Scan 10
Musical Courier 1896-07-15: Vol 33 Iss 854, 1896
46 lines. Read by computer on 23 September 2026, twice; the two readings disagreed in places. Printed page 11. See the scan on archive.org.
A town on its own line is one of the directory's headings. That is where the town on a maker's page comes from.
1ous canons of the waltz demanded the heroism of a stoic. Night after night have I circled slowly round my bedroom, overturning the water jug, barking my legs against the washstand, upsetting chairs with a crash, and bringing up the elders of the household to be informed in breathless accents that I was practicing the trois temps!" I recall the fascinated gaze with which I watched the toes of the stolid youth executing this step with absolute precision, while the little fiddler played Il Bacio, another of the airs which have haunted me with fiendish iteration since those days. I suspect that old Molyneux enjoyed this distemper. When he gave me my first lesson in the waltz he put me in the middle of the room with three or four equally luckless wights, and made us shuffle on one foot and then on the other in preliminary idiocy. He attached tremendous importance to this movement, and so we were kept for days like helpless colts, forlornly pawing the floor, while a grim amusement flickered across the face of the girl for whose encouraging smile I would have sacrificed a world full of pocket knives and marbles.
3But patience conquers much, and there came a time when I thought myself entitled to stand before her, and make the bow which was the invitation to dance, unaccompanied by any form of speech. Talk was sternly discouraged by old Molyneux, as incompatible with the sound principles of his art; and indeed there was usually little disposition among the pupils to converse, the preference of soul for soul being indicated by a deflection in the small of the back. The occasion when my courage mounted high was the night of the annual ball. This drew a great muster to the town hall, where old Molyneux was resplendent as master of the ceremonies, and Miss Molyneux, released for once from the duties of the class, struck us dumb by floating round the spacious ballroom in the arms of grown-up cavaliers, with real mustaches, who seemed to dance by instinct, and who smiled superciliously at the negus. The stolid youth was there, but I felt that my opportunity must come. I had let several waltzes pass without putting it to the hazard, but there was plenty of time. I was gaining confidence every moment, and, at any rate, before half-past nine by my new silver watch * * * What was that? There was a lull, and in the midst of it I thought I heard my name. Yes, old Molyneux was calling me. Before the assembled hundreds he announced a hornpipe, and with horrible distinctness recited the names of the performers, mine among them. A hornpipe! And I, in a tail coat for the first time, was summoned to lead the wretched band in this humiliating exhibition! Expostulation was useless; and amidst the titters of the spectators I folded my arms in grotesque imitation of the traditional sailor, and was followed by a train of gradually diminishing proportions, the rear being brought up by a mere infant who had barely reached the stage of knickerbockers! How the speechless misery of that episode comes back to me, with old Molyneux's painfully audible rebuke when I shamed him in the presence of the town by deranging the figures of this nautical abomination! Who invented the hornpipe? Let his memory be accursed!
5Was it that exposure which steeled your heart against me, O maid with the brows of night? I cannot tell. In those days, as I have said, we never told nor love nor hate, and the language of our emotions was primitive enough to interest a Darwinian. All I know is that when the first bars of a melody, strange intoxicating, utterly unlike the tiresome jingle of the familiar Il Bacio, rose from the orchestra, I stood suddenly in front of her and humbly made my beseeching obeisance. She did not move, and when I looked up the black brows were frowning, and with a quick shake of the head she turned away. I was rejected, and yet the liquid notes of the violins, and the mellow rapture of the great bass fiddles, and the thrilling murmur of the harps pursued their way through Johann Strauss' incomparable waltz, the Beautiful Blue Danube! All its drowsy sweetness flows over me now with endless memories wedded to the music. To many a middle-aged man, I fancy, those strains must bring back a joyous company of associations, all the romance of the springtime of life, when youth and pleasure met to chase the happy hours with flying feet. They bring back to me the instant when the whole world seemed surging with disappointment in the ears of a sentimental boy, while an enchanting melody stole through his brain in cunning fantasies of sound.
7In Vienna they are celebrating Johann Strauss' jubilee. I offer this little tribute to his magic.—The Speaker.
9MME. D'ARONA, PRIMA DONNA. one of two readings
10MME. D'ARONA, one of two readings
11PRIMA DONNA. one of two readings
12Voices developed from foundation to stage.
13Analytical and synthetic special courses (with diploma) for teachers and professionals.
14Grand Opera in German, Italian, French and English.
15Oratorio, Concert, Church, &c.
16124 East 44th Street, NEW YORK. one of two readings
17124 East 44th Street, one of two readings
18New York. one of two readings
20had solemnly maundered about Sheridan's habits, ability and parliamentary record?
22* * *
24A composer said the other night that no critical review written immediately after the performance of new work could be respected highly by musicians. One of his arguments was this: "It is unfair that a work which has cost the composer a year or two years of patient labor should be condemned after one hearing." Mind you, he said "condemned," not "praised."
26Suppose an inventor has spent years on a machine. The day of trial comes. The machine does not work to the satisfaction of those who need it. Of what avail is the pathetic loss of time and mental strength? The machine does not work.
28If a new composition contains good stuff, the goodness will be appreciated at once by the trained and the sensitive. Further hearings may modify opinions concerning points of detail. Intrigue or an outrageously bad performance may do the composer injustice, especially in opera. But a new orchestral work is pretty sure to make an impression one way or the other when it is first played, if the orchestra is a respectable one, and the conductor a musician of reasonable intelligence. It is true that instrumental works of Beethoven were condemned by some after the first hearing; but the records show that others praised, and the loudest objectors were professional musicians. I do not say that the opinion of anyone is final. There are the prejudices of education, milieu. I believe firmly, however, that, as things go in this wicked world, a first impression is more likely to be strictly just than that formed after much pondering and talk.
30* * *
32And now comes Eduard Hanslick with the seventh volume of Der Moderne Oper, a review of the chief works produced and the chief performances at Vienna from 1891 to 1895. It is an irritating, delightful book. There is many a page that provokes a feeling akin to anger. You would like to sit down with the old gentleman and argue with him. Thus, his review of Tchaikowsky's Sinfonie pathétique is absolutely maddening. On the other hand, his fulsome praise of Brahms' later works reveals him as the mad partisan rather than the discriminating critic. And yet how sound his judgment often is! The gregarious enjoyment of an audience does not seduce him; he keeps a cool head although he hears the shouting and sees the caps tossed in air. Read the reviews of two operas by Massenet, Werther and La Navarraise, and admire the shrewdness, the wisdom and the kindliness. Read the reviews of the lurid operas of the Italian ultra-modern school. He is quick to see the failings; he is equally quick to recognize dramatic ability. Age has not impaired the vigor of his expression; nor has it dampened his enthusiasm for that which he loved in mature manhood as well as in youth. The wit is still keen. The style is still free and yet polished. The voice of authority is neither broken nor querulous.
34* * *
36Mr. Edward Dickinson asks in Music for July, "Why have not these essays (Musikalische Charakterköpfe) of Riehl been translated long ago? There is no music criticism in the English language comparable to them in literary charm."
38Perhaps one reason why they have never been translated is because they are practically worthless. I remember Riehl well at Munich, and in '84 I attended his lectures on musical history. He was a large, pompous person, who had given his attention to music "at one time," as Dorothea's father in Middlemarch was in the habit of saying. As a lecturer he conveyed misinformation in a charming manner. He was in love with his own phrases and he smacked his lips after a sounding sentence. His researches were confined to the reading of books by Kiesewetter and Fétis. Yet in his way he was a rather magnificent apparition as he stood before the audience. Never shall I forget the emotional manner in which he described the death of Da
40Published by G. SCHIRMER, New York.
42EUGENE GRUENBERG.
43The Violinist's Manual.
44A Progressive Classification of Technical Material, Etudes, Solo Pieces, And the most important Chamber Music Works, AS WELL AS A Short Synopsis of the Literature of the Viola, TO WHICH IS ADDED HINTS FOR THE VIOLINIST.
45Flexible Cloth, 75 Cents.
The computer misreads some letters and numbers. Where a name matters to you, read the scan.