinist, and he besought him to play something more elevated and refined. Mr. Hodowicg answered, rudely it must be confessed, that if he did not appreciate his music, he could move out. Blows followed and Mr. Butawitz took up the fiddle and bushed the owner on the head with it. On the following day, a warrant was issued for the arrest of the lover of the classics.

We read this story of æsthetic disagreement and the same day learned that Sir Walter Parratt has practically proposed a censorship of music. "There is a very pressing need," he says, "for the weeding out of the many socalled musical compositions on the market today. Many are written in a sentimental vein which is most objectionable and deteriorating in tendency.. I know of a certain popular piece of music, I will not mention its name, which has done an infinite amount of harm to the world."

glossy appearance to the human hair. As a proof of this, the most distinguished violinists are never bald even at an advanced age. We learn from the Los Angeles Herald a pathetic story of the helpful influence of the violin. To Maud Powell, we are told, was addressed a long poem "written by a recently bereaved widower, name unsigned, who had received. surcease of sorrow in the beautiful strains of "Traeumerei,' which Miss Powell played one night as an encore at a concert given in his little town in a far western State. His sorrow had been bitter and inconsolable, but while listening he seemed lifted above himself. Sweetness entered into his sorrow, a new courage came to him, and he felt that he could take up the threads of life once more."

Ο 3

NE OF THE MOST honest criticisms that we have read in late years was published in the Denver News, November 2. Cavallo's orchestra had played Bach's suite in D and Tschaikowsky's fifth symphony. "The Bach composition was played without French horns, or trombones, or a tuba, or clarinets, or bassoons. Tschaikowsky used all these instruments, worked them hard, and got some of his very finest effects out of them. One of the most pleasing parts of the symphony is what you might call a French horn solo with the strings accompanying that comes in the second movement. That isn't a technical musical description of it, but you know what I mean."

T

HE Rochester (N. Y.) Post Express paid this doubtful tribute: "Alfred Reisenauer is dead at the early age of 43. Those whom the gods love die young." Of course this depends on what you call young. Youth, as Liszt is reported to have said, is the time for virtuosity-which is a hideous word, but what word is there to take its place?

When Reisenauer was wholly himself, his playing had a singular, peculiar charm. He was pre-eminently a player of Liszt's music, and as he interpreted it, this music was taken from the circus ring and brought into the concert-hall. As an interpreter of Liszt, he was never vulgar, never sensational. He did not call attention to the bravura passages. They grew as beautiful foliage on a graceful

tree. Nor did he suggest in the accomplishment of any tour de force the wish that the pianist had donned a sweater for his convenience and comfort. And in the music of other composers, Reisenauer was often poetic, often impressive.

When he was himself! Alas,

He fell far through that pit abysmal, The grief and grave of Maginn and, Burns.

In other words, he was given to the injudicious use of strong waters.

R

EISENAUER had a vexing trick in his concerts; the habit of modulating at considerable length between the pieces and using in the modulation thematic material of the piece he had just played. But all pianists have their mannerisms, even Mr. de Pachmann, who lately confided to an audience in a

western town that a certain note he had struck was "bum." What a pleasure it would be if every pianist were to point out the merits and failings of the piano then used as he went from piece to piece!

It is an acknowledged fact that great pianists will play a certain piano when they secretly prefer another. Their duty in honor is to exhibit to its best advantage the instrument which they have been hired to play. It is a custom in newspaper offices not to mention in praise or blame any piano used in a concert. The reasons for this rule are obvious. But see how handicapped both pianist and critic. are in consequence of this rule. Mr. Hammerkius is known first of all as a colorist, as

a singer on the keys.

a singer on the keys. We all praised him when he played a piano that served him gladly in his mixing of colors, in his flowing, exquisite melodic lines. What is to be said of him when he plays an inferior instrument, when his fingers strike a board or a pan? The man is the same. His characteristics are the same. He can be seen attempting to work the old, familiar, irresistible spell, but the ear does not recognize the player. Yet for the critic to say that Mr. Hammerkius lacks color, cannot sing a melody, has a dry and clattering touch, would be absurd. It is a pity that pianists are not as violinists in this respect. There is no descendant of an old Cremona house to buy a fiddler; there is no rival to outbid a descendant.

Recollections of Franz Liszt.

By FELIX WEINGARTNER.

Felix Weingartner published, not long ago, in the Neue Freie Presse of Vienna, an article giving his recollections of Franz Liszt, with

whom he had close relations at the outset of his artistic career. They are interesting as throwing light both upon Liszt and upon Weingartner. From this article we translate some of the most significant passages.

Mr. Weingartner speaks thus of his first visit to Weimar: In the spring of 1882 I went for the first time to Weimar. Konrad Ansorge, then a fellow-student of mine at the Leipzig Conservatory, had encouraged me to write to Liszt and ask him whether I might not submit some of my compositions to him. I had to overcome a certain reluctance to do so, for I certainly expected to receive no answer, and I imagined Liszt, though he lived only two hours away from me by railway, as dwelling inaccessibly remote, in a lofty and magnificent palace, surrounded by a halo of glory. But the answer came by return of post, and written in his own hand, that he would be glad to see me any afternoon, between 3 and 7 o'clock. These were the hours at which he received artistic aspirants on previous notice, that they either might give him a proof of their powers or, as listeners, hear what he had to say to others. Individual lessons he did not give; and he took no fees. The term "Liszt pupil"

is therefore to be understood in a most comprehensive sense; many have assumed the title who have no right to it.

So Ansorge and I proceeded to Weimar. After an hour of devotion at the shrine of Schiller's last dwelling-place, we betook ourselves to Liszt's abode, the "Hofgartnerei,' which was not in the least like the palace of my imagination. The first impression might well have discouraged a new-comer. Even as I mounted the steps I heard a violent tonguelashing in progress. When the door was opened, I perceived Liszt in the midst of people, standing by the piano at which a pale young man sat, who must have been playing very badly, for Liszt was giving him a good dressing down. "Do you suppose I am here to wash your unwashed linen?" he cried in a towering rage, throwing the notes on the top of the piano. Hardly ever, even at the

most wretched sort of performance, have I seen him so angry as on the occasion of our first meeting.

The young man stole away from the piano like a wet poodle and Liszt turned violently around, whereupon his eyes lighted by chance. upon me; at once he quieted down and looked at me inquiringly. I mentioned my name and recalled to him my letter. "Good, good," he murmured and extended a friendly hand. I admired the self-control with which he had so speedily mastered his irritation toward the stranger. Now I looked at him more attentively. The thin, tall figure that I had expected from his pictures I did not find. He was stout, and his back was considerably bent, which made him seem shorter than he really was. Strikingly bright eyes shone from his mighty head, from which long, snow-white hair hung in undiminished fullness. His walk was somewhat shuffling.

There followed now some unimportant performances, which Liszt interrupted to warn and correct. At times he played a few measures himself; and it was remarkable to see with what ease he mastered technical difficulties over which others would have broken their

fingers. Not till later, however, was I to gain a conception of the real significance of his piano playing. piano playing. Then an almost gnome-like young man sat down to the piano and thundered out I have no other word to express his style of playing-Chopin's great A-minor étude. All were speechless with amazement. Liszt, raising his hands on high, cried: "It is wonderful! wonderful!" and embraced and kissed the player. It was Eugen d'Albert, who soon thereafter began his triumphal progress through the world.

Finally I was called on to play. I had brought some of my own piano pieces, which later appeared under the title "Phantasiebilder." An unexpected harmonic progression in the first measures caused Liszt to call out to me an encouraging "bravo!", which he repeated at a later passage. In the third piece I slipped up in a passage for the left hand. "Don't flounder," he interrupted, stopping my hand; "they do that only in-the conservatories." And I had to play the passage again, which this time went perfectly. Liszt always spoke ill of conservatories and lost no opportunity to vent his scorn on them. He was fond

of speaking of them as "stale omelettes." Only of the Vienna Conservatory he thought somewhat more highly. After I had finished he invited me to come often, and then my first visit was ended.

About a week later I went to him again; but this time only listened. This second visit was to me remarkable in that I heard one of his larger compositions for the first time. Two of his pupils played on two pianos the "Festklänge." At a certain very graceful passage I could not suppress an exclamation of pleasure, which caused Liszt, who stood near me, to stroke my cheek gently. I still love the rarely played "Festklänge" extremely; it is throughout fresh in invention and of splendid orchestral effect. The next time I saw Liszt was in the summer of the same year, at the time of the first "Parsifal" performance; it was in Wagner's house, "Wahnfried," where I had been introduced by Heinrich Porges, the "Blumenvater," as the trainer of the chorus of flower-maidens was called. In this brilliant company I avoided forcing myself on him; but I was witness of a pretty scene. Liszt, who had just arrived that same evening, was called into a side room, into which, through a half opened portière, I could look without indiscretion. Suddenly Wagner rushed in and flew upon Liszt's neck. It was at once comic and touching to see how the little man sprang in uncontained joy upon Liszt, whose figure, though bent, far overtopped his. Soon thereafter appeared Wagner, whom I saw then for the first time, on Liszt's arm among the guests.

Not till the next summer did my relations with Liszt become of more importance. I had finished an opera, "Sakuntala," in the autumn of 1883, and asked him by letter, this time with more confidence, to give me his judgment on the work. On receiving his favorable reply, I went to Weimar with the intention of joining the next general meeting on the following afternoon. But on the morning after my arrival-I do not know how Liszt had had news of it-his servant appeared with the invitation to come at once and bring the opera with me. I stood for the first time alone before the mighty one. When he had opened the score, he first praised my clear hand-writing; then he read in it for quite a while. Finally he asked me to leave the score with him and come again in the evening, to play him some of it. "Then

there will be nobody else here," he said, "only I will tell Hofkapellmeister Lassen, and Otto Lessmann of Berlin, who is here. It will be useful to you if these men hear some of it."

In the evening I played and sang, as well as I could, the first act, which Liszt kindly praised. The other two men also expressed themselves very favorably concerning my first dramatic attempt. Liszt, after he had spoken at great length about certain passages of the score, invited me to supper and at the same time advised me to settle in Weimar. He should stay there this time longer than usual, he said, and then I should come to him constantly. I agreed, overjoyed, and soon Weimar became my home.

Now began a period of my life rich in stimulating experiences. . . . . In Liszt's house were gathered artists and interesting personalities from all countries. Naturally pianists were largely in the majority; among them Friedheim, Reisenauer, Sauer, Stavenhagen, and Siloti, who were staying in Weimar. But singers came too, as well as 'cellists and violinists. A favorite guest was the harpist Posse of Berlin, who always greatly delighted Liszt by his talented playing. Almost every afternoon there was a meeting at the house of the master, as we called Liszt. He chose the players and their order without any definite plan; his comments were short and to the point. He praised heartily and without reserve when good work was done. good work was done. Blame he often concealed in the guise of sarcastic circumlocution, but not every one was keen enough to understand him rightly, and that was often taken for praise which in reality was sharp criticism. Incompetence often had to come out clearly, if he should become impatient; but even then he could often find a word that at least apparently softened the blame. Once a very pretty young lady was playing a ballade of Chopin's in a quite amateurish fashion. Liszt walked excitedly about, murmuring, "Holy ding-dong! holy ding-dong!" We were all curious to see what would follow. When she had finished, he went to her kindly, laid his hand as in a blessing on her hair, kissed her forehead and murmured to her, "Marry soon, dear child-adieu!"

Breathless silence fell on the assembly when the master himself sat down to the piano. If he felt in the mood, he would play consider