Chapter VII: Part 7

In all this hurly-burly don’t forget your Kullak octave school, and if you really wish to disencumber your mind of all these extra studies I have been talking about, just throw overboard everybody but Bach, Cramer, Clementi, Chopin and Henselt. If you wish velocity coupled with lightness and suppleness of wrist, take up old Scarlatti.

III

After Wagner, Brahms. After Chopin? Bülow once confessed that Brahms cured him of Wagner mania. To alter Browning--“Brahms is our music maker now.” Brahms, whose music was at one time as an undecipherable cryptogram!--Brahms now appeals to our finest culture. Without the melancholy tenderness of Chopin he has not altogether escaped the Weltschmerz, but his sadness is masculine, and he seldom if ever gives way to the hysterical complainings of the more feminine Pole. Brahms is a man, a dignified, mentally robust man, who feels deeply, who developed wonderful powers of self-control, and who drives the musical nail deeply when he hits it, as he sometimes does.

Could any styles be more at variance than Brahms’ and Chopin’s? Moscheles declared much of Chopin’s music unplayable, and it is a commonplace of the day to dismiss Brahms’ piano music as “unpianistic.” Brahms’ affinity to Schumann is marked; perhaps when the latter pronounced such favorable judgment of Brahms’ op. 1 he only acknowledged blood relationship. Brahms tells us different things, however; but as I intend dealing more with externals I will pass by any question of musical content. To the student of the somewhat florid Liszt, Chopin, Thalberg and Henselt school, the Schumann-Brahms technic must offer few attractions. Possibilities for personal display are rare--display of the glittering passage sort. Extensive scale work is seldom found in either composer, and old-fashioned ornamentation gladdens by its absence. Musically, the gain is immense; “pianistically” there is some loss. No more of those delicate, zephyr-like figures--no more sonorous and billowy arpeggio sweeps over the keyboard!

In a word, the finger virtuoso’s occupation is gone, and a mental virtuosity is needed. Heavy chordal work, arabesques that might have been moulded by a Michel Angelo, a cantilena that is polyphonic, not monophonic; ten voices instead of one--all this, is it not eminently modern, and yet Bachian? Schumann came from Bach, and Schumann is foster father to Brahms; but Bach and Beethoven blood also runs warmly in Johannes’ musical veins. Under which king will you serve? for you cannot serve two. Will you embrace the Scarlatti, Emanuel Bach, Mozart, Cramer, Chopin, Liszt school, or will you serve under the standards of Bach, Clementi, Beethoven, Schumann and Brahms? Better let nature decide for you, and decide she does with such marked preferences that often I have attended piano recitals and wept silently because the “piano reciter” fondly believed he was versatile and attempted everything from Alkan to Zarembski. What a waste of vital force, what a waste of time!

I have, and value them as a curiosity, a copy of Liszt’s études, op. 1. The edition is rare and the plates have been destroyed. Written when Liszt was fresh from the tutelage of Carl Czerny, they show traces of his schooling. They are not difficult for fingers inured to modern methods. When I first bought them I knew not the Études d’Exécution Transcendentale, and when I encountered the latter I exclaimed at Liszt’s cleverness. Never prolific in thematic invention, the great Hungarian has taken his op. 1 and dressed it up in the most bewildering technical fashion. He gave these studies appropriate names, and even to-day they require a tremendous technic to do them justice. The most remarkable of the set--the one in F minor (No. 10)--Liszt left nameless, and like a mighty peak it rears its head skyward, while about it cluster its more graceful fellows, Ricordanza, Feux-Follets, Harmonies du Soir, Chasse Neige, and Paysage. What a superb contribution to piano étude literature is Liszt’s! These twelve incomparable studies, the three very effective Études de Concert, the Paganini Studies, the Waldesrauschen, the Gnomenreigen, the Ab-Irato, the graceful Au Lac de Wallenstadt and Au Bord d’une Source, have they not developed tremendously the technical resources of the instrument? And to play them one must have fingers of steel, a brain on fire, a heart bubbling with chivalric grace and force. What a comet-like pianist he was, this Magyar, who swept Europe with fire and sword, who transformed the still, small voice of Chopin into a veritable hurricane! But we can’t imagine a Liszt without a Chopin preceding him.

Liszt lost, the piano would lose its most dashing cavalier, and his freedom, fantasy and fire are admirable correctives for the stilted platitudes of the Hummel, Czerny, Mendelssohn school. You can’t--as much as you may wish to--ignore Liszt’s technic. He got out of the piano an orchestral quality. He advanced by great wing strokes toward perfection, and not to include Liszt were to exclude color, sonority, richness of tinting and powerful dynamic contrasts.

Liszt has had a great following; you can see how much he affected modern technic. Tausig felt his influence, and even Schumann, whose setting, however, of the Paganini études is far removed from Liszt’s. But Schumann certainly struck out a very original course when he composed his Études Symphoniques. Here a Liszt style is a bar to faithful interpretation. Music, music, music is wanted, with strong singing fingers and a wrist of iron--malleable iron. The toccata in C is an admirable example of not only Schumann’s but also of latter day technic.

As in Brahms’ polyphonic fingers, great discrimination of tone in chord passages is required here, and powers of stretching that tax most hands to their utmost.

Brahms has reared upon this Schumann technic a glorious structure, whose foundations--Bach-Schumann--are certainly not builded on sand. You may get a fair notion of the Brahms piano technic by playing the figure he gave Tausig for that great master’s Daily Studies, and also in his later fifty-one studies. Look at his wonderful variations--true studies; read the Paganini variations; are they not heaven storming? Brains, brains and Bach. His studies on studies are not too entertaining.

One is the rondo by Weber in his C major sonata, the so-called “mouvement perpétuel.” This has Brahms transcribed for the left hand, lifting the bass part into the treble. Anything more dispiriting I cannot imagine. It makes one feel as if the clock struck nineteen in the watches of the night. The étude in sixths on Chopin’s beautiful F minor étude in op. 25 is an attempt to dress an exquisite violet with a baggy suit of pepper-and-salt clothes. It is a gauche affair altogether, and I fancy the perpetrator was ashamed of himself, for, unlike Joseffy’s astounding transcription of Chopin’s G flat étude, Brahms’ study upon a study is utterly unklaviermassig.

Constantin von Sternberg tells a story about this F minor étude of Brahms-Chopin. When it first appeared Moszkowski was trying it over in the presence of the Scharwenkas and Von Sternberg. Not content with playing the right hand triplets in double-sixths, as Brahms had done, he transposed them to the left hand, went to work rather hesitatingly, saying, naturally enough: “Why not do it this way?”

It out-Heroded Herod, and Xaver Scharwenka could stand it no longer; when Moszkowski stuck for a moment he strode up to the pianist, seized his nose and chin, opened his mouth, gazed in it, and then said in a slightly irritated voice: “That is the worst of these machines; they _will_ get out of order sometimes.”

Bendel’s étude in double-sixths is a good study, evidently modelled after Chopin’s G sharp minor study. Zarembski has written a finger-breaker in B flat minor, and the two Von Schloezer studies are by no means easy studies, but there are technical heights yet to be explored. Charles V. Alkan, the Parisian pianist, has concocted, contrived and manufactured about twenty-seven studies, which almost reach the topmost technical notch, and are, to confess the truth, unmusical. They are the extreme outcome of the Liszt technic and consequently have only historical value. Don’t play them, for you can’t, which remark is both Celtic and convenient.

Rubinstein’s op. 23--his six études--cannot be lightly passed over. The first in F and the well-known staccato étude in C should be studied. He has also written two studies, both in the key of C, one of which is called Study on False Notes, and sometimes the Handball. They are all very “pianistic.” Strelezski’s five concert studies are very modern and require a cyclopean grip. Nos. 4 and 5 are the most musical. The same composer’s étude, The Wind, is an excellent study in unison. The valse étude is artificial.

You can play Balakireff’s Islamey, a fantasy Orientale, if you wish some muscle twisting.

No need of telling you of Tausig’s Daily Studies. No pianist should be without them. The Rosenthal-Schytte studies are rich in ideas, and Schytte has written some Vortrag studies that are excellent.

Among modern artistic studies Saint-Saëns’, and MacDowell’s are the best and most brilliant, and Godowsky has made some striking paraphrases of Chopin studies. A novelty are the Exercises Journalières preceded by a preface from the pen of Camille Saint-Saëns. Tausig thought of such a comprehensive scheme as this, and Kullak, in the third book of his octave school, puts it partially into execution. But it remains for Isidor Philipp to work the formula out to its utmost, and the result is a volume unique in the annals of piano literature and of surpassing value to pianist, teacher and pupil.

This volume, I have no hesitation in saying, is the most significant since the posthumous publication of Tausig’s Daily Studies. All pianists have felt the need of such a work, and in his dumb-thumb way Oscar Raif taught his pupils that the manner to master difficulties was to walk chromatically about the passages in question. At a blow Philipp demolishes thousands of technical studies.

Philipp’s scheme is this: his collection is only for pianists who have a sound ordinary technic, say a technic which enables one to play the Beethoven sonatas of the first and second period, Clementi, Cramer, and of course Bach.

Philipp begins with extensive exercises, for extended harmonies are the keynote of modern piano music. Then follow studies for independence of the fingers, for the left hand alone, for scales, arpeggios, double notes, trills, octaves and chord playing, rhythmic studies and sundry studies that cannot be classified. These are all original, and are the result of the most independent researches. Conciseness is aimed at. They are reinforced by examples from Alkan to Willmers--the latter being the hero of the trill in the annals of piano playing.

Now, suppose you have each day an hour for technical study. You sit down before your keyboard; play one study for finger extension. Here is one on the first page--a terror, but a salutary one. Then take the example--it is from the F sharp minor prelude of Chopin. If you do not care for that there is the peroration of the E minor concerto of Chopin, the trill on B natural in the left hand. Alkan; Henselt (an example from the first study in op. 5 in C)--you can take your choice.

Now for independence of the fingers. Only two examples are given. If you master them you will have ten perfectly autonomous fingers. One is from a study by Alkan and the other from Saint-Saëns, op. 52. This latter is the famous study in A minor. It is invaluable.

Studies for the left hand: one example from the last movement of the Appassionata, you remember the figure in F minor. Others by Beethoven from concerto and variations. Chopin is represented by studies and extracts from the concertos, and a page is devoted to the G sharp minor section of the Revolutionary study, the Tristan and Isolde episode. Liszt, Georges Mathias, Brahms are all quoted with judgment.

Scales: Copious quotations from Chopin, Hummel, the A minor study of the former has a variant which gives the left hand employment. Liszt, Henselt, Rubinstein, the odd little chromatic episode in the last movement of the D minor concerto, and a finger-breaker by Henri Fissot, in which the thumb is treated to convict labor, as it deserves.

We have now reached the arpeggio section. After a lot of figures from which you may select your pattern for the day--notably the arpeggio of the dominant seventh, the most difficult and therefore the most valuable--you may indulge in examples from Beethoven, Chopin, Thalberg--the master of arpeggios--Delaborde, Rubinstein and Saint-Saëns.

Do not forget that these examples are selected from representative works, works that are played and are selected with rare skill and appreciation.

The double note chapter is admirable, although I notice M. Philipp clings to the Chopin fingering in chromatic double notes, the minor third, etcetera. The examples are from Beethoven, Hummel, Weber, Cramer, Chopin (the first chromatic scale in op. 25, No. 6); Schumann, Litolff, Saint-Saëns, Liszt, Rubinstein, Delaborde, Alphonse Duvernoy, a valuable and ingenious study; Marmontel, and last, but by no means least, Philipp himself. One example of his is from a Bach fugue in D in double sixths!

The trill department--this sounds like the Bon Marché--contains examples from Beethoven, Chopin, Willmers, Doehler, Liszt, Brahms, a monstrous octave trill from the F sharp minor sonata, Duvernoy, Czerny and Liszt. It is as complete as possible.

The octave section contains more modern examples than Kullak. Saint-Saëns, Diémer, Rimski-Korsakoff and Tschaïkowsky are some of the moderns quoted.

Then follow rhythmical examples, skips, tremolo, a good example is from Thalberg’s beautiful and sadly neglected theme and variations in A minor, op. 45 and a lot of tangled tricks from the works of Lalo, D’Indy, Bernard, Pierné and other modern Frenchmen. I wish M. Philipp had quoted Thalberg’s famous tremolo study in C. It is the best of its class. But to be hypercritical before this ingenious catalogue would be impertinence, even ingratitude. From the maddening mass of classical and latter-day piano literature the editor has selected and fingered a most representative series of the difficulties of piano music. A few bars, at most a page, are given, and we do not wonder that Saint-Saëns called the work a vade mecum for pianists.

Not content with his gigantic task this astonishing Philipp has made another collection of studies for the left hand alone.

His compilation is so complete that I must speak of it in detail. Indeed I could write much on this topic. I know so many students, so many able pianists who have gone through the valley of technical death in search of a path to Parnassus, that I hail these short cuts with joy. Remember I am of a band of admirable lunatics that played all the studies in the world when I was a young fellow! What ignorance, depraved and colossal, was it not?

Czerny, who is old fashioned in most of his studies, has nevertheless written some of the best studies for the left hand solo. He wrote them because no one else would. He looks in his pictures as if he might be that sort of a man.

Philipp the indefatigable has sifted Czerny, and the left hand is treated, not with arpeggiated contempt--most composers write as if this hand was only for accompanying purposes--but as if it were the companion and co-sharer of the throne of digital independence. All sorts--but not too many--of preparatory exercises are there, thanks to the ingenuity of the editor, who must be a teacher of the first magnitude. In addition to Czerny we get passages from Weber, right hand passages transposed, from Mendelssohn, Hummel, Schumann, the first page of the great Toccata in C, transpositions from Bach and Chopin, a big Kessler study, the first study in C of Chopin, the first study in A minor for the left hand--a pet idea of Joseffy’s--a transposition from the B flat minor prelude, a capital notion for velocity playing, another transposition of the A minor study in op. 25, hideously difficult. The same with the G sharp minor study, Godowsky has a version for concert performance, but this is for one hand only; the double sixth study in D flat, a Kreutzer violin caprice in octaves in E, a Kreutzer étude in octaves, and the F minor study of Chopin, op. 25, No. 2 in octaves.

The volume ends with a formidable version in octaves for left hand of the last movement of Chopin’s B flat minor sonata. This is truly a tour de force.

This clever Parisian has also written six new concert studies. The first is a double note arrangement of the D flat valse. Tausig, Rosenthal and Joseffy have done the same thing. But Philipp has written the trio in three clefs so as to render clear the contrapuntal figure over the melody, which figure is the first theme. His second study is the same valse written for the left hand, the accompaniment being transposed to the right. The third study is the F minor study in triplets of Chopin, most ingeniously transcribed for left hand. Brahms turned this study into forbidding thistles of double sixths. The fourth study is devoted to the G flat étude of Chopin, the one on the black keys. It is in double notes, fourths, sixths and octaves. Joseffy ten years ago anticipated Philipp.

For his fifth concert study I congratulate M. Philipp. He has taken Chopin’s first A minor study in op. 10 and turned it into a bombarding chord study, something after the manner of the sombre and powerful B minor octave study. The blind octave is the technical foundation of this transcription. It is very effective. The book closes with a magnificent paraphrase of Weber’s perpetual movement from the sonata in C. Brahms and others have transcribed this for the left hand. It is aptly dedicated to the master, a veritable master, Camille Saint-Saëns. I wish I could enlarge on the “pianistic” qualities of this piece. Oddly enough it suggests in a distant fashion Rubinstein’s C major study, he one d’Albert plays so masterfully. Philipp has made the changes in the most musicianly manner.

M. Philipp has credited to Theodore Ritter, now dead, the octave version of the rondo of Chopin’s E minor concerto. To Tausig belongs the honor. I wonder why he failed to quote the stunning étude in B flat minor by Franz Bendel? After Chopin’s it is the most valuable of all the studies for the playing of double sixths.

Not satisfied with making a unique volume of daily studies, he has out-Tausiged Tausig in the new Études d’Octaves. The studies are after Bach, Clementi, Cramer and Chopin, with original preludes by Dubois, Delaborde, Émile Bernard, Duvernoy, Gabriel Fauré, Matthias, Philipp, Pugno and Widor. I advise you to play Kullak upside down before you touch these new studies on studies--these towering Pelions piled on metacarpal Ossias.

Philipp begins with the E flat study of Clementi, the one in broken octaves; this he transforms to a repeated note exercise. The first two studies in the Gradus he makes octaves. So far nothing remarkable nor difficult. Then follows the B flat invention of Bach--in two voices--in octaves; the study in E by Cramer treated as a study in sustained tones, like the second section of Chopin’s great octave study in B minor. We begin to grow warm over Cramer’s first famous study in C, all bedeviled into chords and taken at the interesting metronomic tempo of 116 to the quarter notes. It sounds like a gale from Rubinstein.

As all flesh is grass, so all difficult piano studies become food for the virtuoso. Brahms in a moment of heavy jocundity made night and Chopin hideous with the study in F minor by forcing the sweet, coy, maidenly triplets to immature coquetting with rude and crackling double sixths. Philipp is too polite, too Gallic to attempt such sport, so he gives the étude in unison octaves. It is a good study, but one prefers the original.

Cramer’s left hand study in D minor is treated to octaves, and so the A minor study of Chopin in op. 10 is worked up magnificently and is really worth the while to play as well as to practice--a distinction you will observe. But more momentous matter follows. I expected that I should see the day when Weber’s so-called Perpetual Motion--the rondo in C--would be played in octaves by children, but I little dreamed of the daring of the latter-day pianist. The tenth study in this book is in interlocked octaves, after the manner of Tausig, and is in the key of B flat minor. Can you guess on what it is built? No less a theme than the last movement of the B flat minor sonata of Chopin, and it is a presto. Tausig is reported to have said that the movement reminded him of the wind sighing over the grave of the beloved, and Joseffy told me that Tausig could play it in octaves.

Like all legends of the sort, you treasure it and grow reverend, but when you see these octaves on the printed page you shudder. Where will technic end? It is worse than Brahms in his stupendous Paganini studies. In a study by Paderewski, The Desert, may be found just such toying with the gigantic, the ineffable. Philipp, with his precise, practical mind, pins his miracles to the paper, and while we curiously study the huge wings of this phenomenal bird we are not attracted. The study is written for a dozen living pianists at the utmost.

Henselt has written some studies which he calls Master Studies for Piano. They are really studies for virtuosi, and should be severely left alone by any but finished pianists. Carlyle Petersilyea once made a sort of technical variante on Chopin’s study in sixths in op. 25. Henselt goes upon the principle that pianists grow weary of playing a piece in the same manner; that the fingers become indolent from the fatal facility which follows upon many performances of a composition. So he takes up the familiar difficulty and views it from another rhythmical point of view. He distorts, perverts, alters, and almost roots up from the harmonic and rhythmic soil, the figuration, and believes that with a new aspect, a fresh difficulty, that you will return refreshed in finger and mentally invigorated to the normal version. And the great pianist and pedagogue has accomplished his task with a vengeance.

There are 167 examples; some make you shudder, some cause a smile, all command respect for the agility of the paraphrase, the downright cleverness of the changes. When you have thoroughly mastered the Philipp Daily Studies--which will be never--I commend these Henselt perversions. But may God preserve you from dallying too long in these curious and repulsive pastures, for can you imagine anything more horrible than a pianist assailed in the full glare of a public performance by a Henselt version and unable to resist the temptation!

Some of the perversions are worthy of the consideration of a musical Lombroso. There is the G flat study of Chopin, The Butterfly; Henselt has lots of fun with the piece, and his humor peeps out at the close, for instead of the epigrammatic ending--alas! so seldom adhered to by foolish pianists--he makes an elaborate run and delays the end, a delicate and satiric commentary on the ambitious pounder who will insist on bowling all over the keyboard before he lets go the key.

Chopin is liberally paraphrased, and the version of the E minor valse is fit for concert performance, so brilliant and effective is it. There are examples from Beethoven, Henselt--he has mocked his own Bird Study--Hummel, Mendelssohn, Weber, Cramer, Liszt, Raff, Schumann and Moscheles. Yet one coyly suggests these studies. They are apt to hoist the pianist with his own petard.

I once asked Rosenthal what finger exercises or studies he employed to build up that extraordinary mechanism of his. He startled me by replying “none.” Then he explained that he picked out the difficulties of a composition and made new combinations of them. Every rope has its weak spot and in every composition there is the one difficulty that will not down. Master it and you are technically master of all you survey. The whole question may be summed up this way: study a few Cramer, a few Clementi études for elegance and endurance, avoid daily studies except those few that by experience you discover limber up your wrist and fingers. Play the Chopin études, daily, also the preludes, for the rest trust to God and Bach. Bach is the bread of the pianist’s life; always play him that your musical days may be long in the land.

VII

A NOTE ON RICHARD WAGNER

I

If it had been hinted a quarter of a century ago that in Richard Wagner’s veins there flowed Semitic blood, roaring laughter would have streaked critical Europe. The race Wagner reviled in speech and pamphlet--although he never disdained its financial generosity--the hated Jew, daring to claim kinship with him, might have set in motion the mighty spleen of the master, and perhaps the world would be the poorer for another Das Judenthum in der Musik. Wagner’s hatred of the chosen race is historical. Benefits ever forgotten, he never lost a chance to gibe at Meyerbeer, to flout some wealthy Hebrew banker. Yet gossips have been at work subjecting the Wagnerian pedigree to keen scrutiny. There is a well-defined legend at Bayreuth, at Leipsic, that Wagner was the natural son and not the stepson of Ludwig Geyer, his mother’s second husband. Of course this is not so, for it would make Wagner a half Jew, the actor Geyer being of Jewish descent. Wagner, they say, resembled him more in features, tastes and temperament than he did his putative father, the worthy police magistrate.

A musical authority, whose name I withhold by request, called my attention to the curious fact that the portrait of Wagner’s father does not hang upon the walls of Wahnfried. Perhaps as Geyer was the father Wagner best remembered he did him the honor of placing his picture in juxtaposition with his mother’s in the Bayreuth home. There is no other sound evidence that may be pressed into service for this fugitive theory. Friedrich Nietzsche, after the rupture with Wagner, openly called him a Jew born in the Judengasse--the ghetto of Leipsic--and this latter assertion happens to be true. Another hot-headed hunter of degeneration, Heinrich Pudor, makes the same statement.

In critical circles there seems to be a disposition to avoid challenging these facts for they asperse the memory of a good mother. Mr. Krehbiel laughs at the story as silly, summoning as witness the fact that Wagner’s elder brother resembled him in a striking manner. I place little credence in the rumor, believing it to have originated with Nietzsche and revived later by Pudor. There is much in Richard Wagner’s polemical writings--his almost insane hatred of the Jews--and in the sensuous glitter and glow of his music that suggests the imagination of the Oriental. Some of it is certainly unlike any music made by a German--indeed, to me, with their vibratile rhythms, their titanic and dramatic characterization, the Wagner plays suggest the Celt, for the Celt, as Matthew Arnold wrote, has _natural magic_ in his poetic speech, and magical in their quality are the utterances of Wagner.

“Was Wagner German at all?” asks Nietzsche, a rabid hater of the Christ idea, who first threw Schopenhauer overboard, only to do the same for his Wagner worship. He continues: “We have some reasons for asking this. It is difficult to discern in him any German trait whatsoever. Being a great learner he has learned to imitate much that is German--that is all. His character itself is in opposition to what has hitherto been regarded as German--not to speak of the German musician! His father was a stage-player named Geyer. A Geyer is almost an Adler--Geyer and Adler are both names of Jewish families. What has hitherto been put into circulation as the ‘Life of Wagner’ is fable convenue, if not worse. I confess my distrust of every point which rests solely on the testimony of Wagner himself. He had not pride enough for any truth whatsoever about himself; nobody was less proud; he remained, just like Victor Hugo, true to himself even in biographical matters--he remained a stage-player.”

Naturally, all that Nietzsche writes about Wagner may be challenged, although he is fairer to the great music-dramatist than Max Nordau. Nordau really borrowed Nietzsche’s denunciatory thunder, and then abused the sadly stricken philosopher for having assailed the musician. Altogether a very Nordau-like proceeding.

I should like to believe, but cannot, that Schopenhauer ruined Wagner. This is one of Nietzsche’s favorite contentions. The fact is, the artist was stronger than the philosopher in Wagner. The reflective man in him was generally overcome by the man poetic. Witness Tristan and Isolde, which was composed, as Wagner confessed, in direct defiance of his pet theories. Even the pessimism of the Ring never crowds out the dramatic power of the work. Who would wish to cut from Die Meistersinger Hans Sachs’ beautiful monologue? It is the passing of a cloud over the shining sun. All thoughtful humans are pessimistic at times, but the strong man and woman soon tire of the cui bono and find work near at hand. Wagner was caught in the currents of his time, though he really escaped many metaphysical vortices. That he was any more a Christian than a Schopenhauerian at the end of his life I doubt. Wagner was primarily an artist and, as an artist, could not help seeing the artistic possibilities in the superb ceremonial of the Roman Catholic Church; could not help feeling the magnificent story of the Christ; could not escape being touched by the beauties of pity, of redemption, and by the Quietist doctrines of Buddhism filtered through the hard brain of Arthur Schopenhauer. All these elements he blended dexterously in Parsifal, and we know with what result.

Keep in your mind that Wagner the artist was a greater man than Wagner the vegetarian, Wagner the anti-vivisectionist, Wagner the revolutionist, the Jew hater, the foe of Meyerbeer and Mendelssohn, and greater than Wagner the philosopher. It is a mistaken partisanship that attaches to his every word deep significance. He dearly loved paradox, and his versatility was such that he wore many masks. Not that I doubt his sincerity, but the enormously emotional nature of the man, his craving for artistic excitement, his agitated life often led him to write and speak in misleading terms. Wagner was not a Christian; he was not a passive Buddhist--far from it; he was no lover of the Jewry, and his pessimism, like Schopenhauer’s, was thin skinned. Both men were desperately in earnest and both enjoyed life--one in execrating it, the other in works of beauty.

II

I have often wondered where Wagner’s religion, his art, his metaphysics, in a word his working theory of life, would have led him, had he lived longer. That he had, dimly floating in his extraordinary brain, the outlines of a greater work than Parsifal we learn in his correspondence with Liszt. He died with the Trilogy incomplete, for Tristan and Isolde, Parsifal, and The Penitents, (Die Büsser) were to have been this Trilogy of the Will to Live, Compassion and Renunciation.

Wagner was going to the East with many other Old World thinkers. That negation of the will to live, so despised by his former admirer Nietzsche, had gripped him after he forsook the philosophy of Feuerbach for Schopenhauer in 1854. He eagerly absorbed this Neo-Buddhism and at the time of his death was fully prepared to accept its final word, its bonze-like impassivity of the will, and sought to translate into tone its hopelessly fatalistic spirit, its implacable hatred of life in the flesh.

That the world has lost a gigantic experiment may not be doubted, but that it has lost the best of Wagner I greatly question. In Parsifal his thematic invention is not at its high-water mark, despite his wonderful mastery of technical material, the marvellous moulding of spiritual stuff. Even if Parsifal is almost an abstraction, is not that “howling hermaphrodite,” as Hanslick called Kundry, a real flesh and blood creation? It is with no fears of Wagner’s power of characterization failing that we should concern ourselves, for the gravity of the possible situation lies in the fact that Wagner had drifted into the philosophical nihilism, the intellectual quietism which is the sweet, consoling pitfall of the thinker who wanders across the borderline of Asiatic religious ideals. The glimmer of Christianity in Parsifal seems like the last expiring atom of Wagner’s faith in the value of Christ. That he used the church in the dramatic sense cannot be doubted, and that in the ritual of the Roman Catholic Church he found grateful material, which he employed so deftly yet so reverently in Parsifal, is also incontrovertible; but in Wagner’s Christianity I place no faith.

He went to the roots of Christianity, its Buddhistic roots, and there sought philosophical consolation. Nietzsche’s attack on Wagner’s supposed religious predilections is wide of the mark; no one was less likely to indulge in sacerdotal sentimentalism than Richard of the giant brain.

The speculation is a fascinating one, especially when you remember that he changed the title of his projected work from The Victors (Die Sieger) to The Penitents. First spoken of in 1856, the name was altered a quarter of a century later. Wagner had encountered Oriental philosophy in the interval, and its mysticism had become a vital, integral part of his strenuous intellectual and emotional life.

It is not safe yet to pass judgment on this emotional product of the age; Wagner carried within his breast the precious eucharist of genius. In music he is the true Zeit Geist.

III

It was a German critic of acuity who said of the music of Tristan and Isolde, “The thrills relieve each other in squads.” Wagner certainly touched the top-notch of his almost boundless imaginings in this supreme apotheosis of lyric ecstasy. A scorching sirocco for the soul are the tremendous blasts of this work. Nothing has ever been written that is comparable with it in intensity, and it is safe to predict that future generations will not hear its double. Wagner declared that when he wrote it he could not have composed it otherwise; it is full blown with his imperfections, his glaring excellences, his noble turgidity, his lack of frugality, his economy of resource, his dazzling prodigality, his riotous tonal debaucheries, his soggy prolixity and his superhuman fascinations.

All that may be urged against Wagner’s ways I am, perforce, compelled to acknowledge. He is all that his musical enemies say, and much more; but how wilted are theories when in the full current of this tropical simoon! I have steeled myself repeatedly when about to listen to “Tristan and Isolde” and summoned up all my prejudices, bade my feeble faculties perform their task of analysis, but am breathless and vanquished before the curtain rises.

What boots it, then, to gird critically at an art, a devilish, demoniac art that enchants, thrills and makes mock of all spiritual theories about the divine in music? Here it is no longer on the heights as in Beethoven’s realm. The philosophy of Schopenhauer hurled at your head in the pessimistic dualism of the famous love scene availeth not to stem the turbulent, sensuous torrent. Tristan and Isolde is the last word, the very deification of carnalism. Call it what pretty titles you may, wreathe the theme with the garlands of poetic fancy, the stark naked fact stares at you--a strong, brutal, fact. It is the man and the woman, nothing more, nothing less. The love potion does but unloosen their tongues, for both were mute lovers before Brangäne juggled with the fatal brew. Not in the sacred writings of the Jews, not in Shakespeare, are expressed such frenetic passions. The songs of Solomon are mildly Virgilian in comparison. This distinction must be conferred upon Wagner; he is the greatest poet of passion the world has yet encountered. As fiercely erotic as Swinburne, with Swinburne’s matchless art, he has a more eloquent, a more potent instrument than words; he has the orchestra that thunders, surges and searches out the very heart of love. A mighty master, but a dangerous guide.

I am not an ardent admirer of all the Wagnerian play-books. There is much that is puerile, much that is formless, and many scenes are too long. It was Louis Ehlert who said that nothing but the sword would suffice, and an heroic sword, to lop off superfluities. To the argument that much lovely music is bound to be sacrificed by such a summary proceeding, let the answer be--sacrifice it. “The play’s the thing;” dramatic form must come first, else the whole Wagnerian framework topples groundward.

If you consider, you will discover that Tristan is not the protagonist of this fiery soul drama. He accepts the potion in the first act, gets stabbed in the second, and tears the bandage from his wound in the third. Isolde is the more absorbing figure. It is her enormous passion that breaks the barricades of knightly honor and reserve. She it is who extinguishes the torch that signals Tristan. She summons him with her scarf; she meets him more than half-way; she dares all, loses and gains all.

She is not timid, nor does she believe in prudent measures. Shakespeare in Juliet, Ibsen in Hedda Gabler, never went such lengths. I think that to Wagner must be awarded the honor of discovering the new woman. Isolde’s key is high-pitched from the outset. And with what superb wrath she cries:

“Destroy this proud ship, swallow its shattered fragments and all that dwells upon it; the floating breath I will give you, O winds, as a reward”! And Wagner has wedded this dramatic invocation to magnificent music.

The composer often, in the intense absorption of creation, forgot the existence of the Kantean categories of space and time. It requires strong nerves to sit out Tristan and Isolde with unflagging interest; not because it bores, but because it literally drains you of your physical and psychical powers. The world seems drab after this huge draught that Wagner proffers us in an exquisitely carved and chased chalice, but one far too large for average human capacity. He has raised many degrees the pitch of passion, and this work, which I think is his most perfect flowering, sets the key for all future composers.

Let Nordau call us degenerates and our geniuses mattoids, we can endure it. We are the slaves of our age, and we adore Wagner because he moves us, thrills and thralls us. His may not be the most spiritual art, but it is the most completely fascinating.

INDEX

Abend dämmert, das mondlicht scheint, Der, 28.

Adelaïde, Liszt’s transcription of, 193.

Albert, Eugen, d’, 226, 279.

-- Concertos in B minor and E major, 52.

Alkan, Charles V., 215, 229, 240, 244, 266, 270, 273.

Alps, musical picture of, 119-120.

Amiel, 10, 203, 231.

Antokolsky, 82.

Antonia, wife of Tschaïkowsky, 88, 89, 91.

Apocalypse, 148.

Arenski, 83.

Arimanes, Hall of, 120.

Armida, Garden of, 181.

Arnold, Matthew, 22, 287.

-- Description of Shelley, 205.

Astarte, 119.

Atala, 231.

Audley, Mme. G., 213.

Aus der Ohe, Adele, 87.

Bach, J. S., 3, 7, 12, 21, 22, 35, 54, 64, 151, 171, 195, 219, 221,
227, 229, 240, 243, 247, 248, 254, 261, 264, 266, 269, 272, 277,
279, 284.

-- Best preparation for Brahms, 18.

-- Harmonies of, 22.

Bach, J. S., Master of Brahms, 24.
Works:
-- Chaconne, 50.
-- English and French Suites, 247.
-- Fugue in D, 275.
-- Inventions, 247.
-- Preludes and Fugues, 260.
-- Variations, 35-36.
-- Well-tempered Clavichord, 247.

Bach, Emanuel, 266.

Baermann, Carl, 241.
-- Studies, 262.

Balakireff, 83, 241.
-- Islamey, 271.

Baltimore, 195.

Balzac, remark about Chopin, 203.

Barbadette, H., 213.

Barrett-Browning, Elizabeth, 207.

Barth, 241.

Battle of Prague, the, 231.

Baudelaire, 200, 203-204, 205, 207, 210.

Bayreuth, 285, 286.

Beethoven, L. van, 3, 5, 7, 8, 11, 12, 15, 20, 21, 27, 29, 30, 33,
35, 64, 97, 102, 136, 144, 147, 149, 151, 152, 155, 156, 158, 166,
171, 178, 218, 219, 221, 227, 229, 243, 247, 266, 272, 274, 283, 294.
-- Anticipates Schumann and Chopin, 58.
-- Letters, 216.
-- Master of Brahms, 24.
Works:
-- Adelaïde, 193.
-- Appassionata, 273.
-- Eroica Symphony, 137.
-- Fifth Symphony, 145.
-- Fugue, 48.
-- Ninth Symphony, 148.
-- Op. 34, 36.
-- Scherzo, 174.
-- Scherzo in Fifth Symphony, 33.
-- Sonata, 222.
-- Sonata in E minor, op. 90, 27.
-- Sonata in B flat (Hammer-Klavier), op. 106, 24.
-- Variations, 36.
-- Variations (Thirty-two), 37.

Beggar, The (Turgenev), 99-100.

Bellini, 39.

Bendel, Franz, 240.
-- Treatment of sixths, 50.
-- Étude in double-sixths, 270.
-- Étude in B flat minor, 279.

Bennett, Joseph, 213, 221.

Berens, 240.

Berger, Ludwig, studies, 241, 255.

Berlin, 145.

Berlioz, Hector, 5, 8, 12, 15, 92, 93, 135, 139, 142, 147, 158, 194,
230, 234.

Bernard, Émile, 275, 279.

Bizet, 149.

Blackburn, Vernon, 210.

Blake, William, definition of genius, 201.

Borodin, 83, 85.

Bortiansky, choruses revised by Tschaïkowsky, 129.

Boston, 149.

Boston Symphony Orchestra, 149.

Brahms, Johannes, 1-80, 92, 97, 101, 108-109, 129, 130, 139, 144, 151,
157, 229, 241, 266, 268, 274, 278, 286.

-- Admirer of Wagner, 7.

-- Adversary of Wagner, 9.

-- Affinities with Schumann, 12, 265, 266.

-- Antagonists of, 22-23.

-- Appreciation of Tschaïkowsky, 139.

-- Choice of keys, 20.

-- Classicist, 3.

-- Coldness of, 16.

-- Color of, 6, 9.

-- Compared to an architect, 5.

-- Compared to Bach and Beethoven, 11.

-- Compared to Chopin, 58.

-- Compared to Ibsen, 7.

-- Compared to Paganini, 57.

-- Counterpoint devices, 24.

-- Economy of notes, 20.

-- Enigmatic, 78.

-- Erudition of, 21.

-- Ehlert’s estimation of, 14-15.

-- Fertility of, 1, 4.

-- Feminine side of, 21.

-- Figures of accompaniment, 20.

-- Form, 2, 5, 13.

-- Harmonies, 22.

-- Ingenuity of, 5, 47.

-- Intellectual mood, 64.

-- Interpretation, 54.

-- Invention, 20.

-- Inversion, method of, 14.

-- Irony, 32.

-- Magyar spirit, 21.

-- Melodies, 19, 28.

-- Modes, 13.

-- Modesty, 79.

-- Modulation, 13.

-- Nationality, 10, 59.

-- Orchestration, 19.

-- Pessimism, 63.

-- Piano music, 8, 15, 17, 22, 75, 269.

-- Rhythm, 7.

-- Romanticist, 3, 11, 12.

-- Sadness of, 264.

-- Scherzi, compared with Chopin’s, 20.

-- Schumann and, 12.

-- Song writer, 3.

-- Spitta, opinion of, 13.

-- Technique of, 18, 47.

-- Temperament of, 10.

-- Tonalities, 13.

-- Use of arpeggio, 7.

-- Use of canon, 13.

-- Use of chord of the sixth, 13.

-- Use of mixed scales, 20.

-- Use of octave, 13.

-- Use of triolen, 18.

-- Vogrich’s estimate of piano pieces, 77.

-- Working out, 20.

-- Workmanship of, 7.

Works:

-- Ballades, 17, 32, 33-34.

-- Capriccio in B minor, 60.

-- Capriccio in C sharp minor, 62.

-- Capriccio in D minor, 18, 70.

-- Capriccio in F sharp minor, 59.
-- Capriccio in G minor, 68.
-- Capriccio fantastic in op. 76, 63.
-- Capriccios and intermezzi, 17.
-- Clavierstücke, op. 76, 59-64.
-- Cradle-song, 70-71.
-- Concerto in B flat major, 21, 52, 53.
-- Concerto in D minor, 44, 52-55.
-- Étude after Chopin, 50, 269.
-- Fantaisien, op. 116, 67.
-- Fugue, op. 24, 47-48.
-- German Requiem, 2, 6, 44.
-- Horn trio, 19.
-- Hungarian Dances, 17, 18, 51.
-- Hungarian music, Brahms studies in, 20.
-- Intermezzi, 17, 61, 62, 67, 68-69, 70, 71.
-- Paganini studies, 281.
-- Paganini variations, 269.
-- Piano quintet, F minor, 6.
-- Piano studies, 17, 18, 49-51.
-- Piano trio in B, 32.
-- Rhapsodie in B minor, 15, 64-65.
-- Rhapsodie in G minor, 65-66.
-- Rhapsodies, 17, 59, 64, 229.
-- Rondo (Weber), “mouvement perpétuel,” 269.
-- Scherzo, 17, 24, 29, 30.
-- Sextet in B flat, 30.
-- Sonata in C major, op. 1, 12, 23, 24, 25.
-- Sonata in F minor, 6, 19, 27-28, 29-30.
-- Sonata in F sharp minor, 18, 25-27, 275.
-- Sonata from sextet in B flat, 30.
-- Songs, 31.
-- Schicksalslied (Song of Destiny), 2, 6.
-- Symphonies, 19, 44, 171.
-- Variations, op. 9, 31, 46-49.
-- Variations, first set, 35, 36-40.
-- Variations, op. 24 (Fugue by Handel), 47.
-- Variations, op. 21, 47-48.
-- Variations (Hungarian), 47.
-- Variations (Paganini), 48-49.
-- Waltzer, op. 39, 17, 40, 41-46.
-- Waltzer (Love-Song), 46.
-- Waltzer, op. 21, 76-77.
-- Waltzer, op. 118, 72-74.
-- Waltzer, op. 119, 74-75.

Brahmsianer, 44-45.

Brangäne, 294.

Brassin, 241.

Browning, 11, 65, 96, 165, 264.

Bruno, 240.

Buffon, 259.

Burmeister, Richard, 191.

Burton, 201.

Byron, 95, 203.
-- Manfred, 93.

Carnegie Hall, 87.

Carpé, Adolph, “Phrasing and Accentuation of Piano-Playing,” 255.

Chadzko, A., 215.

Châteaubriand, 231.

Childe, Roland, 66, 182.

Chopin, F. F., 8, 16, 17, 20, 21, 22, 30, 39, 64, 82, 93, 101, 108,
115, 128, 146, 148, 160-223, 232, 241, 243, 247, 248, 249, 251, 253,
257, 259, 264, 265, 266, 267, 273, 274, 275, 277, 278, 279, 280.
-- Adaptability of music to piano, 218.
-- Admiration of Weber, 193.
-- Anticipation of Brahms, 58.
-- Aristocratic nature of, 204.
-- Arpeggi of, 224.
-- Ballades compared with Brahms’, 34.
-- Bibliography, 212-214.
-- Biography (Niecks), 211.
-- Coda, 182.
-- Compared to Beethoven, 178.
-- Compared to Childe Roland, 182.
-- Compared to Poe, 196-210.
-- Correspondence, 216.
-- Degrading of, 163.
-- Discoveries in chromatic harmonies, 164, 208.
-- Dreamer, The, 218, 219.
-- Early works, 197-198.
-- Editions of, 212.
-- French blood of, 84.
-- And George Sand, 160.
-- The Greater, 162.
-- Greatest works of, 173.
-- Influence of, 208.
-- Interpretation of, 212.
-- And Kalkbrenner, 192.
-- Last composition, 198.
-- Manipulation of mixed scales, 83.
-- Manliness of, 224.
-- Music of middle period, 15.
-- Musical influences of, 195.
-- Philipp’s arrangements of 277-281.
-- Piano music of, 15.
-- Pupils, 215.

-- Revolutionary study, 274.

-- Rubato, 219.

-- On Schumann’s Carneval, 194.

-- Speech to Louis Philippe’s Aide-de-camp, 195.

-- Temperament of, 10.

-- Tempi, 183-184.

-- Thalberg, meeting with, 192.

-- True and untrue, 211.

-- Use of chromatic scale, 83.

-- Use of harmonies, 83.

-- Wagnerian melody in, 164.

Works:

-- Ballade in A flat, 165, 176.

-- Ballade in F major, 67, 166.

-- Ballade in F minor, 15, 166, 173, 222.

-- Ballade in G minor, 165.

-- Barcarolle, 172, 222.

-- Berçeuse, 15, 70, 171.

-- Bolero, 172.

-- Butterfly, The (G flat étude), 283.

-- Concertos, 186-192.

-- Concerto in E minor, 263, 279.

-- Concerto in F minor, 198.

-- Études, 15, 164, 166-167, 232, 255-256, 260, 284.

-- Étude in A flat, 75.

-- Étude in A, 277.

-- Étude in A minor, op. 10, 274, 277, 278, 280.

-- Étude in B minor (octave study), 278, 280.

-- Étude in B minor, 182.

-- Étude in C, 277.

-- Étude in C minor, op. 10, 164.

-- Étude in C minor, op. 25, 167, 173.

-- Étude, F major, op. 10, 261.

-- Étude, F minor, 278, 280.

-- Étude, F minor, op. 25, No. 2, 50, 77, 278.

-- Étude, G flat, 278.

-- Étude, G sharp minor, 250, 270.

-- Étude in sixths, op. 25, 282.

-- Fantasie, F minor, 15, 165, 222.

-- Fantasie, op. 49, 172.

-- Fantasie Impromptu, 167, 180.

-- Fantasie Polonaise, 164, 168, 220, 222.

-- Four ballades, 165.

-- Impromptus, 163, 167.

-- Mazourkas, 163, 167-168, 218, 222.

-- Mazourkas, op. 6, 197.

-- Mazourkas, op. 7, 198.

-- Mazourka, A minor, 198.

-- Nocturnes, 170, 198, 222.

-- Nocturne in B, 171.

-- Nocturne in C sharp, 218.

-- Nocturne in C sharp minor, 170, 171.

-- Nocturne in E, 171.

-- Nocturne in E flat, 163, 196, 206.

-- Nocturne F minor, 13.

-- Op. 2, 16.

-- Op. 10 and op. 25, 244.

-- Polonaises, 168.

-- Polonaise, A flat, 219.

-- Polonaise, C major, 197.

-- Polonaise, C minor, 219.

-- Polonaise, E flat minor, 222.

-- Polonaise, F sharp minor, 168-170, 193, 218, 219, 222.

-- Polonaise Fantasie, op. 61, 198.

-- Preludes, 15, 57, 162, 171-172, 251, 252, 261, 284.

-- Prelude, B flat minor, 222.

-- Prelude, C sharp minor, op. 45, 57.

-- Prelude, D minor, 175, 222.

-- Prelude, F minor, 222.

-- Rondos, op. 1 and 5, 197.

-- Scherzi, contrasted with Brahms’, 20.

-- Scherzo in B minor, op. 20, 173, 179.

-- Scherzo, op. 20, 173-186.

-- Scherzo in B minor, 15, 28, 173.

-- Scherzo in B flat minor, op. 31, 173, 176.

-- Scherzo in C sharp minor, 15, 173, 183-185, 222.

-- Scherzo in E major, op. 54, 173, 175.

-- Scherzo in E flat minor, 222-223.

-- Scherzo in 2d sonata, 173, 178-179.

-- Scherzo in 3d sonata, 173.

-- Sonata in B flat minor, 223, 272, 281.

-- Trio in G minor, op. 8, 198.

-- Valses, 222.

-- Valse in A flat, 40, 41, 175.

-- Valse in A minor, 40.

-- Valse in C sharp minor, 41.

-- Valse in D flat, 41, 163, 206.

-- Valse in E flat, 40.

-- Valse in E minor, 41, 283.

-- Variations, 196.

-- Variations (Là Ci Darem), 17.

Chopin, Justine, 195.

Chopin, Nicholas, 195.

“Chopinisms in Tristan,” 165.

Chauvinism in Russia, 85.

City of the Dreadful Night (Thomson), 207.

Claus, Wilhelmine, 52.

Clementi, 163, 241, 243, 246, 248, 255, 264, 266, 272, 279.

-- Reforms of, 227.

-- Technics, 102.

Works:

-- Études, 227, 284.

-- E flat study, 279.

-- Gradus, 224.

Clemm, Maria, 200.

Clough, Arthur H., 22.

Coleridge, 185.

Conquered Worm, The (Poe), 206.

Conrad, Judge, 201.

Cramer, 227, 241, 246, 248, 249, 254, 255, 264, 266, 272, 274, 279,
283.

-- Bülow edition of, 244.

-- Studies in E and C, 280.

-- Left-hand study in D minor, 280.

-- Studies, 284.

Cui, Cesar, 83, 85.

Czerny, 240, 255, 266, 268, 275, 276, 277.

“Czerny unisons,” 112.

Czerny daily exercises, 244.

-- School of legato and staccato, 244.

-- Toccata in C, 242, 250.

D’Abelli, 241.

Damrosch, Walter, 87, 132.

Dante, 95, 114, 137, 151.

Darjomisky, Alexander, 83.

Daudet, 151.

Delaborde, 275, 279.

De Lenz, 214, 215.

-- Beethoven’s Sonatas, 16.

-- Chopin’s remark to, 176.

De Meyer, Leopold, 241.

Deppe, 241, 243.

De Quincey, 120, 205.

Diemer, Louis, 134.

D’Indy, 275.

Divine Comedy, 148.

Doehler, Theodore, 193, 241.

-- Concert studies, 261.

Donizetti, 228.

Don Quixote, 148.

Dostoïewsky, 84.

Dreyschock, 193, 241, 242.

-- Campanella, 263.

Dubois, 279.

Dubois, Mme., 215.

Du Maurier, 163.

Dupont, 241.

-- Toccata in B, 263.

Düsseldorf, 17.

Duvernoy, Alphonse, 275, 279.

Dvorák, 1, 5, 83, 96.

-- On Tschaïkowsky, 95.

-- On Tschaïkowsky’s themes, 121.

Edward, Herder’s ballad, 32.

Eggeling, 240, 254.

Eldorado (Poe), 206, 208.

Ehlert, Louis, 33, 37, 210.

-- On Brahms, 11, 79-80.

-- On Brahms’ D minor concerto, 54.

-- On Brahms’ Waltzer, 45.

-- On Wagner, 295.

Ehrlich, 240, 258.

-- “Touch and Technic,” 255.

Elsner, 196.

Emerson, remark on Whitman, 11.

Empedocles, 148.

Erard piano, 224.

Essipoff, Annette, 118.

Étude Heroique, 50.

Études, composers of, 240.

Eulalie (Poe), 206.

Faelten, 241.

Fairmount Park, 201.

Fauré, Gabriel, 279.

Faust, 148.

Fétis, 240, 242, 252.

Feuerbach, 291.

Field, 195.

Fielding, 78.

Finck, Henry T., 33, 162, 213, 222.

-- Antagonist of Brahms, 22.

Fissot, Henry, 274.

Flaubert, 11, 160, 162.

Floersheim, Otto, opinion of score of Zarathustra, 153.

Fontana, 194.

Foote, Arthur, 241.

Fortinbras, 125, 127.

Francesca da Rimini, 93, 114.

Franchomme, 215.

Franz, Robert, 129, 232, 239.

-- Accompaniments to Handel, 191.

Fuller-Maitland, 29, 68, 71.

Gaboriau, 207.

Gavard, Mlle., 215.

Gautier, Théophile, 148.

Genesis, 158.

Genius of Christianity (Châteaubriand), 231.

Germer, Heinrich, 240, 246.

-- “Rhythmical Problems,” 255.

Gewandhaus, 52.

Geyer, Ludwig, 285-286.

Giorgione, the School of, 219.

Giotto, 6.

Glazounow, 83.

Glinka, 83.

-- Life for the Czar, 83.

-- Ruslan, 83.

Godowsky, Leopold, paraphrase of Chopin’s studies, 271.

-- G sharp minor study (Chopin), 277.

Goethe, 94, 95, 203.

-- Remark to Eckermann, 231.

Gogol, 84, 93.

Goldschmidt, Jenny Lind, 215.

Golinelli, 241.

-- Studies, 12, 262.

Gottschalk, L. M., 262.

-- Tremolo, 251.

Gounod, 107, 120, 124, 157.

-- Roméo et Juliette, 124.

Graham, 201.

Grieg, 31, 83, 200, 221, 250, 260.

-- Scandinavian triolen of, 260.

-- Ballade in G minor, 260.

-- Concerto, 260.

-- Sonatas, op. 7 and op. 8, 260.

Gutmann, Adolph, 215.

Haberbier, 241, 248.

-- Études Poésies, 244.

-- Studies, 254.

Hadow, on Brahms, 53-54, 67.

Hale, Philip, 118, 233.

-- Verse after Pushkin, 81.

Halka (Moniuszko), 134.

Halle, Sir Charles, 215.

Hamlet, 93.

Handel, 46, 48.

-- Additional accompaniments to, 191.

Hanslick, Eduard, 30.

-- Adoration of Brahms, 9.

-- Designation of Kundry, 291.

-- Hatred of Wagner, 9.

Hans Sachs, 289.

Hasert, 241.

Haslinger, 252.

Haunted Palace (Poe), 206.

Hedda Gabler, 296.

Heine, 10, 23, 118, 129, 185, 203.

-- Remark about Dreyschock, 263.

Helen, lines to (Poe), 196, 197.

Hell, Breughel, 152.

Heller, 240, 244, 254.

Henderson, 233.

Henselt, 214, 241, 248, 249, 251, 257, 258, 259, 264, 265, 273, 274,
283.

-- Op. 2 and op. 5, 244, 258.

-- Refinement of, 257.

Works:

-- Bird Study, 256, 259, 283.

-- Études, 256, 259.

-- Studies for the piano, 281-283.

Hercules, 142.

Herder, 32, 71.

Herz, Henri, 241, 242.

-- Variations of, 231.

Herz-Parisian School, 224.

Heyman, Carl, 241.

-- Elfenspiel, 262.