Piano and Song | Page 8

of exercises, in order that the cultivation of the taste may go

hand in hand with mechanical improvement?
MR. BUFFALO. My dear friend, you are too narrow-minded
there,--you make a mistake: taste must come of itself, from much
playing and with years. Your Cecilia played the two new waltzes, and
the Nocturne of Chopin, and Beethoven's trio very nicely. But then that
was all drilled into her: we could tell that well enough by hearing
it,--Stock and I.
DOMINIE. Did it sound unnatural to you,--mannered? and did you
think it wooden, dry, dull?
MR. BUFFALO. Not exactly that; but the trouble was it sounded
studied. The public applauded, it is true; but they don't know any thing.
Stock and I thought--
DOMINIE. Do you not think that the taste for a beautiful interpretation
may be early awakened, without using severity with the pupil? and that
to excite the feeling for music, to a certain degree, even in early years,
is in fact essential? The neglect of this very thing is the reason that we
are obliged to listen to so many players, who really have mechanically
practised themselves to death, and have reduced musical art to mere
machinery,--to an idle trick of the fingers.
MR. BUFFALO. That's all nonsense. I say teach them the scales, to run
up and down the gamut! Gradus ad Parnassum's the thing! Classical,
classical! Yesterday you made your daughter play that Trill-Etude by
Carl Meyer. Altogether too fine-sounding! It tickles the ear, to be sure,
especially when it is played in such a studied manner. We stick to
Clementi and Cramer, and to Hummel's piano-school,--the good old
school. You have made a great mistake with your eldest daughter.
DOMINIE. The world does not seem to agree with you.
MADAME, of the Tz. family (_has listened and lost a trick by it, steps
up quickly, and says maliciously_). You must agree that she would
have played better, if you had left her for ten years with Cramer and
Clementi. We don't like this tendency to Schumann and Chopin. But

what folly to talk! One must be careful what one says to the father of
such a child! It is quite a different thing with us. Mr. Buffalo is bound
to our Stock by no bond of affection. He follows out his aim without
any hesitation or vanity, and looks neither to the right nor to the left,
but straightforward.
DOMINIE. I beg your pardon, madam: you may be right,--from your
point of view. We must be a little indulgent with sensitive people. But
will not your son play to us?
(_Stock plays two Etudes of Clementi, three of Cramer, and four from
the Gradus, but did not even grow warm over them. The horse his
father gave him has made him quite strong._)
* * * * *
I may be asked, "But how did Stock play?" How? I do not wish to write
a treatise: my plan is only to give hints and suggestions. I am not
writing in the interest of Stock, Buffalo, & Co.
After the playing, we went to supper: the oysters were good, but the
wine left a little sharp taste. My timid daughter did not like oysters; but
she ate a little salad, and at table listened instead of talking.
A few innocent anecdotes were related at table about horses and balls
and dogs and Stock's future. On taking leave, Madame said
condescendingly to Cecilia, "If you keep on, my dear, one of these days
you will play very nicely."

CHAPTER III.
MANY STUDENTS OF THE PIANO AND FEW PLAYERS.
_(A Letter addressed to the Father of a Piano Pupil)._
It is a pity that you have no sons, for a father takes great delight in his

sons; but I agree with you, when you say that, if you had one, you
would rather he should break stones than pound the piano. You say you
have many friends who rejoice in that paternal felicity, and whose sons,
great and small, bright and dull, have been learning the piano for three
years or more, and still can do nothing. You are doubtless right; and,
further, they never will learn any thing. You ask, Of what use is it to
man or boy to be able to stammer through this or that waltz, or
polonaise or mazurka, with stiff arms, weak fingers, a stupid face, and
lounging figure? What gain is it to art? You say, Is not time worth gold,
and yet we are offered lead? And the poor teachers torment themselves
and the boys, abuse art and the piano; and at the end of the evening, in
despair, torment their own wives, after they have all day long been
scolding, cuffing, and lamenting, without success or consolation. You
speak the truth. I