and with the piano vibrated Liszt, and all of us, and the entire hallafter all these wonders he arose; radiant with the aureole of his renown (you remember how his face is transfigured when he is playing), and was instantly surrounded by his guests, especially the ladies, who always and everywhere overwhelm him with compliments. People of our sort find it rather difficult to say anything whatever to him. Liszt is so frightfully clever, so surfeited with adulation, that any expression of enthusiasm must seem to him like a platitude. Still, I felt unable to renounce the pleasure of saying a word or two to him; he was really pleased, and pressed my hand heartily, remarking: "Trève de compliments, my new old friend!" (That naturally gives me a right to add, on my visiting-cards: "Amico di Liszt.") Following the Rhapsodie, Miss Genast (the daughter of an actor and singing-teacher in Weimar) sang very charmingly two songs by Liszt "Über allen Gipfeln ist Ruh" (Goethe) and "Loreley" (Heine). He himself accompanied her. The "Loreley" is supremely beautiful. The fiancé of this young lady, a baritone by the name of Suppe (almost a tenor, very nice, but limps), sang two Hungarian songs and the Italian melody "Angiolina" by Liszt, accompanied by his betrothed, who also plays piano well. Then "he himself" played again, this time his Don Juan Fantasy (with a good many cuts-he omitted all the variations on "Là ci darem la mano"). Therewith ended the concert, for which many would have been glad to pay no end of money!-And now, what can one say to people who assert that Liszt has forgotten how to play on the piano, or to others who deny him a talent for composition!! We supped at small tables in two rooms (champagne, truffles, ices). Liszt seated me in the place of honor, that is, next to himself (on his right sat the very pretty Miss Genast). Tell me, may I not rightly say of myself that I am dwelling somewhere on Olympus? I can't imagine how I ever got up there. After such a life, and the very lonesomest hours in my workroom at Weimar, I shall find it hard to become accustomed to the incalculably inferior existence with K. G. Golizyn. There's quite a distance between him and Olympus. Seroff's immense enthusiasm for the individuality of Liszt as a man and as an artist, seems not to have failed of response. Liszt was also partial to Seroff, otherwise he would hardly have kept him for a month as a guest in his own house. A letter written by Liszt on July 1, 1858, to von Lenz, the searcher after Beethoveniana, contains many flattering allusions to Seroff. The language of the original was French: My acquaintance with Seroff was productive of great pleasure to me. The style in which he interprets Beethoven, penetrating his inmost thought, gave me a high opinion of his musical intelligence ("sens musical"). He is possessed of a spiritual sense of hearing that can be replaced by nothing else. We chat with him unconstrainedly, and understand each other. His arrangements of the last Beethoven quartets for two pianos are excellently made. If he will take a little further trouble with their revision, he can easily attain to the highest perfection. To this end we have played his arrangements over and over again— what a stupid word "play" is in such cases, unless, by the term “play, we understand an outpouring of soulful emotions, free as the forces of Nature. Notwithstanding all the difficulties one encounters in persuading a publisher to accept compositions for two pianos, I am going to try to get these arrangements by Seroff printed. They possess, in my opinion, a valuable significance for art by making propaganda for the study of the masterworks on which they are founded-these chefs d'œuvres which have hitherto had a far too limited circulation. With this critique Seroff might well have been content; he doubtless would have been so, had it come to his knowledge. In the course of a few years the relations between Liszt and Seroff were to suffer a slight derangement. In the summer of 1863 Seroff again met Liszt in Carlsruhe. The latter, who was conducting a musical festival there, saluted his Russian friend with open arms: "Mon cher tartare, soyez le bienvenu!" Seroff had never ventured to show his own compositions to Wagner, whom he revered like a god. His association with Liszt was of a wholly different sort. Naturally, he was very desirous to hear what Liszt thought of his opera "Judith," which had recently obtained signal success in St. Petersburg, and the score of which he had brought with him. Liszt also was probably glad of an opportunity to examine the work of the Russian composer whose "sens musical" he so highly esteemed. He laid down the piano transcription (which had been made in part by the unpractised pen of the composer's wife) with the remark: "Mais où diable avez-vous pêché cette fichue d'écriture et ce clavier de l'autre monde!" and caught up the score. As to the further development of this scene we find, in Mme. Seroff's "Memoirs," a very vivid account. Now the problem was, to play from the score. Masterly though the titanic musician's command of the orchestra was, he did not succeed in reading Seroff's complicated orchestration quite smoothly. Besides, the Russian text stood in the way of a complete understanding of the work. When he had finished the first act, Liszt exclaimed: "Comment? Tout un acte avec des juifs, les cruches en l'air demandant de l'eau? Cela n'est pas amusant, parbleu!"-So, when he began the second act, the whole spirit of the occasion was spoiled; a "wrong note" persisted in sounding; both player and composer were malcontent and groaning, so to speak, under a heavy burden. Seroff, without the least zeal or animation, explained the scenario; Liszt merely played "correctly"; evidently, Judith and Aura were fully as uninteresting for him as the weeping Hebrews. For the time being, however, the two friends remained outwardly calm. Suddenly Liszt stopped, and said: "Here the harps cannot make themselves heard."-"I have heard them precisely thirty-two times," replied Seroff, dissembling his irritation.-"I tell you, they cannot be heard-harps in the middle register always sound weak." "I have heard them thirty-two times!" repeated Seroff in an irascible tone. After this incident it was of course impossible to go on playing. Liszt arose, and frankly acknowledged that the opera did not please him. Noticing the expression of embarrassment on our faces he continued with decision and, so it appeared to me, with the utmost sincerity: "This opera does not please me, it is not sufficiently interesting. It is only to my friends that I say just what I think; that is their privilege, to them I do not pretend." Despite the "privilege" thus accorded him, this harsh and unflattering judgment from Liszt's own lips must have been a hard blow for Seroff. One can readily understand that the cavalier manner in which Liszt treated Seroff the composer did not fail of effect. This time the former warmth and cordiality refused to return, and Seroff left Carlsruhe without regret. A long time elapsed before he recovered from the blow and could resume his intercourse with Liszt on the earlier unconstrained footing. (Translated by Theodore Baker) P IN BEHALF OF THE "POPULAR" By EDWIN HALL PIERCE OE'S tale, "The Purloined Letter," furnishes a good illustration of that peculiar blindness of a part of the human race-most especially of those who deal with minute inspection and analysis-in not seeing that which is most plainly before their eyes. After detectives had performed incredible tasks in searching every nook and cranny of the man's house, clothing and furniture, and had even waylaid him under the guise of footpads in order to search his person, the suspected letter was at last discovered, by an abler and fresher mind, to have been all the while in plain sight in his rooms, disguised only by being enclosed in a dirty and torn envelope. The particular purpose of this illustration will be more evident in the latter part of this essay. As its ultimate application to present-day music is of a nature that may arouse some hostility, the writer feels constrained to strengthen his case in advance by a brief historic résumé of the manner in which the access of the popular element into art-music has freshened and revivified it when it was becoming moribund either from unintelligible complexity or from the mere reiteration of worn-out formulas. The highly intellectual yet perversely soulless ingenuity of the Netherland contrapuntal school, which had spread into Italy, is a fact familiar to all students of musical history. The reformation wrought by Palestrina, infusing an element of reverence, sincerity and good taste into the sacred music of his time, is a thing which must be regarded with the greatest respect, but we shall not dwell on it at present, as it does not concern our subject directly. The first real infusion of the popular element of which we shall speak came at the time of the Reformation, along with the rise of the German chorale. The desire of the new congregations for voicing their religious emotions in united song was wisely encouraged by Luther, Calvin and other religious leaders, and the sudden demand for music suitable for congregational singing could not be fully met either from the sources of the older religion or from the original compositions produced at the time: it became necessary to draw also from secular sources, and this was freely done, with little regard for the incongruity of the original words of the tunes with religious ideas. Thus "Ich hört' ein Fräulein klagen" became "Herr Christ der einig Gottes Sohn"; "Mein Gemüth ist mir verwirret" was transformed into "Herzlich thut mich verlangen" (familiar to many of our readers as No. 102, first tune, in the Hutchins Hymnal, to the words "O sacred Head, surrounded by crown of piercing thorn"). The choral melody known in America as "Old Hundred" came from French sources, through Geneva spreading to Germany and England in its more sanctified form. Its original words began "Il n'y a icy celluy Qui n'ait sa belle," and it is probable that the original rhythm of the tune was something like this: etc. as several early arrangements of it show the influence of this rhythm. Its present form is in notes of equal length, like the majority of German chorales. etc. The efforts of organists to harmonize these chorales, either simply or with contrapuntal embellishments, practically gave rise to the modern science of Harmony, as distinguished from the older Counterpoint. We must proceed: the plot of Wagner's "Mastersingers of Nuremburg," although fiction, is based on an actual historic truth-the struggle of the free and popular element in music against respectable hide-bound tradition, finally winning recognition. The same thing has happened again and again in musical art. Liszt's "Hungarian Rhapsodies" are now considered almost among the classics, yet the melodies which he introduced in them are many of them from the humblest sources-popular songs and dance-tunes familiar in Hungary. Whether these are of original Magyar or original Gypsy origin is a disputed point, and we are not prepared to enter into the discussion; but in either case their origin and original use had in it nothing more essentially refined or artistic than the tunes of our modern "rag-time." The same remark applies to Brahms' "Hungarian Dances," which are transcriptions of Hungarian melodies communicated to him by the violinist Remenyi. Take them in their simple unadorned form and look at the matter in an unprejudiced light, is not |