• THE LIFE OF 
 
 ETHELBERT NEVIN 
 
 fij; VANCE THOMPSON 
 
GfarnEll Imucratty Sjihrary 
 
 3tl)aca, New ^ork 
 
 BOUGHT WITH THE INCOME OF THE 
 
 SAGE ENDOWMENT FUND 
 
 THE GIFT OF 
 
 HENRY W. SAGE 
 
 1891 
 
 MJSI 
 
Cornell University Library 
 ML 410.N52T47 
 
 The life of Ethelbert Nevin, :from his le 
 
 3 1924 022 258 044 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of this book is in 
 the Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924022258044 
 
ETHELBERT NEVIN 
 
THE LIFE OF 
 
 ETHELBERT NEVIN 
 
 FROM HIS LETTERS AND 
 HIS WIFE'S MEMORIES 
 
 By VANCE THOMPSON 
 
 BOSTON, MASS. -.THE BOSTON MUSIC CO.— MCMXIII 
 
Copyright, 1913, by 
 
 THE BOSTON MUSIC CO, 
 
 For nil Countries 
 
The Music of Ethelbert Nevin 
 
 God said: "I made the soul of this man, 
 I wo\e it subtilelj- 
 
 Of the fire that shone, and the wind that ran, 
 And the rhythm of the sea. 
 
 Dear God ! the wind and the flame are light. 
 They wanton it through space ; 
 But the sea lies moaning day and night, 
 For the glor}' of Thy face. 
 
 Vance Thompson 
 
C O N T E N T S 
 
 PAGE 
 
 PREFACE vii 
 
 CHAPTERS 
 
 I. APPLE BLOSSOMS ....... 3 
 
 II. THE MILK MAID .... . 21 
 
 III. SERENADE . 39 
 
 IV. I SAT AVITH DORIS, THE SHEPHERD MAIDEN . 55 
 
 V. lehn' deine wang' ...... 73 
 
 VI. THE SKETCH BOOK ...... 85 
 
 VII. HERBSTGEFUHL ....... 97 
 
 VIII. NARCISSUS ....... 107 
 
 IX. OPUS 17 119 
 
 X. IN ARCADY ....... 131 
 
 XI. MELODY . . . . . . . .143 
 
 XII. MAGGIO IN TOSCANA ...... 157 
 
 XIII. EVERYWHERE, EVERYWHERE, CHRISTMAS TONIGHT . 173 
 
 XIV. A DAY IN VENICE ...... 181 
 
 XV. THE ROSARY ........ 191 
 
 XVL THE QUEST ....... 201 
 
 XVII. JESU, ,IESU MISERERE ...... 213 
 
 NOTES . ......... 223 
 
 LIST OF COMPOSITIONS ....... 229 
 
 MUSIC ..,.,..... 237 
 
PREFACE 
 
 ^HIS life of Ethelbert Neviii is almost an autobiography. 
 In a xvay it is he himself who tells the story of his life. 
 The material out of which it is made had long been gath- 
 ered. Through many years his wife collected everytliing that 
 bo?'e the mark of his thumb-print and the seal of his personality: his 
 diaries of the boy and the man; his letters — from his first childish note, 
 to his mother, to the last grave and beautiful letter written to his ozcn 
 son; his musical manuscripts — f'om the pencilled scores of his fij'st com- 
 positions to the man uscript of the ?naste?piece left unfinished on his desk, 
 when "'death stepped tacitly and took him."" 
 
 All this and a great deal more — letters from friends and appreci- 
 ations from contemporaries — ii:ere duly set in order. 
 
 My xvorkhas largely been that of selection. And if Ethelbert Nevin's 
 strange, sweet personality is not mirrored in this book the fault is mine. 
 Clearly enough it shone in his frank and intimate letters and in his 
 self-revealing diaries. It has been my purpose to let Ethelbert Nevin 
 himself relate the daily incidents of his life, the trend of his studies. Ids 
 way of living, the means xvhereby he attained his eminence and won his 
 fame in the world; and to tell, withal, what he thought of his oivn com- 
 positions. 
 
 JVhat critical appreciations there are in the book, are — save afeiv 
 phrases here and there — those of the writers ivho studied, each year 
 anew, his works as they were given to his public. Ma)iy of them have 
 been taken from Rupert Hughes" masterly history of '' Contempo- 
 rary American Composers,'" from the writings of Philip Hale and 
 others. And a grateful acknowledgment should be paid to Miss 
 Willa Cather, the author of an cuiicle, fine in its insight, and exqui- 
 sitely written, which appeared in the ''Courier.'" 
 
 None of the music in this volume has been heretofore ptiblished; it 
 includes some of his earliest compositions, which are of peculiar in- 
 terest to the student of his method and form; and some of his latest, 
 the fine flower of his perfected genius. 
 
 Ethelbert Nevin was five-foot-seven in height, slightly built, of a 
 
 [ '"" ] 
 
nervous iemper anient; in Mm, more than in any otlicr, life seemed to 
 bea divine vibration. He had intimacies ( as you shall see in thesepages) 
 with other worlds than this. His dark brown hair was early shot with 
 gray. His face was long and pale. His eyes were very bine. His hands 
 were long, slim, white and restless — the hand of Chopin. So you may 
 see him: a slim, tense, boyish figure with moods of gaiety and moods 
 that seemed to shroud him in gray silence; but through each mood shone 
 the sweetness of soul — the singular purity of thought and of love — 
 xsjhich is the child's heritage. And he was always a child — a child of 
 genius, but a child; his was the magical world of eternal youth where 
 there are flowers and birds and dreams. ( This is quite true, though he 
 had also more than a little of the artisfs salutary egotism; when he had 
 completed a work he would permit no one how high soever in authority, 
 to touch or change it.) 
 
 He was never to grow old. He died abruptly in the full flush of his 
 young glory, with much done, with much, it may be, undone; but I do 
 not think he is to be placed with the young Keats whose life was a 
 Street of Unfulfilled Intentions. More near is his kinship (if a literary 
 comparison is necessary) to Poe, who, dying, left a finished work, com- 
 plete, definite, world-reaching; though it was indeed not all of what 
 lay in him to accomplish. 
 
 There teas a perfect unity between Nevin's life and his thought; his 
 music was an essential expression of his living and of his loving. Per- 
 haps it is not beyo7id belief that ordinary lives are left to vegetate or 
 perish as they will; while the higher and more passionate souls are 
 linked to an invincible fatality which summons them at the appointed 
 hour. To you and to me their mission may seem unfulfilled — their 
 work not wholly done; but the Higher JVisdom calls to them, and they 
 go. Nevin had given his message of love and aspiration to the world; 
 he might have repeated it in stronger tones; that was all. 
 
 Of every man ( though love is loth to believe it ) one may say: lie 
 died just at the right time. 
 
E T H E L B E R T N E V I N 
 
 I WAS TAUGHT IN PARADISE 
 
 TO EASE MY HEART OF MELODIES. 
 
 John Keats 
 
AVHO DEKMETH SMALL THINGS ARE BENEATH HIS STATE, 
 MILL BE TOO S:MALI, FOR WHAT IS TRULY GREAT. 
 
 Jdinex Riisxell Lowell 
 E. N. 
 
 Dec. 1900. 
 
 Found on Xevin''s desk after his deitth 
 
CHAPTER ONE 
 
 "APPLE BLOSSOMS" 
 
 • ^- • '^^^ • •l^*^^ 
 
 ~Z2L 
 
CHAPTER ONE 
 
 ''APPLE BLOSSOMS" 
 
 -V THELBERT WOODBRIDGE NEVIN was born at eight 
 _^ o'clock in the evening, November25th, 1862, at " Vineacre," 
 his father's country place near Pittsburg. 
 
 The Nevin family is of Scottish origin, though an import- 
 
 -* ant branch of the family was long settled in Munster. 
 Daniel Nevin, the ancestor of the Nevins of the Cumberland Val- 
 ley and Western Pennsylvania, was born in New York, August 28th, 
 174-4. He went out to the Cumberland Valley when a young man, 
 and settled on Herron's Branch in Franklin County. There he met 
 the widow of William Reynolds, who kept the inn on the Strasburg 
 rOad. He married her, and for years this wayside inn was their home. 
 The wife, Elizabeth, was a daughter of John and Mary (Davison) 
 Williamson; notable ancestors. John Williamson, born in 1704, was 
 a cloth merchant in Dublin, but a Scot withal, claiming descent from 
 a sister of William Wallace. He went to the Cumberland Valley in 
 1731, and married JNIary (Wilson) Davison, a daughter of George 
 Davison who had come from Ulster in 1717. The family had position 
 and culture; and the elder son, Hugh Williamson, took a wide ca- 
 reer in the life of the young nation. He graduated at the College of 
 Pennsylvania and for three years was a student of Theology, but re- 
 fused to be ordained into the ministry. He studied medicine at Edin- 
 burgh and Utrecht ; he was sent by the Colonial government to ob- 
 serve the transits of Mercury and Venus in 1769 ; four years later he 
 was in London, warning the British government of the impending 
 American Revolution, announcing to Lord Dartmouth and His Maj- 
 esty's Privy Council that it was inevitable. 
 
 While in England, he procured for Benjamin Franklin the famous 
 " Hutchinson Letters. " He was a member of the Continental Con- 
 gress, the author of many scientific and philosophical works and a 
 
 [ S ] 
 
CHAPTER ONE 
 
 member of many of the learned societies of Europe and America. He 
 died in New York, in 1819. It was his only sister — the widow of the 
 wayside inn — who married Daniel Nevin. 
 
 The inn, at that time and in that new country, was a civic and 
 social centre. President Washington stopped there on his return from 
 AVestern Pennsylvania at the time of the "'Whiskey Riots. " Daniel 
 Nevin, himself, was a soldier, having served for four years, as a pri- 
 vate, in Captain Joseph Brady's marching company of Colonel 
 Frederick Watts' regiment. He died in 1813, after a long and suc- 
 cessful life. Of his five children two were sons. Each of them attained 
 eminence. The elder, John Nevin, was a graduate and trustee of 
 Dickinson College and one of the earliest "abolitionists" in the 
 country. The younger son. Major David Nevin, was a soldier and 
 politician. 
 
 John Nevin married in 1802 Martha McCracken, daughter of 
 Wilham and Elizabeth (Finley) McCracken. They had eight chil- 
 dren. The five sons were all men of influence in their day — they 
 were authors, theologians, professors, men of large affairs. The eldest, 
 Dr. John Williamson Nevin — of whom Dollinger said that he and 
 Channing were the only theologians America had produced — was the 
 author of "Biblical Antiquities" and of many controversial books 
 on Protestantism that excited interest the world over. As the au- 
 thor of "The Spirit World" and "The Inspiration of the Bible" 
 his place in religious literature is an abiding one. 
 
 The second of John Nevin's sons was William McCracken Nevin, 
 professor of ancient languages and belles lettres in Marshall and 
 Franklin College, and a poet. The third son, Daniel, was a clergy- 
 man, author and teacher, the first pastor of the Presbyterian Church 
 in Sewickley. The fourth son, Theodore Hugh Nevin, was a banker 
 and leading citizen of Pittsburg, very prominent in the Presbyterian 
 church. 
 
 The fifth son of John Nevin was Robert Peebles Nevin, whose fifth 
 child was Ethelbert Woodbridge Nevin, the composer. 
 
 [ 6 ] 
 
APPLE BLOSSOMS 
 
 It is noteworthy that the history of tlie collateral bi-anch of the 
 Nevin family was virtualh" the same ; the sons of JNlajor Da\'id Nevin 
 were scholars and clergymen, such as Doctor Edwin Henry Ne\'in, 
 college president, "anti-slavery" advocate, author and poet; and 
 the Reverend Dr. Alfred Nevin, author of manj' religious works and 
 of several volumes of church history' ; or soldiers like 31ajor David 
 Robert Bruce Nevin of Civil War fame. Indeed, of the Nevin family 
 it may be said that for many generations the men were men of the 
 pen or men of the sword — fighting in one way or the other for 
 great causes. 
 
 Robert Peebles Xevin, the father 
 of Ethelbert Nevin, was born on his fa- 
 ther's farm near Upper Strasburg, 
 Franklin County, in 1820 ; the day was 
 July the thirtj'-first. He graduated at 
 .Jefterson College in 1842. After leav- 
 ing college he went into business in 
 Pittsburg, but retired in a few years 
 to give himself to literary work. He 
 wrote for the Atlantic Monthly, the 
 Knickerbocker Magazine and Lipjnn- 
 cott's. With his nephew, he founded 
 the Evening- Leader of Pittsburg, and 
 
 later the Pittsburg Times. He was a man of fine talent. lie wrote 
 well in prose and verse. His books are not j^et forgotten — his "Tales 
 of a Traveller,"" his "Black Robes" and "LesTrois Rois. " As a 
 journalist he ranked very high, standing with the dozen men. East 
 and West, who led the public thought of his day. He was also a mu- 
 sician of fine and high culture. One of his songs, "Our Nominee," was 
 extremely popular during the campaign of Polk for the Piesidency. 
 Two of his poems, Ethelbert set to music: "Sleeping and Dream- 
 ing," which appears in the "Songs from A'ineacre" series, and "The 
 Boys of Sewickley Valley," composed at the close of the S])anish- 
 
 [ 7 ] 
 
 RoiiEUT Pi- 
 
 ,KS Nk' 
 
CHAPTER ONE 
 
 American War, the words having been written in honor of the 
 Sewickley soldiers who fell in the Civil War. 
 
 On his mother's side, Ethelbert Nevin was descended from an an- 
 cient Scottish family, the Oliphants of Gash, one of whom — Sir 
 William Oliphant of Abergeldie — married the daughter of Robert 
 Bruce. In 1721 Duncan Oliphant of Gash came to America. He 
 purchased an estate of four hundred acres in Amwell Township, New 
 Jersey. His second son, John, crossed the mountains into Pennsyl- 
 vania in 1749. With his son, Andrew, he was present at Braddock's 
 defeat in 17j5. After the Revolution, Andrew bought an estate in 
 Fayette County. His two sons. Colonel John and Andrew Oliphant, 
 were the first iron masters of Pennsylvania, building in 1796 the 
 "Sylvan Forges. " Colonel John Oliphant married a neice of the Rev- 
 erend Samuel Woodbridge. His grandaughter, Elizabeth Duncan, 
 married Robert P. Nevin and was the mother of Ethelbert Nevin. 
 
 Thus, on both sides, Ethelbert Nevin traced his ancestry to Scot- 
 tish sources — the blood of Bruce and Wallace met in his veins — 
 though there was, through multiple marriages, a distinct strain of 
 Irish blood. This strong Keltic element was in his blood, as it was in 
 his temperament and in his music. 
 
 Ethelbert was the fifth born in a family of eight children. He was 
 named after his mother's younger brother, Ethelbert Oliphant, who 
 died on the battlefield, a few months before the child was born. This 
 tragic death had been a great shock to Mrs. Nevin. She lay in a dim 
 chamber and her only consolation was music played softly in an 
 outer room. We know so little of the vital forces — so little of ante- 
 natal influences — that it is diflficult to estimate what efffect those 
 months of sadness, lightened only by music, may have had upon 
 the little son who was to be born to her. Ethelbert was like few 
 other children, like few other men. Into the very texture of his life 
 — into the delicate fibre of it — music was woven; and a sadness 
 that seemed to be remembered rather than known. Certainly rarely 
 between mother and son have the pre-natal ties persisted so in- 
 
 18 ] 
 
A P PL K r, LOS SO iM S 
 
 KtHKI,1!K1!|"s AIoTIIKI! and SiNTKIl 
 
 tensely. ^lore truly than of most sons it ina\' be said that his life was 
 
 a prolongation — an ailumbration others. He tliounlit ot her always; 
 
 he lived in lier; they were ne\ er tlis-assoeiated ; and only by a little 
 
 M'hile did he survi\e her death. Ilei- 
 
 loss made him other than he was. 
 
 His mother was herself a musician 
 
 of long trainino- and wide culture. 
 
 It was for her, the first yrand ])iano 
 
 e\'er seen in AN'estern Pennsyh ania 
 
 was carted across the Alleii'liany 
 
 >L)untains: this was in the days of 
 
 her young girlhood. And from 
 
 Ethelbert's bal^^-hood iiei- mother- 
 
 lo\e was expressed in nnisic. 
 
 The old home at A'ineaere with 
 its big hearthstone and its kindly 
 roof, which sheltered so many chil- 
 dren and so man\' artistic as])irations, was one of the dominant in- 
 fluences in Ethelbert"s life. 
 
 "Down the Ohio ri\'er. some fifteen miles from I'ittsburg, is 
 Edgeworth," wrote a sym])athetic \isitor. "There on the green 
 wooded hills that rise abruptly from the river, is \"ineacre, the old 
 mansion where Ethelbert Xe\'in was born and where he spent his 
 boj'hood ; a happy, ha])])y boyhood it was, for there was music in 
 the ri\'er and in the trees, and music in the l)oy"s heart: and the 
 woods were full of his singing, feathered brothers, and the world was 
 a good ]jlace to li\e in. It was there he wrote his 'Serenade' and 
 '(), That ^^'e Two ^Vere ^Living' and 'Doris;" in such surioundings 
 'Narcissus* was born, that melody as familiar now as the world's 
 oklest classics, that everyone of us seems to ha\e heard some summer 
 day in the fields and woods when we were children, and then lost it 
 again, until this boy on the banks of the Ohio brought it back to us 
 from A read V. 
 
 [ 9 ] 
 
CHAPTER ONE 
 
 "But back to "N'ineacre. It is a big, old rambling house that has 
 been frequently added to and rebuilt to conform to the taste of its 
 occupants. JMr. Xevin has four brothers, all men of decided tastes, 
 and they each have apartments to suit their hobbies. In the centre 
 of the house is the library, the big room lined with books from floor 
 to ceiling, where Robert Nevin, Ethelbert's father, student and man 
 of letters, still spends his tranquil days in studj^" 
 
 "Vixeachk" 
 
 This description was written shortly before Ethelbert's death, but 
 the A'ineacre it describes was the ^^ineacre he knew all his life. The 
 home life there was gracious. There was alwaj^s inusic. There was 
 always talk of books and pictures. There were always children play- 
 ing in the old, rambling house, and troops of cousins and kin. In a 
 memoir, written for the more intimate friends of the family, at a 
 
APPLE BLOSSOMS 
 
 Ethelbert axd His 
 
 NUESE 
 
 time when Ethelbert Nevin had already won his fame in the world, 
 his mother said : 
 
 " His babyhood was that of all others, only especially dear to his 
 parents. As he grew older, he became a winsome, lovable child, find- 
 ing a place in the hearts of all his relatives, many of whom lived 
 near him. He grew to be a pretty child, not beautiful ; but his lovely 
 brown curly locks and his expressive blue 
 eyes were his chief charms. His nurse was de- 
 voted to him. It was she who taught him 
 his first songs. She took the greatest pleasure 
 in dressing him in his best clothes and, con- 
 cealing herself behind a door or screen, would 
 start him into a room, perhaps full of guests, 
 and insist upon his showing off his charms and 
 accomplishments, which she had taught him. 
 His first song was one, that seems now to 
 have been lost sight of, as I can find no record 
 of it whatever ; but it was taught by this nurse. It ran this way and 
 was a very much mixed up piece of music : 
 
 'Now Moses, don't touch it; 
 Now Moses, you'll catch it; 
 Now Moses, don't you hear what I say?' 
 
 His rendering of it was very funny and very taking and for a long 
 time he was continually called upon to sing that song. Then he 
 learned other songs and would dance away while singing them with 
 the greatest abandonment — receiving enough applause to turn even 
 a tiny child's head. 
 
 ' 'As he was born during the progress of our Civil War, or rather 
 near the close of it, the war songs, 'Marching Through Georgia,' 
 ' Tenting on the Old Camp Ground, ' and others, were very popular, 
 all of which he learned to sing when about three years old. At the 
 age of five, he would sit on the piano stool and play his own accom- 
 
 [ ^^ ] 
 
CHAPTER ONE 
 
 paniments to these songs. Even at this age his soul seemed to be 
 filled with music. He would see his cousins, a little older than him- 
 self, starting off to their music lessons and he, in his childish way, 
 would roll up some music, put it under his arm and start off, too. 
 When questioned as to where he was going he would answer: 'Oh, 
 I must go and take my music lessons.' When a very small child 
 of five years, and the night before Christmas, his father came home 
 with a music-box in his pocket. He took the boy on his knee and 
 began telling him a story of the Holy time. Now and then to make 
 the story more effective his father would put his hand in his pocket 
 and touch the spring of the music-box. The child firmly believed 
 that the music came from the angels in Heaven, and his excitement 
 over it was intense. It was a long time before he found out the ruse 
 that had been i^layed upon him. Then when he came along to the 
 age of seven, eight and nine, when I suppose every boy thinks it 
 his duty to pay some attention to base ball, he tried very hard to 
 like the game and be interested in it. One day when his elder 
 brothers and some friends were organizing a game he came rushing 
 in to his father, very much excited, his cheeks flushed and his eyes 
 dancing with delight, and with the greatest enthusiasm he shouted : 
 'Oh, papa, I am elected to the ball game! ' 'Why,' said his father, 
 'what are you elected to do in the ball game?' 'Oh, I'm elected to 
 be water-carrier,' he replied. He felt this to be a very great honor 
 indeed. I must admit it was the highest ever conferred upon him in 
 that profession. Often have I been seated at a window which over- 
 looked a }"ard where the children played, and he, with his playmates, 
 would start a game of ball. While playing apparently greatly inter- 
 ested, with a sudden and unexpected movement, he would throw 
 his bat on the ground and rush into the house and to the piano. 
 After having noticed this several times, I asked him one day why 
 he did that. 'Because I just thought of something I wanted to 
 play,' he replied. He never seemed to care for boys' sports and 
 games. He preferred the society of his girl cousins who were older 
 
 [ ^-' ] 
 
X 
 
 
 ?1 
 
 
CHAPTER ONE 
 
 than he and theii' young girl friends. Oftimes these cousins would 
 take him away from his home and keep him a whole day at a time 
 saying when they returned him : 'We have just had lots of fun with 
 him.' 
 
 ' ' From his very earliest years he showed the most lovable, sym- 
 pathetic, tender nature, but alas, the most nervous temperament 
 possible to imagine. Whenever he could bestow a favor or a deli- 
 cate attention upon any of his relatives or friends, or those he loved, 
 he was always eager to do it. He would come in with his little hands 
 full of violets and say (even before he could speak plainly) : ' I have 
 brought you some violets for your birthday. ' This would come from 
 his own loving thoughts. " 
 
 His first school was at Edgeworth, where many of the pupils 
 were kith and kin. ' ' It was a school with no ' bugbear, ' " his teacher 
 said, ' ' learning was not hard ; and his teachers all loved the earnest, 
 sympathetic, tender, high-strung lad." The rich nature of the child 
 flowered early. Sentiments, will, intelligence, were all precocious. 
 At six years of age he could read and write and sing, playing his 
 own accompaniments ; and he was a graceful little dancer. As his 
 mother points out, music was always his second language. Until he 
 was eight years of age his musical instruction was merely absorbed 
 from his parents. 
 
 His first formal piano lessons were given by Von der Heide at the 
 Williams Conservatory in Pittsburg, with whom he studied for two 
 months. His next teacher was William Guenther, who wrote of 
 him: "JNIusic was born in him and he was my brightest pupil. He 
 came to me for instruction when he was but eight years old and was 
 so small I had to help him on the piano stool. In less than one year 
 he had learned to compose little melodies which were subject to but 
 minor corrections at my hands. In all his work, from his boyhood 
 up, he was free from any attempt at imitation and his compositions 
 were entirely original. ' ' 
 
 Mr. Guenther's memory is not quite exact. Ethelbert was ten 
 
 [ ^4 ] 
 
APPLE BLOSSOMS 
 
 years old when he took those lessons. A little later his first musical 
 composition, the ' ' Lilian Polka, ' ' written for his little sister, was 
 published. On the cover was printed : 
 
 ''By Bertie Kevin 
 Aged eleven.' ' 
 
 A rhyme that was sung to him by his playmates until he was a very 
 weary child. That year he took part in his first public concert. It 
 was given by Guenther's pupils at Library Hall, and Ethelbert 
 played the Wagner-Liszt "Tannhaiiser" march. At that time he 
 had a clear, sweet soprano voice and sang often in the concerts given 
 by the "Xevin Octette." In the Gounod Club's production of 
 " Jeanette's Wedding" he sang the part of the small boy. When 
 the family went abroad in 1877, Ethelbert sang in the surpliced 
 choir of the Episcopal Church in Rome, where for many years his 
 cousin, Dr. Robert Jenkins Nevin, was rector. His voice is said to 
 have been ' ' a very beautiful one, sweet, melodious and clear ' ' and 
 he expected then to sing all his life. "When he was fourteen his 
 voice left him," Miss Cather writes in the article I have already 
 quoted, ' ' but the heart in him was still singing, as it will always. 
 He was very miserable when he could not sing any more, until in 
 the language of an old book, the Comforter came to him, and he be- 
 gan to write songs of his own and found it almost as satisfactory as 
 singing other peoples'. He never sings in public now, but it is pos- 
 sible to sing very well without much voice, and he can do it." 
 
 It was during this year abroad, 1877-1878, that Ethelbert took 
 lessons on the piano from BoehmeS then considered the best, or one 
 of the best teachers in Dresden. His mother wrote : 
 
 " He was to take three lessons a week of one hour's duration, but 
 often this professor would overstay his time to the length of two 
 hours and more, so interested did they become in each other, teacher 
 and pupil. They would sing and play and talk together, evidently 
 very contented and happy in each other's society. He had the op- 
 
 [ ^5 ] 
 

 
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APPLE BLOSSOMS 
 
 portunity of hearing all the best music and operas at that time in 
 Leipsic, Berlin, A'ienna and Dresden. He was an ardent admirer of 
 all the works of art in those different cities and even studied them 
 with great care and interest. ' ' 
 
 Upon his return to Vineacre, Ethelbert entered the AVestern I Uni- 
 versity of Pennsylvania. He had made his preliminary studies at the 
 Sewickley Academy and in the preparatory department of the Uni- 
 versity. He remained until the close of his freshman year in 1879. 
 This ended his collegiate study. He was never a scholar in the aca- 
 demic sense, for his "little Latin and less Greek " soon faded away; 
 but few men had a wider or more sympathetic knowledge of modern 
 belles-lettres. That finer education he had absorbed in his cultured 
 home and had acquired in his life-long travels in many lands. His 
 acquaintance with French literature was singularly wide, and he was 
 always an ardent student of German and Italian verse. 
 
 At the end of his freshman year he made up his mind that his 
 way in life was to be the way of music. He had proved his right to 
 make this decision. He had already written several pieces which 
 clearly denoted his singular talent, and were shortly followed by 
 songs like "Good-night, Good-night, Beloved," "One Spring 
 Morning" and "Doris." He had played at a number of concerts 
 and in his freshman year — then seventeen years of age — he played 
 Chopin's Polonaise in E flat major, with full orchestra, at a public 
 performance in Pittsburg. In spite of this beginning — so splendid in 
 its promise — his father was strongly opposed to his entering upon 
 the career of a professional musician — of being ' 'a piano-player. ' ' It 
 was not that Mr. Xevin's love for music was less high and sincere 
 than Ethelbert's. In father and son was the same strong love for 
 "what is beautiful in God's Nature and in man's Art." But those 
 days in Western Pennsylvania were Philistine days. They were days 
 of fortune-building. And a boy, if he had other aspirations than; 
 money-making, was taught to look to the liberal professions — to' 
 the Church, to law, to medicine — as the only dignified ways of life. , 
 
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APPLE BLOSSOMS 
 
 Over music, as a professional career, lay the same obloquy once cast 
 upon the stage. Mr. Nevin, though himself an artist, was not unin- 
 fluenced by the common thought of his generation. At his request 
 Ethelbert was entered as a clerk in the offices of the Pennsylvania 
 Railway in Pittsburg. This experiment — a very painful one for the 
 sensitive lad — lasted only a few months. One night he went to his 
 father (in the big, book-lined room) and begged to be released from 
 that uncongenial work. 
 
 "Let me be poor all my life and be a musician," he said. 
 
 At last his father consented : and this winter of 1880 and 1881 
 Ethelbert spent in study and regular practice at home, at the same 
 time taking, by letter, lessons in counterpoint from Dr. S. Austin 
 Pearce^ of New York. The next autumn he went to Boston, 
 
 [ ^9 1 
 
CHAPTER TWO 
 
 "THE MILK MAID" 
 
 I i SM K i. 1 1 L k K Nl 1 
 
 #f^^-^^^^^^^-= 
 
 V ^ *^ -•-» 
 
 <uhomeup~on aou, JVob-in, Qjhamcup-on uou now, 
 
CHAPTER TWO 
 
 "THE MILK MAID" 
 
 "^ ARLY in the autumn of 1881, Ethelbert Nevin then a sen- 
 -^ sitive, dehcate lad of eighteen, left his home for the first time 
 and set out alone for Boston, the ' ' centre of music in Amer- 
 ica," he thought. He carried a single letter of introduction 
 
 -' to a Boston banker, who "turned the cold shoulder" on 
 him. So quite unfriended, he was left to make his own way in the 
 social and musical world of the Eastern city. He had always a won- 
 derful personal charm. As a child and as a man there was a singular 
 winsomeness about him, which gained him friends everywhere. It 
 is difficult to describe that peculiar quality ; it was made up of gen- 
 tleness, of frankness and of unselfishness ; but there was above all a 
 sj^mpathetic interest in the lives of others which was magnetic in its 
 attractiveness. A little of this is seen in his diaries and in the many 
 letters he wrote to his kin, his friends, his business associates. There 
 is not a line, not a phrase which does not show this essential sweet- 
 ness and generosity. There is not one unkind word. Of no other man, 
 who took so wide a career in public life — for from childhood he was 
 before the public — could it be said that he never made an enemy. 
 There was no taint of vanity in him; there was no shadow of jeal- 
 ousy. There was a high and very beautiful love for humanity, for 
 men and women and children ; and bringing to his friends tenderness 
 and sympathy, he was never met with anything but love. This state- 
 ment is scrupulously exact. (Even that discourteous banker had be- 
 come his friend, had he not wholly ignored the timid lad.) 
 
 Left wholly to his own resources Ethelbert moved from his hotel 
 to a boarding-house, at 101 Boylston Street. The first thing he did 
 was to rent a piano. Then he sought out the man who stood at the 
 top of his profession in the Boston of that day, B. J. Lang,^ a pupil 
 of Von Biilow and Liszt. He was told to come the next week when 
 
 [ ^3 ] 
 
CHAPTER TWO 
 
 Mr. Lang would talk with him. What happened he related in a let- 
 ter to his mother : 
 
 "Mr. Lang was busy in his room. I went and sat outside 
 as I was too early. Soon he came out, welcomed me, took 
 me into his room and asked me to play — in this manner : 
 'Now I want you to amuse me, not as if I were to be your 
 instructor, but as if I were some fellow you were enter- 
 taining. ' I played that little Album Leaf of Kirchner's. He 
 said: 'Very interesting; now play me something else.' So 
 1 played that Romance of Schumann's. He said : Aery in- 
 teresting indeed. Now play me something frivolous. ' I sug- 
 gested Olivette, but he said : 'No, not quite so frivolous 
 as that.' So I played Winkelmann's Schottische — a scale 
 two or three times ; then he remarked : 'You are very inter- 
 esting. " (His favorite expression, I presume.) 'Very, indeed, 
 and you play with an immense amount of expression. Your 
 manner of playing is graceful, light and rippling, but you 
 lack aplomb and firmness. I am going to take an interest in 
 you — you have inspired it and if you will be patient and 
 bear with me for six lessons, I will make you feel satisfied 
 with yourself.' 
 
 "So he gave me some of the stupidest, meanest exercises 
 by Cramer. The ones I took in Dresden were simply para- 
 dise to these. Mr. Lang said : ' Now practice this one ' 
 (marking one) 'for two hours every day' 'and this scale 
 I have written for you an hour and a half, if you get time. ' 
 Well, his writing looks more like hieroglyphics than any- 
 thing else I have ever seen, so it took me a long time to 
 figure it out. I am to go back again on Monday. He in- 
 vited me to go to the St. Cecilia Club tonight. He wields 
 the baton there, you know." 
 
 He "inspired an interest" not only in Mr. Lang, but in Stephen 
 A. Emery,* from whom he took his first lesson in harmony that day, 
 and of whom he wrote : 
 
 "I am very much pleased with Mr. Emery and he seemed 
 pleased with me, because I was the only one who asked 
 
 [ -'/ ] 
 
THE MILK MAID 
 
 any questions ; and, would you believe it, I have learned a 
 great deal about intervals and so forth. ' ' 
 
 In another long letter to his mother he wrote : 
 
 ' ' With three and a half hours at the piano, and the fright- 
 fully long lessons to prepare for Mr. Emery in Harmony 
 for Monday, I am pretty busy. I don't see how I am go- 
 ing to commit it all to memory and write it, but it has to 
 be done. Just think — -to write forty-five scales, memorize 
 all the names of the different degrees, intervals and so forth ! 
 Tomorrow morning I must attend a lecture on the Anal- 
 ysis of Berlioz's Overture to 'Romeo and Juliet' and in 
 the afternoon a lecture on consecutive Fifths and Octaves. 
 My brain is one conglomeration of Thirds, Fifths, Sixths, 
 Sevenths — beans, brown bread — 'Lift your fourth finger 
 higher' — 'Come again on Monday' — and hieroglyphics. 
 After supper I went to the St. Cecilia Club. The music 
 was splendid. Forty men singing Mendelssohn's quartettes. 
 It was perfect. They are practicing now because Sherwood, 
 JosefFy and Theodore Thomas are coming to hear them. 
 I hope I shall be able to go. 
 
 ' 'Mr. Lang asked me what I did when I was not study- 
 ing. I replied : ' Sitting in my room looking out of the win- 
 dow, or walking in the park. ' 
 
 '"Have you no acquaintances?" 'No, Sir,' I replied. 
 'Well,' he said, ' I will see that you know some nice peo- 
 ple. Now, there is a Mr. Smith (glad I remember the name) 
 from . . . He is a fine pianist, about your age and a nice 
 fellow, I want you to meet him. There is a room in the 
 upper part of this building full of the choicest and finest 
 music ever published. A legacy left by a wealthy person 
 for the use of students. You could practice there, (in the 
 Burrage Room). There are two Chickering grands. You 
 and Mr. Smith could play duets for two pianos. ' 
 
 "Mr. Lang's room is a curiosity. It is very small, about 
 half the size of mine at home, and a little larger than the 
 blue room. In it are two pianos and a dumb keyboard. He 
 sits at the piano back of mine, the keyboard not quite so 
 
 [^5 ] 
 
CHAPTER TWO 
 
 high. Then he has a high book-case filled with music, two 
 writing-desks, a sofa and a hundred and one beautiful things 
 lying about the room. A great many fine engravings and 
 music manuscript of great composers and so forth. 
 
 "My back aches fearfully this evening, not like the old 
 pain, however, but only tired sitting at the piano three 
 and a half hours and stooping as I always do. Mr. Lang 
 says this is not good for piano-playing or for health. He 
 is very nice but he gets angry sometimes ; however, I ex- 
 pect to get along very well with him. I do not think he 
 will throw me out of the window of the third floor front. 
 I am a little slow in getting things, but once I get them 
 I have them for all time. 
 
 "Please ask Father to send me $15 to pay my board and 
 to get a ticket for the Symphony Concert. I received thirty 
 last week but it all went for four months' piano-rent, in ad- 
 vance, and one week's board. I have about four dollars in 
 hand. Write to me soon and give my love to all the family. 
 Try to tell me something good for the blues. I get SO dis- 
 couraged. "Believe me most lovingly, 
 
 "Bertie." 
 
 Septeviber 16, 1881. 
 
 It is from his letters to his mother that one gets the clearest pic- 
 ture of his life in Boston. For the first few weeks, it was a solitary 
 life. He was ill, now and then, for the change of climate had affected 
 his health, always delicate; but he worked continuously, ten and 
 twelve hours a day, at his piano and at his writing-table. 
 
 ' ' In the evening, ' ' he wrote, ' ' when it is too late to do any- 
 thing and too early to light the gas, I sit dreaming at the 
 window and try to imagine what you are all doing at home. 
 And I think I could give up my piano, music and every- 
 thing, to be with you all. But then I turn round and see 
 my piano standing there, staring me in the face, and I go 
 to work more earnestly than ever — not that I am not en- 
 joying myself, too, but even in the midst of my enjoyment, 
 there is a certain quivering at my heart, a longing for 
 home." 
 
 [ 26 ] 
 
T HE MILK MAID 
 
 And then: 
 
 "I know 1 shan't have anything but practice tomorrow, 
 as ]Mr. Lang gave me six pages of a song of Rubinstein, 
 transcribed with variations by I^iszt, and you may know 
 it is difficult, but I have not failed with any of my studies 
 so far, and I"ni not going to drop on this one if I have to 
 practice twenty-fix e hours a day. Don't (juite know where 
 
 J. Lang 
 
 I'm going to get the twenty-fifth, but I must somehow. 
 Mr. Emery told me he is quite satisfied that I know all 
 about the chords of the Seventh, and he only found one 
 mistake in all my exercises. Mr. Lang also told me that I 
 am doing well. So you see I have (juite an exalted oi)inion 
 of myself this evening. Dear only knows what a fall may 
 await me tomorrow, but I am trying to live by the day." 
 
 [ ^7 ] 
 
CHAPTER T \A O 
 
 The first song he wrote in Boston was "The Milk Maid," which 
 he dedicated to Madame de AngeUs, the singer, whose acquaint- 
 ance he made through JNIr. Lang. Through her he procured his first 
 pupils, Mr. H . . . and a little girl. 
 
 He wrote his mother: 
 
 "I am to charge Mr. H. fifteen dollars for twenty-five les- 
 sons, giving three lessons a week, and the little girl ten 
 dollars, as that is all she can afford to pay. It is not very 
 much but it is a help. Ben Butler asked Madame de Ange- 
 lis to give a recital in the Masonic Temple and she has 
 asked me to play. I told her I would. ' ' 
 
 Then, October 27th, he announces that "The Lover" is out and 
 that he has sent forty copies home ; and 
 
 "I am having a song published at Ditson's, with words 
 from Tennyson's 'Queen Mary.' It looks rather queer to 
 see 'Nevin' in the same line with Mendelssohn, Schu- 
 mann, "N'erdi, Rubinstein and so forth, — but such is life. 
 I composed it yesterday, October 26th, and took it down 
 to Ditson, and found Mr. Ditson very kind. It will be out 
 in three or four weeks. He has, of course, the copyright. 
 I move to my new quarters tomorrow. ' ' 
 
 The new quarters were in Newton Street, "a sunny room with 
 gas, coal and meals for $10 a week." Six weeks only had elapsed 
 since he began his studies with Mr. Lang ; and he had become his 
 favorite pupil and had made many friends in the musical world. He 
 and one other of Mr. Lang's "advanced pupils" were invited to the 
 banquet given in honor of Liszt's seventieth birthday where 
 
 "Mr. Sherwood played divinely. He gave an Etude of 
 Liszt, and such execution I have never heard ; plays even 
 better than Madeleine Schiller. The committee which con- 
 sists of H. W. Longfellow, B. J. Lang and W. H. Sher- 
 wood, sent Liszt a cablegram of congratulation on his 
 birthday. I sat between the editor of the Boston Journal 
 and Mr. D . . . who sings splendidly and is considered one 
 [ -^S ] 
 
THE MILK MAID 
 
 of the best vocal masters in Boston. My vis-a-vis was a 
 daughter of Mapleson, and next to her sat a celebrated 
 pianist. Mr. Lang, you know, was a pupil of Liszt, and 
 travelled with him for quite a long time. I am so glad to 
 study under the pupil of such a great master." 
 
 In November he wrote : 
 
 "Am still at five-finger exercises — eight weeks of them. 
 Attended a delightful Symphony Concert last night, and 
 the orchestra played Beethoven's Second Symphony, my 
 favorite, I think. Went to Everett Hale's Church this 
 morning and this evening to the Handel and Haydn re- 
 hearsal, to hear the ' Creation. ' Mr. Lang asked me if 1 
 cared to hear him practice, so I met him this evening at 
 Chickering's after the Handel and Haydn. He played un- 
 til ten o'clock on a Rubinstein Concerto, which he is go- 
 ing to play at one of the Philharmonic Concerts. I am go- 
 ing to have the second piano part to play with him. Just 
 think of playing with such an artist ! He is without excep- 
 tion the cleanest, broadest and most truly artistic (in every 
 sense of the word) pianist I have yet heard. He does not 
 stoop to any of the little tricks which are effective but not 
 artistic. He is too much of a man for that." 
 
 November the 25th (his birthday) he wrote to his mother : 
 
 "As my practicing is all finished and I am too tired to 
 work at my Harmony, I will give myself a birthday pres- 
 ent by writing to you. Today I am nineteen. Whew! Am 
 I not getting old? But strange to say I do not feel a bit 
 older than I did this time yesterday. I took my lesson 
 from Mr. Lang on Thanksgiving day. It was a long one, 
 from twelve to one-fifteen. Mr. Lang told me that Raff's 
 Etude was an immense thing, and I am to play it without 
 my notes on Monday. He gave me a very difficult Etude 
 of Moscheles, in broken Thirds and Sixths, and I have 
 been practicing nearly all day at it. I don't know whether 
 you will believe me, but it is true nevertheless. I am going 
 to take a class in the Mission Sunday School commencing 
 
 [ ^^9 1 
 
CHAPTER TWO 
 
 next Sunday. It is a class of little girls and I am to tell 
 them nice little Sunday stories and so forth. I have had a 
 number of very pretty birthday gifts and I thank you all 
 very much. I think if you could hear the RafF Etude I am 
 studying it w^ould almost make you weep, — it is the sad- 
 dest and sw^eetest thing I have ever heard and I never get 
 tired playing it." 
 
 December he wrote : 
 
 "Mr. Lang has given me Mendelssohn's Concerto in B flat 
 to play with the orchestra. Isn't it grand? It is 29 pages 
 long, very difficult and very brilliant. He played it with 
 me on his piano — it is arranged for two pianos. He says of 
 all Concertos of Chopin, Liszt, Beethoven, Mozart, etc., 
 this is the most taking. The only trouble is that you can't 
 play it on one piano with effect. Have been having very 
 hard work with Rubinstein's Gavotte. It is simply terriffic, 
 such stretches!" 
 
 A week later he played the Mendelssohn Concerto for Mr. Lang 
 and received the "first genuine compliment" his teacher had given 
 him: 
 
 "After I had finished my playing, he said: 'When did I 
 give you that?' 'My last lesson,' I replied. 'I thought so,' 
 he answered, 'but fancied I must be mistaken, as you 
 played it so well!' " 
 
 In his Christmas letter he wrote : 
 
 "All day Thursday I was in a gale and was stopped in my 
 lesson as something had gone wrong. Angry ? Why he was 
 raving, almost. There I sat like a perfect dummy and let 
 him heap his wrath on my head without saying ' beans. ' 
 But I was so humiliated I was almost afraid to go back to 
 my lesson on Monday ... I injured my hand practicing six 
 hours a day and Mr. Lang told me to practice only four. 
 At the same time he gave me an Etude of Liszt, a Fugue 
 of Bach and my pet little exercises, which I could not 
 possibly learn in that short time ; so I practiced eight hours. 
 [ 30 ] 
 
THE MILK MAID 
 
 Just eight hours out of twelve at the piano ! Consequently 
 I have strained my hand and could practice only two this 
 morning. Have finished my Concerto and am ready to play 
 it with the orchestra. Of course my pride has gone up 
 about ninety-nine per cent, but there is no telling how it 
 may fall down tomorrow. Mr. Lang has put me at Bach's 
 Well- Tempered Clavichord and says it must be my daily 
 bread. (Now I wonder when I say ' Give us this day our 
 daily bread,' am I asking for Bach's Well-Tempered 
 Clavichord?) The 'well-tempered' consists of Preludes and 
 Fugues in seven flats and seven sharps and in every key on 
 the pianoforte. The Fugues are in two, three and four 
 subjects and a person has to be particularly 'well-tempered' 
 to practice them. But I am swimming along and I don't 
 want to stop for anything." 
 
 January 27th, 1881, he wrote : 
 
 "Here is some news. I am going to make my debut with 
 orchestra in Music Hall on Sunday, Februaiy 12th. How 
 does that strike you? I am open to congratulations. The 
 instrument on which I am to perform is the cymbals. Four 
 of Mr. Lang's pupils are to play : Frank Smith, bass drum ; 
 Mr. Mayo, triangle; Mr. Lyon, tenor drum; and Mr. 
 Nevin, cymbals. The " Cecilia, " under Mr. Lang's direc- 
 tion, is to give Berlioz' Requiem. It is one of the most 
 massive, magnificent works ever written. Mr. Lang was 
 very anxious that I should attend rehearsals and it would 
 be impossible unless I took part in the orchestra. 
 
 ' ' Now, I have a deep scheme which I hope you and father 
 will sanction. I am anxious to spend another winter under 
 Mr. Lang, and if, on April the first, I can get an organ to 
 play, either in Boston or vicinity, at a salary, may I not 
 accept it ? It will necessitate my remaining in Boston dur- 
 ing the summer, but it would help pay my expenses. Of 
 course, I am so anxious to see you all, but work must 
 come before pleasure, and I cannot possibly get a position 
 for the winter months. I feel more firmly convinced that 
 I must remain steadily at work to accomplish anything, 
 and now is the time for it, while my imagination is yet 
 
 [jr ] 
 
CHAPTER TWO 
 
 young and my strength good. If I could only make most 
 of my own way next year ! I trust the year following that 
 father will be able to send me to Germany to complete 
 my musical education. I know, mother will say at first 
 that she cannot let me go so far away, but surely she 
 knows that my future wealth and happiness are to come 
 from my musical profession, so it surely must be right. 
 AVe have been having examinations all morning. I got 
 ninety-seven per cent out of a hundred. Is not that pretty 
 good?" 
 
 March 4th, 1882 : 
 
 "My dear Mother: 
 
 Tempus has been more th&n fugiting this week. It 
 hardly seems a day since Walter came, while it is a week 
 this morning. I have been very busy practicing to make 
 up for my short vacation. This afternoon I went out to 
 Savin Hill where there is a beautiful view of the sea, and 
 where the boats and steamers were scattered, and everj"- 
 thing looked so peaceful and serene I almost wished that I 
 could bury myself in one of the ships, away out in the deep, 
 and give up all the toil and worry of trying to be an artist. 
 Oh, how discouraged I am ! I don't think I shall live to 
 be great, and I don't see how I can live if I'm not. But 
 I shall have to ' work on ' until the sun goes from behind 
 the dark clouds which obscure it now. Lily's picture came 
 and, oh, how I devoured it, so to speak. She seems so 
 much older, and I am so proud of my little sister. 
 "With love to you all, believe me 
 
 "Your loving son, 
 
 "Ethelbert." 
 
 March 12th, 1882 : 
 
 "My dear Mother: 
 
 Another week commenced, and I am starting off 
 admirably with a letter to you. On Monday I took a les- 
 spn but, to my amazement, Mr. Lang put me into Chopin's 
 
 [ 3-^ ] 
 
THE MILK MAID 
 
 Etudes. Now really I do want a little praise, as this win- 
 ter since September the 13th, I have had Cramer's Fifty 
 Etudes; 24 Moscheles' Etudes, Bach's Well-Tempered 
 Clavichord, Preludes and Fugues and a manuscript book full 
 of technical works ; and here I have Chopin's Etudes, each of 
 which is a regular concert piece, and besides all this, I 
 have taken twenty-five pieces from Chopin, Beethoven, 
 Mozart and Raff, Schumann, Liszt, Mendelssohn, Bach, 
 etc. Now if that hasn't been seven months' work I am 
 pretty much mistaken. Saturday I went to the last Sym- 
 phony Concert of the season. They gave Beethoven's Eas- 
 ter Piece, his Choral Ninth Symphony. It is grand beyond 
 conception. Oh, how I have enjoyed these delightful con- 
 certs, and I am so sorry to think they are all over for the 
 season. I must end. Give lots of love to all the family. 
 
 "Your loving son, 
 "Bert. 
 
 "Father's letter just received. I haven't any news except 
 that I shall be home in April." 
 
 That summer he spent at Vineacre ; in September he returned to 
 Boston, taking rooms at 6 Union Park, and by Mr. Lang's advice, 
 printed an advertisement in the Transcript for piano pupils. 
 
 "It is very hard," he wrote, "to get pupils, when there 
 are 275 teachers who have been here at least five years, and 
 twenty-eight of Mr. Lang's pupils also give lessons; and 
 then there are Mr. Lang and Mr. Sherwood who teach, not 
 counting hundreds of pupils at the Conservatory. All Mr. 
 Lang's pupils play as well, and many of them better than 
 I. But should 1 get four pupils I shall pay for my own les- 
 sons, and if I get five I can take German." 
 
 Nothing came of the advertisement at the time, and he found it 
 equally difficult to get an organ in one of the churches. Very char- 
 acteristic was his letter of October 2nd. 
 
 [33 ] 
 
CHAPTER TWO 
 
 "My dear Mother: 
 
 Had intended writing you last night but it was such 
 a love]}" evening I could not resist the temptation to take a 
 long walk. I walked over to Back Bay and down Newbury 
 Street and I heard an organ as I passed Dr. Duryea's Church 
 (Congregational). As the service was about commencing I 
 went in. I don"t know when I have enjoyed an evening so 
 much. I could almost imagine myself in our church at home, 
 and we had the same hj^mn book and the service was very 
 like ours. Mr. Duryea is a most interesting man and actu- 
 ally I can remember the text. Yesterday I took a little ex- 
 cursion all by ixiyself down to the quiet old town of Lynn. 
 There was a steamer at Atlantic Avenue that went across 
 the harbor. Oh, how beautiful it was, — the sun dancing 
 on the far stretch of water, and the ships in full sail, re- 
 sembling sea gulls sitting on the water with spread wings 
 ready for soaring. It was all so still and fjuiet with the ex- 
 ception of our busy little tug. I thought of you. The beauty 
 of the sea sent my thoughts to you and home and all I 
 love. I often think that when I die / wish I might be buried 
 by the sea, as I am sure I could always hear the sweet, 
 ceaseless, roar, — to me it is never monotonous. Lynn is 
 not so quaint nor primitive as I expected. However, the 
 ride along the beach made up for all that. Am contemplat- 
 ing writing a little Impromptu on the theme you have so 
 often heard me sing. It runs in my head all the time. 
 
 "Apropos of writing music, I have almost comj^leted my 
 JNIusical Sketch and have added a Love Song. 
 
 "With love to all, 
 
 "Your Bert. 
 
 "P. S. Was ever boy blessed with such a mother as mine!" 
 
 In October he began taking lessons from Carl SeidhofF whom he 
 describes as the "best German teacher in Boston." And his daily 
 work at the piano went on. 
 
 [ J^ ] 
 
THE MILK MAID 
 
 He wrote his mother : 
 
 "I do nothing but practice, practice, practice five-finger 
 exercises for technique. The most uninteresting kind of 
 work. However, I see the importance of working dihgently 
 at them. Mr. Lang is very encouraging, but then imagine 
 five and a half hours, as I practiced yesterday on nothing 
 but exercises for technique ! Mr. Lang and I had quite a 
 scare the other day, and I do believe he was the more 
 frightened of the two. I was playing one of Beethoven's 
 Sonatas when suddenly my third finger refused to go either 
 up or down. It seemed utterly powerless and dead. I ex- 
 claimed: 'Why what is the matter with my finger?' He 
 looked at it and there it was perfectly stiff. He jumped 
 from his chair, took my hand and rubbed some of the 
 muscles. After a time it came to life again, but he was very 
 much frightened and told me I would have to be more care- 
 ful. 
 
 "What is sister doing with her music? I hope she is not 
 at that sonata, as it is not good to have her work just now. 
 Don't let her practice too long. An hour or hour and a 
 half is abundance. So many hands have been ruined by too 
 much practice when they are young and not strong and 
 the touch is often made dull and heavy instead of light and 
 elastic. My German is getting on nicely and I enjoy it so 
 much. It is a relaxation after the continuous practicing. 
 
 "I have been composing quite a deal for the last few 
 weeks. I finished an Andante Gracioso, a Mazurka-Caprice, 
 a Love Song, a Valse and a Serenade, besides a song. The 
 words are Jean Ingelow's. Am at work now upon a Polo- 
 naise for the piano and a Trio for piano, violin and 'cello. 
 Am going to have three movements, allegro, romance and 
 andante-presto. It takes about fifteen minutes to play the 
 first movement. I am trying to summon courage to take 
 my composition to Schmidt, a publisher here. But there 
 are so few things accepted that I am horribly afraid. . . . 
 Mr. Lang has given me a Sgambati Etude. It is the most 
 difficult thing I have as yet attempted, but I hope to finish 
 it by Wednesday. I have composed an Impromptu and a 
 
 135 J 
 
CHAPTER TWO 
 
 Serenata which Mr. Lang says are by far the best things I 
 have done as yet, only the Impromptu is so hard to play. 
 I think it would be a good joke to ask Mr. Lang to give it 
 to me to study ! He tells me I am playing much better 
 now. The muscles of my hands and arms are strengthened 
 and the swollen veins are going down. Now you must not 
 be anxious about this, for it is not at all serious. ' ' 
 
 And again : 
 
 "My brain is full of ideas, which are unfortunately greatly 
 confused, and my pen refuses to set them down. You ask 
 me why I do not have them published. It costs too much, 
 and I am spending enough money on my musical educa- 
 tion, without putting any more upon my silly and over- 
 estimated compositions. You know that reams upon reams 
 of music paper must be spoiled before one composition is 
 good enough to be sent out to face the world. Three com- 
 positions which I had sent to Miss Jacoby brought me a 
 most charming letter and the remark that ' ' my composi- 
 tions were too good to be hidden under a bushel. ' But I 
 must wait until I have better judgment about setting down 
 my ideas. Then I have a holy horror of finding, after they 
 are given to the world at large, that they are borrowed 
 thoughts. It seems to me I should die of humiliation and 
 shame. . . . You remember I told you I was going to play 
 for the Cecilia last Thursday evening. Well, I played, and 
 this morning Mr. Lang told me I had done splendidly and 
 that I had played much better MY first time, than did 
 many of his ' brag ' pupils. I feel a little encouraged by that. 
 But, oh, how discouraged and tired I am of this continual 
 practice, practice, practice, from morning to night; and 
 think how many years it will be before I am able to play 
 in an artistic manner. You have no idea how discouraged 
 I am and how I hate myself almost for attempting a mus- 
 ical career, as it is nothing but expense and expense ; but 
 if I did not study music what would become of me? I should 
 be utterly unfit for any other life. No, I have put my hand 
 to the wheel, and with God's help I am going to be an 
 artist, if I practice until my fingers are all worn away. I 
 [36] 
 
THE MILK MAID 
 
 took one of my compositions I had just finished to Mr. 
 Lang this morning and while he was playing it he would 
 say: 'Lovely, charming, lovely' — ^But somehow just now 
 nothing encourages me. If I did not think it wrong I should 
 say I am tired of life. ... I have never before been troubled 
 with sleeplessness, but can now sympathize with those who 
 are in the same box. What do you suppose causes it? I 
 don't drink tea or coffee and I try to get some exercise 
 every day. ' ' 
 
 It seemed best to let these letters speak for themselves, so clearly 
 they depict the young student's life, with its hopes and doubts and 
 ambitions, its dark moments of discouragement and the long, long 
 hours of unflinching work. From his diary of that period a more de- 
 tailed history of his steady artistic development along the line (al- 
 ready well-defined) of his temperament might be written. There he 
 notes scrupulously each day's work, his piano-practice, his composi- 
 tion, the concerts and operas he heard, the books he read, English 
 and German — all his boyish adventures among the world's master- 
 pieces. But it is in his letters home that (for those who knew him) 
 Ethelbert seems to be alive and talking to them. 
 
 He returned to Vineacre in the Spring of 1883. With the excep- 
 tion of those early lessons in Pittsburg and his studies in Harmony 
 with Mr. Emery, his only American instructor was Mr. Lang, of 
 whom he always spoke with warm devotion and gratitude. The 
 winter of 1883 and 1884 he passed in Pittsburg, occupied with teach- 
 ing — his studio was at 36 Sixth St. — and with numerous concert 
 engagements. Mr. Lang visited him there and at a recital in De- 
 cember, they played Saint-Saens' Concerto in G minor for two 
 pianos. His most important concerts were those in which Mr. J. T. 
 Irwin (violin), W. Ruhe (violoncello) and Mrs. J. SharpM-Donald 
 took part. The newspaper critics praised highly his playing of 
 Chopin. Of his compositions the "Serenade" with violin, 'cello and 
 piano, was given, and at other concerts, "The Shepherdess," and 
 ' ' Thou Art Like Unto a Flower. ' ' His native city welcomed and 
 
 [37 ] 
 
CHAPTER TWO 
 
 applauded him. He was twenty-one years old that November; he 
 had won local fame as a pianist and he had published the little 
 "Lilian Polka" — that boyish dance, written for his sister when he 
 was "Bertie Nevin, aged eleven," (published by Knake, Pittsburg, 
 1874) and "Apple Blossoms" (his second composition) published 
 by the same firm. "The Lovers, " {In the garden were leisurely walk- 
 ing) bears the copyright date of 1881. It was published by John 
 Church and Co. of Cincinnati with this title page : 
 
 TO BESSIE FLEMING, SEWICKLEY, PA. 
 
 THE LOVERS 
 
 SONG 
 
 (Words hy Clark W. Bryan) 
 MUSIC BY "wOODBRIDGE" 
 
 Woodbridge was also the name — his second name — under which 
 he had printed that earlier song (1880, Knake, Pittsburg) to which 
 the boys and girls of that year danced many a night. This was 
 "Apple Blossoms." 
 
 He had also many songs in manuscript which were sung in con- 
 certs but were not published until later. Among these were "The 
 Milk Maid " and "Good-night, Good-night, Beloved " written dur- 
 ing his second winter in Boston, and "I Once Had a Sweet Little 
 Doll!" 
 
 [ JS ] 
 
CHAPTER THREE 
 
 "SERENADE" 
 
CHAPTER THREE 
 
 "SERENADE" 
 
 *""> ^ HE years Nevin spent in Germany were of great importance. 
 They influenced his entire Hfe. They defined him as an artist. 
 Perhaps the thought is not quite clear ; what I would like to 
 make plain is this : the years of work in Berlin developed 
 but did not change his native genius. That youthful song, 
 ' 'Oh, That We Two Were Maying ' ' — jotted down in the little exer- 
 cise book he carried to school when he was a boy in Sewickley — had 
 in it the germ of his perfect work, the germ of "Herbstgefiihl " and 
 ' ' Maggio in Toscana. ' ' The years spent with Klind worth, VonBiilow, 
 Bial gave him scholarship and mastery ; they widened and perfected 
 his means of musical expression ; they gave him that easeful sense of 
 accomplishment in which the great artist is victoriously himself; but 
 they neither deflected nor changed the pure stream of his singularly 
 personal genius. More than anyone — save perhaps Moussorgski, 
 with whom he had spiritual kinship — he escaped the influences of 
 his time, in which so many men of talent were overwhelmed. He 
 was an ardent lover of Wagner, he expounded ^Vagner to audiences 
 in Europe and America, he educated scores of Wagnerian singers ; 
 yet he was personally untouched by the Wagnerian mode ; he was, 
 as I have said, always victoriously himself. That is why his place in 
 the history of music is a permanent one. His songs, born of an im- 
 pulse at once personal and mysterious, have the eternal youth of the 
 world's folk-songs. And his work, in its fullest musical florescence, 
 preserved the simplicity, the unconsciousness, the power of complete 
 expression, of the Anonymous Immortals who made the undying 
 songs of the world; for like them he sang of elemental things — of 
 love and birth and death. 
 
 That is why other composers had so little influence upon him, 
 why he did not have a "first manner" and a "second manner" as 
 
 l4i ] 
 
CHAPTER THREE 
 
 so many composers, who echoed and re-echoed various aesthetic mas- 
 ters of the hour. He never elaborated the dyafait. The signature of 
 all his works is unmistakable, from the crude sweet songs of his boy- 
 hood to the melodies, (strange, compelling, unexpected as the sounds 
 of nature) and the harmonies and modulations of his latest compo- 
 sitions. 
 
 And so these years of study in Berlin were educational in the best 
 sense of the word — they affirmed his personality. 
 
 Nevin had the faculty — rare among musicians — of putting down 
 in words his impressions of people and things. It is in his own letters 
 and diaries that the truest picture of his life, the life of a music stu- 
 dent in the Germany of the last part of the nineteenth century, is to 
 be found. It was never in his destiny to know the hardships and de- 
 ceptions through which so many artists have made their way. In 
 Berlin, as in Boston, his lines fell in pleasant places. His mother, in 
 that beautiful sketch of his life from which I have already quoted, 
 said of his arrival in Berlin : 
 
 "There was not an acquaintance — not anyone to tell him 
 where he should go, where he should live or what master 
 he should choose, but the good angels have always hovered 
 over him and he found himself drawn toward a pension in 
 Berlin where lived good, kind Fraulein von Finck — a Ger- 
 man lady of noble birth and loving heart. She could not 
 speak a word of English, and he scarcely a word of German, 
 but through an interpreter they soon made an agreement 
 as to his living there with her. She very soon learned to 
 know and love him, and she was ever after like a mother 
 to him, taking charge of him and looking after him in the 
 most kindly way. She soon began to teach him German 
 and he taught her English. ' ' 
 
 Good angels hovered over him, his mother said. More than that 
 his nature was essentially beautiful. The Editor of these leaves of 
 biography was with him in Berlin in those days and memory holds 
 an exact picture of the slim, bright youth, who whether sad or gay, 
 
 [ 4-^ ] 
 
SERENADE 
 
 was always happy in the fine sense that hfe for him was love. It was 
 love for his friends, love for the segment of humanity that touched 
 him, love for art that gave him always the air of bright happiness. 
 And in happiness there is an intrinsic force ; it attracts ; it influences 
 beings and events as magnet does steel. Therefore, he was never 
 alone ; he was never anywhere a stranger. Wherever he went, in many 
 lands, there gathered round him true and unchanging friendships. 
 
 He sailed for Europe the second time in August 1884. He spent 
 ten days with friends in England, and reached Berlin late at night, 
 August 30th, and put up at Meinhardt's Hotel. The next day was 
 Sunday. He walked the city to and fro, heard "Der Freischiitz" at 
 the Opera House and, before going to bed, wrote in his diary, "I 
 am completely fascinated with Berlin. ' ' 
 
 The fascination never died out. His first letter from Berlin, Sep- 
 tember third, was written to his brothers from ' ' 204 Friedrichstrasse, ' ' 
 which was to be his home as a student and many times in after years. 
 
 "My dear brothers," he wrote, "here I am at my journey's 
 end and glad I am indeed that I shall soon be at work. I 
 do not think that ever in my life I have experienced such 
 a feeling of utter loneliness as I did when I arrived in this 
 place. I rested Sunday, Monday and Tuesday and then 
 started out to present my letters of introduction. Imagine 
 my dismay on finding all the people to whom they were 
 addressed away from Berlin. I was utterly bewildered and 
 did not know what to do. I knew no one ; had no boarding- 
 house address and could scarcely speak the language. Then 
 I decided to go to the bankers, Mendelssohn and Co. , to 
 see if by any possible chance there would be a letter for 
 me. Imagine my surprise and delight to find one from Major 
 Craig telling me he was in Berlin. I saw him immediately. 
 ' ' Next morning we started out on a hunt for a Pension. 
 The first place was the house of a man (I, the only boarder) 
 who has charge of concerts in Berlin and Leipsic and is the 
 manager of Rubinstein, von Biilow and D' Albert. He is 
 the brother of a man in the American Exchange and, thank 
 Heaven, he knew the Nevin family through cousin Robei't. 
 
 [ 43 ] 
 
CHAPTER THREE 
 
 Unfortunately the terms were too high, so I started off to 
 find another place. Now I am at the above address for which 
 I am to pay a little less than five dollars a week, including 
 everything from books up, with the privilege of practicing 
 twenty-six hours a day, if I want to. I am absolutely obliged 
 to speak German as Friiulein von Finck will not allow Eng- 
 lish spoken. In the house are six Germans, four Russians and 
 a young lady from Honolulu. If Charlie comes and likes the 
 place he will take the room connecting with mine and we 
 will have a bed-room and one sitting-room between us." 
 
 Major Craig was a 
 school-boy friend from 
 Pittsburg who was then 
 makingthe "grand 
 tour' ' of Europe ; he re- 
 mained a few weeks in 
 Berlin. The Charlie to 
 whom he referred was 
 Charles Woodruff Sco- 
 vel, also of his home 
 town, another close boy- 
 hood friend. He arrived 
 in Berlin, Sunday, Sep- 
 tember 7th; and in 
 the afternoon a third 
 boyhood friend — the editor of this book — came up from the Uni- 
 versity of Jena to join the little American reunion at Fraulein von 
 Finck's. There was much walking, much talking; there was a great 
 deal of music, with afternoons at the Flora Symphony Concerts and 
 evenings at the Opera House, at Kroll's — "a mean performance 
 of 'Robert the Devil'" — or the Schauspielhaus. Then after ten 
 days the friends parted — one to Jena; Major Craig back to Pitts- 
 burg, where his short, fine life ended; Scovel and Nevin settled 
 down to their work — in diverse ways of law and music. 
 
 [ U ] 
 
 Ceaig, Nevin, Scovel, Thompson 
 
SERENADE 
 
 He wrote to his mother September 15th : 
 
 "I did not have a chance to write my weekly letter, as 
 Vance Thompson, Major Craig, Charlie Scovel and I were 
 going all day. Our hostess (I can never look on her in the 
 light of a landlady) is simply kindness itself. She lets noth- 
 ing stand in the way of making us comfortable. I sit at her 
 right at table, with a charming kind little Fraulein Willich 
 on the other side of me. Fraulein Willich is a German 
 teacher, and I am doing well with the language. How can 
 I help it? I hear nothing but German all around me. 
 Fraulein von Finck wants me to write to you and tell you 
 not to be worried about me. This morning good little 
 Fraulein Willich trotted me down to see Herr Professor 
 Klindworth and on Wednesday I am to go and play for him. 
 Shall take lessons from him till I find I need another 
 master. ' ' 
 
 And a week later: 
 
 ' ' I am in serious doubt as to studying with Klindworth^ 
 as in the resume of classes I cannot find any that I exactly 
 want. I am here to build up my technique and the ques- 
 tion is, should I enter one of the upper classes where he 
 prepares pupils for the concert stage ? I can easily go there 
 and not play any better than I do now, but I want to get 
 a magnificent technique, and I don't feel I can get it that 
 way. However, I shall play for him, tell him exactly what 
 I want, ask his advice, and then do as I think best about 
 it." 
 
 Then September 28th : 
 
 "Fraulein Willich yesterday sent word that Herr Pro- 
 fessor Klindworth wanted me to come and play for him. 
 She had been to his house to a birthday party and among 
 the guests were von Biilow, Moszkowski, Scharwenka and 
 Joachim. Of course I went in fear and trembling. The first 
 thing he said was : ' Play me something, ' so I played Du 
 bist die Ruh\ which you used to like so much; and after I 
 had finished he said 'A beautiful touch. Play me something 
 
 {45} 
 
CHAPTER THREE 
 
 else.' So I played Chopin's Berceuse, after which he said: 
 ' No Technique. ' Then he gave me a long and interesting 
 talk on piano playing and what was necessary to gain vir- 
 tuosity. After which he said : ' By right you belong to the 
 second class, where technique is made the chief object, 
 but as you are so advanced in other respects, talented, I 
 may say, I will take you into my artist class and give you 
 individual instruction in technique. ' 
 
 "So goes the world ! And my heart sickens when I think 
 of the weary hours I spent on these tedious exercises, for 
 I thought my siege in Boston was enough for a lifetime. 
 However, do it I will. I understand that at Klindworth's 
 evenings are gathered some of the most interesting people 
 in Berlin, critics, journalists, and artists of every descrip- 
 tion. I have been invited to attend some of these evenings. 
 You know that Frau Klindworth is an English woman 
 and particularly fond of English-speaking people. I am so 
 well. Just as well as I can be. Write soon dear mother, 
 your letters are almost my life. Love to all at home and 
 oceans to your dear self 
 
 ' ' Your loving son, 
 
 "Ethelbert." 
 
 In October: 
 
 "At my last lesson with Herr Professor, he told me I did 
 not know a thing about legato playing, and made me play 
 the Weber Sonata and a Bach Fugue over and over again. 
 Of course I was terribly discouraged. However, Herr Pro- 
 fessor told Fraulein '\^"illich that Herr Nevin had a great 
 deal of talent and was bound to succeed in the end. 
 
 " JMy music is at times encouraging and at times so dis- 
 couraging ! The practice is tedious and tiresome. I don't 
 think I would ever advise anyone to become a professional 
 musician. Herr Professor is the most exacting of masters. 
 I can never play a bar without being stopped and some 
 corrections made. Of course it is just what I want, but it 
 is disheartening and at times seems a hopeless task. But 
 then — such music as I do hear! It is beyond imagination. 
 
 [4^ 1 
 
SERENADE 
 
 I believe the question has been agitated as to the advan- 
 tages of coming to Germany to study music ; as to whether 
 one cannot gain just as much by studying at home? The 
 whole subject is to me beyond argument. Such orchestras, 
 such artists, such musicians, such operas — we never have 
 had them and I almost think never CAN have. And it is 
 not alone the study of the piano ; but one becomes familiar 
 with music in all its branches, and that cannot be done 
 without hearing music and being thrown in a musical at- 
 mosphere. Even now I can see a great improvement in 
 myself, especially in my improvisations. They are more 
 finished, more rounded, worked out in a more musicianly 
 way. 1 amuse them here very much by my improvisations 
 and sometimes make them fairly roar, when 1 start off on 
 some Bach-like invention, and gradually work round to a 
 street air, at first indistinctly and then more prominently, 
 until gradually it dawns on them what I am doing. Then 
 1 leave the piano amidst laughter and applause. However 
 this does not make me an artist ! At times I feel very dis- 
 couraged. ' ' 
 
 And to his father: 
 
 "My mind goes at times like the wind, but at others at a 
 snail's pace, and as I sit at the piano lifting my fingers up 
 and down, with the most distressing monotony, I wonder 
 after all, if I am doing right. Is it good for me to leave a 
 home and parents who are so dear to me and stay away 
 for such a long time? After all, is not a contented clerk 
 equal to a discontented artist? I am spending much and 
 making nothing. Well, I am trying hard to get the upper 
 hand of the pianoforte. Herr Klindworth told a member of 
 the Tuesday class that ' he had a pupil, a young American 
 whose name was Nevin, who was one of the most talented 
 fellows he had ever seen ; that his compositions were some- 
 thing remarkable, but that he had No Technique, though 
 working hard and sure to make a stir in the musical world. ' 
 "On Monday morning I took some of my manuscript 
 to Herr Tiersch^and he smiled and said: 'Too ambitious, 
 
 [47 ] 
 
CHAPTER THREE 
 
 my boy, you must learn to spell before you can write a 
 Faust or a Du JBist wie eine Blume. I tell you what you 
 can do. Come to my home Mondays and Thursdays at six 
 in the evening and stay till seven and I will give you a 
 private lesson. ' 
 
 "I took a piano lesson with his Majesty Herr Professor 
 Klindworth today, and he said I was improving. At times 
 though he is a hard task-master. I meet pupil after pupil, 
 white with anger and tears streaming down their faces, as 
 they come from their lessons. They say he is very good to 
 me. If so, Heaven defend those others! " 
 
 Klindworth was indeed a hard task-master. Ere long Nevin was 
 to have for him a reverence and affection both strong and lasting; 
 but for the first few weeks Klindworth's hard manner rasped him 
 like a file. He was not used to that kind of teaching. It was indeed 
 the first time in his life he ever met with harsh insistence. In a long 
 letter to his mother he tries to analyze his own feelings and the ef- 
 fect upon his work. His boyish philosophy has a charm of its own. 
 
 "When I was a child, or considerably younger than I am 
 now, ' ' he wrote to his mother, ' ' I worked not for the work 
 itself, but because I found pleasure in pleasing someone 
 and receiving a certain amount of praise from the one for 
 whom I worked. Then to work well it was necessary for 
 me in some degree to have affection for the person I was 
 working for. Now it is entirely different and has opened to 
 me a new train of thought. . . . Professor Klindworth has 
 not a single trait in his personality I can find my heart lean- 
 ing to. He is as unkind and as cruel as he can be ; and in- 
 stead of looking forward with pleasure to my lessons, as 
 was my custom with Mr. Lang, I now dread the days as 
 they come — so, of course, my work now is not spurred on 
 by any affection. I believe that he is a most thorough mu- 
 sician and a man from whom I can learn very much — so I 
 work for the sake of my music — to make myself a better 
 musician. I get no praise and don't expect any, so all my 
 encouragement is derived from myself, by finding that pas- 
 
 [4S ] 
 
S E 11 E X A D E 
 
 sages that used to be almost impossible for me to play are 
 now very much easier. So on I work from day to day — 
 not waitina; to be told to correct such and such a fault but 
 making myself my own teacher, and devising all sorts of 
 exercises by which I can gain strength and technique. And 
 I go to my lessons, play — am coldly criticised, told I can 
 do nothing — and it has about the same effect water has on 
 a duck's back for I come home, go to work again and can 
 see daily improvement. 
 
 "It is an entirely new way of work for me; and prob- 
 ably it is the best thing in the world. Other pupils say 
 Klindworth is fond of me. I am sorry, for as yet, I have 
 nothing to give in return. I may change, as Emerson says 
 a man is not worth anything unless his ideas and opinions 
 are constantly changing. (By the bj-e, I wish you would 
 read Emerson's Essays, they would help you in your thou- 
 sand and one daily cares.)" 
 
 It was not long before the sensitive lad "changed " and found the 
 heart under the harsh exterior ; but for a while he thought of going 
 to St. Petersburg to study with Tschaikowsky, or to Norway to 
 study with Grieg. Meanwhile it was Klindworth's seeming unkind- 
 ness — his throwing the youth back upon himself — that went far to 
 make the artist. It was only a little later that his letters began to 
 teem with praise of his master. He had learned to know him and had 
 much "to give in return." 
 
 Berlin was then one of the pleasantest capitals in Europe. Through 
 the spacious streets (not yet deformed by Art- Modern) imperialism 
 went clanking. The war which had made the Empire was in every mem- 
 ory. The white-coated, long-sworded officers promenaded, haughty as 
 the dogs of Caesar ; at any street corner you might meet Bismarck ; 
 at any concert you might see old Moltke's lean face. Social life, 
 though not so formal as now, was very brilliant. Nevin, who had 
 rare social gifts, found every door open to him. He attended the 
 Royal balls, where the Emperor led oiF the dance ; the Ambassa- 
 dor's ball and many of the numerous dances and receptions given in 
 
 1^9 ] 
 
CHAPTER TURKE 
 
 the American colony. His widest acciuuintance was ann)nL!; German 
 artists and composers — for that was the day of Rubinstein, D\'ofal<, 
 of Joachim, and ^'on Rulow. of Scharwenka. D'Albert, Eiehhni>-, 
 Paucr — many of whom he met and all of whom he studied so in- 
 tentlv tiler became his unconscious masters. 
 
 Pkoi- issoi; Karl KuxDwoRTir 
 
 In April. Professor Khndworth insisted ui)on his takiiiLf a holida\' 
 for two weeks. His health was broken. TJ])on his return he wrote 
 yaily enouyh to his mother, and M'ith hinuorous anticipation of his 
 lessons from the turbulent ^"on Bulow. 
 
 [ /- 1 
 
SERENADE 
 
 " Friedrichstj-asse 20 A., 
 
 "■'April 12th 1885. 
 ' ' My dear Mother : 
 
 Last Monday I wrote a letter to you, but on Tues- 
 day on reading it over, I came to the conclusion that it 
 was really so morose and blue that 1 would not send it. 
 Since then I have not had a moment's time for writing. 
 Just think of it. I've been sick — did you ever hear of such 
 a thing as my being sick in bed — it seems too absurd — 
 and obliging Miss Castle to sit up with me. Why I can al- 
 most imagine the world's coming to an end as my being 
 sick. It has been years and years ; and just think what was 
 the matter with me ! Nervous prostration and chills brought 
 on from overwork ! Isn't that a magnificent and refined 
 sort of disease? Why even fever is mild compared to the 
 elegance of MY illness. The doctor didn't say, whether the 
 nervous prostration or the chills were due to overwork — 
 overwork ! That sounds so pleasant — so wonderful, I would 
 fain linger on the sweetness of its melody — overwork! I 
 can imagine Bob laughing at that. But now wasn't it really 
 nice, that if I were going to be sick it should be during my 
 vacation? I have had no lessons for two weeks, nor have I 
 been permitted to attend a concert. My piano has been 
 closed and I have had to content myself witli singing and 
 reading — George Eliot's 'Romola' 'Clerical Life,' 'Mill 
 on the Floss ' and ' Middlemarch. ' I think ' Dorothea ' one 
 of the most remarkable characters imaginable, and ' Rosa- 
 mond ' what a picture of a society woman — without soci- 
 ety ! How worthless after all is what we call a fine edu- 
 cation which sends into the world a piece of perfection 
 as regards manners, etiquette, appearance, dress and yet 
 without the first feeling of sympathy for her husband in 
 his great need. I hope you approve of my moral observa- 
 tions ! 
 
 "Tomorrow I commence my lessons again and this 
 ' Boffin's Bower' will resound once more with Brahms Hun- 
 garian variations. Von Biilow comes the first of May. Ye 
 gods and little fishes how I tremble! What's the use in 
 
 [5^ ] 
 
CHAPTER THREE 
 
 being a 'best pupil' if another fellow, and a crazy fellow at 
 that, comes along and fires a grand piano at your head. Now 
 I approve of little musical idiosyncrasies, such as an inno- 
 cent over-growth of hair; a desire to practice five-finger 
 exercises on everybody's back ; coats and trousers that be- 
 long to another generation, either past or future ; such lit- 
 tle trifles are very, very artistic and temperamental ; but 
 when they grow and develop into a fondness for throwing 
 people out of windows, slamming busts of Beethoven at 
 their heads, I think it is time the matter should be looked 
 into, to determine if it is really in accordance with art 
 after all. If so, I shall not be the one to gainsay it. By all 
 means let us have tenth-story windows stand invitingly open 
 and whole monuments of Beethoven flung with a precision 
 of aim that even Solomon (no, I believe it was David who 
 threw stones so well) could not outdo." 
 
 May the 6th, he wrote : 
 
 "Von Bulow'is here, you know, and four mornings in the 
 week from 8.30 to 12, I am in class, listening to Brahms, 
 Liszt and Raff — sons of thunder! I think Von Biilow is 
 as insane as a — well, well, I was going to say as a bug, 
 but that isn't nice, so I won't say it. I haven't played for 
 him but will before long. " 
 
 When at last he did play for him. Von Biilow was taciturn. It 
 went better a second time : " I didn't play very well," he said, and 
 Von'Bulow: " Sehr schon, — you have much to learn!" 
 
 May 28th, he played for Von Biilow the last time. And this was 
 the verdict : 
 
 "Three or four times while I was playing, he said : 'Bravo ! 
 Bravo ! ' and when I had finished he told me I had ' unge- 
 Jieueres Talent, ' and that was more than he said to any of 
 the thirty-five pupils in the class. ' ' 
 
 Nevin played in public only once that first winter in Berlin. This 
 was at the Klind worth concert in the Sing Akademie, and to his 
 mother he wrote : 
 
 [5^ ] 
 
SERENADE 
 
 "I got there late and heard that Herr Professor had called 
 for me to play. As I arrived he came to me and said : 'At 
 last you are here. Now you must play. ' I said I was ready. 
 He seemed very nervous and whispered : ' Now do be care- 
 ful. Don't get going too fast. Keep your head. Are you 
 sure without your notes T I said: ' Oh, yes. ' Then he an- 
 nounced in a loud voice : 'Are you ready, Mr. Nevin ? ' He 
 then took a stand in a corner where he could watch me. I 
 started off at the top of the piano and played my double 
 run of octaves with which the Schumann Allegro (Op. 8) 
 opens, and the crescendo at the end was fine. I never played 
 better in my hfe, and I forgot all about my audience. Herr 
 Professor came rushing up to me, not a sign of a smile on 
 his face, took my hand and said : ' Ganz gut, ganz gut, ' and 
 not another word. When I sat down I trembled and shook. 
 You good people don't understand what it is to throw for 
 three or four minutes your whole soul, your heart, your 
 passion, your love, your vitality, your very life into the ends 
 of your fingers, or you would understand how used up I 
 was. I know Herr Professor was delighted with my play- 
 ing, for he said to Mr. Chickering : ' Did you hear my pu- 
 pil, Nevin, play i He plays well ; he is a young artist ! ' " 
 
 He played twice — perhaps oftener, for Professor Grimm. Of the 
 first evening he wrote : 
 
 "Just fancy spending an evening in such company. I could 
 hardly realize it as I sat in Miss Adams' carriage. The old 
 fairy-tales came floating through my mind and I felt like 
 the old woman whose dog did not know her: 'Can this be 
 I?' They live quite plainly and he is a most pleasant old 
 gentleman. Frau Grimm's mother was Goethe's 'Bettina.' 
 ^\^ell, I played a great deal for them, and then we had 
 supper. ' ' 
 
 When they were leaving Frau Grimm took his hand and thanked 
 him for playing and said: " I believe they sewed velvet inside your 
 fingers when you were a Kindchen!^'' and Herr Grimm shouted an 
 ' ' auf baldiges Wiedersehen. ' ' 
 
 [53 J 
 
CHAPTER THREE 
 
 That winter Nevin worked steadily at the piano, his practice ex- 
 ceeding five hours a day. He studied theory with Carl Bial, but 
 wrote nothing. None of his compositions date from this year. It had 
 been, however, a year of definite achievement. And the strain had 
 told upon him. In June he decided to go home for his health's sake. 
 
 "I must get some color into my pale cheeks, " he wrote, 
 "music is hard, hard work and I am completely worn out. 
 I shall be sorry to leave Fraulein Von Finck, but it will 
 only be auf Wiedersehen ! ' ' 
 
 His home life in Berlin was verj^ beautiful. Always the good an- 
 gels, as his mother said, hovered over him. In a letter describing a 
 brilliant birthday party given for him in the Pension — with much 
 dining and dancing and gift-making — he tells of the gentle incident 
 that closed the merry evening, thus : 
 
 "After they had all gone, one of the maids came up to my 
 room and said : 'Fraulein wants to know if you won't come 
 down stairs a moment? ' I went down and she asked me to 
 sit on the stool by her side as she had something she wanted 
 to tell me. So she took my head between her hands, and 
 told me she hoped and prayed my many years would be so 
 happy ; and that the sun would shine into my life and make 
 my way easy and my work pleasant ; and she ended by say- 
 ing : 'Now that you are far away from your mother, I will 
 do for her what she would do, ' — and mother, do you know 
 she stooped and kissed me on the forehead. That was too 
 much for me. The tears came to my eyes and I could hard- 
 ly thank her, but I came up to my room and looked out 
 into the wintry night, where the snow was falling every- 
 where, and I wished you could know how kind they all 
 were to me, and how they tried to make me feel I was not 
 a stranger in a strange land. So my birthday ended, and I 
 went to bed, and this morning I found my pillow wet with 
 tears. There are some things that can never be told — how 
 much we appreciate them can never be put into words — 
 and one of them is — a mother's kiss. " 
 
CHAPTER FOUR 
 
 I SAT WITH DORIS, 
 THE SHEPHERD MAIDEN" 
 
 ^5 
 
 k 
 
 ^^=^ 
 
 mzM 
 
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 CJ sav iaiTkDor-is,ine, (yhep-nerd maiden 
 
CHAPTER FOUR 
 
 I SAT WITH DORIS, THE SHEPHERD 
 MAIDEN ' 
 
 ~^HE summer of 1885 — from July until mid-September — 
 Nevin spent at Vineacre. He did not play in public and al- 
 though he gave piano-lessons to one or two of his former 
 pupils, the days were chiefly spent in riding, tennis and the 
 pleasant social life of the Sewickley A^alley. The first week 
 in October he was back again in the Pension at Berlin, his health 
 quite restored, and keen to begin the year's work. 
 
 "I had such a kind reception from Professor Klindworth and 
 ever so many congratulations on my engagement to Anne," he 
 wrote. This betrothal, which, more than anything else, gave form 
 and color to his life — which was indeed its dominant influence — 
 was made during those summer days at ^"ineacre. Anne Paul was 
 a daughter of J. VT. Paul of Pittsburg. The families had been inti- 
 mate for years ; from childhood the boy and girl had known each 
 other. Their love was that rare love which is at once first love and 
 last love. 
 
 (Of the many, many letters he wrote her in the years few will be published 
 here. They were full of the glory of youth and love. They told the artistic and 
 spiritual struggles of his young manhood ; they recorded the biography of his soul 
 — a biography to be read, he thought, only by the one who lived with him that life 
 of the mind and of the spirit. Shortly before his death he and his wife destroyed 
 these letters — all save a few — by fire.) 
 
 So he was once more in Berlin, "battling to keep his loneliness 
 away ' ' and his heart often ' ' faint with longing ' ' for the green, home- 
 valley over sea ; and working daily in the old hard way at the piano. 
 He began to take, also, private lessons from Carl BiaF — "He is 
 enthusiastic and that is everything for me, as he throws some of that 
 same atmosphere into my musical lungs, as it were. ' ' Meanwhile 
 
 [57 ] 
 
CHAPTER FOUR 
 
 he heard Rubinstein's famous series of concerts in which were played 
 the compositions of the great masters from Rameau down to the 
 then extreme!}^ modern Russians, Cesar Cui, Balakirew, Rimsky- 
 Korsakov — "a whole musical training in itself, ' ' he wrote, ' ' and 
 you can have no idea of what inestimable value it is to me. " 
 
 His master of composition and harmony, Carl Bial, praised a few 
 songs Nevin showed him, very highly. "Don't publish yet," he 
 said ; and gave him a sonata to write. It was ' ' fascinating work 
 and more and more, as the weeks went by, he gave himself to this 
 study, though he still fancied his future work was to be that of a 
 piano-virtuoso. This ambition died slowly. Every morning he gave 
 four hours to piano practice. Usually he added to them an hour or 
 two in the afternoon. Withal there was time for that social life, 
 which in the Berlin of that day was so essentially a musical and ar- 
 tistic life. Through his letters and his diary runs a wistful note of 
 homesickness. So much of his heart he had left behind him ; and 
 his closest American friends had gone away from Berlin. Then there 
 was a sudden change from gray to rose. 
 
 Christmastide that year had all its true German gaiety and Ge- 
 miithlichkeit; and a little of it is reflected in one of his home letters : 
 
 ''Berlin 
 
 ''December 28th, 1885. 
 " My dear Mother : 
 
 Imagine my surprise and delight when on Wednes- 
 day morning my lovely flag came. Oh, but it is beautiful, 
 and everyone in the pension has envied me. I have it draped 
 over a picture and a portiere, and it brightens my whole 
 room. I was so much obliged to you, as I know it took a 
 great deal of work. My sofa — which at night is my bed — 
 is right under it, so I sleep with the stars and stripes above 
 me. Is it not the loveliest flag in the world ? 
 
 "Last week was quite a week of dissipation, I can as- 
 sure you. On Monday Frau Engelhardt gave a large sup- 
 per and ball. As with most German parties the first part 
 {58 ] 
 
DORIS 
 
 of the evening was rather tedious. But after we were seated 
 at our respective tables and we knew exactly what we were 
 expected to do, things went along very comfortably. After 
 supper the cunning little officers all twittered together in 
 one corner and put on their white gloves. Then the music 
 commenced, and we American men walked up and took 
 off all the girls, so the little chaps in uniform retreated 
 disgustedly to their corner, just like so many girls at their 
 very first party. One funny thing happened. I was talking 
 to Miss Bateman (who is a decidedly stunning-looking 
 girl) when up popped a little officer, clacked his spurs to- 
 gether, counted four, made his bow and said to me : 'My 
 name is von Bernhut. ' I smiled, bowed and said : ' My 
 name is Nevin. I'm glad to know you. I'll see you later.' 
 Then Miss Bateman and I went off". I believe when a 
 man wants to be presented to a young ladj'-, he introduces 
 himself to a gentleman who knows her and that gentleman 
 is expected to present him. I rather startled several young 
 officers that evening by replying : ' Just wait till I see if it 
 will be agreeable to the lady. ' No wonder they started. 
 Such a thing as a German girl NOT wanting to meet a 
 German officer has never been chronicled in the annals of 
 German society. 
 
 "On Thursday evening we had a rehearsal for our 
 ' IVIother Goose ' Quadrille. Everything went along nicely 
 and we had quite a jolly time. On AVednesday, Elbert and 
 I went out to make a few Christmas purchases, and in the 
 evening we had a dress rehearsal of our dance. We went 
 through it four times, and were all pretty much used up. 
 On Thursday, we were busy all morning, and in the after- 
 noon we — Miss Waters, Miss Bateman, Mrs. Dickson, 
 Elbert, Faye and I — trimmed the Christmas tree. It was 
 really quite pretty, and in the evening, at seven-thirty, I 
 went in and lighted it up from top to bottom ; then the 
 door was opened and they all came in singing ' Tannen- 
 haum ' — then ' Holy Night. ' 
 
 " Fraulein received lots and lots of presents — such lovely 
 ones, too. Elbert and I gave her half a dozen Royal Berlin 
 china cups and saucers. They were really little gems. I got 
 
 [59 ] 
 
CHAPTER FOUR 
 
 a rug from Fraulein for my piano, a paper knife from Miss 
 Castle — then with your flag and a Christmas card from 
 Charlie I think I fared pretty well. 
 
 "On Friday, Christmas day, I practiced and took a short 
 walk. In the evening we dressed ourselves, spruce and fine, 
 in our 'Mother Goose' costumes and went off to Herr 
 Professor Klindworth's. Imagine his surprise when six- 
 teen of us to the tune of ' Marj-, Mary, Quite Contrary ' 
 came dancing in. Miss AVaters and I as ' Where are you 
 going, my pretty maid? ' and ' Willy Boy ' led the march. 
 Then came 'Bobbie Shafto ' and 'Miss MufFet,' 'King 
 Cole," 'Queen of Hearts,' 'Boy Blue,' 'Mary, Mary,' 
 'Knave of Hearts,' 'Bo-Peep,' 'Jack and Jill,' 'Betsy 
 Brooks and Tommj^ Snooks ' and finally ' Mother Goose 
 and her son, Jack. ' 
 
 " We really had a lovely evening, and everyone was so 
 much pleased with the dance we had to repeat it. Then 
 Herr Professor even wanted it again. 
 
 ' ' ^Ve had great fun under the mistletoe, too, and Herr 
 Professor actually kissed me on the cheek! He made me 
 sit by him with Miss Waters at table and was so good and 
 kind to me. Once during the evening he came up and said, 
 'Nevin, I want to compliment you on your legs — you 
 could hiake monej" as a model.' I was dressed in a red 
 cashmere shirt, a blouse, with black lisle-thread stockings 
 and trowsers of black tricot, coming just above the knee. 
 I wore a little red cashmere cap, the point falling down on 
 my shoulder with a little bell at the end. Everyone said I 
 exactly looked the part and Fraulein declared she was so 
 proud of me she did not know what to do. 
 
 ' ' Again during the evening when Herr Professor and I 
 were sitting on the floor in a corner, he with his arm about 
 me, and some of the others clustered round, he said, 'Life 
 is made up of poetry and truth — this evening is poetry — 
 truth we must all seek. ' It does not sound nearly so beau- 
 tiful in English as it did in German. Miss W^aters says 
 Herr Professor is really very proud of me. " ' 
 
 Then one morning he was awakened at three a. m. by a cable- 
 
 [ '^o ] 
 
Anne Paul 
 
 Mrs. Ethelhert Nevin 
 
CHAPTER FOUR 
 
 gram announcing that ' 'Anne and Nell were coming to Germany. 
 Sitting bj" the window he wrote a song — what love-song he did not 
 state in his diary — and took it with him when he went to Carl Bial 
 for his lesson that day. After going over it, the Professor said : "This 
 is a song in ten thousand!"' In a letter to his mother Nevin quoted 
 these words ( for he knew her pleasure in all that spoke of his ad- 
 vancement ) and added : " I take more delight in compliments aris- 
 ingfrom my compositions than in anything else, as they are part of 
 me — of my very soul!"' At the same time he notes in his diary: 
 "Am at work on 'Doris,' which I conceived some j^ears ago as a 
 tenor solo. I am now working it out for a tenor solo, male chorus 
 and orchestra. My first attempt at orchestral writing." 
 
 Miss Anne Paul and her sister, Miss Nellie Paul, spent the win- 
 ter in Berlin. 
 
 So far as music was concerned Nevin described those months as 
 made up of "concert after concert, opera after opera, lesson after 
 lesson, and work and work." What seemed to have impressed him 
 most was the Bach Saint Mathew Music given at the Sing Ah-(idc- 
 iiiie — that and the piano-playing of Eugen d' Albert, who was, for 
 him, the greatest living pianist. Of the performance at the Sing 
 ^Lkadem'ie, he wrote in a strain of religious enthusiasm : 
 
 "I don't think I have ever been impressed with or by 
 anything so much as the Passion Music, as it was given on 
 Friday. Such chorals, such tearful yet overpoweringly dig- 
 nified melodies, such a conception of the greatest life ever 
 lived and death ever suffered, is grand beyond all words ; 
 and no one but Bach could have given it the majestic, yet 
 pathetic portrayal. It is a subject that mere melody will 
 not define — mere harmony cannot reveal. One must have 
 that foundation of massive rock, yet a warmth and tender- 
 ness with it. Other composers handling the subject would 
 make it either sentimental, sensational or sensuous. I don't 
 even except Wagner or Beethoven. Glorious Bach ! AVhat 
 that man has done for religion in his Chorals and his Pas- 
 sion Music no one can estimate." 
 [ 62 1 
 
DORIS 
 
 His friendship with Klind worth — that "tyrant" whom he 
 dreaded so at first — became very close and fine ; one day : 
 
 "Herr Professor KUndworth and I went to Dresden to- 
 gether to hear the Gotterddmmerung. Fancy the honor in 
 being taken by him to hear the greatest opera in existence ! 
 He was so good and kind to me, and I never was so swell. 
 He sent his card and when we reached the Opera House 
 we found a box reserved for us ( Herr Professor Klind worth 
 and Herr Ethelbert Nevin) next to the King's; and that; 
 of course, necessitated a great deal of formality. I stood at 
 the door until His Majesty entered, then I sat at his left 
 and people round and about rose and stood until he was 
 seated ; then bows were exchanged and between acts our 
 box was the centre of Dukes, Counts, Countesses — more 
 than I have ever seen together. After the opera there was 
 a liveried servant to conduct us to the stage where I met 
 Gudehus and Fraulein Malten (whom we heard so often) 
 and saw all the stage arrangements. AVe left Dresden at 
 3.45 A.. M. and reached Berlin in time for breakfast. Anne 
 Avas as delighted as I was at my going with Herr Professor 
 and consequently both our heads are held a few inches 
 higher. He was as jolly and nice as could be, and we carried 
 on our conversation in English, German and French — 
 which by the way I speak better than I do German." 
 
 And there were other excursions. He describes charmingly one 
 adventure in May : 
 
 "Last Saturday Fraulein von Finck, Anne, Nell, Elbert, 
 Mr. Adriance, Mr. Holmes and I went to the Spreewald 
 to spend Sunday. We took the train from the Goerlitzer- 
 Bcihnhof, and after a two and a half hours' ride we came 
 to Liibbenau, where we popped off bag and baggage. A 
 walk of twent}^ minutes brought us to the Gast-Hof of the 
 Black Eagle, where we inquired if we could obtain a boat 
 and a boatman to take us to Burg. We said we should like, 
 if possible, a fine old fellow with side-whiskers, sprinkled 
 with enough gray to give us at least an idea that he might 
 be trustworthy. Well, we found him and he seemed anxious 
 
 [ 63 ] 
 
CHAPTER FOUR 
 
 to take us. While he was making read.y his boat, we all 
 trotted off to a bewitching little garden on the banks of 
 one of the thousand little canals that net- work the Spree- 
 wald, and there in an arbor of woodbine round a rustic 
 table, had a piece of Butte?'-b?'ot and a glass of beer. We 
 men were obliged, however, to keep up a constant puff of 
 smoke, the mosquitoes were so thick; and soon Fraulein 
 and the girls threatened to indulge, but did not. After 
 half an hour's enjoyment of the pretty garden, the arbor, 
 the mosquitoes, the cheese and the beer, our friend of the 
 Black Eagle announced to us that our boat was in readi- 
 ness. ^Ve packed dear old Elbert in the bow, Fraulein and 
 Anne in the first seat, Nell and Adriance in the second 
 and Holmes and I in the rear. 
 
 "Well, the trip was the most romantic thing I have 
 ever seen. Mile after mile along these natural canals, 
 passing at a snail's pace old tumble-down cottages, 
 old mills, old women and old men. Here they were 
 weeding flax, here washing linen. Some were making 
 butter, others knitting on the doorsteps. Then from 
 ever so many cottages, some little girl with her bright 
 red petticoat, her little blue bodice, and her white 
 head-gear, would run alongside of the canal and toss a 
 bunch of poppies, for-get-me-nots, fleur-de-lys and Kaiser- 
 blumen into our boat. On we crept slowly, quietly, dreamilj^ 
 until twilight came and the first little stars peeped out to 
 see what the world was going to do that night. Then we 
 met boat-load after boat-load, gliding down some little 
 stream, all garlanded and festooned with greens and flow- 
 ers ; some singing and laughing, and throwing flowers ; all 
 dressed in their Sunday best, with bright petticoats of 
 every conceivable shade and color and spotless white head- 
 gear, all on their way to a dance. In the distance we heard a 
 band softly playing and as we drew near we saw, in a dense 
 grove, fifty or more of those brilliant short skirts swung 
 round by tall, manly fellows in knee-breeches, over the 
 grass, to a waltz ; and all shouting ' Guten Tag'' to us. On, 
 on we glided down the little stream and twilight crept into 
 night's embrace and the stars twinkled and winked and 
 [ H ] 
 
DORIS 
 
 snapped, and the trees grew bold against the sky. Finally- 
 after passing by an old mill that looked like some gaunt 
 bird, om- boatman pulled up at a dark little nook and told 
 us to get out. Alas ! the good man had been indulging in 
 Schnapps at a farmhouse and was so tipsy he could take 
 us no further. He landed us at a forlorn-looking old house 
 at 10.30 p. :jj. and we were about as disconcerted and be- 
 wildered a party of merrymakers as any you have ever seen. 
 In dismay Fraulein and I went to the window of the house 
 and rapped on the small panes of glass, and when an old 
 night-capped woman appeared we asked her if she could 
 not send someone to guide us to Panke's Inn, where we 
 wanted to rest all night. She sent one of her sons, a burly 
 young fellow about my age, but ten times as strong and 
 manly as I am, and he took the lead, with us seven follow- 
 ing, in momentary expectation of being run into, or fall- 
 ing into the canal. We went on and on through the dark- 
 est of woods, over rickety tumble-down bridges, crossing 
 first one canal, then another, until finally we were landed 
 safely at Panke's. Mine host welcomed us and tried hard 
 to make us comfortable, and after we were all snuggled in 
 between feather-beds, we began to feel at our ease and 
 went to sleep. 
 
 "The next day was a perfect dream. The costumes, 
 the quaint people, the curious old houses and the pictur- 
 esque little rivers made us all feel as though we were in a 
 world that no one had ever been in before, our alligator 
 travelling bags and cut-glass toilet-bottles notwithstanding. 
 The girls found rich old china which they bought for a few 
 marks ; and we men made friends with the young chaps 
 and kissed the pretty little Gretchens and Lischens, and al- 
 together the morning was delightful. At two o'clock we 
 were in our boat again ready for our trip home to Liibbenau 
 All went well until about six in the evening, when the 
 clouds commenced to darken and in a few moments we 
 were in the midst of a downpour that threatened to drench 
 us to the skin. We called a halt at an old tavern where we 
 were welcomed by an abnominable band. There in the 
 kitchen we got a cup of coffee, a nip of brandy, a piece of 
 
 [65] 
 
CHAPTER FOUR 
 
 cake and fresh straw for our boat. Then off we went again. 
 We landed at Liibbenau hungry and happy. After a good 
 dinner, the best of the town's best, we retired and in the 
 morning at four-thirty we were on our train. At nine I 
 was at niv piano and so ended our ideal trip to the Spree- 
 wald."' 
 
 In .Tune he took his examinations at the Klindworth school. His 
 reference to them is in a letter to his mother, the greater part of 
 which I cannot resist quoting. He had just heard of the death of his 
 Uncle Williamson — that is, of the Rev. Dr. John AVilliamson Nev- 
 in, his father's eldest brother, and he wrote : 
 
 ' ' AVhat a glorious life he has lived, and how we all honor his 
 name and respect his memory ! I can recollect a long time 
 ago, when I suppose I must have been a bit of a boy, cling- 
 ing to your skirts, of your having shown me his picture and 
 having told me that he was a wonderful man, and that I 
 must respect and love him. I have always respected him and 
 looked up to him and made him my ideal, and I only regret 
 that I have not been near enough to have learned to know 
 him better. Isn't this life of ours a strange, strange thing? 
 How we live to learn and after all how little we know and 
 how much we have to take on faith ! We come into this 
 lovely world and for a few years we are between a flower 
 and a fruit. We grow, blossoixi, and our lives are as pleasant 
 as a day in June. Then come our first little trials, our first 
 loves and our first awakening to the tremendous fact that 
 we live and breathe and are, in ourselves, a being. And after 
 more years of happiness, in which we are content to be ig- 
 norant, comes that thirst for knowing and to be known. 
 Thereon we live, work, are strong, weak, happy or sad. 
 Bitter experience comes and suddenly our eyes are opened 
 to the fact that there are innumerable little clouds that we 
 had never noticed before. And if we continue to gaze and 
 gaze at them, they grow and grow until we could almost 
 believe there was no sun. Oh, if we could only see a little 
 farther! We become subject to our egoism and we are not 
 willing to have faith and believe! We want to know — to 
 
 [ 6^ ] 
 
DORIS 
 
 find out for ourselves. Well, perhaps this is best, just as 
 in the Springtime we scrape the old brown leaves away to 
 try to find the little pink bud — Arbutus. Why is it that 
 it is always so very lovely and so verj^ sweet ? I often won- 
 der if it is not that it has to be sought for. If it bloomed 
 by the doorstep, would it be as beautiful? ^Vould its fra- 
 grance be as sweet i 
 
 "But oh, after all, what can be a greater blessing than 
 to be born into this lovely world — to see the trees, the flow- 
 ers, to be near those we love, to be able to work, to study, 
 to grow, always seeing the road become clearer? Then the 
 keen joy of battling with and conquering self; the still great- 
 er joy of conferring happiness upon another. Yes, love 
 rules the world — with a sunbeam, not with a thunderbolt. 
 If we could only take more things on faith ! Our religion 
 — why can we not take our religion entirely on faith ? What 
 thought can be more beautiful than this? We can't expect 
 to know everything. So let us have faith — faith in our 
 father, our mother, our brother, our sister, and our God. 
 Let us all seek the sunshine, not without, but within, and 
 trust the rest to One who loves us and who knows what is 
 best. If our lives can be like Uncle Williamson's, so much 
 the better. If not — if we have had our temptations, if we 
 have fallen by the way — -well, we have done the best we 
 could ; and though we are only a background, we are a ne- 
 cessity to the completion and perfection of a picture. 
 
 ' ' On next Friday your son, E. W. Nevin, takes his de- 
 gree — the first American who has done it, and the first and 
 only pupil in the school who has taken a three years' course 
 in two. My ' degree ' sends me oflF to make my way in the 
 great musical world. My success depends solely upon what 
 I can do. On Friday we all say goodbye to our dear Pro- 
 fessor and to one another and then commences our battle. 
 I'm not afraid of mine, as my armor seems as stout as the 
 next fellow's and I love my work." 
 
 In composition he came off" with flying colors. The examination in 
 piano playing was held the succeeding day and Klindworth told him 
 he played better than he had ever done. The winter's work was over. 
 
 [ ^7 ] 
 
CHAPTER FOUR 
 
 Professor Klindworth and his wife wanted Nevin to spend the sum- 
 mer with them at their country-seat, but he had other plans. JMr. 
 and Mrs. J. AV. Paul had come abroad to join their daughters, Anne 
 and Xell ; and a party was made up for a tour, the objective point 
 being Bayreuth. 
 
 July "i'ind, Xevin wrote : 
 
 ' ' Here I am in classic old Weimar. Mr. Paul insisted on 
 my coming with them, and Harry Adriance and I, with 
 the girls and Mr. and Mrs. Paul, make quitea jolly party. 
 I decided to come one day and was ready the next. " 
 
 Then it was Heidelberg where : 
 
 " The old Schloss is the same with the rather deteriorating 
 exception of a great manj^ pine boards resting there to 
 make ready for the Jubiluum Fest, celebrating the five 
 hundredth anniversary of the University. The castle is to 
 be illuminated and the city one mass of flying colors from 
 the second of August to the eighth. Almost every room in 
 the town has been rented for the jPe^f-week and, with the 
 exception of a desire to see the show, I am very glad I am 
 not going to be here. I detest crowds. This afternoon, 
 Anne, Harry Adriance and I took a walk up to the Wolf's 
 Srunncn and on our way found the most exquisite ferns. 
 Lots and lots of students with their gay-colored caps passed 
 us and we saw many freshly cut scars, which not only 
 marred their faces (recalling foolhardy duels) but the sub- 
 limity of the hills and the romantic Neckar flowing two 
 hundred feet below. I don't wonder Lessing grew enthusi- 
 astic over Heidelberg. It has the very atmosphere of antiq- 
 uity and almost a musty smell. 
 
 ' ' This evening, after supper, we sat on the lovely terrace 
 of the hotel, with Heidelberg lying beneath us and the 
 street lamps glittering as if making fun of the stars that 
 Avere doing it ever so much better high above our heads. 
 We sang some good old hymns, that we are as familiar 
 Avith as Ave are Avith our own names ; and Mr. Paul told us 
 of the campaign of Polk, and Father's celebrated Glee. He 
 [ 68^ 
 
DORIS 
 
 seems to think I couldn't possibly write anything better 
 than that, and after expatiating on its merits for half an 
 hour, we separated ; and Harry and I are sitting in the 
 lovely little French window of our apartment, one on either 
 side of the table, sending letters to our homes, both of us 
 wishing all those so near and dear to us could be here. 
 
 "Yesterday we spent in Eisenach and visited the glori- 
 ous Wartburg, where the Landgraves of Thuringia had 
 their courts of poetry, music, and merry-making; where 
 Tannhauser was lured away by Venus and where Elizabeth 
 waited and watched for his coming, and finally watched 
 and waited until death came. AVagner grows more wonder- 
 ful to me every daJ^ His hand never degrades a subject or 
 a place. He gives it dignity and romance. Would that every 
 artist did the same ! While we were in Eisenach, we went 
 to the house in which John Sebastian Bach was born, and 
 Anne insisted on seeing the very room. After a good many 
 pleadings (and her own pretty face) the old lady in charge 
 let us go upstairs. She took such a fancy to Anne, and gave 
 her some flowers from Bach's garden, which Anne has 
 pressed and put in her flower-book ; and I have set down a 
 part of one of his Fugues on the same page. At the Wart- 
 burg, Anne bought a wooden beer mug; on the inside of 
 the lid Harry sketched the castle and I am to decorate the 
 outside with Martin Luther's JSin' feste Burg ist unser 
 Gott. She keeps us all pretty lively, always on the go, and 
 she is a splendid traveller, only she talks too much to the 
 guides. But in the end I suppose she will know more than 
 all of us put together. Her German and French are posi- 
 tively remarkable. ' ' 
 
 Then it was Bayreuth and he wrote : 
 
 "Just think, Wagner's home, Wagner's operas and Wag- 
 ner's grave! Oh, what wouldn't I have given if you could 
 have been with Elbert and me as we wandered up the hill 
 to the Opera House in the woods! As we stood on the 
 uppermost terrace and watched the sun's last rays kiss the 
 sleepy little town of Bayreuth ; and the stars peeping out 
 
CHAPTER FOUR 
 
 here and there, hke httle motives in the prelude, telhng us 
 that the subhme moon was coming ! 
 
 "I have never in my hfe been more impressed than I 
 was by the three performances I heard at the AA'agner 
 Temple. On Monday we heard 'Parsifal,' Wagner's last 
 and, to my mind, his weakest opera, with the exception, 
 maybe, of 'Rienzi' and 'Lohengrin' — perhaps 'The Fly- 
 ing Dutchman, ' too. The scenic effects are really more than 
 one can imagine, although probably not as great as in the 
 ' Gotterdtimmerung. ' The procession of Amfortas and 
 the walk of Parsifal in the first act, as well as some start- 
 ling effects in the second, are fine — wonderfully so. I fancj^ 
 you would have enjoyed ' Parsifal ' more than anj'thing 
 you had ever seen, and I hope some day you will see it. 
 But — oh! the joy — the positively maddening joy I had in 
 hearing 'Tristan and Isolde!' That is something beyond 
 anything mortal can imagine. If you could but hear Rosa 
 Sucher and Gudehus just after they have taken the lo\'e- 
 potion say to each other — 'Tristan' — 'Isolde' — No, I 
 can't even write about it. I think three more performances, 
 such as I heard last Thursday would really drive me insane. 
 I don't know whether it would be even right for me to 
 hear them again. ' ' 
 
 From Bayreuth the party went to Carlsbad and thence to Dres- 
 den for "Siegfried" and the " Gotterdammerung, " returning to 
 Berlin the end of August, where Fraulein ' ' with her dear smiling 
 face" was waiting to greet them. At the Pension von Finck this 
 autumn there was quite a gathering of the Nevin clan, aunts and 
 girl cousins from over sea. 
 
 "AVhen I hear the girls' voices in the corridor," he wrote, 
 ' ' I think I must be surely dreaming and am fairly tempted 
 to pinch myself to see if I am Bert Nevin or someone else. 
 You can imagine how happy I am to have part of my kin 
 here. ' ' 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Paul sailed for the United States, but Miss Anne 
 [ 70] 
 
DORIS 
 
 Paul and her sister Nell remained, studying German. Those were 
 the brightest of all Ethelbert Nevin's student days. The work went 
 on apace, too. He realized that his purely educational days were draw- 
 ing to an end. What he worked hardest at was getting his concert 
 programmes in order for the winter season. It seemed, even then, that 
 his future was to be that of a public piano player and he faced it with 
 apprehension ; he told his father : 
 
 "You can have no idea how I dread this coming winter, 
 when I am to be out before the world to be picked at and 
 to be knocked about. I try hard to be brave and to think 
 seriously how important it really is to be worldly and active 
 and bright, to be a success, and to lead a successful life, but 
 I dread it all. Anne, with her kind sympathy helps me very 
 much, and her help — close to me all my life — I am sure 
 will be the one aid towards my success." 
 
 Professor Klindworth urged him to make his debut, as a piano vir- 
 tuoso, in Berlin. It would have cost a couple of thousand marks and 
 after much hesitation he decided against it. His chief reason was that 
 his future work was to be in America : 
 
 "I am disappointed, of course, but then one can't have 
 everything and my ambition now is to get on ni}'^ feet finan- 
 cially ; but it will be a tough pull. " ' 
 
 And a tough pull it was, for many years. Ethelbert Xe\'in was 
 one of the few composers — of those who never wrote for the stage, 
 of those who never for one instant sacrificed art to the outer contin- 
 gencies of life — he was one of the few, I say, who found early 
 fame. And yet it was long before he reaped the rewards of his work ; 
 his struggle lasted throughout his brief and intense life. 
 
 In mid-November, 1886, Nevin sailed for New York, after a little 
 more than two years' assiduous work with Klindworth and Bial. He 
 had been, also, one of Yon Billow's four chosen pupils; his work in 
 composition with Tiersch had borne fruit ; but it was Klindworth 
 who most greatly influenced him; and in later daj^s Nevin said: 
 
 [ 7^ ] 
 
CHAPTER FOUR 
 
 "To Herr Klindworth I owe everything that has come to 
 me in my musical hfe. He was a devoted teacher and his 
 patience was tireless. His endeavor was not only to devel- 
 op the student from a musical standpoint, but to enlarge 
 his soul in every way. To do this he tried to teach one to 
 appreciate and to feel the influence of such great minds of 
 literature us Goethe, Schiller and Shakespeare. He used to 
 insist that a man does not become a musician by practic- 
 ing so many hours a day at the piano, but by absorbing an 
 influence from all the arts and all the interests of life, from 
 architecture, painting and even politics. ' ' 
 
 In these years, Nevin had attained a fine mastery of his chosen 
 instrument, the piano. He had acquired — to use Wagner's' phrase — 
 that independence and liberty which come from mastery of musical 
 form. In his youthful compositions of this Berlin period there was 
 the germ of all his work — the dominant quality of sincerity, of spon- 
 taneity, of sentiment, at once profound and delicate — the lyric charm 
 which was so essentially his own. 
 
CHAPTER FIVE 
 
 "LEHN' DEINE WANG' " 
 
 fe 
 
 ^ 
 
 S 
 
 m 
 
 wm^ 
 
 ^ 
 
 t 
 
 ^ 
 
 ^ 
 
 ^^ 
 
 ^ 
 
 Jjchji dei-iie 
 
 am 
 
 an Tuet-ne w/oni 
 
CHAP T E R F r A^ E 
 
 "LEHN' DEINE WANG" 
 
 "^ THELBERT XEVIN made his debut as a pianist at a re- 
 
 -^ cital given in Pittsburg, December 10, 1886. He was ill when 
 he went on the platform. Indeed, since his return from Eu- 
 rope he had been in ill-health and had cancelled manj^ en- 
 -* gagements, notably one to plaj^ in New York. In spite of 
 this he achieved a brilliant success. The enthusiasm of the news- 
 paper press was not unmixed with local pride, but the criticisms 
 show that his personal quality as a pianist was alreadj" clearly de- 
 fined. One critic in the Commercial Gazette wrote : 
 
 "Two years' study abroad has wrought a marked change in the 
 young pianist's style of plajdng. The striking characteristics of his 
 performance are intense poetic feeling, exquisite refinement in shad- 
 ing, and marvellous delicacy of touch. The Bach Fugue in A minor 
 tested his technique thoroughly, and, although there was a slight 
 unevenness to be observed in occasional passages, he was generally 
 equal to the stupendous technical difficulties of the composition. 
 
 "In the Schumann Fantasie (C major) his conception was marked 
 b}" intelligence and poetic feeling, but in the execution he lacked 
 somewhat in that massiveness and thrilling power which one natur- 
 ally expects in the grand climaxes of this work. 
 
 "His rendition of Brassin's Nocturne was a triumphant effort. It 
 was the piece in which his best qualities were displayed. The delicacy 
 with which he managed the variations for tiie right hand while carry- 
 ing the theme with the left was truly remarkable. The ' Legend of 
 the Spinner,' a composition of his own, was a showy piece, in which 
 the composer seems to have discarded all musical form and given full 
 rein to his fancy, not, however, necessarily to the detriment of the 
 composition. 
 
 "The A minor Etude of Chopin was admirably rendered, as was 
 
 [ 75 ] 
 
CHAPTER FIVE 
 
 also the pianist's own transcription of Wagner's 'Rhine Daughters' 
 Trio." Brassin"s transcription of the 'Fire Charm' (Walkyrie) which 
 followed was given with the same refinement of shading and delicacy 
 of touch noticeable in the rendition of the Nocturne. Liszt's Tar- 
 antelle, ' Yenezia e Napoli,' was played with rare brilliancy and was 
 a fitting close to the evening's entertainment." 
 
 The music critic of the Pittsburg Times said : 
 
 "The programme last night, with the exception of a study of 
 Bach's and two of Chopin's Etudes, was typical of the poetic-classic 
 school. In Schumann's C major Fantasie, the faculty of vivid inter- 
 pretation was displayed and the fine coloring in which it abounds 
 was reproduced with absolute fidelity. A Nocturne of Brassin's was 
 rendered with surpassing delicacy, and a fine dramatic climax was 
 reached in the transcriptions from Wagner's ' Gotterdammerung ' 
 and 'Walkyrie.' The stock recital number, Liszt's 'Venezia e 
 Napoli, ' with its musical antithesis and florid coloring, was the last 
 number on the programme and was performed in a manner not ex- 
 celled by any artist ever yet heard in this city. The 'Legend of the 
 Spinner,' an original composition of Mr. Nevin's, opens with a 
 simple theme of four measures on which is constructed a series of 
 skilfully elaborated variations, which were played with delightful 
 crispness and delicacy. An original transcription of Wagner's 'Rhine 
 Daughters' Trio ' was equally meritorious, both as regards structure 
 and execution. 
 
 ' ' Without going into detail and enumerating the many character- 
 istics of a piano virtuoso, Mr. Nevin may unhesitatingly be pro- 
 nounced a fully equipped and masterly performer. He has cultivated 
 the best traits of the great masters under whom he studied, and adds 
 to the experience thus gained an originality which is the only re- 
 maining essential to genius. That his genius is of a high order was 
 the universal verdict of the many competent judges by whom he 
 was heard last evening." 
 
 So the recital was a great success ; but Nevin felt that there was, 
 
 L 76 ] 
 
LEHN' DEINE WANG 
 
 in the approbation of his fellow-townsmen, a little of that local, un- 
 critical patriotism which is so pleasant to the young artist — and so 
 fatal to him. His public career in Pittsburg might hav^e been ease- 
 ful and not without profit ; but Nevin wished to be measured by a 
 higher — at least by a less familiar — standard. 
 
 He decided to begin his professional career, as pianist and teacher, 
 in Boston. Shortly after the mid- winter holidays he wrote from that 
 city to his father: 
 
 "Xow that I have things pretty much arranged I want to 
 tell you of mj" prospects. As yet I have none, as far as pu- 
 pils are concerned, but I think that will come later. Mr. 
 Lang is wonderfully kind to me and entre nous I think I 
 shall play the Liszt E flat minor with orchestra inside a 
 very few weeks, Mr. Lang conducting ; and the concert will 
 not cost me a cent. Isn't that splendid? He has been a 
 faithful friend. He spoke to Liszt about me and told him 
 I was coming to him, and that was just a few daj^s before 
 Liszt died. ]Mr. Lang will be of great help to me I am 
 sure, if he finds I am willing to work. Just now it is a little 
 up-hill work but 1 think — no, I MUST succeed! I have 
 engaged rooms at 14 Mount \^ernon Street, where all mail 
 must be sent. The rooms are comfortable enough and I 
 shall be contented. Mr. Smith, the head man at C bicker- 
 ing's, was at Mr. Lang's when I called this morning, and 
 JNIr. Lang said : 
 
 " 'Mr. Smith, you must know the young man we've 
 been waiting and watching for and talking about. Be good 
 to him ; dnd do what you can to help him. ' I then went 
 down to see about pianos and Mr. Smith rented me a fine 
 new concert grand for the absurd sum of $18.00 a quarter. 
 You can see how he has favored me for they never rent 
 new grands, and even for one that has been used, charge 
 not less than $45 to $50 a quarter. Of course it's business 
 on both sides — still, business is business. He took me all 
 over the house and made me feel quite at home. 
 
 "I called on Arthur Foote, of whom I spoke some time 
 ago. He was as cordial as could be. I am going round soon 
 
 [ 77 ] 
 
CHAPTER FIVE 
 
 to meet his wife and babe. He is the most promising of the 
 rising musicians and I"m getting in with the best. My 
 apartments on Mt. Vernon St. are in the swell part of the 
 town — Beacon Hill — nicest sort of people there and alto- 
 gether things look promising. You can have no idea how 
 badly I feel to think how I hav^e flown the home nest ; 
 and at times an inexpressible longing comes over me to be n 
 at the fireside with all my loved ones. I suppose every 
 young man goes through that phase, but I'm sure it's go- 
 ing to make a stronger and better man of me. Only keep 
 my place for me at home, as you can have no idea how I 
 love that place and how often I think of it. " 
 
 Excerpts from the two succeeding letters illustrate his April 
 moods — the brightness and gloom of a temperament essentiallv 
 artistic — the swift passing from tears to laughter: 
 
 " Here I am all settled in my new apartments with so much 
 to do and still not able to do anything, for I find I shall 
 have to move again, as the lady who has the suite above 
 me, does not like so much music. Mr. Howe, the gentle- 
 man from whom I engaged these rooms, is really very pleas- 
 ant, and I am to move into another of his houses just back 
 of this and as good luck would ha^e it the rooms — two 
 and a bath — are really a hundred per cent more agreeable 
 for me and cost less. Isn't that good ? This suite is too large 
 for me ; and it is not so bright and sunny. So after Thurs- 
 day, address me No. 5 Mount ^^ernon Place. 
 
 '■ I have just had the pleasure of cutting my finger and 
 receiving a visit from the lady who "doesn't want so much 
 music. ' She was very nice though, and I played for her, so 
 we parted good friends after all. She said she was very sorry 
 to inconvenience me and all that sort of thing. You can 
 have no idea how lonely I am. I've just had a real good 
 'weep' all to myself in mj^ new rooms." 
 
 And then a few days later : 
 
 "I'm as happy as can be! I feel ver}" much ashamed that 
 I should have sent such a gloomy letter home and reallj^ 
 
 [7S ] 
 
JLEHN' DEINE WANG 
 
 now that I am busy at work, I'm happier than I've been 
 for months and a hundred per cent better. I've been mak- 
 ing the most dehghtful acquaintances and my rooms are as 
 pretty as can be. 
 
 Yesterday afternoon I was bus}" sewing rings on cur- 
 tains, when the maid came in with a large basket of oranges 
 androses. I looked at the card and it was from 'mine enemy, ' 
 the lady who had the suite above mine at Number 14, and 
 who ' didn't like so much of my music. ' The flowers came 
 from her greenhouse and the oranges her father had sent 
 up from Florida. Wasn't that kind of her? We've become 
 very good friends and she saj's she mis.svs my playing so 
 i/iuc/i .' " 
 
 In March he appeared at the second of jNIr. Lang's concerts in 
 Chickering Hall, playing the Liszt Concerto in E flat major, with 
 orchestra. His health had greatly improved and he faced his audi- 
 ence with unusual confidence — indeed all the critics spoke of the 
 strength and exuberant vigor of his work. These were not the rarest 
 qualities of his piano playing and his artistry was not clearly appar- 
 ent until he gave a piano recital a few days later. However, his suc- 
 cess was considerable. 
 
 The Evening Transcript said: "That he is already an artist of 
 great and rare gifts was plainly manifest. ' ' And Philip Hale wrote : 
 "He has great fullness of tone unmarredby harshness, and with re- 
 flection and time ought to have a worthy and high place. ' ' 
 
 The recital was given March 11th; again, it is Philip Hale who 
 gives the best account of the young pianist's dehut and the most il- 
 luminative comment upon the five Nevin songs, which formed part 
 of the programme. These songs were still in manuscript. 
 
 Mr. Hale's articfe — a contemporary judgment passed upon the 
 artist — is quoted in full : 
 
 "Mr. Ethelbert Nevin, assisted by Miss Jennie von Holz, gave 
 a pianoforte recital in Chickering Hall last evening of which the 
 following was the program : 
 
 [ 79 ] 
 
CHAPTER F I \ E 
 
 PIAKO SOLO 
 
 Fuffiie in A minor 
 
 Bach 
 
 Fa7itasie in C, Op. 17 
 
 Schumann 
 
 (two movements) 
 
 
 S0NG8 
 
 
 Arietta, ^ No so piu, cosa son^ 
 
 Mozart 
 
 'Qiumdo a te lieta^ 
 
 Gounod 
 
 PIAKO SOLO 
 
 
 Noctnrne 
 
 Brassin 
 
 Study in A minor. Op. So 
 
 Chopin 
 
 Romance, Op. 5 
 
 TSCHAIKOWSKY 
 
 Allegro, Op. 8 
 
 Schumann 
 
 SONGS 
 
 
 Stars of the Summer Nig-ht 
 
 
 Lehn' deine Wang 
 
 
 Cradle Song 
 
 NkvIN (7?M. ) 
 
 Summer Longings 
 
 
 Oh, That We Tico Were Maying ■' 
 
 
 PLiNO SOLO 
 
 
 Tico Waltzes 
 
 Nkvin (to,?.) 
 
 Venezia e Xapoli 
 
 Liszt 
 
 "Mr. Nevin more than renewed the brilHant impression he made 
 last Tuesday at Mr. Lang's concert. His playing of the Bach Fugue 
 was what we liked least ; it was brilliant playing, but too much in 
 the spirit of modern pianoforte playing, virtuosity, and too little in 
 the severer, more earnest spirit of the Fugue. The inspiration seemed 
 to come from the fingers rather than from the text. True, nine out 
 of ten pianists today, even great ones, would play this Fugue in 
 much the same way ; but this does not make us any the less anxious 
 to hear the tenth. In the two movements from Schumann's Fan- 
 tasie, Mr. Nevin was on more congenial ground ; the second move- 
 ment was especially well played. This movement calls for not a little 
 [ So] 
 
LEHN' DEINE WANG 
 
 daring on the part of the player, and Mr. Nevin is a player who is 
 not afraid of running risks; he threw himself into his task with su- 
 perb vigor and the result was simply electric. Still more exciting 
 was his playing of the Chopin study — ^the one Rubinstein used to 
 astonish audiences with. The Schumann Allegro, very seldom played 
 here, was also given in grand style, and the quicker pieces were played 
 with much grace and sentiment. Upon the whole, Mr. Nevin proved 
 himself to be a pianist who can do splendid things, and from whom 
 still finer work may be expected. With all his dash and daring he 
 evinces a sense of musical proportion, which leads him to draw the 
 rein at the right moment and his technique is sufficient to warrant 
 his daring style of playing. He plays boldly, but never quite reck- 
 lessly. When he has learned to give his more fiery passages all the 
 finish of execution, and especially of phrasing, that is to be admired 
 in his quieter moments, he will be a pianist like very few. There is 
 an exuberance of vigor in him that will bear refining ; there is little 
 danger of its all being refined away. As for his compositions, the two 
 walzes struck us as unimportant, but the songs are, one and all, de- 
 lightful. Perhaps their most salient characteristic is the spontaneity 
 of melodic invention they show. They are what the Germans call 
 
 Strophenliedei that is, songs in which the same melody goes to 
 
 every verse — and the melody is, in itself, so flowing, so pregnant, 
 that all the subtleties of harmonization in the accompaniments seem 
 to spring naturally from the leading melodic idea, instead of being 
 dragged in by the hair for their own sake. Miss von Holz sang them 
 absolutely delightfully, as she did also the fascinating little Mozart 
 Arietta and Siebel's song from ' Faust.' " 
 
 Nevin had taken his place — not one of exceptional eminence, 
 but a place of honor — in the musical life of Boston. 
 
 ' ' Things move along, ' ' he wrote, " in a quiet but profitable 
 way ; I am gaining ground and that makes me better 
 contented with myself. My songs will soon be out and 
 they do look very attractive. I have been trying to make 
 
 [8i] 
 
CHAPTER FIVE 
 
 arrangements for a number of concerts and hope I shall 
 be successful. I have two pupils and will soon have others — 
 before long I hope so many I won't know what to do 
 with myself." 
 
 So the months passed, with occasional concerts — at AVells 
 College, at Elmira, New York, at Boston — and with lessons. In 
 the autumn he gave one concert in Pittsburg. For some reason — 
 inefficient business management, it may be — there was a very 
 small attendance. "A cold and dreary concert," he wrote, "it 
 makes me shudder to think of it. " The financial failure of the concert 
 was also a keen disappointment to him. He had counted upon it for 
 many reasons. It was to be one of the stepping-stones to his mar- 
 riage. In this momentary discouragement he wrote one of his "blue 
 letters" to his mother — a letter he vainly tried to recall. 
 
 " If you could only know, dear mother, how I repent hav- 
 ing written it ! When I wrote I was completely upset over 
 such bitter disappointments that I hardly knew what I 
 was writing. Nothing I could say in my defense would 
 justify my sending such a morbid letter to you when you 
 have trouble enough — all I ask is that you pardon me. 
 Heaven knows I do little enough for the family and no 
 one feels it any more than I do. ' ' 
 
 One of the last letters dated from his bachelor rooms in Mount 
 Vernon Place, was written on his twenty-fifth birthday. His mother 
 had sent him a cheque bidding him buy the birthday gift he liked 
 best. This was his answer : 
 
 ' ' Your dear letter enclosing the birthday present for me 
 came yesterday and I thank you more than I can tell. 
 The greatest gift I could have came in the little note 
 where you say you ' thank God for the gift of my life to 
 you ! ' Nothing can ever take that from me, and you can 
 have no idea how thankful I am that my life has been a 
 happiness to you ; that you do not regret the day I came 
 to this world and opened my eyes to the stage on which 
 I was to fight life's battles and to enjoy life's happiness. 
 [82] 
 
ExHELBEllT NeVIN, IN 1887 
 
CHAPTER FIVE 
 
 "Nowyou say in your note that you want me to get some- 
 thing that itvill give me pleasure. I have done so and I have 
 had a jolly good time running about the stores looking 
 something up. Before I started out I decided that the 
 thing that would give me most happiness would be to get 
 something for my darling mother, as you know I don't 
 have many opportunities of sending anything to you. So 
 I bought this little lap tablet and from it you are going to 
 write to Anne and me and keep it in your corner all for 
 yourself and remember how happy and much obliged I am 
 to you for giving me such a nice birthday present. It has 
 indeed given me happiness. I love you all so dearly and I 
 so often long to be with you." 
 
 Then there was a farewell dinner — his bachelor dinner — at the 
 Union Club. The wedding cards were out. The last week of the year 
 he went home. Here is the letter that announced his coming : 
 
 "My dear Mother: 
 
 I shall leave Boston on Wednesday evening and 
 expect to reach Pittsburg on Thursday morning early. 
 
 ' ' Have written to Anne to meet me in town and go to 
 dear old Vineacre with me. Remember I am to have my 
 little room and everything is to go along the same way, 
 only some jolly old talks and mulls over the natural gas fire. 
 
 " If it is not too much trouble would you kindly tell the 
 boys I speak for the horses for a drive sometime on Satur- 
 day? I'm so glad I'm coming. Oh, give me home ! 
 
 "Always your loving son, 
 
 "Ethelbert." 
 
 [8i] 
 
CHAPTER SIX 
 
 "THE SKETCH BOOK' 
 
 
 
 
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 >_^ 
 
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 ^ J 
 
 
 
 ^i^ 
 
 
 ?— L 
 
 
 
 P 
 
 
 — — • 
 
 
CHAPTER SIX 
 
 'THE SKETCH BOOK" 
 
 i — r 
 
 "^ HE happiest event of his Hfe was his marriage, on the fifth 
 of Januarj", 1888, to Miss Anne Paul. She has been a loving 
 helpmate, entering into all his plans with zealous solicitude, 
 and alleviating his troubles as best she could in her sweet, 
 womanly way. I have heard him say she was one of his best 
 critics. Their lives flow along pleasantly and happily because of the 
 love and devotion they bear to one another. ' ' 
 
 These lines are quoted from the sketch written by Ethelbert Xevin's 
 mother. 
 
 The wedding was picturesque and unusual — an artist's wedding 
 — as may be seen from this fragment of a newspaper report : 
 
 "The Church itself — St. Peter's — in its Christmas dress of green 
 — tall pines rising at intervals of every three or four pews, their lofty 
 crests towering and losing themselves in the dusky heights above ; 
 graceful branches decking the chancel and the organ loft — resembled 
 nothing so much as a thickly wooded grove ; and the aisles seemed 
 a primeval pathway, the over-hanging branches meeting and inter- 
 lacing until they formed romantic arbors. The music was entrancing. 
 First Mr. Mellor at the organ gave a short anti-nuptial concert into 
 which he appropriately introduced Mr. Nevin's famous ' Serenade. ' 
 The last number of the programme was skillfully merged into the 
 bridal chorus from 'Lohengrin.' This was caught up by an invisible 
 choir of boyish voices. Soon the white-surpliced singers appeared 
 and passed down a side aisle two by two, singing as they went, 
 reaching the entrance just in time to escort the bridal party to the 
 altar. When the voices of the childish choir were hushed, the strain 
 was taken up by a chorus of women's voices and chanted to the 
 finish, the last strains dying away as the young bridegroom stepped 
 forward to claim his bride from her father's keeping. All through 
 
CHAPTER SIX 
 
 the service which was led by the Reverend Mr. Rogers, rector of the 
 Edgewater church, Bishop Whitehead assisting, the sweetly simple 
 air of Mr. Nevin's ' Serenade ' was rendered by Mr. Mellor in tones 
 so low and soft as to be but a half-heard dream of melody. ' ' 
 
 Thereupon there was a reception and then the young couple left 
 for Boston. Perhaps all wedding journeys are the same, when youth 
 and love go hand in hand ; what this one was you may learn from a 
 letter — faded now — of January 8th, 1888: 
 
 "We were very circumspect on our way East and I don't 
 think anyone suspected us, unless it was because we both 
 had the bride and groom look in our eyes. In the train at 
 Pittsburg the aisle was completely covered with rice, too, 
 and the boys insisted on singing the wedding chorus and 
 cutting up high jinks. So it may be someone may have 
 'caught on ' after all. 
 
 "Harry Adriance left us at Philadelphia after decorating 
 my wife (my wife !) with violets. Ernest left us at Grand 
 Street, and Ned at 23rd Street, New York. We had lunch- 
 eon; then came on to Boston by the three o'clock train, 
 arriving here at 9 p. m. 
 
 ' ' Yesterday morning we came up to 28 Beacon Street and 
 decided to remain there ; so we worked all day getting our 
 things into shape ; and you would have fairly howled could 
 you have seen Anne and me eating our beans and fish-balls 
 this morning. Anne's costume was meagre and mine still 
 more so, as we had to eat while things were hot, and the 
 way we tried to cook some eggs was absolutely pathetic. We 
 have unpacked our boxes and trunks and are now impa- 
 tiently waiting for our wedding gifts to come. 
 
 ' ' We have only one chair in our new home, and it is a 
 great drawing of lots as to which one of us is going to 
 occupy it. What a whirl we came away in ; and I can still 
 see you standing there showering rice on us; and we felt 
 like babes in the woods. AYe will try as soon as possible 
 to settle down to work and, after all, the great joy of such 
 an event is in the retrospective. ' ' 
 
 [88] 
 
THE SKETCH BOOK 
 
 In addition to his Boston pupils — they were not many — he taught 
 a bi-weekly class at Spencer. It was not congenial work; he was 
 "always glad when the Spencer days ended;" and indeed this sen- 
 sitive artist was not born to be a teacher, though under the stress 
 of life he inspired many younger men. He was patient and kindly 
 as a teacher, "sunshiny" as one of his pupils said, but it was not 
 work he loved. Once he remarked: "I love to teach children; but 
 that is because I love children;" and the work he did best as an 
 instructor, was child-teaching, that, and his coaching of great artists 
 in AYagnerian roles. There is a point where the simplest art and the 
 most subtly- achieved meet; the child and the great genius are 
 mysteriously akin. 
 
 Against the dreary background of pedagogic work, certain con- 
 certs stood out brightly. At the Manuscript Society, February 9th, 
 his two songs for tenor, with piano, violin and 'cello were given. 
 These were "Doris" and "The Rose's Message." They were sung 
 by Charles R. Adams ; he was accompanied by Lichtenberg, Hart- 
 degen (notable men, then) and the composer. A week later Nevin 
 could write : 
 
 "My songs at the Manuscript Club are still talked about, 
 and rumors are afloat that I'm to be asked to contribute to 
 the next concert, despite the fact that each composer is to 
 figure but once a season. ' ' 
 
 His forecast was right, as, at the next concert given by the Man- 
 uscript Club in April, his song, "O, That We Two Were Maying," 
 was sung by Charles F. Weber. Meanwhile he had given two piano 
 recitals at Chickering Hall on February 29th and March 11th, play- 
 ing at the conclusion of a long programme (which included Bach, 
 Chopin, Brahms and his own "Spring Song") the pianoforte tran- 
 scriptions of the "Niebelungen Ring" made by his master, Karl 
 Klindworth. But the chief event in his musical life was : 
 
 "I am going to have a book published under the title of 
 
 [ 89 ] 
 
CHAPTER SIX 
 
 'A Summer Sketch Book,' ten songs and ten pianoforte 
 pieces. The book will be got up very prettily and I am to 
 get fifty cents on every copy sold or fifty dollars on every 
 hundred copies. If it takes and goes into the hundreds, I 
 will make some money. I am very enthusiastic over it and 
 have been working hard. ' ' 
 
 The "Sketch Book," as it was finally called, included thirteen 
 songs and piano pieces, and found an immediate sale ; withal a very 
 large one. There had long been a prejudice against books of native 
 compositions ; indeed, the historians of American music point out 
 there had been a virtual ban upon them. The prejudice was now 
 broken down, the ban was removed, by the remarkable success of 
 Nevin's little volume. It appeared as Opus 2 ; the " Serenade," pub- 
 lished in 1884., ranking as Opus 1, although earlier publications were 
 "The Lovers," 1881, "Apple Blossoms," 1880, and the "Lilian 
 Polka," 1874-. There was no Opus number attached to the Seven 
 Songs issued in 1886. 
 
 A generation has passed since the ' ' Sketch Book ' ' first came out. 
 The change that has taken place during these years — the new con- 
 quests in the harmonic kingdom, as well as the swift advance of 
 musical appreciation — has not injured the vitality of the young 
 composer's book of thirteen songs and piano pieces. Between the 
 covers he had imprisoned a little of eternal youth, a little of immor- 
 tal love. Rupert Hughes, the most scholarly as he is the most poet- 
 ical of music historians, in his "Contemporary American Compos- 
 ers," * has confirmed with his authority, the judgment of the earlier 
 critics. From his study of Nevin, "an innovator of American mu- 
 sic," I quote his words on the "Sketch Book" : 
 
 "The contents of the 'Sketch Book' display unusual versatility. 
 It opens with a bright gavotte, in which adherence to the classic 
 spirit compels a certain reminiscence of tone. The second piece, a 
 song, 'In the Wondrous Month o' May,' has such a springtide fire 
 and frenzy in the turbulent accompaniment, and such a fervent re- 
 
 (* L. C. Page & Co., Boston) 
 [90 ] 
 
THE SKETCH BOOK 
 
 iterance, that it becomes, in my opinion, the best of all the settings, 
 of this poem of Heine's, not excluding even Schumann's or that of 
 Franz. The 'Love Song,' though a piano solo, is in reality a duet 
 between two lovers. It is to me finer than Henselt's perfect 'Liebes- 
 lied,' possibly because the ravishing sweetness of the woman's voice, 
 answering the sombre plea of the man's, gives it a double claim on 
 the heart. The setting of Du bist wie eine Blwine, however, 
 hardly does justice either to Heine's poem or to Nevin's art. The 
 'Serenade' is a very original bit of work, but the song, 'O, That 
 We Two Were Maying ! ' with a voice in the accompaniment, mak- 
 ing it the duet it should be, — that song can have no higher praise 
 than this, that it is the complete, the final musical fulfilment of one 
 of the rarest lyrics in our language. A striking contrast to the keen 
 white regret of this song is the setting of a group of 'Children's 
 Songs,' by Robert Louis Stevenson. Nevin's child-songs have a 
 peculiar and charming grace. He has not been stingy of either his 
 abundant art or his abundant humanity in writing them. They in- 
 clude four of Stevenson's, the best being the captivating, 'In Winter 
 I get up at Night,' and a setting of Eugene Field's, 'Little Boy 
 Blue,' in which a trumpet figure is used with delicate pathos." 
 
 It was in the "Sketch Book " that appeared the setting of Heine's 
 familiar lines, JLehri' deine Wang an meine Wang, notable for its 
 intense and passionate beauty. Nevin's conception of the poem is 
 original and self-justified, differing widely from that of the many 
 composers who have used it. 
 
 Of the eleven songs that went to the world that year the finest 
 achievement — indeed, one of the best of his songs — was unques- 
 tionably that exquisite masterpiece, Lehn' deine Wang an meine 
 Wang. As Rupert Hughes points out, it "is actually little more 
 than a vocal accompaniment to a piano solo. ' ' In other words the 
 accompaniment is " a free instrumental composition with a meaning 
 of its own and an integral value, truly accompanying, not merely 
 supporting and serving the voice." This is very true. It hints at the 
 
 [ 9^ ] 
 
CHAPTER SIX 
 
 essential quality in Nevin's musical invention — a characteristic that 
 one might call melodico-harmonic, for the melody and its subtle har- 
 monies are so intimately united that it is impossible to dissever them. 
 It was this that placed him among the "innovators" and in the suc- 
 cession of Schubert, Schumann and Franz. Lelnv' deine Wang 
 is a true Lied — that kind of complete musical poem, which seemed 
 once so exclusively German and of which Nevin made a form of art 
 at once personal, definite, and perfect. 
 
 This little volume contained also that particularly lovely bit of 
 melody, the Berceuse in A flat. 
 
 The House in Quincy, Mass. 
 
 Almost coincident with the appearance of the "Sketch Book" 
 was the publication of his Opus 3, containing three songs of a pas- 
 toral nature, "Doris," with its aroma of Theocritus, Goethe's "One 
 Spring Morning, Bright and Fair," and "Deep in a Rose's Glow- 
 ing Heart," the poem by Margaret Deland. Their success was great 
 — notably that of the blithe Goethean song. 
 [9^ ] 
 
THE SKETCH BOOK 
 
 These triumphs came in the Spring of the year ; meanwhile life 
 had gone quietly by; "the honeymoon," Nevin wrote, "is on the 
 wane and the real sensible period has arrived when Anne manages 
 the establishment. ' ' The young couple had taken a house in Quincy. 
 This was their first home. It was in Bigelow Street, near the old 
 Adams' place, and their nearest neighbors were Miss Adams, an 
 aged lady with old-time memories of Dolly Madison's reign in the 
 White House, and Hull Adams, her brother, nephew of one presi- 
 dent and grandson of another. 
 
 Many friends gathered in the little house, musicians and poets. 
 His mother and his sister Lily came on from Pittsburg and made a 
 long visit. And Schopenhauer, a dog born under a roving star, joined 
 the family. Withal Nevin had taken charge — ■ a work of love — of 
 the music in the Quincy church of which the Rev. Mr. Evan Cotton 
 was pastor. He kept on his studio in Boston, giving piano lessons 
 almost daily. He had joined the St. Botolph Club, and it is from 
 there he wrote to his mother, after she had gone back to Pittsburg : 
 
 "As I have an hour or so between lessons, I have dropped 
 in here to write a few words to you. You can have no idea 
 how desolate and forlorn Anne and I have been since your 
 departure. I boarded the six-seven train and went out home, 
 and found Anne asleep on the sofa in the music room. 
 From the handkerchief by her side, and some moisture on 
 her cheeks, I imagine she had indulged in a few tears. We 
 had our quiet dinner and took a turn round the square and 
 came home again. We called Schopenhauer in to us and I 
 think we were each trying to cheer the other, when a knock 
 came to our door, and in came dear old Miss Adams and 
 Mr. Adams. She said she was afraid we would feel lonely, 
 so we all talked and gossiped for a while. " 
 
 In November he wrote : 
 
 "My dear Mother: 
 
 I did not get a letter off to you on Sunday, as I 
 was busy at the church all day and I was very tired after it 
 
 [9J] 
 
CHAPTER SIX 
 
 was all through ; and Monday I teach all day. 
 
 "I play in Chickering Hall, in Boston, on the 20th in the 
 afternoon, and at ^Vollaston on Monday evening, the 12th. 
 I play in Pittsburg on the loth and 17th of January and 
 give my own concert either late in December or before I 
 go home in January. All these things Deo Volente. I am 
 commencing to feel very nervous and anxious. 
 
 "The new Symphony Orchestra has asked me for some 
 orchestral manuscript, and if I can work up my Symphonic 
 Poem on ' Sunset on the Allegheny,' from a poem by Mar- 
 garet Deland, I shall hand it in. I am busy all the time. 
 Christmas music must be composed and prepared for the 
 choir and numerous rehearsals given. Anne's birthday comes 
 tomorrow and I am trying to have some mild surprises for 
 her. I have ordered a few autumn flowers and Emily has 
 made a big combination fruit cake. I am going to get some 
 candles and buy her a bottle of cologne, which was her re- 
 quest. The pup, Schopenhauer, is jumping on me as I write, 
 and makes my chirography look more scratchy even than 
 usual — if such a thing be possible. We lost the pup two 
 days after you left, for over a week. He seemed to be very 
 discontented after his Aunt Lily left him. ' ' 
 
 The next letter which I shall quote is dated Friday evening, De- 
 cember 21st, 1888 ; it is a letter like an open window, through which 
 one may look in upon the warmth and comfort of a room and the 
 young happiness it holds : 
 
 ' ' My dear mother : 
 
 Anne and baby and nurse have retired for the night, 
 and I still have quite a long evening before me. Anne is 
 getting along nicely and the boy is growing to be a very 
 much better looking baby. The doctor was here this even- 
 ing and said : ' You may be proud of that boy, he has a mag- 
 nificent head. ' Oh, mother, his eyes are so bright, and when 
 he smiles, he smiles all over his face, and oh, how we did 
 watch for his first smile ! He has already developed a sense 
 for sound, for he turns his head and his eyes and once even 
 stopped crying to hear nurse ring the bell. 
 
 [94] 
 
THE SKETCH BOOK 
 
 "Anne is commencing to look strong now, and today 
 she sat up for three hours. Tomorrow she and I are going 
 to take a walk — round the room. 
 
 "I imagine you all busy with Christmas shopping or 
 rather making and planning, which after all, is the greatest 
 fun. 
 
 "Anne and I have enjoyed what little Christmas prepa- 
 rations we have made. You mustn't be surprised to see the 
 'job lot' sent to the dear ones at Vineacre, but Mother dear, 
 we couldn't buy this Christmas, so just sent little things 
 we had — things we were fond of. We thought they would 
 please you all and I know they will. I have arranged a sur- 
 prise for Mr. and Mrs. Cotton. The choir are going to as- 
 semble here and on Christmas eve, we are going over and 
 sing : ' Holy Night, Peaceful Night ' and I hope there will 
 be snow all around, as the lights from the church will be so 
 pretty. Then we will go into the church and the children 
 will have their Christmas tree. Christmas morning the ser- 
 vice will be beautiful. 
 
 ' ' This time last year I was about going home and brother 
 Bob was just commencing to feel ill. If he continues to feel 
 badly send him on here for a visit. Anne and I would be 
 so glad to have him and it would do Anne so much good. 
 Do try and get him off if only for a week or so. Schirmer 
 tells me the Saint Cecilia have ordered two hundred copies 
 of 'The Night Has a Thousand Eyes' and they are to sing 
 it at one of their concerts soon. Lang conducts. 
 
 ' ' This letter will probably reach you on Christmas eve, 
 and I can imagine you all going into the parlor, you and 
 father over by the table; our darling little sister by the 
 piano, where her presents are, Walter's gifts near Lily's 
 and Bob's piled on the piano-chair, with Artie's by the 
 fireplace. Sitting here I can see the pictures on the walls 
 covered with greens and I do hope the tree I see in the cor- 
 ner is really there, because all those things go to make up 
 Christmas. 
 
 [9S 1 
 
CHAPTER SIX 
 
 Ah me! 
 
 For two alone, there in the hall. 
 Is spread the table round and small. 
 
 Seated, I see the two again, 
 Sut not alone ; they entertain 
 A little angel unaware. 
 
 "I have bought a little tree for him — for Paul — and 
 some pretty tree-things to put on it; and a little Kriss 
 Kringle — may he enjoy the delightful excitement of a Kriss 
 Kringle as long and as much as did his father and mother 
 and uncles and aunties. Then I have a little sheep — which 
 fortunately does not haa. The baby's tree will be in the 
 nursery, and all the dear little Christ-children will have 
 greens about them ; then I will bring up Anne's presents, 
 and we will have our dinner served there, too. I will put 
 on my best clothes and we shall be just as merry, as merry 
 can be. "W^ell, this mustn't be strung out too long, as it is 
 a busy season; only I can't help writing to you, mother 
 dear, you who have for so many, many years made our 
 Christmas so bright. I can't help telling you how our 
 thoughts naturally turn to our respective homes ; but we 
 have a little home of our own now and we must make Christ- 
 mas time as happy for our boy as you and father did for 
 yours. Good night. God bless you all this Christmas time. 
 
 ' ' With unbounded love from Anne, Paul, and 
 
 "Your loving son 
 
 "Bert." 
 
 And so the most memorable year in the young composer's life 
 drew to a close. It was a year that had given him — in the philoso- 
 pher's thoughtful phrase — two prophylactics against oblivion: a son 
 to bear his name, and songs in which still glow hints and intimations 
 of immortality. He was twenty-six years of age and he had touched 
 the world's heart with his singing. 
 
 \96 J 
 
CHAPTER SEVEN 
 
 'HERBSTGEFUHL" 
 
 II 'ii^ — Her c)iaitz 3er (yon- — 
 
 nc 
 
CHAPTER SEVEN 
 
 "HERBSTGEFUHL " 
 
 ~^HE little house in Quincy — the first home — was given up 
 in 1889. Nevin took a large house in town, at 160 Mount 
 Vernon Street. In the last letters from Quincy there are 
 charming pictures of the young composer's life at this time. 
 " Both as a composer and as a man," said the one who 
 most intimately knew him, "he was essentially a child. To the last 
 he was an enchanted child. ' ' 
 
 This, in a way, is true. He carried over into manhood unsullied, 
 those heart qualities that belong so exclusively to childhood. He 
 had always a child's intimacy with nature. He had always that 
 vague belief in the souls of inanimate things which never quite dies 
 out in those who keep youth's heart alive. He had quaint fancies 
 about trees and flowers ; and over Bayreuth, as you remember, the 
 ' ' stars peeped out here and there like little motives in the prelude, ' ' 
 announcing the moon's coming. Children went to him with unhesi- 
 tating confidence, recognizing in him a member of their mystic 
 brotherhood. It is for this reason he reached the hearts of children — 
 and the hearts of those who love children — as no other composer has 
 done. I do not even except Moussorgski though he, too, knew that 
 children have a world of their own and into that world he had en- 
 tered as an equal. 
 
 In Nevin' s child songs there are a sincerity, an ingenuousness and 
 a haunting pathos no other composer has quite attained. For him, as 
 for the child, the world was very mysterious and life was a daily mir- 
 acle; and this first fresh wonder he never lost — the child's sense of 
 reverence and the child's perfect faith. 
 
 That this was only one side of his character is true. He was a 
 prince in the kingdom of childhood, but he travelled far in other 
 realms. One winter night in Quincy he wrote of his own baby ; 
 
 {99 J 
 
CHAPTER SEVEN 
 
 " It has been bitterly cold here, but we are used to it and 
 our house keeps very warm, not for you 'natural gas' 
 people, but warm for us. Anne has just brought Paul in 
 and if you please he is sitting in a chair beside me, as I 
 write, with his ' Susanna doll. ' His little arms are flying 
 around and he says he just loves Susanna and he smiles 
 and blinks at her. I wish you could see him as he sits 
 there, first with one thumb in his mouth, then trying to 
 get both hands in. . . . 
 
 "There is an intermission here, as the young man evi- 
 dently has an objection to being described and I've been 
 obliged to go to the piano and play for him. The moment 
 I commence he laughs and coos and kicks out his legs. He 
 is just as well as he can be and seems to be thriving splen- 
 didly on his new food. Now Anne has taken him off up- 
 stairs and he is going to sleep to his daddy's ' Bedtime 
 Song', all mixed up with 'Addio bella Napoli' : his 
 mamma's two favorite songs. I am so glad he is a boy — 
 and such a sturdy little fellow. Anne and I can hardly 
 wait to have you all see him, and see his Aunt Lily's ex- 
 pression when he laughs at her — he laughs all over his 
 little face. She will want to eat him up ; and I am just 
 wild to hear his grandmamma sing him to sleep with ' The 
 Little Ones Are the Stars, I Guess, and the Bright Moon 
 Is the Shepherdess. ' Maybe she will think his daddy is a 
 small boy again. I recite ' Thanatopsis ' to him and tell 
 him all about ' Baby Bunting ' and that is the extent I 
 go. I can't sing to him. We have a bright red tennis hat, 
 with a brilliant yellow rattle hanging to it, on the post of 
 the bed in our room, and j^ou would roar to see him in 
 the mornings early cooing and laughing at it while he lies 
 in his little bed. He has been going out of afternoons but 
 the past two have been too cold. What a baby letter I 
 have written, but he has grown to be such an important 
 part of our lives, that for this once I am going to let 
 other matters go and devote it all to baby. ' ' 
 
 Then came the christening and the young father wrote of it to 
 his own mother with pride and with the reverence he always had 
 
 [ '00 ] 
 
HERBS TGEFUHL 
 
 for holy things : 
 
 "The afternoon was beautiful, and at four o'clock our lit- 
 tle procession moved over to the church, headed by nurse 
 and baby boy. We went into the church and the little 
 man laughed and cooed at the stained glass and seemed 
 perfectly enraptured. The baptismal service is very beau- 
 tiful and we all stood around the font at the entrance to 
 the church — a pretty idea — and Mr. Paul held our dear 
 little baby boy, and Billy and Mr. Cotton stood on either 
 side. Every time they would respond he would look at 
 each one so knowingly ; and when Mr. Cotton would read 
 he would glance at him. The sunlight came in through 
 the window and I would have given anything could you 
 have seen the pretty picture. Mr. Paul looked very proud 
 with the boy in his arms. Then Mrs. Cotton took him 
 and handed him to Mr. Cotton and the little fellow never 
 whimpered. After he had been made a little Christ child, 
 Anne put his tiny cap on him and Hannah took him 
 home, while we remained for Easter even prayer. 
 
 ' ' Anne looked so sweet and proud in her white gown. 
 My only sorrow was that not one of my family would be 
 with us. As I stood in the church, I felt I would give a 
 great deal if you or father or Lily, or one of the boys, 
 could have been there to see the little new member of our 
 family sanctified into Christ's keeping. (This is said by the 
 minister, as he holds the babe in his arms : ' We receive 
 this child into the congregation of Christ's flock ; and do 
 sign him with the sign of the Cross, in token that here- 
 after he shall not be ashamed to confess the faith of Christ 
 crucified, and manfully to fight under His banner and to 
 continue Christ's faithful soldier and servant unto his life's 
 end.') 
 
 "Easter was a hard day ; service at 7 a. M., 10.30 a. m.,' 
 4 p. M. and 9.30 p. M. Everything went beautifully and the 
 church was one mass of flowers. Some loving hands deco- 
 rated the organ and put greens about the bench, as a fare- 
 well to me, for next Sunday is my last. I wrote a carol 
 for the children to sing as processional. 
 
 [ ^01 ] 
 
CHAPTER SEVEN 
 
 These were the words ; 
 
 PROCESSIONAL HYMN 
 
 "the strife is o'er, the battle done" 
 Music by Ethelbert Nevin 
 
 A lleluia ! A lleluia ! A Uelu ia ! 
 The strife is o'er, the battle done; 
 The victo7'y of life is won ; 
 The song- of triumph has begun. 
 
 Alleluia ! 
 
 The powers of Death have done their worst. 
 But Christ their legions hath dispe7'sed: 
 Let shout of holy joy outburst, 
 
 Alleluia ! 
 
 The three sad days are quickly sped; 
 He rises glorious from the dead : 
 All glory to our risen Head! 
 
 Alleluia ! 
 
 He closed the yawning gates of hell, 
 
 The bars from Heaven's high portals fell ; 
 
 Let hymns of praise His triumphs tell! 
 
 Alleluia ! 
 
 Lord, by the stripes which wounded Thee, 
 From Death's dread sting Thy servants free 
 That we may live and sing to Thee 
 
 Alleluia ! Amen ! 
 
 "I wish you could have heard the two hundred little 
 children sing it as they walked up the aisle. In his remarks 
 to the children Mr. Cotton said: 'And we must never for- 
 get in our Easter Sundays to come, the one who is so soon 
 to leave us, and who wrote for you your glorious hymn : 
 The strife is o'er, the battle done!' 
 
 "Anne and I thought of you yesterday, and we imagined 
 the boys and Lily making merry over your birthday — we 
 
 [ I02 1 
 
HERBS TGEFUHL 
 
 did wish we might have been with you. Anne's gift has 
 not gone yet, owing to the fact that I failed to get a cer- 
 tain thing that is necessary for its completion. But Sunday 
 came, we had company and — as occasionally does happen 
 when one is keeping house — my wealth suddenly ran out. 
 But I'm going to town today and it will be sent off soon. 
 I am sure you will think it pretty. Anne and I designed it. 
 Goodbye, and may this year be the very happiest year yet 
 and others to come still happier. ' ' 
 
 Although Nevin's music had gained the approval of musicians and 
 reached a wide audience his money struggles were still many and 
 difficult. He wrote: 
 
 "I've sold out all my right, title and interest in some of 
 my compositions for $125. They brought me in about one 
 hundred and fifty a year, but immediate money was neces- 
 sary — the sacrifice seems terrible! 
 
 "I'm having a beautiful time! Varney leaves tomorrow 
 and I have no servant in view ; this house has been rented 
 and I shall have to move as soon as possible into town. Now 
 as I've just $3.75 in the bank to move on, get my food and 
 pay off my bills out here (with no immediate prospect of 
 more money), the outlook is cheerful!" 
 
 And this, of course, was the psychological time for those good 
 angels, always hovering over him, as his mother thought, to appear. 
 In the following note he sent his good news : 
 
 "Aprils, 1889. 
 "My dear Mother: 
 
 As I have usually, from a small boy up, gone to 
 you when I was in trouble, I must share my good news with 
 you. Since January first over eleven hundred copies of my 
 songs and things, that Schirmer has published, have been 
 sold and he today handed me a cheque for $83.90 making 
 in all for nine months $129.72 — so you see that is pretty 
 good for a beginner. I was very much surprised when Schir- 
 mer handed me the check and you may imagine I was glad. 
 I only send this line as I know father, you, the boys and 
 
 [ ^03 ] 
 
CHAPTER SEVEN 
 
 Lily will be glad to hear of it — not the mere fact of my 
 having received some eighty dollars, but the fact that my 
 music is in such demand." 
 
 When summer came they were established in the big house in 
 Mount Vernon Street ; and Nevin was looking forward to the arrival 
 of Arthur, his youngest brother, then beginning a career of high 
 musical achievement. Of these things he speaks in letters to his 
 father : 
 
 " This is really the first spare moment I have had for a long 
 time in which I might acknowledge the receipt of your 
 kind letter. There has been so much to be done, that to 
 save expense, Anne and I have done things ourselves. It 
 has taken much time and even after all I find the only thing 
 I can do well is to play the piano, teach and compose. 
 
 "I agree with you that making the 'cello an instrument 
 of profession is not a desirable thing for Arthur to do.- 
 While it is a beautiful instrument, it is still dependent upon 
 a stronger background ; and does not open the way to com- 
 position, or to individual work. It is confining and no mat- 
 ter how well one may be able to play, he can never look 
 much higher than a place in an orchestra, and perhaps a 
 little teaching ; but even as a teacher one would never get 
 the prices paid to a piano teacher. 
 
 "Still, we both hope Arthur can come on, as the stay 
 here will do him good and his music can be one of the 
 branches he should pursue. 
 
 ' ' My outlook is most encouraging, but I feel the year 
 passed in Quincy — outside of my own development — was 
 thrown away. I must live and move in the whirl of the 
 world for a while yet, and make myself and my composi- 
 tions known — then perhaps I can really live at some place in 
 the country and if I am ever able to buy, I think I should 
 like my summer home to be in Pennsylvania. But that is 
 a long way off. 
 
 "I am sure I could arrange for Arthur to study very 
 reasonably ; and if he could try it for, say from September 
 till January, by that time we should be able to judge of his 
 
 [ lOf ] 
 
HERBSTGEFUHL 
 
 proficiency. If we find he has real ability, it is a duty for 
 us to see that he has instruction. It would be his capital for 
 making his way in the world. I myself think he has musi- 
 cal talent — how miuch I can't say — but if he progresses I 
 can throw plenty of work into his hands. Try and arrange 
 it in some way. Anne and I will be only too happy to have 
 him with us and we will both do what we can for him, to 
 make him comfortable and happy. 
 
 "We have an extra room he could have, and he would 
 be entirely independent. Please think this over and don't 
 look for obstacles. Let us try it for six months, and if it is 
 'no go,' he will not have lost very much time — indeed it 
 may be the making of him. We shall be in town by the first 
 of September; and any time that Arthur may choose, we 
 shall be ready for him. 
 
 "Give much love to one and all, and ask them if I am 
 not right in my plan for Arthur. Do, please, let me try it, 
 at any rate. . . . 
 
 "Paul sits in his high chair by me at coffee every morn- 
 ing, and he eats bread and milk and boiled water and a Bent 
 cracker; and he puts his dirty little hand on Daddy's vel- 
 vet jacket, laughing and trying to talk. He is the sweetest 
 little baby and is never one bit troublesome. ' ' 
 
 Of Nevin's compositions published in 1889, the most important 
 was Opus 5, a group of songs containing " 'Twas April" — that 
 deft and original setting of a difficult verse form — the Chanson des 
 Lavandieres, the "Raft Song," "Before the Daybreak," (with 
 'An Old Song') and Herbstgefuhl. This latter song, the English 
 title of which is "Autumn Sadness" did not win the immediate 
 popularity of the others — forexample, " 'Twas April ; " but long ago 
 it won its place as one of the noblest songs in the world's music. Of 
 this song Rupert Hughes has written : " It is to me, in all soberness, 
 as great as the greatest of the Lieder of Schumann, Schubert or Franz. 
 In Herbstgefuhl — or ' ' Autumn Mood ' ' — Gerok's superb poem be- 
 wails the death of the leaves and the failing of the year, and cries 
 out in sympathy : 
 
CHAPTER SEVEN 
 
 Such release and dying 
 Sweet would seem to me. 
 
 " Deeper passion and wilder despair could not be crowded into so 
 short a song, and the whole brief tragedy is wrought with a grandeur 
 and climax positively epic. It is a flash of sheer genius." 
 
 This song was always Nevin's favorite. 
 
 "It is the one I like best," he used to say. He dedicated it to that 
 kindly second mother he found in the Berlin pension, Fraulein von 
 Finck. 
 
 The same year saw the publication of "Wynken, Blynken, and 
 Nod," as solo and chorus, with four-hand piano accompaniment. It 
 was dedicated to his own little son, and in sending a copy he wrote 
 to his mother: 
 
 ' ' Paul creeps all around and stands up beside a chair. Anne 
 and I feel like enjoying every moment of his babyhood, as 
 he is growing rapidly and will, before long, be like your boys. 
 It's too bad the babies insist upon growing, while their 
 parents seem to be standing still. I'd like to have twenty 
 little babies round me all the time." 
 
 At this time his concert work had greatly increased. He played 
 many times in Boston and gave piano recitals and Wagner lectures 
 in Chicago, Milwaukee, Detroit and other cities of the Middle West. 
 
 "I seem to have jumped into a reputation," he wrote; 
 "and proofs to be corrected are piled high on my desk, and 
 the publisher is clamoring for manuscript." 
 
 [ ^06 ] 
 
CHAPTER EIGHT 
 "NARCISSUS" 
 
 lA-' \ [ ^ 
 
 t 
 
 i 
 
 Irlf^' f3?^ 
 
 t 
 
CHAPTER EIGHT 
 
 ''NARCISSUS" 
 
 ''Boston, March 20th, 1890. 
 My dear Father: 
 
 'OU can have no idea of the pleasure your letter 
 brought me. I'm glad you like the dress of the 
 'Wynken, Blynken and Nod.' I sold Schirmer 
 four piano pieces day before yesterday for one 
 , hundred dollars cash. He told me he would guar- 
 antee me one hundred and over in one year's 
 royalty, but I had to have the money then. 
 
 "So far this year I have made on my compositions about 
 three hundred dollars — not including royalties due me 
 April 1st. While this is a small sum, still it is a beginning ; 
 and if I can sell to advantage some more manuscript that 
 I have, I hope to bring that amount up to six hundred, 
 before next July. 
 
 ' ' Before I am thirty-two, I hope to have an income from 
 my compositions, that will bring me in at least three thou- 
 sand a year. If I can do that then I see my way clear. My 
 teaching brings me in about $30 a week, but servants — 
 $10 — food, other necessities more than swallow that up. 
 I have, however, a number of concert engagements here 
 in April ; first, ninth and twenty-second ; the only times I 
 expect to play in public this winter, as I have refused right 
 and left. It became simply impossible to teach, compose and 
 prepare for concerts. 
 
 ' ' By the way, I am very much interested in the writings 
 of George Meredith. I've read ' Evan Harrington ' and am 
 now reading 'The Ordeal of Richard Feveral. ' You 
 must read this book (which I think, his strongest) and 
 I am going to send it to you. I've gained so much from 
 it, and to my mind the English in it is something won- 
 derful. Perhaps I am somewhat prejudiced in his favor by 
 circumstances — coming as his books did after a whole 
 
 [ 109 ] 
 
CHAPTER EIGHT 
 
 winter's work at French. I determined last Autumn to 
 read nothing but French, as I knew so httle of French 
 hterature. So I have read MoUere, Hugo, Lamartine and 
 Balzac — and the English books come like a long vista of 
 green trees — such as we saw in Windsor. Do you remember 
 them? I think I must have been very impressionable at that 
 time, as I am constantly thinking of the things seen and 
 heard then, not so much musically, as from nature and 
 strangeness. I can never be thankful enough to you for hav- 
 ing taken me on such a trip. . . . Paul has just had 
 his first walk by himself. I only wish he may have as many 
 arms held out to him all through his life as he had the other 
 afternoon when he took his first steps." 
 
 A little later he wrote : 
 
 "In the last two weeks I have not been idle in my com- 
 position work, as I have written and sold fifty-two pages 
 of manuscript. This means a good deal for me as I usually 
 compose very slowly, though in other things I go ahead 
 rapidly and use up my energy. In looking over my list of 
 compositions, I find I have finished in my seven years' mu- 
 sical work — counting from my twenty-first year — forty- 
 eight compositions." 
 
 In that year, 1890, Nevin published Opus 6, the three duets for 
 piano, a "Valse Caprice," a "Country Dance " and a "Mazurka;" 
 Opus 7, which consisted of four piano compositions : Valzer Gen- 
 tile, the "Slumber Song," the "Intermezzo" and "The Song of the 
 Brook. ' ' It was with them he gained a hold upon the affections of the 
 amateur pianist, which he never lost. 
 
 In addition to these piano pieces he published that year his Christ- 
 mas Carol, "The Silent Skies Are Full of Stars. " This was the third 
 of his Christmas carols, as in 1889 he had written, "The Earth Has 
 Grown Old. " The poems were by Bishop Phillips Brooks, of whom 
 Nevin wrote in his diary. 
 
 " He is more like a saint than any other man, woman or 
 child I have ever seen." 
 
 [ ^^o ] 
 
NARCISSUS 
 
 This same year he also wrote and published "Everywhere, Every- 
 where Christmas Tonight." His love for Christmas was always very 
 beautiful and very reverential. It was bound up with memories of a 
 happy childhood and deeply associated with his religious faith. In all 
 his travels the day was kept in the old-fashioned way — in Italy, 
 Germany or France — with song and prayer, with merriment and 
 dance. There was always a Christmas tree ; there were always happy 
 children to dance round it ; in the home of his manhood as in his boy- 
 hood home. , 
 
 This year also, Nevin published his four Sacred Songs: Nunc 
 Dimittis ; Benedictus ; Jesu, Jesu, Miserere ; and the Jubilate, 
 which he dedicated to his pastor in Quincy, Dr. H. Evan 
 Cotton. 
 
 In the autumn the Nevins were established at 30 Pinckney Street, 
 in Boston, "the prettiest home we ever yet had, a dainty little house 
 in Henry Cabot Lodge's 'backyard,' so to speak." There he cele- 
 brated his twenty-eighth birthday. "Paul's greeting with a bunch 
 of flowers started off the day." That month he played the Nixen- 
 quelle (for two pianos) with MacDowell at the Sumner memorial ; 
 and December 16th he gave a recital assisted by Mrs. Julie Wyman 
 and F. F. Powers. In his diary he wrote : 
 
 "Everything passed off pleasantly enough, though I was 
 thoroughly disappointed in myself, and have determined to 
 take a more decisive stand in my composition work. Things 
 have been too namby-pamby and I have a horror of be- 
 ing a ' successful drawing-room song- writer, ' with nothing 
 else to back it up. ' ' 
 
 This he wrote on Thursday, and on Friday he received the most 
 wonderful gift — the complete score of "The Nibelung's Ring" — 
 with the following note: "With what success you have accom- 
 plished by the study of the pianoforte score, I trust these orches- 
 tral scores will help you to bear still richer fruit and surpass all ex- 
 pectation of yourself and friends. Wishing you a very successful 
 
 [ ^^^ ] 
 
CHAPTER EIGHT 
 
 career in the great musical world, I have the honor to remain, your 
 admiring friend. ' ' 
 
 And to his mother he wrote : 
 
 "AVhen I take into consideration that these scores must at 
 least have cost $275.00 if they cost a cent, I realize what 
 a wonderful present it was, and to think my own name, 
 Ethelbert Nevin, stands in gold letters on seal binding. 
 Oh, what a gift it was, Mother, and from one who had 
 very little money ! And above all to think he deemed me 
 musically worthy of it. I'm so undeserving; and I've late- 
 ly had such bitter thoughts and feelings ; and to think that 
 some person who insists upon being nameless to all but 
 myself, made such a great sacrifice for me ! " 
 
 That evening he went to New York and played, at the Theodore 
 Thomas concert in the Lenox Lyceum, the accompaniments for 
 three of his songs — sung by Mrs. Wyman — the "Raft Song," 
 " In a Bower" and "Little Boy Blue; " the last two being still in 
 manuscript. When the year closed he was at work on the ' ' Wed- 
 ding Music" for String Quartette, hoping to finish it and recon- 
 struct the Trio, for violin, 'cello and piano, in time to "risk a con- 
 cert of his own compositions in March." 
 
 In his diary (which he wrote for himself alone and which no eyes, 
 save his own, saw until after his death) there are many intimate 
 revelations of self: 
 
 "In this past week I've written two movements — the 
 first and the Scherzo, or dance — to the 'Wedding Music ' 
 for String Quartette, but I'm afraid it's all nonsense; and 
 I question very much whether it will ever see a perform- 
 ance. That does not cause me one half as much sorrow as 
 the thought that perhaps it is so trivial that it is not worth 
 a performance. It is a thousand times better to write some- 
 thing so good that no one will use it, than to create some- 
 thing that IS used and does not deserve usage. So many 
 of us are going along in this daily life of battle and tempta- 
 tion, all trying, I am sure, to lead the better life; but 
 [ //_. ] 
 
NARCISSUS 
 
 temptations are so hard to overcome and there are so many 
 of them in one's way, that at times it seems impossible to 
 go any farther. However we gain new strength with the 
 morning's sunhght. 
 
 "Oh, some days seem to have a melody in them; and 
 others abound in discords and false feelings and false notes. 
 
 "My time ahead is busy enough and I have received 
 encouragement sufficient to make me do many things; 
 yet I feel there is something deficient — something in my 
 nature which has not yet developed, something in my ex- 
 istence, which has not yet come to me ! I long for nobler 
 and higher aspirations and desires. I do not mean ambi- 
 tion, as that is already so high that it embraces everything 
 worthy of ambition. " 
 
 There were days and weeks of this brooding discontent. 
 
 Even the success of his Opus 12, made up of five songs: "Little 
 Boy Blue," "In a Bower," "At Twilight," "Beat Upon Mine 
 Little Heart," and a "Summer Day" — even their great success 
 did not change his way of thought. Always he felt there was some- 
 thing wanting to his full artistic development — something which 
 was not to be found in the concert rooms of Boston; and in his 
 diary, March 1st, he again wrote : 
 
 "I have decided upon a very important step; viz, taking 
 Anne and Paul with me and going abroad, both to France 
 and German}, for an indefinite sojourn; so that I may 
 study some more and try hard to lay a stronger foundation 
 for my musical career. I am quite prepared for no end of 
 discouragement from both families, but am equally deter- 
 mined to go and do everything in my power toward build- 
 ing myself up; and doing stronger, better work. Anne 
 seems perfectly willing to share the hard part with me, 
 and if it were not for her encouragement, I don't know 
 what I should do. She will make a composer of me yet. I 
 feel I have got into a rut ; and my musical foundation 
 was never quite firm enough for me to build very strongly 
 upon it. Of course I am going into greater debt in doing 
 
 [ ^^J ] 
 
CHAPTER EIGHT 
 
 M'hat I have now determined to do, but I feel so firmly 
 convinced I am doing what is right, that nothing can dis- 
 may me, or make me alter my decision — unless some dis- 
 tress or calamity, I know nothing of, should arrive. We 
 are both young and we have, we may hope, many years 
 ahead of us ; and perhaps important positions to occupv ; 
 and we must prepare ourselves. 
 
 ' ' Ambition cannot be wrong, and youthful ambition is 
 often the best stimulus to later active life. One thing sure- 
 ly: I see my own imperfections and I am ready to ac- 
 knowledge them and use every effort to throw them aside. 
 Xo one else can judge for me. I must be my own judge; 
 and if I try to look at everything conscientiously ; if I 
 try to do ni}" real duty, I am confident 1 shall be doing 
 what is best. 
 
 ' ' My life so far has been entirely g'overned by a Divine 
 Hand. I am positive that my earthly course is planned — 
 that my daily destiny was long ago ordained ; but my spirit- 
 ual welfare I must shape for myself, according to what I 
 can get from my Teachers and what I can gain from my 
 surroundings ; and above all, what is told me by my inner 
 consciousness — which invariably discriminates between 
 right and wrong. ' ' 
 
 There was, as Nevin foresaw, opposition at Vineacre to his pro- 
 jected return to Europe ; and he argued the matter in a letter to his 
 mother : 
 
 "Your letter, dearest mother, came this evening, and I was 
 quite prepared for contrary views ; and your ideas were just 
 what I wanted, as I do not wish to do anything impulsively 
 or in a rash way. Indeed, I want all kinds of advice and dis- 
 cussion on the subject. I do not believe I am what is called 
 pig-lieaded; and if strong arguments are put before me, 
 and prove convincing — I am perfectly willing to abide by 
 them. Your letter was just the thing I wanted. You say: 
 '"I would not blame a man if he borrowed money to 
 invest in something that, would pay him back ; but this 
 would be a dead loss, excepting what you might gain 
 mentallv. ' 
 
 [ ^^V ] 
 
Cast of Ethelbekt Nkvin's Hand 
 
CHAPTER EIGHT 
 
 "Now, my dear Mother, in my case it would be quite 
 wrong to invest five thousand dollars borrowed money in, 
 say, silver mines, because I am not a business man. But 
 surely you know that what I gain mentally, is my source 
 of income. JNly debts are not 'enormous,' and I am young 
 enough to have years ahead of me to pay them off. A few 
 years from now, it is true, I should have more money of 
 my own, but my mind would not be as impressionable as 
 it is while I am young ; and we can never tell what a year 
 may bring forth. 
 
 "You see in newspaper work, I could not possibly give 
 an opinion worth stating ; and I should have to apply to 
 Father for advice. Again in points of all the beautiful and 
 lovely things a mother can do, I would know nothing and 
 should have to go to you for advice. So in points of music 
 — which was born in me — you must try to think that I 
 am doing what I know to be right — for myself. 
 
 "I am having such splendid encouragement from all 
 parts of the states ; but it only stimulates my conviction of 
 my own incapabilities. 1 know I have God-given talent — 
 and I am going to use every bit of nerve, vitality and life 
 that is in me to develop it and win a name that shall live. 
 
 "Have patience with me, dear mother, even if you are 
 not convinced I am doing right ; and remember that with 
 all my work I must feel the sympathy of Father and you, 
 and the brothers and the sister who are dearer to me than 
 almost anything in the world. Think also of the discom- 
 forts Anne is going to put up with : a small flat in a strange 
 land; housekeeping where the very language is unknown; 
 giving up all her ties here, where her great love is — her 
 friends, position, and all the petting and flattery one could 
 dream of. She gives up everything for me and my career as 
 an artist, and composer. ' ' 
 
 That season, for money's sake, he filled many concert engage- 
 ments, not onl}' in Boston but in New York and Philadelphia. 
 
 "I have composed a little," his diary reads, "taught a little 
 more, and played very much more — a curious thing when 
 
 [ ^^6 ] 
 
NARCISSUS 
 
 I am convinced I am a better composer and a better teacher 
 even, than I am a piano-virtuoso. I have finished the 
 ' AVater Scenes ' — Dragonfly, OpheUa, Water Nymph, Nar- 
 cissus and Barcarolle. While I am doing nothing great, I 
 am doing the best I can and 1 am going to leave behind 
 me, if it is possible, a trail of sunshine. " 
 
 He was in Europe when the "Water Scenes" were published. 
 They gave him an immense popularity, owing chiefly to "Narcis- 
 sus" which was thrummed and whistled half round the world. It 
 was played in Cairo as in New York, and Paris ; it was played by 
 orchestras and on church organs and on the mouth harps of Klondike 
 miners ; it became a mode, almost a mania ; and a music-critic of 
 the Washington Post wrote without levity : 
 
 "Three little colored boys trudged up Fifteenth St. in the rain 
 late Wednesday night. They had been to the theatre, and they were 
 in such high spirits they didn't notice the rain. They were whistling 
 as they marched along, and the song they whistled was Nevin's ex- 
 quisite ' Narcissus. ' They whistled it beautifully, too, and if that 
 isn't a hopeful sign for the capital's musical future I don't know what 
 you'd call it. Symphony concerts and classical opera, at goodness 
 only knows how much a seat, may prosper in any community, but 
 when really good music gets itself whistled in the streets, I think 
 general culture is certainly looking up. 
 
 "Narcissus" was ground out by the hurdy-gurdies in the streets 
 of every city, and Albert Edward, then Prince of Wales, com- 
 manded a performance at Marlborough House. This was given by 
 the Eugene Oudins. 
 
 Legends grew up about it. All sorts of fanciful stories were printed. 
 One anecdote was seriously related by Daniel Gregory Mason, who 
 was a pupil of Nevin's, in the Nno Music Review. Thus : "One day 
 Mason called on Nevin and found him playing over a piano piece 
 he was working on. Mason was at once caught by the lazy grace of 
 the rhythm, and expressed his pleasure with boyish ardor. Nevin 
 replied laughingly: 'You are not my only victim. The idea first 
 
 [ ^^7 ] 
 
CHAPTER EIGHT 
 
 came to me on Monday — washing day, you know — and as I was 
 playing away at it here in my studio, I looked up and there in the 
 doorway were our two maids, cook and second girl, quite spell- 
 bound, their mouths open with delight. They had been lured all the 
 way from the basement laundry bj^ the seductive tune.' " 
 
 And "Narcissus"' went its way in the world; it sold not by thou- 
 sands, but by the hundreds of thousands; no composition by an 
 American composer has had to stand such wear and tear. Yet, to- 
 day, its vitality is unimpaired. Nevin himself always considered it 
 one of his trivial compositions ; and it was invariably with a sort of 
 whimsical amusement that he saw himself described as the Man 
 Who Wrote Karclssu.s. This is not an unusual destiny. The general 
 public has always loved to personify the artist in some one of his 
 works and usually in that one which made the wide, immediate ap- 
 peal. (For years Edgar Allan Poe, was known as the author of "The 
 Raven."') Now the direct, compelling charm of "Narcissus" ap- 
 pealed to all hearts. And though its melodic line does not rise to the 
 highest plane, "Narcissus" is perfect in its kind — perfect in unity 
 and eurhythmic proportion; and in spite of the fact that for a quarter 
 of a century it has been thrummed in the restaurants and whistled in 
 the alleys of the world, its sincerity still charms and its freshness is 
 not worn away. 
 
 Nevin sailed on a German boat. May 28, 1891, for Europe. 
 
 [ ^^8 ] 
 
CHAPTER NINE 
 ''OPUS 17" 
 
 1/ b» J'ilr r.hi'lP pl 
 
 ^yK iiJ * 4- — W-^J- 
 
 G^at'em J\Ss-lein dtr qc~ oro— cnen 
 
CHAP T E R NINE 
 
 "OPUS 17" 
 
 ~< HEN it was Berlin. Nevin and his little family went to the 
 familiar pens^ion in the Friedi'ichstrasse; where Fraulein von 
 Finck had garlanded their rooms with lilies of the valley. 
 They remained for a month ; and Nevin met again many of 
 the musicians he had known in his student days — Klind- 
 worth, of course ; and Karl Bial, who was then a dying man ; and 
 Tiersch who was to die in a few months ; and von Billow, who, older 
 than either of these two men, was still a truculent figure in the mu- 
 sic world. Rubinstein, too, he heard in concert for the last time. In 
 a little while Rubinstein, like von Biilow and the others, was to be 
 only a memory to those who had known him. 
 
 The Nevins went to Paris, July 1, and found a temporary home 
 in the rue Lesvenr, a little street running tothe Avenue de la Grande 
 Armee. They found many of their friends in Paris: Emma Eames, 
 Mrs. Julie Wyman, Madame Carreno; found "glorious weather all 
 summer long." Nevin had a large number of pupils from the first. 
 In August he wrote music to Victor Hugo's beautiful song, S'il 
 est un charmant gazon. Meanwhile he was looking for a more spa- 
 cious apartment. One that he liked very much was in the Luxem- 
 bourg quarter, but Rosa Bonheur, who occupied the apartment un- 
 derneath, " objected to music. " Nevin remarked in his diary that an 
 apartment in the same house with Shakespeare and Michelangelo 
 would not do him much good if he could not use his piano ; and finally 
 he rented a pleasant flat in the Avenue Malahoff. So he wrote to his 
 mother : 
 
 " Well, we have at last found an apartment for the next six 
 months ; and we are looking forward to a very happy and 
 prosperous winter. AVe have two bed-chambers (also the 
 cook's bedroom) quite large and comfortable. Anne will 
 
 [ /^/ 1 
 
CHAPTER XIXE 
 
 have a little salon, then comes the salle-a-manger; then my 
 music room, which is a beauty ; then a kitchen, with a 
 range and gas stove. There is a cabinet de toilette that will 
 make a fine dressing-room ; besides there are a large num- 
 ber of closets, ^^"e are up three flights in a very handsome 
 house in the Avenue Malakoff — which is just off the Bois 
 de Boulogne. We hope to get into the apartment by the 
 
 Fraulein von Finck and Pall Nevin 
 
 first of October ; and it will cost us $75 a month, including 
 furniture, linen, silver, china and glassware. 
 
 "Anne is sick in bed today, with neuralgia, but I hope by 
 tomorrow she will be well again. Poor child, she has been 
 used up ! You will imagine it when I tell you that we have 
 been out six consecutive evenings to dinner. On Monday 
 evening we had Baron Haussmann's box at the opera. We 
 dined out and Anne went in full ball costume. Then Tues- 
 day Madame Moreau gave a dinner party and reception in 
 our honor, at which one of the members of the opera was 
 
 [ /^^] 
 
OPUS 17 
 
 engaged to sing. I enclose menu and card as they may in- 
 terest you. 
 
 "I have just coaxed Anne out of bed and taken her in- 
 to the salon to let the room air well. Poor girl, her head is 
 aching pretty badly. She has been taking singing lessons 
 every week outside her social duties ; and Mother dear, Anne 
 is going to have a beautiful voice. Think what it will mean 
 to me to have her sing my songs." 
 
 Then the Erard grand was moved in and ' ' work began in earnest. ' ' 
 That first week in the Paris home he wrote the music to Edwin Ar- 
 nold's "The Rhine and the Moselle"; and "with a wild storm go- 
 ing on outside and everything within peaceful and happy, I wrote 
 quite a good deal at the 'Echo Scene.' " 
 
 The days were splendid and full, he wrote. The first Colonne 
 music concert was given October 18. His diary note is suggestive ; 
 
 "The programme included Beethoven's Symphony, No. 1, 
 in C major. I missed the first two movements but arrived in 
 time for the last two which struck me as being played in 
 a superficial manner. When one takes into consideration 
 the simplicity of the motives, the construction and the 
 orchestration, it does not seem wise to me to overburden 
 it with forced expression and sentiment. Then, too, it was 
 taken in such a rapid tempo as to make it very much more 
 brilliant than Beethoven, I am sure, intended it to be. The 
 music of Massenet's Esclarmonde, on the other hand, was 
 most delightfully played ; and the horns and wood wind 
 work were something to be remembered. The composition 
 in itself is enormously interesting and shows Massenet at 
 one of his best moments in handling orchestral coloring. 
 Les Mattres-Chanteurs was played just as its name sounds, 
 in French — no body, a great deal of noise, and very little 
 breadth of tone. I fancy Wagner would be rather sur- 
 prised to hear how really piquant his ' ' Dance of Appren- 
 tices" can be made. It wasn't a bit rugged^ but graceful, 
 smooth and quite ballet- like! " 
 
 The Lamoureux concerts he thought a vast improvement on the 
 
 [ ^^3 ] 
 
CHAPTER NINE 
 
 Colonne. At a concert given by Mendels, the violinist, he heard 
 Brahms" Quartette for piano, viohn, viola and "cello, played by Men- 
 dels and his men in a way that would have "left Brahms astounded 
 at his own frivolity;" but Chaminade played the piano part to her 
 Trio for piano, violin and 'cello; and that was "wholly delightful." 
 Diarj^ leaves are interesting when they show phases of real life — 
 when the quotidian events they record, though small in themselves, 
 reflect clearly a personality. I have transcribed a few pages that you 
 may see Nevin's life in the Paris of that day, sketched lightly by 
 his own hand. 
 
 ' ' Taught all morning. Afternoon wrote a song, the words 
 by Sully-Prudhomme, Lc f^ase Brise. Evening at home. 
 Dolesome weather. \Vent to church. Afternoon to La- 
 moureux concert. The programme was Mozart's E minor 
 Symphony, the second, third and fourth parts of Berlioz's 
 ' Romeo and Juliet ;' Saint-Saens' Rhapsodic Bretonne and 
 the prelude of the ' Flying Dutchman. ' It was not good 
 playing. The Saint-Saens novelty was monotonous, but 
 well orchestrated. The ' Flying Dutchman ' was played 
 better than anything else. I never heard the scherzo (Queen 
 Mab) from ' Romeo and Juliet ' taken so slowly — it lost 
 its hum and buzz; but the 'cock crowing' was the best I 
 have yet heard. AVrote Hob ein Rostein dir gebrochen. 
 Gave lessons. Evening went to Madame Bonnet's to meet 
 Mr. and Mrs. Eugene Oudin. They sang beautifully. 
 
 " Sent off to Schirmer Opus 17, three songs: Hab ein 
 Roslcin, Le rase Brise and Rapj^ellc-toi. >Vorked on 
 Opus 16, Fantasie for violin and piano. After dinner 
 went to a billiard match between Carter and ^^gnaux. 
 Carter won. Drank chocolate at the Grand Cafe and 
 retired late. 
 
 "Worked all morning and immediately after dejeuner 
 set off for the Conservatoire to hear the Bach B minor 
 Mass. A stunning performance; chorus of thirty-eight 
 women and forty men ; twenty-eight violins, seven double 
 basses, two solo double basses, ten "celli, flute, hautbois 
 
OPUS 17 
 
 d' amour, and petite trompettc. The two latter instruments 
 I had never heard before. I must say that I do not care 
 much for the effect of the trompette in the Besurnw/f. 
 The hautbois (T amour was exceedingly well played, (as all the 
 wood-winds seem to be here) and in Et in spiritum sanc- 
 tum, it was something wonderful. At times it had the 
 quality of an English horn. It struck nne there was too 
 much orchestra for such a small hall and a comparatively 
 small choir. How much better a small choir is than one of 
 our ' May Festival ' affairs ! The singing of the Conserva- 
 toire choir surpasses anything I have heard in that line. 
 The whole thing was given with dignity and breadth. 
 
 "Yesterdajr, Sunday, I went to St. Sulpice to hear 
 Widor's chorus and the music to the high mass. There is 
 something very impressive about the Roman Catholic 
 Church ; and if I could believe and worship as the good 
 Roman Catholics do, I think I would be the happiest man 
 in the world ! Our terrible Puritanical training makes us 
 suspect everything; and believe by the rule of three, not 
 even permitting the ' rule of three ' to be presented in an 
 attractive form. My rule of three is my imagination. 
 
 "Up very late. My barber came. Then I had a walk in 
 the Avenue duBois. A d^euncr at Mrs. Green's where we 
 met a Miss Cushing who sings and someone else who sang. 
 Evening tried over my Fantasie for violin and piano with 
 M. Magnus; then went to the Comedie Franqaise and 
 heard Richepin's wonderful play. Par le Glaive. Mou- 
 net-Sully was a disappointment, but Madame Bartet is 
 the most satisfactory actress I have seen or heard. A per- 
 formance in every way delightful. Surely the Theatre 
 Franqais is the most marvellous playhouse in the world. 
 Late to bed as usual. 
 
 "Glorious Spring weather; and the fascinating and at- 
 tractive Paris life commences ; onlv I am glad we are soon 
 off. 
 
 "Taught till five p. yi. Anne and I then took a walk and 
 had a cup of chocolate and a glass of beer at the Cafe Chinois. 
 
 "Our last day in the pleasant little apartment where we 
 
 [ ^^5 ] 
 
CHAPTER NINE 
 
 have been, in the main, so happy. Busy at packing and de- 
 stroying visiting cards, letters and the accumulation of six 
 months' odds and ends. It is almost ten and I must dress 
 for a musicale. It will take an hour to dress and get there. ' ' 
 
 Later : 
 
 ' ' Reached home at two-thirty in the morning. Heard 
 plenty of music — such as it was. Musicales at best are dis- 
 tressing affairs. Had a funny thing said to me by a Mi". 
 Holman or Holman-Black, I don't remember which. At 
 any rate I was passing him with a plate of cakes to be taken 
 to ]Mrs. AVaring (a lovely lady from Pittsburg) when I re- 
 marked : ' I don't think you remember me, do you? I had 
 the pleasure of dining with j'ou here some time ago? ' He 
 replied: 'No, I don't think I do. Eh, are you the young 
 man who just played.' I beamed and said 'yes' and went 
 on. It was very, very funny. 
 
 "Anne and I had a pleasant d^eiiner with a young 
 French clergyman yesterday. We rather dreaded it, as 
 neither he nor his wife could speak any English, but to our 
 delight we found they both spoke German ; so we had a 
 very enjoyable time. They are very poor and live in a quar- 
 ter of Paris that is miles from here and is almost out to 
 Vincennes. They are friends of Elbert. He has helped them 
 and during his stay here, I imagine he did no end of good 
 for them. They simply worship him. He was 'best man' at 
 their wedding, is godfather to their little baby, whose name 
 is Georges Elbert Migot and has proved himself a friend 
 indeed. Anne and I had quite a lesson from their pure, 
 simple and honest life. They are both peasant born, and by 
 their life of frugality and self-sacrifice have been able to 
 get a church of their own with a congregation of about 
 one hundred and fifty poor souls they have gathered in from 
 the slums of Paris. They are really very interesting and 
 quite out of the common. . . . 
 
 ' ' I haA'e had a splendid offer from Durand, the music pub- 
 lisher; the only trouble is the copyright-law business. I 
 think I am all right, then find I am all wrong, and between 
 
 [ /-'^ ] 
 
OPUS 17 
 
 this and that I don't know what to do. If I pubhsh here 
 I'll get more fame and a wider circulation — still Schirmer 
 took me up when I was nobody — well ^ I want to make 
 fame and money ; but I want more to do exactly the up- 
 right and honorable thing. 
 
 "Evening; went over to the other side of the town to 
 play at a concert for the workingmen and women of Pas- 
 tor Migot's church. Either I played abominably or they 
 are not fond of music. While I played they took up a col- 
 lection. 
 
 "I carried my chair to and from the piano. If I thought 
 they had enjoyed my music I would have been willing to 
 carry the piano to and from my chair. 
 
 "Anyway, I had a beautiful ride home on the top of 
 various busses ; the moon was glorious and the very breath 
 of Spring was in the air. Late to bed, dead-tired. This 
 afternoon I gave my first 'Nibelungen' recital. Tomorrow 
 I give the second — ' Siegfried ; ' and the following day the 
 third recital — ' Gotterdammerung. ' Up very early this 
 morning, down town with Paul to the bank ; then shop- 
 ping. Bought tickets for Berlin. Afternoon made some 
 calls and took Mrs. Gardiner to Weeks' studio. From 
 there went to the Cafe de la Paix, where I met Rumford. 
 Dinner with him at the prettiest little Cafe Noel, off the 
 Boulevard des It aliens. We had a good time and a long 
 talk together. (He told me his secret. ) Later found George 
 Shea at our place. Finished packing and got to sleep at 
 three a. m. 
 
 "Up at six. Amelie went with us to the Gare du Nord 
 where we took our train for Coin. Paul parted from her 
 with tears and lamentations. After the most comfortable 
 and delightful day's travel in a first-class compartment, 
 which we had all to ourselves, we arrived at Coin as fresh 
 and bright as if we had not travelled at all. After a light 
 supper at the 'Hotel du Nord' we retired, and were up at 
 six-thirty this morning, and, after another delightful day, 
 reached Berlin at 5.55 p. m., where we found Fraulein had 
 pleasant rooms for us. And the day of our coming back to 
 Berlin is April 30, 1892." 
 
 [ ^^7 ] 
 
CHAPTER NINE 
 
 And so the diary leaves may be put away. They have told, here 
 and there, of his year of work in Paris. He had taught a great deal. 
 He had given his "Nibelungen " recitals; and, and, in addition he 
 had large classes in what was called Wagner Exegesis. These lec- 
 tures, with piano illustrations, were very charming. Sitting at his 
 grand piano he talked with ease and fluency — and his own rare 
 charm. His analyses were clear; his interpretations, luminous; his 
 illustrations, just. 
 
 Can you imagine Nevin's candle-lit studio — for that was the light 
 he loved — in Paris; many people crowded into the oblong room — 
 they were opera singers from all parts of the world and there was 
 whispering in all languages; and Ethelbert Nevin would come in? 
 I (who write down these words) can see him now. Very slim, in his 
 afternoon coat of black, with a tall white collar, he would come in. 
 There was grey in his boyish hair even then. Laughing a little in 
 his embarrassed way, he would sit down at the piano, half-facing 
 his audience. Then (for instance it was to be his "Parsifal" exegesis) 
 he would say in his slow, intimate way, (as though we were all 
 friends and lovers of the ideal) "You know Parsifal? The Aryan 
 derivation of the word means : ' Pure Fool. ' It was as though Wag- 
 ner meant to show a man who was without sin. ' ' 
 
 So, half-turned on the piano-stool, he would play the "Parsifal" 
 motive with his left hand ; then looking at us, who were his audience, 
 he would indicate the motive of the "Graal," (perhaps throwing 
 both hands on the piano in his high-fashioned, von Bulowway) and 
 say to us, in that wonderful, whispering voice of his: "Wagner 
 evidentlj^ meant a man who was without sin" — then, stopping 
 abruptly, he would emphasize the mystic motive of Amfortas and 
 the striations of black and red that make the motive of Kundry. 
 
 What days those were — when Ethelbert Nevin interpreted Wag- 
 ner to a Paris that knew him not; though A^illiers de L'Isle Adam 
 had tried in his poet's way to do the same thing ! For one genera- 
 tion of Wagner students — the youth of those Parisian days — Nevin 
 
OPUS 17 
 
 may be said to have opened the doors of AVagner's music-drama. 
 
 Of the songs he wrote during this Paris season the most notable 
 was unquestionably RapeUe-tui — an elaborate and very French 
 setting of de ^lusset's poem. In its French quality it foreshadows 
 what Nevin was to do when he transmuted so marvellousl}^ the 
 poetic values of Verlaine. "The Rhine and the Moselle,"' "The 
 Vase," and "The Rosebud" have already been mentioned. The 
 " Fantasie for violin and piano " to which the diary refers as Opus 
 16, was not published ; that Opus number was to have a rarer fortune. 
 
 However Opus 18, was finished that winter and sent to the pub- 
 lisher; it comprised the two etudes for piano, in the form of a 
 romance and in the form of a scherzo. 
 
 [ 1^9 ] 
 
0i^^ff^Mmm 
 
CHAPTER TEN 
 
 "IN ARCADY'^ 
 
 a 
 
 ^ 
 
 ^^Q 
 
 i^ 
 
CHAPTER TEN 
 
 "IN ARC AD Y' 
 
 ~<HE last eight months of 1892 Nevin spent in Berhn. He 
 gave his entire time to study and to composition. It was a 
 work-period and his diary is merely a record of things at- 
 tempted and things done. There he wrote " In Arcady " 
 and many of the songs which were to appear in his Opus 20, 
 "A Book of Songs. " There, too, he wrote the "Evening Star" 
 and "My Love," for mixed voices, the male quartette for the 
 Nevin Club of Cleveland ; the Barcarolle for violin and piano, and 
 the Polonaise for violin and piano, also the Polonaise in A major 
 for piano. 
 
 These were quiet and serene days. The thing he had come abroad 
 to find, he had found ; he took no pupils and, undistui'bed, in his 
 Kurfursten Damm music room, he worked. If his days in Italy were 
 to bring his sensitive genius to its highest flight — in the Tuscan and 
 ^^enetian suites — this year of solitary work in Germany was to 
 give him that music foundation (to repeat his own words) upon 
 which he might more strongly build. 
 
 In the midsummer his diary contained this entry : 
 
 "Little Dorothy Anne Nevin made her advent this even- 
 ing at 7.40. A dainty, beautiful little baby." 
 
 December 11, he sailed, with his family, for America. A few 
 months were spent in Florida, where he wrote the two hymns, 
 which appear in the book of Plymouth Church, Brooklyn, and a 
 Children's Song for the World's Fair at Chicago. AVithal he was 
 "still working on the orchestral fantasie — with pianoforte; and 
 everything promises." In May he was back in Boston. There he 
 finished the group of songs. Opus 20. Now that many of them — 
 notably — Dites-moi, ' ' Nocturne ' ' and ' ' Every Night My Prayers I 
 
 [ ^JJ ] 
 

 l-Jf^ V'^r^ T^*^ ' 
 
 
 
 c^'Dvc 
 
 ^^^XC 
 
 Facsimile of Le'iter feom Richard Strauss to Ethelbert Nevin 
 
 IN ANSWER TO THE LATTEr's APPLICATION FOR LESSONS IN COMPOSITION 
 
IX A lie AD Y 
 
 Say" — have become world lyrics, it is interesting to read the ap- 
 preciations of the music-writers of the day. Philip Hale, who found 
 in Nevin's songs, "peculiar fragrance and moving chai'm, '" wrote: 
 
 "Too many of these local composers forget the great saying of 
 Walt AVhitman, the summing up of the wisdom of the Greeks : 
 ' The art of art, the glory of expression and the sunshine of the 
 light of letters is simplicity. Nothing is better than simplicity. 
 
 Nothing can make up for excess or for lack of definiteness 
 
 To speak in literature with the perfect rectitude and insouciance 
 of the movements of animals and the unimpeachableness of the 
 sentiment of trees in the woods and grass by the roadside is the 
 flawless triumph of art. If you have looked on him who has achieved 
 it you have looked on one of the masters among the artists of all 
 nations and times. You shall not contemplate the flight of the great 
 gull over the bay, or the mettlesome action of the blood-horse, or 
 the tall leaning of sun-flowers on their stalk, or the appearance of 
 the sun journeying through Heaven, or the appearance of the moon 
 afterward with any more satisfaction than you shall contemplate 
 him.' And how hard a thing is this simplicity. 
 
 ' ' Let me take an example : 
 
 "Here is Ethelbert Nevin. A volume of ten songs by him has 
 just appeared. Each song bears the familiar hall-mark of Nevin. 
 When I hear a melody by him I think of William Blake's 
 
 Piping down the valleys ivild. 
 Piping songs of pleasant glee. 
 
 And by the way, Nevin could write the music for Blake's 'Chim- 
 ney Sweeper', if anyone could. 
 
 "Take, for instance, Nevin's setting of Stevenson's 'Every Night 
 My Prayers I Say'. It is a song of only a page and it was written 
 four years ago. Is it not simplicity itself? There is no puerility, 
 there is no triviality; there is no affectation, as though the composer 
 said aloud : ' Come now, I will unbend and show you how simple 
 
 [ ^JS J 
 
CHAP T E R T E N 
 
 I can be. ' The music is as frank as the text. Or take the charming 
 setting of Orsola's song from Par Ic Glaive; or in fact any one at 
 random. You find first of all a melody apparently spontaneous ; you 
 find harmonies that support, enrich, but do not call the attention 
 away from the singer; and the results of faithful technical study do 
 not obtrude. The appeal is direct; there is no attempt to create 
 merely a Stimmung; and, indeed, for that in a simple song there is 
 hardly time or room." 
 
 And his Xew York contemporary, Rupert Hughes, wrote in a 
 magazine : 
 
 "The remarkable thing about most songs by well-educated com- 
 posers is that thej^ are not songs, not lyrical. They are harmonic 
 rambles and meditations in which the voice is treated either like an 
 instrument or like an elocutionist. Nevin's songs have lyrical con- 
 tour, lyrical impulses; they come forward in graceful curves like 
 waves, and when they reach their destination, they rise to their 
 climax and make a beautiful end. 
 
 ' ' I know of no other American composer who has so much es- 
 sentially of the song spirit that made Franz Schubert popular 
 among both the masses and the classes. Nevin's peculiarly vocal 
 melodies are supported by accompaniments of the highest artistic 
 quality. They enrich the color, they add new fuel to the fire, and 
 they have a completeness and unity of their own. His very intro- 
 ductions are like those magic bits of stage mechanism by which in 
 the twinkling of an eye a complete scene is set and lighted. 
 
 "A highly characteristic song is his setting of Thomas Bailey 
 Aldrich's familiar 'Nocturne' beginning Up to her chajnber-tvindow 
 clamherfi a bold iv/iife rose. As you remember, the watching lover 
 sees his lady lean out of the window and take the rose to her heart, 
 and he sighs : 
 
 Ah me, ^fzvas he that won her 
 Because he dared to climb. 
 
 "Evervbody else who had read that poem, and I daresay even 
 [ ^36 ] 
 
IN ARC AD Y 
 
 the poet himself, felt it to be simply a frail flower of romance. 
 Many composers had set it to tinkling little tunes and let it go. 
 But when Ethelbert Nevin came along he felt its inner significance, 
 its wild implications, and he made of it a song of passionate desire 
 that makes the blood of the hearer leap as the blood of the timid 
 lover must have leapt when he saw his beloved take into her bosom 
 the Romeo rose. As the voice in this song thrills and surges, so the 
 accompaniment is thrilling; it pulsates like an artery. It has the 
 qualities which were personal to Nevin; they are, so to say, 
 Nevinesque. 
 
 "And I think that perhaps this is the touchstone by which to 
 test a claim on immortality. If you feel in a man's work a quality, 
 which you can only define by making an adjective of his name; 
 then his work has that individuality without which no genius — 
 however infinite his pains — could hold his own through the rush 
 of time. 
 
 " Yes, I think we may call Ethelbert Nevin a great composer of 
 great songs. " ' 
 
 With all this public success, — for not only was his high rank as 
 a composer aflftrmed at home and abroad but, as well, his concert 
 recitals pleased, — his struggle (which was life-long) against ill- 
 health and financial stress, continued unabated. At home there was 
 illness. And, as always, it is in his letters to his mother that one 
 may see him at his best : 
 
 "These have been weary days. Anne has been lying be- 
 tween life and death since Wednesday. She was put under 
 the influence of ether on AVednesday morning at 9.30, 
 when I bade her good-bye. There were four doctors. I 
 walked the square from that time until eleven o'clock 
 when the operation was finished. Of course I could not 
 see her that day, but the next, only for a few minutes, but 
 I wouldn't have known her. She is having the best of care 
 and attention. Perhaps on Monday or Tuesdaj^ she may 
 be able to see the children for a little while. To add fuel 
 
 [ ^37 ] 
 
CHAPTER TEN 
 
 to the fire, word comes from the boarding house that 
 Dorothy's vaccination is taking like fury, so I have had to 
 have the doctor there. Arthur has been my stand-by and 
 his devotion is brotherly in the ideal sense of the word. 
 You can imagine I haven't much heart to play at a con- 
 cert this evening. But 
 
 3Ien must work and xvomen must weep; 
 And the sooner it's over, the sooner to sleep. 
 
 "I"m prett}^ tired."" 
 
 And after: 
 
 "Nobody, mother dear, but j'ou would have been so 
 thoughtful as to send the telegram }"ou did today. I took 
 it to Anne and she cried when she read it and said : ' I 
 would give anything in the world to have mother sit by 
 my bedside.' I tried to show her how impossible this was 
 owing to your many home duties at this holiday season 
 and I laid stress on the rule of the hospital which only 
 allows visitors a little while each day. 
 
 "She agreed with me it wouldn't be considerate under 
 the circumstances to ask you to come, but I inust confess 
 I have several times been on the point of telegraphing for 
 3"ou. I have been almost beside myself with pain and anxi- 
 ety. We feared blood-poisoning. Had that set in, I should 
 have sent for j^ou at once, for in that case it would have 
 been hopeless. Now she is doing well and must just have 
 quiet and rest. After Christmas we are looking forward to 
 a visit from you and father. Just tell the boys we have some 
 claims on you, too.'' 
 
 Again he wrote : 
 
 "Anne is doing well, but still very pale and weak. I only 
 missed one lesson and that came at a time when it seemed 
 to me my mind had stopped working, so I told Katie to 
 ask the pupil to excuse me. I went upstairs to bed and had 
 a good cry. Yes, Mother, I cried like sixty ; then I prac- 
 ticed for mv concert which came off Saturday evening when 
 
IN ARC AD Y 
 
 I was blind as a bat, but they tell me I played well. How- 
 ever, when I think of Anne's sufferings, I know mine are 
 nothing. It is only sympathy and anxiety I feel, but to 
 some natures pain of this sort is pretty hard to bear. Well, 
 I"m not the first person to suffer nor will I be the last. 
 
 ' ' I've postponed my two recitals ; one in Boston the "iSth 
 and another in New York the 31st. So money is scarce. I 
 don't know what the four doctor's bills will be, but this I 
 do know — my little girl will soon be well and strong and 
 I'll get the money some way even if I have to mortgage 
 my royalties. And I'll do it with a light heart, too. What 
 is this life worth anyway if it isn't given up to the people 
 vou love and who love you? 
 
 "Paul and Dor- 
 othy are sound asleep 
 in bed. Arthur has 
 gone to the theatre; 
 and I'm reigning su- 
 preme. Artie has been 
 so kind and sj^mpa- 
 thetic ; you can never 
 know how I have de- 
 pended upon him and 
 what a delight it is to 
 havehim herewith us. 
 He is kindness itself 
 to Anne and the chil- 
 dren; considerate of 
 the servants; and he 
 has a positive genius for remembering to turn off the elec- 
 tric light. Altogether he is a godsend, ^'^^ouldn"t I give 
 ducats to have }"Ou here in my workshop tonight, to talk 
 to you? Oh, dear! Never mind. There are still good times 
 in store for us if we only take care of ourselves mentally, 
 morally and physically. ' ' 
 
 Again he wrote : 
 
 "Anne is doing beautifully, but the doctors won't allow 
 her to come home before next Tuesday — that will be three 
 
 [ ^39 ] 
 
 Pal'l axd Dokothy Nevin 
 
CHAPTER TEN 
 
 weeks. My hair has turned quite gray in the meantime. No 
 one under heaven can know what I have gone through. 
 But there are things I cannot write about even to you. 
 Some day, perhaps I may tell you. ' ' 
 
 And a week later : 
 
 "What do you suppose I've been doing and going to 
 do? First of all I was vaccinated this evening. Saturday 
 I'm going to Springfield for the foot ball game, then on 
 to New York to make arrangements for my recital there 
 (the fourteenth of December, I think). I expect to be home 
 on Tuesday to work up my programme for the twelfth, 
 when I give my recital in Boston. At both recitals I shall 
 have no assistance. I play the whole programme. 
 
 "I'm glad I can combine business with pleasure as I'm 
 pretty well tired out with children, housekeeping and anxi- 
 ety. But I've talked enough about myself. Anne is doing 
 very well indeed. As Doctor Warren says, he could not 
 have hoped for abetter convalescence. Of course, it is tedious 
 for her, but she is patient, gentle and submissive to any and 
 everything the doctors think best. Your anxiety through 
 all this may have cost you pain, my precious mother, but 
 if you could know the comfort your sympathy has given 
 me in my suffering I am sure you would be happy, and 
 saj^ to yourself: 'I have suffered, but I have helped those 
 I love. ' Oh, you are so good and so thoughtful. It seems 
 to me there is no limit to your love and sympathy. If I 
 ever loved you before, I worship you now. And I wish you 
 could know how Anne treasures your affection. She reads 
 and re-reads your letters, and repeatedly tells me how she, 
 too, loves you and how helpful your sympathy has been to 
 her. Mr. Paul has been very loving, too. He says he can't 
 throw off the feeling of anxiety and care when any of his 
 children are in the shghtest trouble. And his letters to me 
 have been most kind and affectionate. 
 
 ".lust think, mother, day after tomorrow I shall be thirty--, 
 one. When I was twenty-one I thought I should have at- 
 tained my ambition by this time. Now just see the evils the 
 
 [ 1^0 ] 
 
IN ARC AD Y 
 
 flesh is heir to. Ten years have gone by and I am still — 
 ambitious. Still plodding along ; still in front of a wall and 
 only commencing to see glimpses of daylight through the 
 holes. 
 
 "Arthur is well and working hard, only I wish the boy 
 were not so nervous. Thank you again and again for >'our 
 beautiful letter. And thank you for the birthday gift. l"m 
 sure Anne is nearh- well. She actuallv scolded me this 
 morning." 
 
 That year whitened his hair, though the boy's face, the young eyes, 
 and the young heart went with him to the end. How he fought 
 against the grim effects of overwork and increasing ill-health may be 
 read in his diary : 
 
 "I have finished the "Fantasie for piano and violin. "" It will 
 be the next thing I publish. Heaven only knows what will 
 come after ! I think I must be in a depressed state of mind, 
 as I don't feel well mentally, morally or physically. I've 
 been dosing myself with Emerson. He is so encouraging, 
 he makes me feel I need no other tonic, but I'm sure I do. 
 AYell, I must get to work again. The terrible thing must be 
 that I am not diligent enough." 
 
 And in that pathetic attempt to be diligent enough he was stricken 
 down with nervous prostration and for two weeks his life was in daily 
 danger. Slowly, very slowly he won his way back to life. And in his 
 trouble he turned, as he had turned ever since he was a child, to his 
 mother : 
 
 '"December 27, 1893. 
 "My dearest ^lother: 
 
 This is against all rules, but I'll confess to the doc- 
 tor tomorrow when he comes. Things have come to a crisis 
 and something must be done. You know I'm forbidden 
 any work at all the rest of this winter, and my pupils have 
 been dismissed. I'm not allowed to compose or play until 
 after March, so you see I'm practically shut out of all work. 
 
 [ ^4r ] 
 
CHAPTER TEN 
 
 Now comes the trouble. The Doctor says Anne is very much 
 run down nursing me and must have a long rest ; and that 
 I must either go to the hospital or leave Boston and have a 
 complete change. I have decided to close the house and send 
 Anne and the children to A^ineacre to you, for the rest of 
 the winter. Doctor says the best thing in the world for me 
 would be an ocean voyage, so now I am thinking seriously 
 of taking the boat for Genoa. It will be a great comfort to 
 me to know Anne is with j^ou. We have both had more 
 than we could quite stand. Anne wouldn't want to go with 
 me as she could not leave the children, and really Richette 
 is not capable of the care of both of them. In case I decide 
 fully upon this plan I would either come home in April or 
 have Anne and the children join me in England in May. 
 M_v trouble is more serious than I dare think. My brain 
 refuses at times to act, while physically I am as well as I 
 can be, though just now, of course,! am weak from the long 
 stay in bed. Mr. Lang told me the other evening (four 
 weeks ago) that the amount of composition, outside of any 
 other kind of work, I have done in the last seven years is 
 something enormous. The truth is that I am worhed out! 
 AVill it be too much to ask you to keep Anne, Richette and 
 the babies for a few months? I'll try then to be strong and 
 well and pick up my loss of this year. 
 
 "I'm not going to try to thank you for the beautiful 
 Christmas presents you sent us, as I'm very tired already. 
 Please kiss my little boy and girl for me when you see 
 them and, believe me, my own dear mother, I would not 
 ask you to do so much for me, if I were not in sore dis- 
 tress. 
 
 ' 'Always your loving son 
 "Bert." 
 
 [ H2 J 
 
CHAPTER ELEVEN 
 
 "MELODY" 
 
 4* 
 
 m 
 
 ^- -&■ 
 
CHAPTER ELEVEN 
 
 "MELODY ' 
 
 NLY once in a happy married life that lasted thirteen years, 
 was Nevin separated from his wife and children, save for the 
 short journeys made necessary by his concert tours. This 
 winter, after his nervous breakdown, his physician ordered 
 him to take a long sea voyage. So the last week in January, 
 1894, he sailed on the "Fulda" for Algiers, alone. Months of men- 
 tal and physical suffering had tried his delicate organization to the 
 limit of its endurance. The Nevin who went aboard the "Fulda" 
 was sick in body and soul. Delicate as his constitution was, there was 
 in it a remarkable resiliency ; and he could swing back into what was 
 for him normal health almost as quickly as he fell away from it. And 
 his moral strength — rare and fine as a woman's — was feminine also 
 in this : it asserted itself in subtle ways. In a sad and beautiful page 
 of his diary he said that he was going away alone that his soul might 
 re-assert itself — that in loneliness he might find himself once more. 
 Why he chose Algiers he probably did not know — save that this 
 edge of the monotheistic desert has often called to the troubled sons 
 of art. 
 
 Storms met them the first day out ; and for five days they were 
 pitched and tossed mercilessly about; "the dolesomeness of five 
 dolesome days," he called it. Then they sailed into sunlight and 
 Southern weather and Nevin "felt more like himself" than he had 
 done for months. By the time they passed the Azores he had re- 
 gained a little of his strength and found again his mental tran- 
 quility. 
 
 "In fact I feel so well, I hardly think of how I am feel- 
 ing, ' ' he wrote to his wife, ' ' and my time has passed in 
 wondering what you were doing, and wishing you and my 
 boy and my girl were all here with me. ' ' 
 
 [ H5 ] 
 
CHAPTER ELEVEN 
 
 A day or so after he reached Algiers he wrote her again, dating 
 his letter from the 'Hotel Kirsch' at Mustapha: 
 
 ' ' I left Algiers proper this morning and have come up 
 here. The air is better and it is not so depressing as it was 
 down in the town. Then, too, I met the Whitehouses yes- 
 terday, and, as they are stopping here, I thought I would 
 not feel so much alone. I think the ocean voyage must 
 have upset me a bit, as I haven't felt so well since our day 
 at Gibraltar. 
 
 " Perhaps I did too much those few hours on land. I 
 haven't done any sight-seeing; and I really haven't the 
 energy to go into the Arab quarter. Still I have only been 
 here two days and after Sunday I am sure I shall feel 
 more energetic. Let me see what I have been doing : 
 
 "Yesterday afternoon I went from my hotel down to 
 the bank for letters that could not possibly have been 
 there. Then I was passing Cook's on the Boulevard de la 
 Republique when I met the Whitehouses. After that I 
 strolled to the Place du Gouvernement, and while I stopped 
 there listening to a military band concert, a young Amer- 
 ican girl came up and said abruptly : ' Mr. Nevin, will you 
 kindly tell me the right tempo for your song. La Chanson 
 des Lava/idieres ? ' If I wasn't struck dumb! 
 
 "Algiers is a polyglot town, but seems in the main like 
 a provincial French city — Lyons, possibly. Of course one 
 sees the Arabs, Kabyles, Moors, Turks, Jews and Negroes, 
 but they seem only as a passing show. There is a popula- 
 tion of thirty-five thousand French and twenty thousand 
 English and Americans against twenty thousand Arabs. 
 French is invariably spoken, and on the streets one hears a 
 good deal of English. An Arab became quite interested in 
 me yesterday at the band concert. He was a fine-looking 
 fellow, only he followed me around to such an extent, I 
 thought it better to return to my hotel. He was pictur- 
 esque in the extreme, clothed in an under garment of white 
 camel's hair, perhaps a trifle coarse, but very white and 
 clean. Over that was a tunic made of a beautiful cashmere 
 rug with reds, blues and yellows predominating. His legs 
 
 [ ^46] 
 
MELODY 
 
 were bare from the knees down, and his feet were in san- 
 dals. On his head was the white burnouse; above that, 
 some ropey looking stuff wound round possibly twenty 
 times. His hands were slim and beautiful, with fingernails 
 polished to perfection. I wish I had his picture to send 
 you, but to tell the truth I was a little afraid of him. 
 
 ' ' Most beautiful of all is the situation of Algiers and 
 Mustapha. If you can imagine tiers of houses (modern 
 French architecture) towering up, and losing themselves 
 in the old Moorish and Arabian part of the town. Then 
 long streets of cocoanut palmettos, wonderful pepper-trees 
 and the most luxuriant eucalyptus. And then there are 
 beautiful orange and lemon trees in great abundance, 
 though the banana-plants and the magnolias do not com- 
 pare with those of Florida. But the tiled floors and white- 
 washed walls of my suite have about frozen me. It is a 
 pitj^ civilization and Americanism have destroyed so much 
 of the old Moorish and Arabic atmosphere. You hear the 
 telephone ' Hello ! ' and ' Very nice ' — quite Chicago-like. 
 
 "When you come with me, we will go into the interior 
 — the first and second Oases — there we shall surely find 
 more of the Oriental atmosphere; but Parisian fashions 
 and the telephone have certainly robbed Algiers of its 
 early characteristics. 
 
 ' ' Tell Paul that this afternoon as I walked out into the 
 country, I saw a dear little baby camel eating grass under 
 a scrubby palmetto tree. He liked me very much, and I 
 am sure if Paul had been here the Mutter-Camel would 
 have said : ' Well, Paul Nevin, I will let you ride my baby 
 camel just as much as you want, for only two francs a 
 day. ' Then every evening the baby camel would call and 
 get Paul for a promenade and perhaps we might find a 
 baby donkey for Dorothy. 
 
 " It really isn't any fun here without you, my dearest 
 Nancy. I haven't my sweet and sympathetic companion 
 to share the new sights with me. Never mind. Just now it 
 is health I am after; and after that good, strong, manly 
 work; and I'm sure there is something beautiful for us to 
 come. Mrs. Whitehouse told me to tell you she would 
 
 [ m ] 
 
CHAPTER ELEVEN 
 
 take good care of me and report to you all my doings. 
 They have stunning apartments at the Kirsch Hotel, and 
 their carts, wagons and coach seem just like Manchester. 
 The other Mr. Whitehouse from Newport is also here and 
 we all had luncheon together. T do wish I could get a 
 letter from you. I am sure you are all well, but it seems 
 a long time since we said 'good-bye," and my dearest 
 Annchen, you are my whole life. 1 love you more than 
 anything this world could give me, and even if I am cross 
 at times my love never changes. 
 
 ' ' I have taken a nap, had my dinner, and now at nine- 
 thirty I'm in my room and ready for bed. I spent the 
 evening with the Whitehouses who send their love to you. 
 I am in a small villa about a quarter of a mile from the 
 hotel and coming home tonight I lost my way. It was 
 pitch dark. I passed a few sneaking Arabs and stumbled 
 against a few pepper-trees and a stone wall and then all of 
 a sudden a voice called out : ' Qui est la? ' I answered : 
 ' C'est moi. ' The voice then grumbled : 'And who are you, 
 and what do you want ? ' ' Only to get out of here, ' I re- 
 plied. Usually I am not easily frightened, but these Arabs 
 have a cunning, untrustworthy appearance that is suggest- 
 ive of almost anything. Anyhow I reached my villa in 
 safety. 
 
 ' ' I shall take this down town tomorrow morning and per- 
 haps I shall find a letter from you. I do miss you all so 
 much and I fairly long to have Paul and Dorothy in my 
 arms. After all what is this life worth when you are sepa- 
 rated from those who make up your life ? I must turn in 
 now, so good night. I shall be home pretty soon, and won't 
 I be glad?" 
 
 The next letter was written a few days later: 
 
 "Just a week ago today since we landed, dear Annchen, 
 and it seems a month. Still it is nicer now than it was a 
 few days ago, as I have formed some very pleasant ac- 
 quaintances. First there are the Whitehouses who are so 
 charming, and Monday a card was brought me — Miss Susan 
 
 [ hs ] 
 
MELODY 
 
 Hale. She is living in the same Villa, and she is with Mrs. 
 Church, wife of the artist. They have been so very kind to 
 me. We have driven together and I have met many of their 
 friends and acquaintances. 
 
 ' ' Miss Hale is a sister of Dr. Edward Everett Hale and 
 Mrs. Church is an invalid. She has her son with her. I saw 
 the Benedicts while they stopped here and dined with them. 
 The 'Fiirst Bismarck' struck Algiers like a tidal wave and 
 the whole place is over-run with Chicago people. I have 
 given up the idea of going to Rome. I want to go direct to 
 London, and from London home early in March. Nextweek 
 I am really going to do some sight-seeing, as I have scarcely 
 been in the Arab quarter and that is the most interesting 
 part of Algiers. If you were here you would get inside of 
 a Harem, but the doors are closed to me. One doesn't see 
 much Arab life, as it is completely a French settlement, and 
 Mustapha is quite English and French. Still one does have 
 clean beds and plenty of fresh invigorating air. I lounge 
 around the garden mostly, or read in my room, and some- 
 times stroll through the town. I bought some gauze ma- 
 terial for a dress for you. It is white with silk stripes of 
 yellow, pink, green and gold thread. It was rather narrow 
 so I took fifteen metres. It will look beautiful over satin. 
 The jewelry here is abominable and I am looking high and 
 low for a jewel case. I saw one but it was too large and 
 besides it wasn't silver. I think I can do much better when 
 I reach London. 
 
 ' ' Tell mother I received her good letter and it was the 
 only one I have had. I shall ask Brown, Shipley and Co. to 
 forward my mail to Paris, as I shall stop there a few days. 
 I wish I knew what size gloves you and mother wear. Please 
 send me word. Will write soon again. I am feeling so much 
 better and commencing to have some real healthy energy 
 again, so much so, I may go into the desert, if I can find 
 a trustworthy, honest guide. I don't relish sleeping under 
 a date-tree with a camel, a donkey, and a guide I can't trust. 
 How are you, my precious Annchen'^. How I wish you were 
 
 [ ^^9 ] 
 
CHAPTER ELEVEN 
 
 with me. Give our boy and girl a kiss for me and with love 
 to one and all 
 
 "Always your loving 
 
 "Bertie." 
 
 The next letter reads : 
 
 "My dearest Aiinchen: 
 
 Such a delightful surprise was in store for me this 
 morning — your good letter, written the 29th, came, and I 
 have fairly devoured it. Day before yesterday I had one 
 also from mother. I am feeling better and better, and I don't 
 go into the town but rest loyally up here. There is little or 
 nothing to do but rest, no excitement of any kind and noth- 
 ing to do but sit in the garden or listen to the funny Eng- 
 lish. Yesterday a man showed me two Arab chains. I asked 
 him what they would cost. He said ten francs each. I 
 whistled and answered: 'I'll give you two.' Imagine my 
 consternation when he said: 'Take them.' I'm dickering 
 for a pin of oriental rubies, brilliants and emeralds. The 
 jeweler wants two hundred francs for it. I offered him one 
 hundred but he won't budge ; simply shrugs his shoulders 
 and says politely : 'Mercibien.' It's really a beauty, though, 
 and I should like to get it for you. It was worn bj"^ an Arab 
 woman who had to part with it, and it is over two hundred 
 years old. The draperies are very expensive here and I don't 
 think them attractive, they are too Turkish and one tires 
 of the gaudy tinsel and bright coloring. This is the day 
 when the Arab women visit the cemetery, but they won't 
 let a man inside. I think I shall go into a mosque, though, 
 as one sees very curious sights. 
 
 "Your letter made me wildly homesick this morning, 
 and still I have such delight and happiness in having had 
 it. I thought I should die the night I said good-bye to you. 
 However, now it will soon be the home-coming. God bless 
 you always my dearest Annchen.'' 
 
 [ ^50 ] 
 
MELODY 
 
 ''Algiers, Feb. 21, 189 A- 
 
 "My dearest Annchen: 
 
 I have been up on the house-tops watching for the 
 ' Kaiser Wilhelm II,' as I shall go down town and perhaps 
 see the Robinsons, if she sails today. We have had two days' 
 steady rain and it has been dismal enough, still I've had a 
 fire in my room and have read to my heart's content. 
 
 "I'm quite a 'beau' here, if you please. I'm invited out 
 to all the luncheons, dinners, afternoons, and everything 
 that is going on in the social world. Do I go? No! My 
 great excitement is an occasional drive with Mrs. Church 
 and Miss Hale, or the Whitehouses, who, by the way, have 
 invited me to go to Blida with them, a two days' trip, but 
 I promised I would have d^euner with the Herrons at their 
 villa on Friday, and as I was not able to accept the last in- 
 vitation I feel I must go, especially as this d^euner is given 
 in my honor. 
 
 "On Saturday I expect to sail for Marseilles. Then a day 
 or two in Paris — a week in London and — home! AVon't 
 I be jolly glad to be with you once more? And just let me 
 tell you one thing, NEVER AGAIN am I going away 
 from you for more than one week, and no ocean between ! 
 I'm absolutely lost without you. I don't believe I can re- 
 pack my trunk. 
 
 "A day has intervened since I commenced this. Yester- 
 day morning Louis Church and I walked down to Algiers, 
 and on the very first boat came Mr. and Mrs. Robinson 
 with Phillips. I trotted them round town and through the 
 Arab quarter. I also met Mrs. Jamison. Then I went to a 
 little tea-shop with Mr. and Mrs. Whitehouse and ate many 
 small cakes, after which I drove home. But my day proved 
 too exciting and this morning I feel 'used up'. I have just 
 spent an hour watching two young Englishmen killing frogs 
 in a frog-pond. What a thing to do ! 
 
 "My plans are somewhat indefinite. They tell me it is 
 cold in London and Paris, and I am advised to remain here. 
 I don't know exactly what to do, but I will try to take 
 things easy. I am commencing to long for some hard work. 
 
 [ ^5r ] 
 
CHAPTER ELEVEN 
 
 I think that will be the best tonic for me and I shall be so 
 glad to be with you and our precious children ; and I never, 
 never want to go away from you again. I have met some 
 delightful English people and find them so cordial and 
 pleasant. They are not as stiff as I had imagined. It is very 
 gratifying to find how much my compositions are liked by 
 the English nation. I had no idea I was so well known. 
 The other day I heard a j^oung English fellow whistling 
 'Narcissus' with more energy than discretion; but 1 wel- 
 comed it as an old friend. 
 
 ' ' I am sending you a picture Mrs. Whitehouse took. 
 The tree is a lemon and the steps are blue-tiled. My bal- 
 cony overlooks this charming nook, and in the distance I 
 have the blue and green Mediterranean. Mrs. Whitehouse 
 took this picture especially for you. It is to show you how 
 much better I am looking. Mrs. Church suggests I go with 
 them to Cannes, and sail by the 'Fulda' from Genoa, but I 
 am not sure my money will hold out as I have bought so 
 many things. Tell mother I can't find a ring that I feel she 
 would like. I picked up a beautiful bit of old Kabyle em- 
 broidery, which is a lost art now and so very valuable. Well, 
 I will end this rambling letter and go to luncheon. 
 
 "How many good friends we have, my dear little girl, 
 and if I could only have you here, I should be perfectly 
 happy. Your love and patience have been something won- 
 derful. All that I am is due to you, and in joining your life 
 to mine, you have given me the greatest gift of Heaven. 
 I shall see you soon and we will never have any more part- 
 ings, but live in the happiness of our love for one another 
 and our blessings, Paul and Dorothy." 
 
 A few days later he wrote the following: 
 
 "My precious Annchen: 
 
 Your letter and the lock of Dorothy's hair came this 
 morning. The idea of your thinking the doctor's bill large ! 
 Isn't my life to you more valuable than four hundred dol- 
 lars? You mustn't worry about that at all. And as to 
 Richette, we will arrange about that as soon as I return. 
 
 [ ^52 ] 
 
MELODY 
 
 "Now my little girl, we have had a hard year; and I've 
 done no end of things that have been wrong, but we must 
 brace up and be brave. We have so much to live for and 
 perhaps this trial has been planned and placed upon us for 
 some good purpose. Let us accept it and when we are to- 
 gether, our great love will make things easier to bear." 
 
 Mi-Careme he wrote from Morley's Hotel, London: 
 
 "Here I am on my way home, dearest Annchen, and al- 
 ready I am sure Bob has received my cable. I'm due the 
 fourteenth, but will call it the fifteenth. I shall reach home 
 — God willing — a few days after this ; in the meantime I 
 must have a little chat with you : 
 
 "I left Algiers last Tuesday for Marseilles, and as a poor 
 English duffer who didn't know any French tagged on to 
 me, we journeyed together. Some English people are so 
 charming and some so idiotic. This morning, for instance, 
 I remarked upon the beautiful sunshine after last night's 
 rain, and between sips of coffee said : ' I presume it is be- 
 cause Gladstone threatens to resign. ' Well, didn't the chap 
 answer seriously : 'Oh, I really don't think that is the cause, 
 you know ; it must be something in the atmosphere ! ' After 
 that I gave up. 
 
 " We sailed from Algiers at one o'clock on a horrid boat 
 and reached Marseilles at five-twenty. We had to cross the 
 city to the Gare de Lyon and we caught our train at six- 
 forty-seven for Paris. Such a night I never passed. I sat up 
 the entire time until next morning. You know what that 
 is, don't you ? Not an instant's rest. Well, I jumped into 
 a cab upon reaching Paris and drove directly to the bank for 
 my mail. 
 
 " Paris looked too beautiful for words. They were making 
 ready for the Mi-careme festival. The piles and stacks of 
 brightly colored confetti took me back two years ago, when 
 Paul had such fun and our little blessing (Dorothy) had not 
 yet arrived. I took the evening train for Calais and came 
 over to Dover. Nearly every blessed soul on board was 
 pouring his heart out — tothefishes. Excepting your humble 
 
 [ ^53 ] 
 
CHAPTER ELEVEN 
 
 servant, who, by the way, was Hterally freezing in summer 
 underwear and Ught overcoat. JMj^ poor httle Englishman 
 (who, by the way, is going to send you one of the finest 
 fox terriers in England — a champion with a pedigree from 
 Algiers to London) was so very ill I feared he was going to 
 collapse entirely. I gave him some cognac which seemed to 
 help him. AVhen we reached London it was pouring torrents. 
 
 ' ' This morning I flew to Brown, Shipley for mail and then 
 engaged and paid for my passage home, cabled Bob, tried 
 to find a jewel casket for you and drove in a hansom be- 
 hind a runaway horse to Schott's. * For a few moments I 
 thought we would turn over the Thames embankment. I 
 tried to jump out, but something told me to wait and finally 
 our horse was stopped. I was scared silly. I'm fearfully un- 
 strung. I have not slept for three nights and I feel as ill as 
 I did last December, but the voyage home will rest me. I 
 went meekly into Schott's music house and said to a cross- 
 looking old fellow : ' You people have re-printed some of 
 my music, and I should like very much to see the titles. My 
 name is Nevin. ' ^Vell, I wish you could have seen the ef- 
 fect. They absolutely stopped trade ; and the manager came 
 rushing out and actually embraced me. I was so nervous af- 
 ter my runaway drive I could hardly stand, but the com- 
 pliments poured on me, and people came right and left to 
 stare at me ; and some planted themselves in front of me 
 and simply drove me beside myself. Then we came to busi- 
 ness. He went on to explain there was a big law-suit going 
 on over my music which they were trying to protect ; that 
 other houses were printing ' Narcissus, ' 'Oh, That We Two 
 "Were Maying,' Stevenson's songs, and others; and that 
 they (Schott's) were not able to protect themselves as they 
 had no copyright and so on. I couldn't do a thing but trem- 
 ble. I"ll try to tell you of it when I see you as this is such 
 a long letter. But I feel quieter now. 
 
 "I tell you, my dearest wife, fame may be a great thing, 
 but it has to be bought at a terrible price; and I'm pay- 
 ing the full. Soon I trust I may be with you and then I can 
 
 ( * The music publishers. ) 
 
 [ ^54 ] 
 
MELODY 
 
 rest quietly and I have so longed for the touch of a loving 
 hand. My dependence upon you is more than you can ever 
 know, so if Ethelbert Nevin is now going to do any great 
 work you must be brave, and determined that he shall. This 
 letter is abominable in every way, but you must pardon it. " 
 
 [ ^55 ] 
 
c... 
 
 
CHAPTER TWELVE 
 
 "MAGGIO IN TOSCANA' 
 
 ^P 
 
W 
 
 CHAPTER TWELVE 
 
 MAGGIO IN TOSCANA" 
 
 '^^ ANDERING troubadour as he was, it was one of 
 
 Nevin's theories that the highest happiness is to have 
 birth, hfe and death in the same house. Whenever he 
 could he went back to the old home at Vineacre. 
 Indeed, in the last month of his life, whenthe shadow 
 of death was already upon him, he made, alone, the long journey from 
 New England to the Sewickley Valley ; and there, in the silent home, 
 a place of mourning now, he lived for a day with his memories — and 
 went out again into the world to die. 
 
 So after his return from Algiers he spent the summer months — 
 in analeptic idleness — at Vineacre. 
 
 Very few of his compositions date from this year. He published 
 only the Four Songs (to which he gave no opus number) La Vie, 
 "The Merry, Merry Lark," Ti Saluto and "In the Night." In 
 the winter he made a concert tour — the most successful of his pub- 
 lic career — in the East and in the Middle West. 
 
 A little of the enthusiasm that greeted the composer and pianist 
 may be sensed in an excerpt or two from the contemporary criticisms. 
 The Musical Courier said of his New York concert : "The most rep- 
 resentative audience, musically speaking, of the week gathered at 
 Chamber Music Hall on Wednesday afternoon, to the Ethelbert 
 Nevin Recital. They mustered so many score strong that after the 
 body and gallery of the hall both had been packed by the up- 
 standers, the overflow had to take room in the hallways. They were 
 here by the score, from the young woman who thumbs ' Narcissus, ' 
 to the keen and highly educated musician. They all came for Nevin 
 and they got their Nevin, ' full measure and running over ' to a 
 surety. But as the young composer is at his very best as Nevin, play- 
 ing his own works charmingly, there was none too much of the in- 
 
 [ ^59 ] 
 
CHAPTER TWELVE 
 
 dividuality, and it was altogether one of the most deUghtful concerts 
 in Hght and aerial vein heard in a long time in New York. 
 
 "Two Etudes, in form of Romance and Scherzo, opened the pro- 
 gramme. The Romance has a Lisztian flavor, a singable melody set 
 to a left-hand accompaniment, which Mr. Nevin played well. His 
 left hand almost seems in better training than his right, as was em- 
 phasized later in Chaminade's "Lisonjera," where the theme in al- 
 legro is given to the left hand and was one of Mr. Nevin's clearest 
 bits of playing. 
 
 ' 'A group of his own short pieces was delightful : a ' Harlequin, ' 
 modeled on Schumann's, a ' Love Song, ' ' Song of the Brook ' and 
 ' In Arcady, ' the latter divided into four short numbers, in which 
 'The Shepherd's Tale,' a bit of garrulity within the compass of two 
 octaves in its first part, was original and very clever. Mr. Nevin won 
 unstinted applause, and when for the Rubinstein 'Barcarolle' he sub- 
 stituted his own 'Narcissus' the house came to its feet." 
 
 A critic of fine competence, Mr. Samuel Swift, recorded his ap- 
 preciation in the New York Mail and Express — a charmingly worded 
 and very discerning appreciation : 
 
 "Ethelbert Nevin stands almost in a class by himself. His genius 
 is essentially poetic and in complete accord with the bright and beau- 
 tiful things of life. Blithe, happy and with an instinctive love for 
 light rather than shadow, his fancy turns to the free, the gay, and the 
 less strenuous motions. He is a sort of musical Watteau, limiting his 
 subjects to the more artificial phases of existence, yet informing his 
 work with exquisite art and the truest simplicity. The beauty of his 
 work is accounted for by the fact that the subject appeals to him. He 
 does not need to force his music, and in fact would be the last man 
 in the world to do so. He has simply turned whither his desires led 
 him. Artificiality is absent, because music is the direct expression of 
 his natural emotion. He achieves results worthy of serious consider- 
 ation from subjects that in unsympathetic or Philistine hands would 
 be fruitful of no inspiration. 
 
 [ ^60 ] 
 
MAGGIO IN TOSCANA 
 
 " It would be an injustice, however, to say that Mr. Nevin Umits 
 himself to the sort of work just mentioned. The lyric rather than the 
 dramatic is his stronghold. He has shown himself capable of freight- 
 ing his compositions with strength as well as grace, and his sense of 
 proportion is as well defined as that of beauty and color. The quiet 
 attractiveness of nature moves him more than does storm and stress. 
 The loveliness of a Spring morning wakens in his mind music that 
 has its own place in the world. The merry dances of Mayday are, to 
 him, joyous expressions of bubbling happiness; and he finds sponta- 
 neous language in the tone world to mirror the effect produced on 
 him." 
 
 So far the critics ; but his own opinion was, — and he wrote it to 
 his wife — another thing : 
 
 "This whole business is nonsense and we must get abroad. 
 If I were ever content with my playing, I presume I should 
 feel very good about myself. In Buffalo I had a big house, 
 but it took me some time to' warm up. ' After the ' Fantasie, ' 
 I had six recalls, and when I played that nasty little 
 'Narcissus,' there were cheers. I played better than I did 
 in Pittsburg, but last night in Rochester I had a perfect 
 ovation, and I don't know when I have played so well. 
 In one of my numbers the gas in the hall went out. I heard 
 quite a little rustle of confusion in the audience which 
 threatened to become panic, but I kept my self-possession 
 andfinishedmy work in total darkness. When I was through, 
 the people simply were wild in their enthusiasm. To keep 
 them quiet until the lights were arranged I again played 
 that mean little 'Narcissus' and it was so still in the hall, 
 I felt the audience could almost hear my heart beat. ' ' 
 
 Nevin was never to fulfil that first dream of his youth ; he was 
 never to become one of the world's greatest pianists, but this season 
 he rose to his highest point of virtuosity, and although he abandoned 
 his pianistic ambition to interpret other composers, he was to play 
 in public many times and in many lands, but more and more he drew 
 towards the ideal of interpreting his own compositions. 
 
 [ ^^n 
 
CHAPTER TWELVE 
 
 During these months of health-gaining at Vineacre, he had ques- 
 tioned his genius more closely. More than ever he realized that his 
 work in the world was to write beautiful music. That he might do 
 this in the best way, he needed to be released from the high-tensioned 
 activities of the concert room. He wanted a serener atmosphere. He 
 was to jfind it, as so many artists have found it before his day and 
 since, in Italy. There is in Italy a charm, an inspiration, for certain 
 delicate souls — and reverently they accept it — which is very difficult 
 to define. It does not come from the beauty, which is, as it were, 
 realized and fixed in Italian verse and music, and in the cities and 
 the hills. The charm of Italy is subtler and more rare. It is in the 
 very air that the poesy — to use an old and comprehensive word — 
 exists ; poesy in a sublimated state, essential, untouched by circum- 
 stance. 
 
 The mystic soul of Italy ! It called to Shelley, as it called to De 
 Musset and to Chopin. And Nevin heard its compelling call. Italy 
 was to complete, or rather to perfect his lyric genius. 
 
 His message to his generation was one of love, of tenderness, as- 
 piration — a direct message without exegesis. He might have used 
 Blake's words (for with Blake he had much spiritual kinship) : 
 
 / give you the end of a golden string: 
 
 Only wind it into a ball. 
 
 It will lead you in at Heaven's gate. 
 
 And this message (like Shelley's) was to be spoken most distinctly 
 from Italy. The early part of the year Nevin passed in Florence. He 
 found there his cousin the Reverend Dr. Robert Nevin, rector of 
 St. Paul's in Rome, and : 
 
 "Cousin Robert was most kind to us and he insists that 
 we shall go to Rome for the coming winter. He suggests 
 having an apartment arranged for us in his wonderful house 
 (really belonging to St. Paul's) and that the Vestry give 
 me the apartment in exchange for my services in training 
 the choir. I think he has quite fallen in love with Anne, as 
 [ 162 ] 
 
MAGGIO IN TOSCANA 
 
 he gave her a beautiful dinner-party where there were prin- 
 cesses and marquises galore ! 
 
 "Anne looked stunning and won many friends. 
 
 ' ' Did I write you of the delightful dinner I had with W. 
 W. Story ? Poor old man. They hardly think he will live 
 through the summer. They were so kind to me, and one 
 of the greatest pleasures I ever had was to play for Mr. 
 Story. His chair was wheeled into the drawing room and 
 I sat down at a piano that had been played upon many 
 times by Liszt, Rubinstein and every great musician of our 
 time. I sang for Mr. Story, the English songs father likes, 
 and the tears came to his eyes, and he whispered almost 
 to himself — looking like a ghost — 'I wish I could summon 
 the spirits of those who have made music in this room. ' 
 
 ' ' He told me he had tried some twenty publishers before 
 he could get one to publish his Roba di Roma. 
 
 ' ' Cousin Robert asked me to send his love to Uncle 
 Robert. He has great family pride ; and even with all the 
 honors that might and would appeal to superficial people, 
 the man has led a lonely life ; and you can have no idea how 
 he has clung to us. He seems devoted to Cousin Alice and 
 his reverence for his father's memory is an example for 
 every son. ' ' 
 
 And to his publisher, Gustave Schirmer, he wrote: 
 
 "Hotel Allianza, May 29, 1895. 
 ' ' My dear Gustave : 
 
 Ever since your good letter came, I've been in- 
 tending to write to you, so I shall not let the glorious 
 Decoration Day put in its appearance until my letter has 
 been posted. 
 
 "We've been having the very coldest weather, to say 
 nothing of the most terrible earthquake. I wish you could 
 see my music room — great crevices in the walls, ceilings 
 and one corner almost demolished. I embarked with my 
 cousin, Doctor Nevin, for Rome at 6.40 and the nurse who 
 has charge of the children had gone to the theatre. At nine 
 
 [ rSj ] 
 
CHAP T E R T ^^^ E E Y E 
 
 o'clock my wife was sitting alone in our little parlor when 
 a terrific noise, like an explosion, occurred, followed imme- 
 diately by a nio\'ement that made the pictures and mirrors 
 SAvay and the lamp almost upset on the table. She had pres- 
 ence of mind to blow it out. rushed for Paul and carried 
 him downstairs, as he ^\'as awake screaming with fright. 
 Then she returned for Dorothy, bundled her down (still 
 
 Mrs. Nf.vin and Children ix Florence 
 
 sound asleep), and they passed the night by the front door. 
 Peo]>le were literally panic-stricken, and carriages and wag- 
 ons were hired in which many passed the night. It only 
 lasted fi\"e and a half seconds, but two or three more would 
 ha\'e been awful. They telegraphed for me and I returned 
 home at once. 
 
 ■' We have had two or three slight shocks since, but no 
 damage was done excepting to widen the openings already 
 made. I haven't the slightest idea what the next novelty 
 will be. 
 
 [ ^^/ ] 
 
MAGGIO IN TOSCANA 
 
 "I've done some compositions since I have been here and 
 will soon have a large bundle of manuscript to send you. 
 I'm posting by this mail a small scene for pianoforte of 
 which I hope Gertrude will accept the dedication. The ' Pan- 
 tomime ' I have changed to 'Itahan Scenes' as I've some 
 other things to go with it, that are not pantomime, a ' Noc- 
 turne ' and ' Quasi Tarantella, ' for instance. 
 
 Write to me as often as you can, and do send me any 
 papers you don't know what to do with, as there is almost 
 an absence of letters ; in fact, when one really does come 
 the excitement is intense. 
 
 "Remember me to your wife and little ones, and with 
 warm affection for yourself, 
 
 "Always your faithful 
 
 "Ethelbert N." 
 And again: 
 
 "Dear Gustave: 
 
 Between you and myself and the ocean, I'm sick 
 and tired of this earthquake business. Night before last we 
 had to decamp and sleep on the piazza in front of our hotel. 
 The whole thing is so absurd and, it seems, so utterly use- 
 less. Our last shock came about 1.55 Thursday morning 
 and such a time as we had packing our youngsters down 
 stairs; and the excitement of the people rushing to the 
 street in all kinds of undress ! I think the municipal author- 
 ities of Florence should at least compel the men to wear 
 pyjamas. I was eminently respectable; and I had on every- 
 thing even to my letter of credit. If we had had another 
 shake, down would have come our house. It seems ludi- 
 crous enough afterwards, but at the time it is the most un- 
 canny thing imaginable. Fancy the house on Union Square 
 swaying twelve inches and you feeling that another hair's 
 breadth will topple it over. To cap the climax I've been 
 trying to learn to ride the bicycle and you would have 
 pretty nearly burst a blood vessel with laughter, could you 
 have seen me take the 'header' I did the night of our last 
 big quake. It was about nine p. M. , and flattered by my 
 
 [ ^^5 1 
 
CHAPTER TWELVE 
 
 little maestro' sipraise — 'molto bene! bravissimosignore ' // off 
 I careered, simply floating in the air. All of a sudden some- 
 thing seemed to put my wheel in a bad humor and it stopped 
 and I took the most beautiful 'header' you could possibly 
 imagine. ^Vhen I collected my various legs and arms I 
 found my trousers torn, my left leg skinned and I was oh, 
 SO sore. However, the right side of my anatomy is unin- 
 jured and I'm going to master this silly thing, if it takes 
 my other leg. 
 
 "In spite of the small-pox, earthquakes, bicycle pains, 
 and all, I've done some nice things in the composing line; 
 and I am sure you will be pleased with my Maggio in 
 Firenze. ' ' 
 
 "If it's coming to me, please send me five hundred so 
 I may celebrate the Fourth of July in Montepiano. I'm 
 buying a donkey for Paul. He's a stunner and his owner 
 has come down from three dollars and seventy-five cents 
 to two fifty. Then we have a dog — Piccino — who at pres- 
 ent is learning parlor manners at a private pension, which 
 is conducted and personally superintended by Pietro's wife. 
 Pietro is our butler, valet, nurse, Baedeker and Chester- 
 field. He has a grandson about my age, and when he isn't 
 otherwise occupied, he lies outside the door of my music 
 room and listens to my music. He thinks I am a very great 
 artist — poor duffer ! He can play the Intermezzo from the 
 ' Cavaleria ' himself and he simply worships 'La Gioconda. ' 
 If he were younger I'd take him with me to Boston. 
 
 "Terramoti e tutti, I love Florence and adore the Ital- 
 ians, not once have I ever had anything but courtesy and 
 kindness shown me; and I've intimate friends among the 
 cabmen ; while my little Hans Sachs cleans my boots and 
 compliments my Itahan. Anne has a flower-gentleman who 
 calls her ' signorina ' and presents her with bunches of roses 
 — such roses! 
 
 "I don't know of any person I would so much like to 
 have with me here as you. You would heartily enjoy a so- 
 journ in Florence. 
 
 "We went this afternoon to see the della Robbia 'Sing- 
 ing boys. ' Have you a photograph of them ? I think they 
 [ ^^<^] 
 
MAGGIO IN rOSCANA 
 
 would look well in your music room. Ecco! Greetings von 
 Haus zu Haus. ' ' 
 
 In June Nevin took his family to Montepiano in the Tuscan 
 Apennines, five hours by diligence from Florence. 
 
 "It is the funniest, out-of-the-way place you have ever 
 seen ; and I really think we are the very first Americans to 
 go there. It is high up in the mountains and the quiet is 
 almost terrifying, but we hope to gain a lot of health and 
 strength to tide us over the coming winter." 
 
 And again, July 3, he wrote to another friend : 
 
 " I imagine you today with your arms full of torpedoes, 
 sky-rockets, fire-crackers and Roman candles, with which 
 your youngsters will make merry tomorrow. The only way 
 we can celebrate here is to wear a knot of our colors, and 
 perhaps take a drive in honor of the day. 
 
 "You would be amused if you could see us living with 
 these Tuscan peasants. If you were here you would love 
 them as we do. This little place was all excitement and 
 consternation when my grand piano arrived. I had engaged 
 a room that lies between the stable and the salon for a 
 studio ; and as I worked at my music I was visited (through 
 a window barred like a prison) by all the people of the 
 village, from the priest to the pigs. In fact my window was 
 darkened by little bronze faces, red kerchiefs, and beautiful 
 black eyes, until I was obliged to close the piano and de- 
 part. After a while they will become used to it, or at all 
 events I can resort to curtains, which we may be able to 
 purchase at a little town about five miles from here. 
 
 "Our only companion is a charming old lady, the 
 Countess Peruzzi. She is most interesting. At her brother's 
 home in Pisa, Lord Byron visited long and often ; and it 
 was there, with Shelley, that he wrote of Keats in reply to 
 that scurrilous article — in the Quarterly wasn't it ? The 
 Countess was a friend of Von Biilow, Wagner and many 
 great Italian composers, and seems as though she had 
 stepped out of a time that has been usurped by our present 
 matter-of-fact existence. 
 
 [ 167 ] 
 
CHAPTER TWELVE 
 
 "We have mail once a daj^ when we are in luck and 
 the mules aren't stubborn; and when the afternoon coach 
 arrives the whole place is a scene of excitement. There are 
 never any strangers, but the mere fact that that particular 
 vehicle has come from Florence is enough to make every- 
 one stare in wide-eyed wonderment. 
 
 "This pretty little spot is conducive to thought and im- 
 pression, but I'll confess it does not give one much energy 
 for execution." 
 
 Then to his mother : 
 
 ' ' Dorothy was ill a few days ago. The doctor came twice 
 but it was only a summer complaint, and now she is running 
 around with roses on her cheeks and eating like a little pig. 
 She's a plump, good-natured dear little girl. Every person 
 likes her and bends to her. She is rapidly becoming spoiled, 
 but how can we help it ? We have great sport telling her 
 about a ' Ginger-be-nooster ' who eats up little girls when 
 they are naughty. I wish you could see her eyes, when I 
 talk to her of this terrible animal. 
 
 ' ' Zeline knows every person, and the flowers she has made 
 for a fair to be held for the benefit of mutes are the delight 
 of the village. She is our main-stay. Never a complaint, 
 always cheerful and thoughtful. She was out walking with 
 the Marquis the other evening but I don't propose she shall 
 become Madame La Marquise. The Marquis and Paul are 
 great chums and take long walks together. We are so sorry 
 he leaves us today. . . . We have just had our afternoon 
 praj^erand a little reading aloud. Zeline, Paul and Dorothj'^ 
 have their little prayer each day, and while Paul knows the 
 Lord's praj^er in French, he doesn't yet know it in Eng- 
 lish. I remember so distinctly and vividly how you used to 
 bring us together of a Sunday afternoon and have us read 
 a little from the Bible. At times I am confident it would 
 have been much easier for you to have had the repose and 
 quiet of your own room. Your self-sacrifice is now finding 
 its reward in my beautiful memory of those times; and 
 Anne and I are trying to make our little ones feel the 
 necessity on Sunday of a time when they should have a 
 [ ^68 ] 
 
MAGGIO IN TO SCAN A 
 
 little communion with the Supreme Being. Thank you, 
 my mother, for the help you have given me by your un- 
 tiring faithfulness to your son. 
 
 We are all well and happy. We have our little times 
 of trial and trouble but they always blow over again. Anne 
 will write to you soon and remember always that this small 
 branch of the big A^ineacre tree love you and are so happy 
 that they belong to and have sprung from just such a root. " 
 
 In the little work-shop, with barred windows, he wrote part of the 
 Maggioin Toscana, Opus 21, notably the " Pastorella. " It was pub- 
 lished in 1896, "with homage to my master, Karl Klindworth. " This 
 suite no more than any other piece of absolute music has any need 
 of words. Indeed ' ' descriptions ' ' of music — which is in its essence 
 non-descriptive — are usually mere snares for the more facile literary 
 emotions. While this is true enough, there may be exceptions. One 
 afternoon Nevin played the "May in Tuscany " for the writer of this 
 page ; and, as he played he told of the emotional impulses that lay 
 behind the building of the suite — the moods, as it were, of his work. 
 It was a charming self-revelation ; and he who listened put down in 
 words his impressions. They are printed here because Nevin used them, 
 thereafter, in his concert programmes, thus giving them the sele of 
 sincerity. 
 
 MAGGIO IN TOSCANA 
 
 I. Arlecchixo : molto vivace 
 
 It was Harlequin, Harlequin, Harlequin, 
 Son of the rainbow, he. 
 Who was born at the dawn of a golden sin 
 In the arms of a virgin sea ; 
 
 A riant Harlequin, nonchalant, riotous, amiable — loquacious and canorous as a 
 bird in the season of love; the Harlequin of Florence and the Springtime. 
 
 II. NoTTURNO: con amove 
 
 Night in the Villa of Boccaccio ; overhead the quiet stars and far below the yellow 
 
 [ 169 ] 
 
CHAPTER TWELVE 
 
 lights of Florence ; ladies, strangely merry and desirable, dance blithely and whisper 
 little vows of love; cavaliers, splendid in silks and jewels, peacock to and fro, and 
 chatter of broken hearts, and so they play at love until love smites them down. They 
 kiss and sob under the quiet stars. 
 
 III. Barchetta: allegretto gradoso 
 
 The sun is setting and the dull Arno has shining hints of red and gold ; under the 
 old bridges it shimmers like silken ribbons. The boat glides softly. The girl croons 
 the song of the waters, which is the song of hope that comes and goes and lives and 
 dies and cannot die ; and the lover drops his oars and the boat drifts — down the 
 winding Arno — under the old bridges — into silence and the night. 
 
 IV. MisEEicoRDiA : largo patetico 
 
 Once a young girl died. All in white they laid her on a bier. At midnight wailing 
 men bore it on their shoulders — amid flickering torches — through the silent streets 
 along the Lung' Arno and up the great highway that leads to the Duomo. And af- 
 ter the bier came many girls in white, bearing wax candles that burned feebly for 
 the soul of the dead. As they came to the Duomo they heard the chanting of the 
 Priests and the organ. 
 
 V. 'RiJSiGSUoi.o: andante, quasi improvisamente 
 
 All ^vinter the nightingale sang in the garden, insolent among the flowers, a zany 
 of the blue night. Only his song was supple as sadness and sad as a reproach — for 
 he was a zany of the blue night. 
 
 VI. La Pastoreli^a : lento molto 
 
 She was a little shepherdess — a woman like a field of clover. It was in Montepiano, 
 in the Apennines. Her soldier lover had been sent away to fight King Menelik. She 
 mourned for the lover whom she had loved too well. She wept at times because she 
 could not go to the priest. She knew that her soul was lost for love's sake and 
 she mourned. Her sheep strayed on the hillside ; her staff lay at her feet unheeded ; 
 with her face on her knees she thought of her lover ; of Menelik's fierce men, and 
 thinking of her lost soul she shuddered and cried aloud. On the gray hillside. 
 
 And Xevin said : " Through the window of my music room I could 
 see the httle maid, as she sat on the hillside, guarding her sheep and 
 waiting for her lover to return. In the village no one spoke to her 
 and the peasants mocked her. My wife and I did what we could for 
 
 [ 770 ] 
 
MAGGIO IN TOSCANA 
 
 her; but what could we do? Her gratitude was touching. One day- 
 she came and told us that two lambs had beenbornat dawn, and asked 
 if she might name them after our little children. 
 
 "It is strange how people pass like that, just on the edge of one's 
 life, ' ' Nevin added, ' ' and are seen no more ; and afterwards through 
 the years one wonders, wonders why they should have appealed to 
 one with so imperative a voice. They become in a way a part of one's 
 inner life — like the nightingale that sang in my neighbor's garden. 
 
 [ n^ ] 
 

 ^«fc„„„ Fnuiii^H. flUlllftllllllllW^IJ!' 
 
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 V17 f 
 
CHAPTER THIRTEEN 
 
 "EVERYWHERE, EVERYWHERE, 
 CHRISTMAS TONIGHT" 
 
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CHAPTER THIRTEEN 
 
 EVERYWHERE, EVERYWHERE, CHRIST- 
 MAS TONIGHT" 
 
 "VROM Montepiano to Florence once more; the Nevins drove 
 down in an open carriage, the grand piano in an ox-cart trail- 
 ing after. They took, for the winter^, a suite of rooms in the 
 Hotel Allianza: 
 
 / 
 
 "We have three rooms — a music room, which serves as a 
 parlor, and two bedrooms. We had hoped to have an apart- 
 ment. Of course we are disappointed, but there is no use 
 complaining — one can so easily acquire that bad habit. 
 
 ' ' Anne is busy trying to master the art of tapestry em- 
 broidery, and I'm afraid she will lose her eyesight. It is 
 the most intricate thing imaginable. This summer she has 
 done some of the most beautiful needlework I have ever 
 seen. 
 
 "Paul starts to school next Monday where he will have 
 Italian and French, also a gymnasium. His hours are from 
 nine till three. Dorothy has lessons every morning — ten 
 minutes for alphabet and half an hour for sewing. She has 
 already learned a number of little verses, and in the after- 
 noon, about five, when work is over, Paul and Dorothy 
 come into the music room. Paul can recite the last part of 
 ' Thanatopsis. ' Dorothy says her little French poems ; then 
 we have a singing lesson for a little while ; after that we 
 end up with a dance. We are trying to learn the Tarantella. 
 
 "Florence is quite deserted and we are the only people 
 in this hotel. We dine at noon, altogether; then a light 
 supper at seven, the children having theirs at six. . . . 
 
 "This letter was interrupted by a call from Paul's ma- 
 estro. He is a charming old gentleman and has a manner 
 like Uncle Joseph Travelli. He is a Frenchman and was 
 exiled from France (some political trouble) and has lived 
 in Florence about thirty years. He prepares boys for Har- 
 
 [ ^7S] 
 
CHAPTER THIRTEEN 
 
 vard, and we feel we are very fortunate in having him take 
 charge of Paul, as our boy is very young ; in fact, will be 
 the very youngest pupil in the school. 
 
 "I've commenced piano lessons with Paul and I don't 
 think he's very musical. I'm just as glad. It is an exciting 
 and unremunerative kind of life. 
 
 ' ' There is almost a water famine here ; and in the churches 
 prayers are being offered for rain. The Arno is quite dry. 
 Poor Florence ! She has suffered a great deal in the past 
 twelve months. You have never seen such poverty. And 
 the Nevins are right in it ! " 
 
 Pleasant days withal ; there 
 was a very charming social life 
 in the Florence of those days. 
 The American Consul was 
 Charles Belmont Davis, and 
 his brother, Richard Harding 
 Davis, was there for the win- 
 ter season. The Laboucheres 
 and the Dana-Gibsons, the 
 Paxtons, the Breretons, 
 Thomas Ball, the sculptor,the 
 Parkman Blakes, Boardman 
 and Gerhart Hauptmann and 
 Vivarelli; and many others 
 made up the artistic and cos- 
 mopolitan society of Florence 
 that winter. ' ' Ouida, ' ' an old 
 woman then — painted and 
 fat, amazing in a purple gown, 
 wearing white plumes in her hat and followed by many dogs, was a 
 familiar sight in the Cascine of an afternoon. Nevin (he records it 
 in his diary) was walking one day with his little son, along the Arno, 
 and "Ouida" came up and stopped them. 
 
 Drawing of Ethelbert Nevin 
 By Charles Dana Gibson 
 
 [ ^76 ] 
 
CHRISTMAS TONIGHT 
 
 "Oh, the bellino,'' she cried, "I must kiss him!" 
 The httle boy drew away from her and would not allow it ; and 
 to his father he said indignantly: "I don't even know her!" 
 Nevins comment in his diary was this: 
 
 "I wondered if that grotesque figure — that cruel, hard- 
 ened face — was all that was left of the heart in which was 
 born the 'Dog of Flanders. ' Poor woman!" 
 
 And this life of Florence, with its social moments and its shifting 
 personalities is recorded in his diar\\ 
 There, too, he wrote of his home life : 
 
 "September 25. Morning very warm — I cannot work. 
 Afternoon, intolerable heat ; we idled a long time over tea. 
 Paul came in from school, and Dorothy wanted to dance 
 with him. Poor little Dorothy. I never know in what lan- 
 guage she is going to end a sentence ; and her English is 
 absolutely 'unique.' She will say ' Grazia molta,' ' J^ous 
 etes si gentille, ' and ' I you sank (thank) ferry mutch. ' Paul, 
 however, speaks the three languages with a fluency that is 
 remarkable. He has school every day from nine to three. 
 It seems to me pretty long hours for a boy not quite seven. 
 ^Ve shall have to see how he stands it. We alwaj'-s have a 
 dancing lesson when he comes home, and he can waltz very 
 well. Then a 'repose' lesson. That is the hardest of all for 
 Dorothy. We sit still for five to seven minutes, say noth- 
 ing, think nothing. After that comes a singing lesson and 
 then a romp. But today Dorothy was in one of her little 
 petulant moods. Her eyes were just snapping as she jumped 
 up and said : ' I won't repose any more ! ' 
 
 " I said to her very firmly: 'Miss Nevin' ! 
 
 "She put out her little chin and replied just as firmly: 
 'Mr. Nevin'!" 
 
 This is the long-ago record of a quaint comedy, always kept alive 
 in the family. All his life, he and his little daughter addressed each 
 other as "Mr. Nevin" and "Miss Nevin," even to that last day 
 when she stood at his bedside and he said goodbye to little "Miss 
 Nevin" for the last time. [ 777 ] 
 
CHAPTER T H I R TEEN 
 
 And again the diary : 
 
 "Paul will start to school tomorrow. He's the pride of mj^ 
 life. Dorothy is cunning, sweet and loving. Oh, I have so 
 much to be thankful for, but still I am always wanting 
 something more ; and I am not contented with my bless- 
 ings. I seem to be ever pushing — feeling and grasping for 
 something that I cannot express unless it is to find in this 
 life the— truth! 
 
 "Today I corrected and mailed the proofs of my new 
 compositions and I shall not see them again until they are 
 out in the world to make friends or enemies. I always feel 
 as though I were sending one of my children to fight a 
 battle when my manuscript has gone from my hands. 
 
 ' ' Wrote a song on text by Baumbach, Mddel wie bliihfs. 
 Christmas season sad and gloomy. I was taken ill Christmas 
 morning and was in bed nearly all the time till New Year's 
 Day. 
 
 On the 27th of December, I passed the night with de- 
 parted spirits. Such an experience I have never had before 
 and I trust it will never be repeated. ' ' 
 
 This is all he says in his diary of the curious experiences of that 
 winter illness. Very strange (and diflfiicult to put in words) was the 
 thing that befell him Christmas eve. Upon that occasion he seemed 
 indeed to have broken through "the paper walls of everyday circum- 
 stance," these unsubstantial walls that prison us round from the 
 cradle to the grave. 
 
 It is natural, too, it should have happened to him on the eve of 
 the great day of devotion and mysticism — the day the Child was 
 born. It was late and the lights in the music room were dim. He 
 was alone — for it was only after she had heard him playing, that his 
 wife had slipped quietly into the room ; and her he did not see. The 
 piano stood in a bow-window and the moonlight fell upon him as he 
 sat playing. 
 
 Very softly he played and sang "Everywhere, Everywhere, 
 Christmas Tonight;" then he wandered off into strange improvisa- 
 [ ^78 ] 
 
CHRISTMAS TONIGHT 
 
 tions. He played things, his hstener said, more wonderful than he 
 ever played before or after, xind while he played all the dream- 
 children of his beautiful songs came and gathered round him in the 
 shadowy room. He seemed to SEE them all. And it was for them 
 he played the new, strange music. He spoke to them in a confiden- 
 tial voice saying: "This is for you. Little Boy Blue;" and then 
 turning to where Wynken and Blynken and Nod stood together, 
 he would say : "And now this is for you — just for you three alone. " 
 And the wonderful music went on. One after the other all the 
 
 ^ A^ ^*i- a^*^ , 
 
 (^ y^t. /e~rti — 1. A*i^ M-—^ ^*-*t /XZl .. «"»^ c»...i/^ "^ 
 
 Facsimile of Ethelbert Nkvin's Handwriting 
 children of his songs came to him — the little girl whose doll was 
 broken, and the little boy who got up at night — and each of them 
 he welcomed with smiles and gentle words, and to each he gave the 
 gift of music, new and sweet. 
 
 The only witness of the scene wrote : " I, who was listening as he 
 played to them and talked with them, was so awed, I held my breath. 
 I realized for that space of time Ethelbert was not of this earth at 
 all. There seemed to be a pale light round his head. His face was so 
 spiritualized I should not have been surprised if he had vanished then, ' ' 
 
 [ n9 ] 
 
CHAPTER THIRTEEN 
 
 AVhen the ghostlj^ concert was finished he went to his room and 
 did not leave it for many days. Then came that night passed ' ' with 
 departed spirits." The next morning he sent for his physician, 
 Doctor W. H. Baldwin of the J^iUino Rubio. They had a long con- 
 versation. There is a trace of it in a note Doctor Baldwin wrote a 
 few weeks later: 
 
 " I am very sony I missed your visit today. Among other things 
 I wanted to make a note of your extraordinary fancies, which could 
 have occurred only in a poet's brain. It seemed to me that one might 
 attribute those rainbow visions to the effects of Influenza ; would 
 you, could you, jot down a sketch of them for me? " 
 
 Thus spoke Science, solving the unsolvable ; and Nevin wrote : 
 
 "I know I have given a great deal of pleasure to others 
 in this world. When my summons comes to join the Cara- 
 van I shall be quite ready. I shall not be sorry or glad. I 
 shall simply accept it. Without those very nerves that 
 cause me suffering, I could not write a tune that would be 
 worth listening to. " ' 
 
 [ iSo ] 
 
CHAPTER FOURTEEN 
 
 "A DAY IN VENICE ' 
 
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CHAPTER FOURTEEN 
 
 "A DAY IN VENICE" 
 
 ENICE, Casa Chiodo, Grand Canal ; June of 
 1896 ! Here we have been for nearly four weeks 
 and our housekeeping and gondola life is fasci- 
 nating. Have many acquaintances here, and 
 there is a good deal of gaiety. Have had inter- 
 esting visits from Sybil Sanderson, Andrew 
 Cai'negie and many Pittsburgers. Our gondola is a beauty 
 and when Giovanni and Gurdo get on their white duck 
 suits with straw hats, yellow sashes, yellow ribbons on their 
 head gear, we make a fine show as we go out to the Lido 
 for an ocean bath these summer afternoons. ' ' 
 
 Thus the diary ; but those Venetian days should be seen, I think, 
 in the mirror of Willa Cather's prose. The quotation is from the ar- 
 ticle in the Courier to which reference has been already made : 
 
 "Last of all, Xevin played for us his 'A Day in Venice, " which is 
 rivaling ' Narcissus ' in popularity. He lived in Venice for a year on 
 the Grand Canal, and today a big, black gondola glides in and out 
 of the ancient waterways with a spray of yellow jonquils and the name 
 'Narcissus ' painted on the prow. The Venetians have been a music- 
 loving people from time immemorial, and Nevin's old gondolier saw 
 fit to commemorate his sojourn in Venice in that poetic fashion. 
 
 I. Alba — (daavx) 
 
 The first movement begins with a few drowsy harmonies, as the sun touches the 
 spires of St. Mark's with fire, and the gondolier rouses and stretches himself in the 
 sunlight on the steps of some old church where he has been sleeping. The lagoons 
 are silver, and a thousand scents are in the air, and the freshness of morning is upon 
 the water. The gondolier laughs — at nothing — at everything; at life and youth — 
 laughs because the sky is blue and the sun is warm, laughs for joy at the gladness 
 and beauty of another day — a day in Venice. 
 
 [ ^Sj ] 
 
CHAPTER FOURTEEN 
 
 II. GOXDOIJERI — (the gondoliers) 
 
 She to me 
 Was as a fairy city of the heart; 
 Rising like water columns from the sea, 
 Of joy the sojourn and of wealth the mart." 
 
 BYRON 
 
 The swing of the paddle is in the first measures, the rhythmic theme haunts one, 
 carries one ou.t upon dream highways fairer even than the waterways of Venice. It 
 is a short cut to poetry and dreamland. The gondoliers are off for the day, out upon 
 the historic waterways, gliding down the Grand Canal, under the arclied stone 
 bridges, through deep, still streets where the stone walls on either side are mossed 
 with age, and the shadows make the water green, and the air is cool — and out again 
 into the broad sunlit lagoons. It is in Venice, where people believe in happiness, even 
 at work, and the gondolier has no other creed. He is not ambitious, he desires noth- 
 ing but to be always a gondolier, as his fathers were before him. He will live a 
 little, laugh a little, love a little while he is young, pray a little when he is old ; what 
 more would you have? Perhaps he has heard how one of his forefathers, long gone, 
 carried guests down those same waterways to the files of the Palace of the Doges ; 
 perhaps that he carried some doomed victim of the Forties out into the Adriatic and 
 brought him back no more. But that, and all the dark history of Venice, is forgotten 
 in the sunlight and the swing of the paddle and the rhythmic, haunting melody of 
 the gondolier's song. Life is good on the lagoons. 
 
 III. CaXZOXE AmOROSA (VEXETIAX LOVE SOXG) 
 
 The love song is written in the key of A flat, the key in which beautiful things 
 happen. The work of the day is over and the gondolier has his little sweetheart be- 
 side him, and in all the world there are but two people and the moon. It is a safe 
 and happy love song, yet there is an intense fervor in the opening melodj', for he 
 has been away from her a whole daj' — and that is so long — sometimes. The second 
 subject, softer, more tender, than the first, rising to a climax in one voluptuous, 
 languishing chord over which, in the score, the composer has vifritten : lo Vamol — 
 
 I love you."' Few greater things are written now-a-days than that love song. 
 
 IV. BuoxA NoTTE — (good xight) 
 
 As the gondolier and his sweetheart glide out towards the Adriatic they pass an 
 old church from which an Ave M.aria is sounding. Perhaps the lovers sing a snatch 
 of the hymn, perhaps the little girl crosses herself. Night sleeps deep and peaceful 
 over Venice, the lights glimmer behind them, the moon draws a little fleecy veil over 
 
A DAY IN VENICE 
 
 her face, like an abbess who demurely draws up her surplice. They are happy and 
 they hope that all the world is so." 
 
 Once Nevin put his musical creed into words : 
 
 ' 'Above everything we need melody — melody and rhythm. 
 Rhythm is the great thing. AVe have it in nature. The trees 
 sway and our steps keep time and our very souls respond. ' ' 
 
 And it is in the Venetian Suite that this theory has found its finest 
 fulfilment. It gains a distinctly Italian color, as Rupert Hughes points 
 out, "from its ingenuously sweet harmonies in thirds and sixths, and 
 its frankly lyric nature ; and the ' Day in Venice ' begins logically 
 with the dawn, which is ushered in with pink and stealthy harmonies, 
 then ' The Gondoliers ' have a morning mood of gaiety that makes 
 a charming composition. There is a ' Canzone Amorosa' of deep fer- 
 vor, with interjections of lo famo! and A more (which has the ex- 
 cellent authority of Beethoven's Sonata, Op. 81, with its Lebe wohl!) 
 The Suite ends deliciously with a night scene in Venice, beginning 
 with a choral 'Ave Maria" and ending with a campanella of the ut- 
 most delicacy." 
 
 'A Day in ^"enice ' was not published until 1898. It was signalled 
 as the daintiest bit of lyrical writing for the piano that many years 
 had produced. It was du vrai Nevin, so delicately worked, so full of 
 reticences and second intentions, so subtle in its craftsmanship that 
 it affords the critical student charming moments of analysis. Indeed, 
 the Suite with its skilful musical characterization, its melodic color, 
 the splendor of its harmonic embroidery, yields up its full charm only 
 to the analyst or the poet. It is a delicious inspiration, worked out 
 with consummate skill. 
 
 But A^enice — The Nevin' s found many friends there ; among others 
 Herbert Faulkner, the painter of Venetian scenes, and his young 
 family; and the Morton Mitchells. Morton Mitchell, oneof Nevin's 
 closest friends, rhymed, in a polyglot ballad, the gaiety of those days 
 — and nights — in Venice. Nevin linked to it a rippling tune and it 
 was sung from gondola to gondola, until even the gondoliers and the 
 
 [ ^8s ] 
 
CHAPTER FOURTEEN 
 
 barges caught it up and sang it lustily — to a queer jargon of their 
 own — as Nevin's boat, decorated with yellow jonquils, floated by. 
 Here it is — 
 
 Venedig 1st ehi auderer Stadt 
 Since the Nevins came to town — 
 Der Sonnenschein ist ganz mehr hot 
 Since the Nevins came to toztm. 
 Das Wassej- scheint a deeper blue, 
 The shy takes on another^ hue, 
 Fn '?/ a que gaiete partout. 
 Since the Nevins came to toicn. 
 
 The song-boats have all gone out of biz — 
 
 Since Neviii's in the city. 
 
 The singers drink water where they used to drink fizz ; 
 
 Isn't that a pity ? 
 
 For all the Dutch and Inglese in toxvn. 
 
 And Venetians as well, from the Prefect down. 
 
 Crowd the Canal till you'd think they would droivn 
 
 To hear a Nevin ditty. 
 
 Traghetto men no longer fight 
 
 Since Nevin's come to town — 
 
 They sing all day and drink all night. 
 
 Since Nevin came to town. 
 
 And of the gondoliers a score. 
 
 Are always floating round his door 
 
 Calling and shouting for ' More ' — ''Encore ' — 
 
 Since Nevin came to town. 
 
 A nd yet, while telling these terrible lies. 
 About the Nevins here in town. 
 Do you think we wish it were otherwise 
 Than to have them here in town ? 
 Corpo di Baccho! We don't indeed! 
 Our love for them is our only creed. 
 And if they went off, we'd all secede. 
 We ALL woidd leave the town. 
 [ ^86] 
 
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CHAPTER FOURTEEN 
 
 So far as publication went the h'dan of his compositions, during 
 the Italian sojourn, was not large. He printed only the two songs, 
 Madel rcie bliihfs and Rechte Zeit ; but to this period belong the two 
 Italian Suites — the Florentine and Venetian ; and they show better, 
 it maj^ be, than anything else, the two-fold side of his nature : the 
 insinuating tenderness which rises often to the white heights of pas- 
 sion ; and the grave and abiding melancholy. The musical form, too, 
 is very characteristic. It is pure Nevin ; one recognizes it at a glance 
 — like a friend's handwriting on an envelope. 
 
 As WHS once said : "Ethelbert Nevin wrote like a man who had an 
 orchid in his buttonhole and the fear of God in his heart;" it was 
 a phrase like any other, but it defined in a way, his music, which is 
 at once aristocratic, delicate, chiselled ; and informed with great ten- 
 derness and a melancholy peculiarly his own. 
 
 And it seems to me that in these Italian Suites one sees Nevin at 
 that moment when his genius spoke the most personal word — they 
 reflect the white soul, the proud purity, the passionate heart. 
 
 "Five uneventful weeks at Fontainebleau," the diary states; not 
 wholl}" uneventful for the lovers of Nevin's music, for there he wrote 
 the first number of his suite. En Passant (Opus 30.) 
 
 In a home letter he wrote : 
 
 "We've engaged an apartment in Paris and if this cool 
 weather continues, we shall move in about the end of Au- 
 gust. 
 
 "Anne and I went into town and on the rue de la Paix 
 Anne saw a coachman whom she thought was the one we 
 had had the week before, who seemed such a decent fellow 
 and didn't beat his horse. She hailed him and found out he 
 wasn't the same. However, we got in and I took him by 
 the hour. Well, we went to one apartment after the other. 
 Finally, we became tired, hungry and discouraged, as we 
 could find nothing that suited us. At last I told the coach- 
 man to drive to a cafe that I knew on the Place de la Made- 
 
 [i88 ] 
 
A DAY IN VENICE 
 
 h'inc, and I think he read distress and discouragement in 
 our eyes, for he turned from his box and said : if Mon- 
 sieur would Uke, he would drive to an apartment he knew 
 was for rent, as his stand was near it. I rather pooh-poohed 
 the idea of a Paris cabman recommending an apartment to 
 a well-bred American family. Anne, with her common- 
 sense, said: ' Well, Bert, we might just as well see it.' So 
 I said: ''Allez done' 
 
 "Well, we saw the apartment, just the location I wanted 
 — off the Champs-Ely sees, — only one flight of stairs and 
 at present occupied by Professor Palmer, whom I knew 
 and who knew me. It is a beauty. We will have an entrance 
 hall, two salons, a dining-room, four bed-chambers, a 
 kitchen, maid's rooms and so on, for four hundred and fifty 
 francs a month, all furnished. EmmaEameslives just round 
 the corner and the whole thing is fine. It is 38 rue Galilee. 
 Did I tip that coachman well ? I did. I gave him forty cents 
 and he beamed all over. He saved us eighteen francs rail- 
 road fare for another hunting trip to Paris." 
 
 In this home, 38 rue Galilee, near the Avenue Kleber, Ne\'in did 
 a great deal of work. It was there he wrote the Chanson d'Automne, 
 that haunting setting of ^^erlaine's haunting song, still in manuscript, 
 and La Lune Blanche from Opus 28. There was a great deal tliat 
 was akin in the art of Verlaine and Nevin ; and the great French poet 
 found in the American composer his most delicate interpreter. In the 
 rue Galilee, too, was written part of En Passant, Opus 30. In addi- 
 tion to composing, he gave much of his time to "coaching '" Wagner 
 singers and to his piano pupils. It was a happy year, active and bright. 
 Paris held many of his friends. Cousins from his home city were estab- 
 lished just across the street. For a few weeks in the summer he was 
 left alone, while his wife accompanied her parents on a trip to A^enice 
 and the Italian lakes. 
 
 To her he wrote : 
 
 "I dreamt last night that Paul and I, with Giovanni (the 
 gondolier), were standing at the entrance of the Grand 
 
 [ iSg ] 
 
CHAPTER FOURTEEN 
 
 Hotel and I saw you all come up. You seemed glad to see 
 us, and I was sorry I woke just as Father and I were start- 
 ing for the Lido. A\"ell, my dear little girl, it is pretty lonely. 
 Paul and I sat for a long time by the window, when he had 
 said his prayers. After he had gone to bed, I read and 
 watched the moon. Nothing is wrong — it's only that I am 
 lonely for you. Give my love to A^enice. Oh, wouldn't I 
 give ducats to be there. Just to say the ' I love you, Bert,' 
 which you wrote in j^our letter from Lugano, was a beau- 
 tiful touch, mj' precious wife ; and it is a thing I want more 
 than anything in the world or in life. 
 
 ' ' The little ones are well, and your domestics are doing 
 everything they can for our comfort. It's just plain 'lone- 
 liness ' ! I have about made a decision to take Guido. I sent 
 him. to the Italian Consulate this morning to find out his 
 rights and my rights. I told him I could do nothing defi- 
 nite until the signora came home. 
 
 "Yes, rU send you what money you want. If it isn't as 
 much as you'd like, well, that's life, my little girl. Don't 
 you remember the song I wrote for you. La Vie? 
 
 " I am quite determined you s^all come home as soon as 
 you possibly can. You must be here by the 20th. 
 
 "Now be a good girl. Keep your pretty face clean, and 
 when you are inclined to worrj^ just remember you have the 
 love and worship of your 
 
 "Bertie." 
 
 Then in the autumn of the year Nevin sailed away from Europe 
 for the last time. He reached New York in October, with, as he said 
 to an interviewer, a wife and babies, two canary birds, a greyhound 
 and an Italian boy-in-buttons. 
 
 f 190 ] 
 
CHAPTER FIFTEEN 
 
 "THE ROSARY" 
 
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 \>M' y. 
 
 ti^^ 
 
 5=5 
 
 m m M 
 
 ^W 
 
 ^ 
 
 tS^^ 
 
 (jRCRours J spent loithwee.deor hcari~ 
 
CHAPTER FIPTEEN 
 "THE ROSARY" 
 
 nE was thirty-five years old, but the years had left him young. 
 He had still the bojdsh face, bright with enthusiasm, mirror- 
 ing every emotion — all his thoughts of beauty or sadness. 
 (Many artists tried, but none ever portrayed it.) Above the 
 young face and blue eyes was a great mass of dark hair thick- 
 sown with white. He was slim, graceful in every shift of his flexible 
 body, but his nerves — even as when he was a little child — were keyed 
 to a pitch of almost painful intensity. 
 
 This was Ethelbert Nevin, as he faced the New York public once 
 more after those fruitful Italian days, after those keen Parisian hours. 
 
 He gave three concerts during the season. Of the first recital a critic 
 wrote : 
 
 "Tuesday, while spending an afternoon with the compositions of 
 Ethelbert Nevin, I probably came as near as I ever shall to a simul- 
 taneous absorption of color and sound. The concert was given in the 
 Madison Square Concert Hall. 
 
 "Nevin's music is eminently colorful, though he deals in the half- 
 tones and hinted shades rather than in the spectrum. 
 
 "The concert began at four o'clock and there was a long program, 
 but it was none too long. And in fact, though it was varied and cun- 
 ningly put together, it did not show every side of the composer's 
 genius. It showed, however, those sides of it which the public like 
 best. There were twenty songs — those marvelous lyrics in which he 
 condenses that strange personality of his, at once sad and tender, mys- 
 tical and gay. And then there was that puissant suite for piano, 
 Maggio in Toscana, so mutable in its moods, so individual in its 
 modulations, so rich in its musical matter. 
 
 "The interpretation wa^ not all that it might have been. 
 
 "Occasionally a butterfly was broken on a wheel. This was the 
 
 [ ^93 ] 
 
CHAPTER FIFTEEN 
 
 case with that exquisite fragility, Le Vase Brise. In the main, how- 
 ever, Mr. Nevin's interpreters served him faithfully, if not brilliantly. 
 Mr. Francis Rogers sang, Rappelle-toi — an intimate transcription of 
 INIussefs well-known poem — with a great deal of feeling, and the 
 song was quite within the limits of his voice. He was equally happy 
 in Rcchtc Zeit. 
 
 "To JNIiss Genevieve Weaver was intrusted the interpretation of 
 four songs in a lighter mood. Of these I like best 'A Fair Good 
 Morn ■ — I am haunted yet by that phrase, all badinage and coquetr}^ 
 
 "The audience by this time, mightily enthusiastic, was in just the 
 mood for the 3Iaggio. And it was a pleasant sight to see the com- 
 poser in front of a Steinway grand. The ideal state of things is to hear 
 a composer play his own music. Strangely enough — for it is unusual 
 — the leading American composers (MacDowell and Nevin) are 
 equipped with thoroughly adequate virtuosity. 
 
 "MacDowell plays more like the devil. Nevin plays like a poet. 
 His playing is not mechanically brilliant ; it is very individual, ex- 
 tremely subjective, intensely poetical. He gets exquisite subtilities 
 of tone — as in that sad and charming Nottu7~no and the capricious 
 Rusignuolo.'^ 
 
 At another concert, given at Carnegie Lyceum, Nevin played his 
 "Mav in Tuscany,'" Mrs. Julie Weyman — one of his most de- 
 lightful interpreters — sang a group of his songs, and Miss Isadora 
 Duncan "illustrated in classic dances" the Narcissus, Ophelia and 
 \^^ater Xymph of the Water Scenes ; and for the first time "Floriane's 
 Dream,"" a pantomime by the writer of this biography, with Nevin's 
 music for piano and orchestra, was given. 
 
 Meanwhile Nevin had taken a studio in Carnegie Hall and an 
 apartment at 221 AVest 57th Street. 
 
 There he wrote "The Rosary." 
 
 Many legends, all fanciful and charming, have grown up round 
 this world-loved song. Its true origin is quite as interesting. 
 
 All the highest expressions of lyric beauty are impulse- born, even 
 
 [ ^94 ] 
 
THE ROSARY 
 
 5» 
 
 as Shelley's "Indian Song" which came he "knew not whence. 
 The history of "The Rosary" is almost as simple. 
 
 One evening he sat with his wife, reading the day's letters. In 
 one of them — a letter from one of his childhood friends, Miss Eliza- 
 beth Dickson of Sewickley — was a clipping from a magazine, on 
 which was printed Robert Cameron Rogers' short poem. It needed 
 no second reading for Nevin to recognize its lyric beauty. In a few 
 minutes he had it by heart, and he walked up and down the room, 
 repeating : 
 
 The hours I spent iv'ith thee, dear heart. 
 Arc as a string of pearls to me; 
 I count them over, every one apart. 
 My Rosary, my Rosary. 
 
 Each hour a pearl, each pearl a prayer, 
 To still a heart in absence wrung ; 
 I tell each bead unto the end, 
 And there a cross is hung. 
 
 O memories that bless and burn ! 
 
 barren pain and bitter loss ! 
 
 1 kiss each bead, and strive at last to learn 
 
 To kiss the cross ; 
 Sweetheart! — to kiss the cross. 
 
 The next afternoon he came home from his studio. He handed his 
 wife the pencilled manuscript of a song with this note : 
 
 "Just a little souvenir to let you know I thank the bon 
 Dieu for giving me you. The entire love and devotion of 
 
 Ethelbert Nevin." 
 
 That was a way of his ; many of his compositions he presented to 
 his wife — always with a few written words. 
 
 Few richer gifts were ever so lightly given. Then he sat down at 
 the piano in the winter twilight and sang the song for her, "The 
 Rosary." It was not published until many months later. 
 
 [ ^95 ] 
 
CHAPTER FIFTEEN 
 
 In making up the programme for his recital in Boston, near the 
 end of the season, Nevin decided to include this manuscript song. 
 Mr. Francis Rogers in "Musical America," May 2, 1912, gives his 
 recollection of what took place : — 
 
 "About a week before the Boston concert, I was dining at the 
 Nevin apartment, in West Fift3"-seventh street. Mr. and Mrs. 
 Frank Skelding, INIrs. Nevin"s brother-in-law and sister, Avere pres- 
 ent. After dinner Mr. Nevin handed me a scrap of music paper with 
 some notes and words scratched on it in pencil and said : 'I M'ant you 
 to sing this in Boston next week.' It was 'The Rosary.' As the 
 scrap of paper in my hands was the only written version of the song 
 in existence, and the time for preparation was short, Mr. Skelding 
 said: 'Bert I'll bet you a champagne supper, you can't get that 
 song ready for your Boston concert. ' Mr Nevin accepted the bet, 
 rehearsed me carefully in the song, which a week later in Boston 
 had its first public hearing. ' ' 
 
 It was Mr. Rogers who, for the first time, sang "The Rosary;" 
 the concert was given in Steinert Hall, Boston, in February, 1898. 
 It was sung for the first time in New York by Mrs. Julie Weyman, 
 at the recital in the Carnegie Lyceum, March 24, to which a refer- 
 ence has already been made. 
 
 In her diary for that year Mrs. Ethelbert Nevin notes : ' ' Monday, 
 May 2d, took 'The Rosary' to Schirmer this morning! " 
 
 Today the song is sung in almost every language ; there is no hint 
 of exaggeration in saying that it has journeyed round the world and 
 round again. There has been written more about it than about any 
 one song ; but it may not be superfluous to quote here part of an 
 article by IMadame Ernestine Schumann- Heink, which appeared in 
 the " Bohemian Magazine " : 
 
 "The one song I love best in all the great song literature is Schu- 
 bert's Die Allmacht. But there is another song the public loves 
 better to hear me sing — 'The Drinking Song' from Donizetti's 
 ' Lucretia Borgia. ' And there is still another song that I love and 
 
 [ ^9<^ ] 
 
THE ROSARY 
 
 which the pubHc delights to hear, I call it my favorite American 
 song : it is Ethelbert Nevin's ' Rosary. ' 
 
 " Why do I like to sing 'The Rosary ? ' Because it is a perfect 
 song. The critics may not all agree with me there. But the public is 
 the best critic after all, and the public likes ' The Rosary ; ' not only 
 the American public, but the German public. If I ever have a chance 
 to sing it in Italy, or Russia or Austria, I am sure it will be liked 
 there, too. You can always trust the public to recognize a great song. 
 
 ' ' The essentials of a really great song are heart interest and beautiful 
 melodj". Nobody will deny either to this song. The poem recites a 
 soul tragedy to which the composer has achieved a musical setting, 
 exquisitely conceived in the lyric mood and expressed with simpli- 
 city and directness. 
 
 "The song is so familiar, I need not describe how Nevin has ex- 
 pressed this story of an aching heart in music. But if you study the 
 melodic outline of the song, it may surprise you to discover the con- 
 nection that exists between the poet's imagery and the musical form. 
 All of us do not tell our beads, as the saying is, but we know that 
 the rosary is a string of small beads, with a larger one strung between 
 each set of ten smaller ones. Now notice the composer's phrase, how 
 it slips along in the eighth notes, just as the small beads would slip 
 through our fingers. And at the end of every such phrase comes a 
 long note and a pause. This is repeated over and over after the man- 
 ner of the pious devotees of the rosary. Now observe the melodic out- 
 line of the climax on the line, To kiss the cross — sweetheart — to 
 kiss the cross/ This first part is sung on one note. The voice goes up 
 and then down on the word sweetheart, and the concluding phrase 
 is sung on the 'fifth' in the first line! 
 
 "When 1 went to Europe last winter I was honored with an in- 
 vitation to sing for the Kaiser. He was entertaining the Queen of 
 England, and I was asked to the palace to sing while they had tea. 
 There were none present but His Majesty, the Empress and Queen 
 Alexandra. I sang several German songs, and then, like a good Amer- 
 
 [ m ] 
 
CHAPTER FIFTEEN 
 
 ican citizen, I sang ' The Rosarj^ ' The Kaiser is not only a good mu- 
 sician but a composer, and he Hked it immensely and asked me to sing 
 other American songs. The German critics were not as greatly im- 
 pressed as the Kaiser by my American songs. But the German pub- 
 lic went wild over ' The Rosary ' and compelled me to repeat it every 
 time it was sung. And remember, I sang the words in English, so to 
 a majority of my hearers the appeal laj" in the music and not in words. 
 So I have the popular verdict behind my judgment of ' The Rosary ' 
 as a great song. 
 
 " Here in America it is the song I love to sing best. It is one of 
 the few songs I sing in English, and I know that every word of it will 
 go straight to the heart of every listener. It has always the same ef- 
 fect. There is a spontaneous burst of applause as the audience catches 
 the first familiar phrase. Then comes silence that grows tenser and 
 tenser. I can see and feel on every face before me that what is in my 
 heart is in theirs, and we are both swept along in artistic transport 
 to that anguished cry for a happiness that has escaped us. A song like 
 that, to make all hearts beat together, is a work of genius. ' ' 
 
 The original manuscript of "The Rosary" is in the Congressional 
 Library at AVashington ; it was given by ]Mrs. Ethelbert Nevin. 
 
 And the season went bj^ with concert-giving and composing. In 
 April he wrote to his publishers : 
 
 "I'm going to orchestrate the whole suite of ' In Arcady ' 
 for full orchestra. Now, do you think it would be wise to 
 print the score and parts, or to retain them for the moment 
 in manuscript ? I want to have the thing finished as soon as 
 possible, and Spicker has promised to assist me. Some com- 
 pany at Newport wants it for a 'Mid-Summer Night's 
 Dream' performance; I shall have to pay Spicker for this 
 work, and don't you think the Boston Music Company could 
 demand a bonus for the performance of the music? I believe 
 it is to be done in the form of a ballet. 
 
 "What do you think about 'The Serenata'? Is it better 
 for me to put down the other movements ?" 
 
 [ ^P<? ] 
 
THE ROSARY 
 
 And the next letter dated from Vineacre in June, tells its own story 
 of overwork and broken health and fragile nerves : 
 
 "I am picking up gradually, but still feel pretty weak. 
 However, I take a long early morning walk, a salt bath, a 
 good breakfast and then towards noon a horse-back ride ; and 
 I drink so much milk, I'm afraid I shall turn into a wet- 
 nurse. ' ' 
 
 Health came back very slowly, but by mid- August he had "con- 
 quered those unruly nerves, ' ' and was once more hard at work in 
 his music room. Then came the greatest shock of his life. His mother 
 died. And when she died a little of his own life went away from him. 
 He was never as he had been before. In his last written words to his 
 wife he said: "I have given my two loves: one to mother and one 
 to you. " That was very true. And his love for his mother was a part 
 of his very being. When he was a boy in Berlin he enclosed in a 
 home-letter a private page, marked "for my mother;" and it read: 
 
 ' ' Berlin, 
 
 "September U, 1884. 
 "My dearest Mother: 
 
 I have been longing so for you this evening, and it 
 seems almost impossible for me to stay here without you. 
 I would give anything in my power to be near you now 
 and take your hands in mine and lay my head on your knee, 
 for never in my life have I felt such safe and peaceful mo- 
 ments as when I was by your side. I have always felt safe 
 from any care or temptation and, my dearest mother, you 
 can have no idea how, at times, I am almost wild to be near 
 you and feel the touch of your hand on my head like a 
 benediction, guarding me from all harm. I am so lonely at 
 times, that I think my heart will break. But I know I have 
 much to do and I must not give in to loneliness. Do, do 
 take good care of your precious self. Don't overwork and 
 tire yourself out, as in your unselfish way you are inclined 
 to do, and oh, my darling mother, pray that I may have 
 strength to bear this separation from my dearest mother." 
 
 [ '99 1 
 
CHAP T E R F I F T E E N 
 
 When she died he went down into the shadows. Slowly and man- 
 fullj^ he fought his waj' back to the common sunlight and the daily 
 things of life. Loves and duties aided him. 
 
 He wrote his wife : 
 
 "I believe in fatality. This morning I was walking from 
 father's room, the front door was open and I saw a young 
 woman with a long, black veil just mounting the front steps. 
 In a moment she was in my arms. Yes, it was my arms that 
 welcomed the little lady of ^^ineacre. We stood a moment, 
 her head on my shoulder and I said: 'Lily, little sister, it 
 isn't the time to cry.' Wasn't it strange it should have 
 happened that in place of mother's arms, it was mine that 
 welcomed her to her dear old home. Fate ! 
 
 "I have that dull pain, but I can pray. I think mother 
 sees us both, and I am sure she is saying; 'Be brave, chil- 
 dren, and remember love is with you always! ' '" 
 
 [ 200 \ 
 
CHAPTER SIXTEEN 
 
 "THE QUEST ' 
 
 tl 
 
 ^ 
 
 ffi 
 
 ^ 
 
 e: 
 
 dv iTMUjoeiiie gleam OT"an un-knouin acm 
 
CHAPTER SIXTEEN 
 
 "THE QUEST" 
 
 '"''^ T'OU can have no idea how I miss you. It seems 
 
 \ / to me as if I were some other person. Oh, my 
 
 y dear little girl, I am dependent on you. Miss 
 
 / Gather was right. My melodies are you ; my har- 
 
 / -^_-. mony is you ! Of course I'll write you the ' Love 
 
 Song'. I'll do the whole thing in manuscript if 
 
 you want it, and I'll put a touch in here and there that will 
 
 be entirely yours : 
 
 Thy presence brings to me sweet rest. 
 Thy hands bring soothing to my brow. 
 Thy words such sympathy avow, 
 Thy going leaves me all unblest. 
 Abide with me. 
 
 "Paul has been just as good as he can be. He is with me 
 constantly, and we seem to cling to one another. I shall 
 wait till I hear from father before I send Paul on. Father 
 won't go, and I don't think it fair to leave him alone. A^'^e 
 have had some beautiful hours together and he rather de- 
 pends on me. Good night, my little girl. May God bless 
 and guard you. My life is yours and yours alone. Paul sends 
 a sleepy message from his bed, ' My love to mama. ' Per- 
 haps one of God's angels will carry it to you from dream- 
 land." 
 
 This letter Nevin wrote from A'ineacre, one evening, to his wife 
 
 who was away on a visit. The reference to Miss Gather hardly needs 
 
 an explanation. There had just been published in the Courier her 
 
 article of sympathy and charm — "An Evening at Vineacre ' ' — 
 
 from which quotations have already been made. And in these words 
 
 she pictures the composer's life at Vineacre, during those latter years 
 
 of his short life : 
 
 [ 203 ] 
 
CHAPTER SIXTEEN 
 
 "Queen Axxe's Lodge" 
 
 " To Arcady, has't never been? 
 Hark, ivliile I give the mystic key. 
 The password that shall let thee in 
 To Arcady."' 
 
 "XoAV and then one finds one of Mr. Nevin's earlier songs 'dedi- 
 cated to Miss Anne Paul. ' Miss Paul is now Mrs. Nevin. When the 
 composer returned from his long sojourn in Europe, last year, he de- 
 cided to work at home for a time. He was tired of wandering and 
 tired of excitement ; he had a brain full, and a heart full of material, 
 and he wanted to settle quietly down and use it. Then he fitted up 
 ' Queen Anne's Lodge. ' A music room ! It is a house of song, rather, 
 a five-roomed cottage across the fields from Vineacre, and someone 
 has called the vine-covered walk that leads to it, ' The road to Ar- 
 cady. ' There is a music room, a study, a bedroom — with severe lit- 
 tle iron bedstead, a bathroom and a kitchen. There are divans and 
 easy chairs, and Turkish rugs and an old Venetian lamp, and desks 
 and a concert piano, and shelves of music and copies of old pictures, 
 portraits of Wagner and Chopin, and Mr. Nevin's own portrait done 
 for JNIrs. Nevin by Charles Dana Gibson — such a collection as an 
 artist brings home when he returns from going to and fro in the 
 earth and from walking it up and down. There the songs of the 
 Vineacre series were written, and there so many more are being 
 wi'itten. There I heard his ' A Day in Venice ' while it was still in 
 manuscript. 
 
 "It was twilight, and some half dozen of us were seated about the 
 room when Nevin began to sing. First came a love song in Italian, 
 not yet published. Then a song to words of Catulle Mendes, also yet 
 in manuscript. Then he warmed to his work and sang, because he 
 wanted to, and the songs came one after another without preface or 
 prelude: 'The Rosary,' 'O, That We Two Were Maying, ' 'When 
 the Land was White with Moonlight, ' Z)«Ye^-TOoi, ' 'Twas April, ' 'A 
 
 [ 204 ] 
 
o 
 
 
 /: 
 
 a 
 
CHAPTER SIXTEEN 
 
 Fair Good Morn,' 'The Mill Song,' 'The Necklace,' and 'There 
 Little Girl Don't Cry. " 
 
 " He reall}^ seems to have written all the songs one greatly cares 
 for, this man, and when you stop to think of it, there is seldom a con- 
 cert anywhere at which one does not hear a song that, at some time 
 or other, has come from 'Vineacre. ' 
 
 ' ' There was only candle light in the room, lamps are never used 
 there. The composer's face was in the shadow, but the light fell on 
 that noble head, and touched the hair already gray with the labor of 
 giving compositions to the world during the past ten years. Gray 
 hair above a face so young, so lyric, so mobile is a strange thing to 
 see. It is as though the kiss of the muse had left its visible mark, and 
 tells that, if his wooing of her has been happj", it has not been alto- 
 gether painless. His wife sat leaning against the piano, in black and 
 white, looking more than ever like one of the more tender and com- 
 passionate of Botticelli's Madonnas. Somehow Mrs. Nevin has al- 
 ways seemed to me a good deal like her husband's music. There is 
 in her something of the same idealism and delicate sympathy and 
 sweetness. Perhaps the music has grown to resemble the woman, per- 
 haps the woman has grown to resemble the music, but in fancy I can 
 never quite separate them. 
 
 "The music went on and on, for two hours as mortals count time 
 — I don't know on what system they compute it on Parnassus or in 
 Arcad}^, but a Greek said that sometimes the hours of men were the 
 vears of gods. The stars came out, and the frogs kept up an accom- 
 paniment outside, perhaps from some pool into which, years ago, 
 Xevin looked and found Narcissus. 
 
 :): :j: :^ :■: 
 
 "In the afternoon, as we all sat upon the porch at Vineacre, the talk 
 ran hither and thither, and some of us were drifting into a discussion 
 of utilitarianism, when Mr. Nevin's father spoke up, as one having 
 authority, and said calmly : 'We are all creatures of sentiment, we live 
 and die by it, dispute it as we will, and it is the strongest force there is. ' 
 [ 206 ] 
 
THE QUEST 
 
 "The remark set me thinking. I fancy, it explains Ethelbert Nevin 
 and his music. In his childhood he was never taught to be afraid of 
 sentiment and he has never learned to fear it. That is why his musical 
 invention is so singularly free, why the influence of no school has ever 
 touched him, why in all his music he is so entirely and gloriously him- 
 self. If MacDowell is King of France, this man is King of Navarre. 
 He has a province of his own in the music of the world. No other man 
 has ever set foot into his kingdom ; it is wholly his own and he is the 
 only man of all men living who can tell of it. His message is for his 
 lips alone, no other could ever speak it. His work is unique among 
 the world's beautiful creations. He carries so much of our pleasure 
 and delight under that hair that is tinged with gray. His harmony 
 and melody are his own, like no one's else. He has no affectations ; he 
 is not afraid of simplicity, of directness. As someone has said, his 
 melodies ' gain a certain distinction from their very unconsciousness 
 of the danger of vulgarity. ' To everything he writes, however slight, 
 that rare grace and distinction cling ; an aroma of poetry, a breath 
 from some world brighter and better than ours ; an exhalation of roses 
 and nightingale notes and Southern nights. 
 
 ' ' Take, for instance, the little negro melody he did for the Dart- 
 mouth college boys ; if anyone else had written that it would have 
 been cheap. Is it ? Try it, and see. Even in his children's songs there 
 is the same grace and tenderness. What he touches he dignifies. Of 
 a simple lyric he can make a noble tragedy. And he has the courage 
 of genius. " 
 
 There, in "Queen Anne's Lodge," were written almost all the 
 compositions of his Opus 28; there "The Captive Memories" were 
 written and the group of Five Songs — '"An African Love Song," 
 "Mighty Lak' a Rose," "To Anne," "The Woodpecker," "At 
 Rest;" there he wrote his suite for piano, 'O'er Hill and Dale,' 
 published also after his death. Those last few days of his hfe were a 
 mingled web — the shadow of his mother's death was over him, and 
 he had hours of brooding sadness ; from them he would rouse him- 
 
 r ^07 ] 
 
CHAPTER SIXTEEN 
 
 self to the keenest activity. It was as though he had hints and pre- 
 monitions that tlie time in which work might be done was growing 
 very short. For months he worked at his " Fantasie for piano, violin 
 and 'cello," writing, rewriting, building, rebuilding, with that de- 
 termined patience which onl}' the man of genius knows. (If his was 
 inspirational music, as the phrase goes — if his melodies have the 
 spontaneity of birds on the wing — he was none the less a composer 
 whose science was ample, whose grammar was impeccable, for him 
 who knows how to read ; ' Bach, ' he said once, ' is my dailj^ bread. ') 
 
 The "Fantasie" was left unfinished — as Keats left unfinished his 
 half-hewed masterpiece. More nearly completed was " The Quest," 
 which William Foster Apthorp discerningly pronounced "one of 
 the best things he ever did, if not the best." It was first given, by 
 the Boston Singing Club, Mr. G. H. Tucker conductor, two years 
 after the composer's death. 
 
 It was, at the request of Mrs. Nevin, scored by Horatio W. Parker. 
 It was given with pianoforte accompaniment, although the composer 
 had intended to orchestrate it. A portion of Mr. Apthorp's critical 
 appreciation may be quoted here : 
 
 "The text by Randolph Hartley, is in an exceedingly poetic, 
 imaginative vein, approaching the ballad in form and general style. 
 I incline to lay stress upon this, because Nevin evidently took it in the 
 ballad spirit. And, in this vein, the composer shows himself singu- 
 larly at home. Say what one will about Nevin 's place as a composer, 
 this much seems incontestable : with the possible exception of Mr- 
 MacDowell, he was the one American composer of note in our time 
 who had a genuinely lyrical gift. Added to it, he had, and knew 
 how to infuse into his music, an enormous and penetrating personal 
 charm. In this cantata he, accordingly, has done what a strongly lyr- 
 ical bent and personal charm could do." 
 
 There were to be few years more at Vineacre; and 1898 and 1899 
 passed — in a struggle against ill-health, in a struggle to complete 
 the orchestral works that lay so close to his heart ; happily, too, they 
 
 [20S ] 
 
THE QUEST 
 
 were passed in that atmosphere of home and home-companionship, 
 in which alone he could breathe freely. 
 
 But home was no longer the same. He wished to be near his fa- 
 ther — "he seems to lean upon me more every day." And his own 
 more intimate circle* of wife and children was broken, for his little 
 son (school-ripe, now) was in a military academy at Dobb's Ferry. 
 Of course letters could be written ; and here is one : 
 
 "Flneacre, November 27, 1899. 
 "My dear little man: 
 
 I had thought that I might pass this week in New 
 York, and, if Mr. Rogers would permit it, take you over 
 to New Haven to spend Thanksgiving with godpa Billie 
 and Norman Sturgis, but I find 1 can't get away. 
 
 "It is very cold here this morning, and I wouldn't be 
 surprised if you have ice at Pocantico Hills. 
 
 "By the end of this week the football season will be over. 
 How do you men feel about Saturday's Princeton- Yale 
 game? I hope you will have Harvard in mind for your 
 college, as you ought to pass your exams in 1908 or some- 
 where around that time. 
 
 "I had a birthday on Saturday, and what do you sup- 
 pose the Slack girls did? They had a surprise cake-walk 
 forme in their new music room — Jean, Carolyn, Elizabeth, 
 Annie Reed, Margaret, Dorothy, Doris, Mary Anderson 
 and Bettie Dravo. Then there were Aunt Grace, Mamma, 
 Uncle Bob and Aunt Martha all in costume. It was simply 
 fine. Dorothy was the funniest of all. She had on a Paris pink 
 bonnet, a big white feather from Florence, a calico skirt 
 and a black sash. She looked like an Irish cook, just landed. 
 They had a birthday cake, with candles (37) and we ended 
 with a Virginia Reel. 
 
 ' ' We are all very well and we shall think of you on 
 Thanksgiving day. Be a good boy — 
 
 'Always your loving 
 
 "Daddy." 
 
 [ 209 ] 
 
CHAPTER SIXTEEN 
 
 Often letters seemed poor, cold things ; then Nevin would unex- 
 pectedly take train for the East. On one of these trips he wrote to 
 his wife from New York : 
 
 "I came in from Dobb's Ferry last night, Paul has to 
 make up twenty demerits. That means I have to go out 
 again tonight and simply wait until he is permitted to leave. 
 I imagine the discipline is good, but it's tedious work for 
 me. I think we shall leave Tuesday night, unless our little 
 man gets more marks. After supper last night, twenty of 
 us men (the schoolboys) went out to see the eclipse, and 
 the company marched me to the station singing 'Narcissus, ' 
 'Little Boy Blue,' 'In Winter I get up at Night.' It was 
 the most beautiful compliment I ever had in my life. The 
 boys all seemed to like me and called me 'Paul's Gov.' 
 
 "Such a lesson as I have had, my sweetheart, and a new 
 ambition in my life. I felt that I should take off" my hat to 
 all the boys, and breathe a little prayer that God would 
 make me a nobler man. I walked to Tarrytown and went 
 to Sleepy Hollow. Bought Rip van Winkle and forgot all 
 about ' Ethelbert Nevin, Composer ' and took myself back 
 to my boyhood days when I was just 'Bertie Nevin, aged 
 eleven. ' I tell you the Catskills, Washington Irving and 
 Joseph Jefferson were a combination that made my hair 
 curl. Somehow, all the time I say in my heart : 'O memo- 
 ries, that bless and burn!' 
 
 "Mr. Peter Gilsey has invited Paul Nevin and his Gov. 
 to come and see his collection of pictures, and we are to 
 have a fine time with some of the people we read about in 
 Mrs. Drew's reminiscences. Oh, my lady, I wish you were 
 with me. I wish I could grasp your hand and tell you that 
 you are ' my string of pearls ' and that you are the mother 
 of the most wonderful boy that ever lived. Gott sei Dank, 
 he is like you." 
 
 And another time — it was in September 1900 — Nevin took a 
 room in the school itself, that he might be near his boy for a little 
 while, and live as near as might be the boy's own life. And to his 
 wife he wrote : 
 
 [ ^^o ] 
 
THE QUEST 
 
 "We had a terrific storm last night and at 8.45, when I 
 was sitting in my room reading, the gas went out all over 
 the building — such a turning-ofF of gas-stops as there was 
 — and I could hear the boys in the other wing having the 
 time of their lives. They had a few candles in the house, 
 and I got half a one. 
 
 "Yesterday afternoon I did enjoy sitting by my window 
 reading, and out on the lawn was our little man, practic- 
 ing, with all his little heart, on the bugle. Then we had a 
 walk and a talk, and at a quarter of nine he threw his arms 
 about me and said, 'good-night.' And then the house was 
 as quiet as death." 
 
 Nevin gave a few recitals, a very few, chiefly for charity ; on one 
 such occasion he wrote from Beach Haven, New Jersey : 
 
 ' ' My dear little daughter : 
 
 In this same envelope you will find a little card. It 
 came to me from a whole lot of little girls, with the big- 
 gest bunch of beautiful roses you ever saw. They were all 
 little Pittsburg girls, like Jean, Carolyn and my other lit- 
 tle friends. 
 
 ' ' I took them on with me to the boat, and as I was leav- 
 ing they sang: 'There, Little Girl, Don't Cry,' and I al- 
 most cried myself. Tell Ethelbert Paul that his letter was 
 kind and manly. I'll write to him very soon. When does 
 he return to school? I am playing tonight for the benefit 
 of the orphans of sailors. 
 
 My heart's best love — yes, more love than you can ever 
 know. Always and always 
 
 "Your loving 
 
 "Mr. Nevin" 
 
 And this chapter may end with another letter, for Nevin was to 
 write very few more — very few : 
 
 "Dec. 5, 1900. 
 
 "So you are twelve years old today! Well, my little 
 lad, you can never know how thankful I am that you are 
 
 [ ^^^ 1 
 
CHAPTER SIXTEEN 
 
 my son, and your twelve years on this earth have been one 
 of the greatest joys that has come into my life. 
 
 "Be brave and manly, and remember I am always and 
 always 
 
 "Your loving father." 
 
 [ 212 ] 
 
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN 
 
 "JESU, JESU, MISERERE ' 
 
 i 
 
 !s: 
 
 ^ 
 
 dc-su, cJe-su, Tni-5e-rc- 
 
 re 
 
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN 
 
 "JESU, JESU, MISERERE" 
 
 LATE in the autumn of 1900, Nevin went to New Haven. There 
 were many reasons why he chose this quiet city for a winter 
 home. He had very dear friends there, among them Dr. Will- 
 iam Sturgis ; he wished to be near the military academy, 
 -' where his son was a student ; near, also, to New York, where 
 he intended to give a number of piano recitals of his latest compo- 
 sitions. He took apartments at 40 Trumbull Street, and sent for his 
 wife and little daughter. While they were still en route he wrote 
 this letter : 
 
 "4.0 Trumbull St., New Haven, Conn. 
 
 ''October 21, 1900. 
 "My dear little man: 
 
 I am anxiously awaiting Mamma and Dorothy. My 
 piano only arrived last Thursday. Your letter was a delight 
 to me, and I sincerely hope you will gain credit every day, 
 and when the time comes that the Major says you have 
 earned an outing, just trot along to me, and remember my 
 heart is with you all the time. 
 
 "My 'glad hand' to all the boys — 
 
 "^ toi 
 
 "E. N." 
 
 He lived very quietly, rarely leaving his studio, save for a walk 
 with his little daughter; often he walked alone for hours in the 
 snowy streets. He, who had always loved the sun and the summer, 
 seemed to discover an unknown magic in the white New England 
 winter. And he knew all the children. In a few weeks the children 
 of the neighborhood had accepted him as an equal. Mrs. Wells, in 
 whose house he lived, told of seeing him in the street, having a lively 
 snow-balling bout with a dozen boys. 
 
 [ ^^5 J 
 
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN 
 
 "He was the youngest of the group," she said, "and he looked 
 the very spirit of the snow, so ethereal in face and physique he was. ' ' 
 
 Then he would go back to his studio and to the unfinished manu- 
 scripts on his desk — working with a sort of feverish energy, at his 
 "Fantasie," sketching new songs — that were never to be sung on 
 
 The House, 40 Tkumbull Street, New Haven, 
 
 CoXX., A^^HERE NevIN DiED 
 
 earth. One of these fragments was found on his desk, after his death ; 
 the words he had chosen were : 
 
 Heart of mine sleep. 
 
 There is only calm in slumber. 
 
 His health seemed no worse than it had been for many years. He 
 
 was wasted and his strength had failed a little; but he was filled 
 
 with bright activity, with an alert and loving interest in everyone 
 [ ^^6] 
 
-1- 
 
 '■A 
 
 o 
 
 o 
 
 H-1 
 
 
 ;3 
 
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN 
 
 with whom he came in contact. Only the dark hours were darker; 
 for hours he sat musing at his piano, playing very softly. One day 
 in January of the new year, he said to his wife : 
 
 "I am going home, dear — I must go, for a day, and I must 
 go alone. I have a premonition that something is going to 
 happen. Unless I go, I shall not see father again. ' ' 
 
 And in a storm that was almost a blizzard of wind and snow he 
 journeyed — not for the last time — to Vineacre. He talked with his 
 father for a long time. He spent hours in his mother's room and in 
 the room of his childhood. Then in the early evening, all his kinsfolk 
 and many of those who had known him as a boy, gathered in the 
 great room at Mneacre and he played for them and sang the songs 
 they loved. For that evening he was "Bert" once more. He re- 
 turned to New Haven, January 16. 
 
 "It was a beautiful visit," he said, "I am at peace." 
 
 A few weeks after his return he wrote to his son, Paul : 
 
 "'Feb. 12, 1901. 
 ' ' My dear little man : 
 
 You are having a beautiful valentine in your moth- 
 er's visit and I am so glad. I shall expect you to be her 
 little prince and take good care of her. 
 
 At your confirmation 1 beg of you to consider the seri- 
 ousness of the step you would take. You are already a little 
 champion of Christ — but it seems to me He would be much 
 more honored, if, after a few years of life's experience, you 
 were to go to him and lay your burden at His feet and say 
 in your heart, ' I am Thine. ' 
 
 "It is a question you must decide for yourself. Whether 
 you openly accept Christ's banner, or whether you do not. 
 it is quite the same, as I know you are a little worker in 
 His field. My heart's best love, my lad ; be true to your- 
 self; love your neighbor, and remember I am 
 
 "Always your loving and devoted 
 
 Father." 
 [ ^^S ] 
 
JESU, JESU, MISERERE 
 
 St. Valentine's day canie. Paul's valentine was his mother's visit 
 to the military school in Dobb's Ferry ; for Dorothy, her father ar- 
 ranged a gay, little party in the New Haven home. All her little 
 friends were invited. Nevin entered into the frolic with boyish glee. 
 
 With his own hands he decorated the parlors with ribbons and 
 flowers. He bought the cakes and bonbons and ices — they were all 
 in heart-shaped designs — and set out the little feast on a long table, 
 with lighted candles. For each of the children he had an original 
 valentine. Then when all was ready he sent carriages for his young 
 guests ; and they came trooping in. All afternoon he entertained 
 them, singing about "Little Boy Blue" and his other dream-chil- 
 dren, playing dances for them, romping with them in the old, famil- 
 iar parlor games. Once, while the children were all screaming with 
 delight, Mrs. Wells looked in and he exclaimed, laughing: "I'm 
 having the time of my life ! " 
 
 A merry afternoon ; and when the children had been driven home 
 in the dusk, and his own little girl had gone to bed, he went to his 
 studio. 
 
 Once, in Italy, he had bought a monk's robe, which he used as a 
 dressing-gown, when he was at work. (It was the pale garb of the 
 monks of the Carthusian order, the color of which corresponds sym- 
 bolically to the resurrection of Our Lord. ) Late that night Mrs. Wells 
 and her sister saw Nevin coming down from his studio on an upper 
 floor. He wore this monk's robe. He opened the front door and went 
 out on the steps. He stood there in the dim cube of light coming 
 from the open door, and the snow fell thickly upon him ; and he held 
 out his hands and slowly lifted his arms to heaven in a great plead- 
 ing gesture. He seemed to be drawn taller — as a man is drawn by 
 prayer or by death. "A wonderful light came from his face," the 
 witnesses said, "as though he were receiving a beautiful message." 
 
 Unseeing, he passed them and went back to his studio, but no 
 sound came from his piano that night. 
 
 The next day, February 15, Harold Bauer played in New Haven. 
 
 [ ^19 J 
 
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN 
 
 Nevin went to the recital early and, before it began, played for half 
 an hour, "just to warm up the piano," as he said to Bauer, laugh- 
 ingly. He returned to the house in Trumbull Street and never left 
 it again. Saturday morning he was indisposed, but there was no 
 thought of a serious illness, and when, in the course of the day, his 
 wife returned from Dobb's Ferry, he said "Now, I am well again. "' 
 He went to the piano and played accompaniments for his little 
 daughter, and she sang the child-songs he loved. Suddenly his hands 
 seemed to wander and the music stopped. He closed the piano, stood 
 looking at it for a moment and went to his bedroom. In the morn- 
 ing his physician was summoned, for he said he felt "dizzy and a 
 trifle weak. " His pulse was normal, and his physician assured him he 
 would be all right in a little while. At half-past one the doctor was 
 called again — he and two other physicians. Nevin was already 
 unconscious. A little after two he suddenly regained consciousness. 
 His little daughter was in the room and he smiled at her. Then he 
 held his wife's hand and whispered: "Anne, I am dying and I do 
 not wish to leave you. ' ' 
 
 His eyes closed; in a little while the doctors declared that his 
 heart had ceased to beat. 
 
 Ethelbert Nevin was 38 years of age ; he died at three o'clock, 
 Sunday afternoon, Februarj^ 17, 1901. 
 
 ♦ :|: :-i :^ ^. 
 
 Then for the last time all that was mortal of Ethelbert Nevin 
 went back to Vineacre. 
 
 Wednesday afternoon, February 20 — at three o'clock, the memo- 
 rial hour of his death — the funeral service was held in the Presby- 
 terian church of Sewickley. It was not a service like any other. The 
 altar rail was banked high with narcissus, with lilies of the valley, 
 with white roses ; and the casket itself was buried in a mound of 
 narcissus. 
 
 Before the coffin was brought to the church his "Love Song" 
 was played on the organ; as the procession reached the door, his 
 
 [ 220 ] 
 
JESU, JESU, MISERERE 
 
 "Pilgrim's March" was played. Then a quartet sang his "The Night 
 Hath a Thousand Eyes;" and while the burial rites were read the 
 organ gave softly the melody of "Narcissus." A woman's voice 
 sang " Jesu, Jesu, Miserere." A clergyman prayed while the organ 
 whispered the "Ave Maria" from the dead man's "Day in Venice. " 
 Other singers sang ' ' The Rosary. ' ' The choir sang his hymn, ' ' Love's 
 Redeeming Work Is Done ;" and when the sermon had been preached 
 a violinist played the ' ' Melody, ' ' and softly a woman sang ' ' Good 
 Night." 
 
 It was a musician's burial-rite. 
 
 The casket lid was lifted : 
 
 For the last time those who loved him looked on the face eter- 
 nally young ; it was very tranquil now, with a faint smile of wonder 
 on the lips. The long, thin hands were folded on the breast. Over 
 his heart was laid a bunch of narcissus, his wife's last gift. 
 
 Then to Beethoven's funeral march the coffin was carried out of 
 the church and on to the little cemetery of Sewickley. There he 
 sleeps in the valley. 
 
 Sit illi terra levis. 
 
 [ 221 ] 
 

 
 Aiich vergehe/i und sterben 
 Dducht mir suss su seiii. " 
 
 HERBSTGEPUHL. 
 
NOTES 
 
NOTES 
 
 1 — Franz Magnus Bohme 
 
 Born at Willerstedt, Weimar, March 1 1 , 1828 ; died at Dresden, October 
 18, 1898. Pupil of J. G. Topfer (Weimar), and Hauptmann and Rietz 
 (Leipzig). For twenty years music teacher in Dresden ; received the title 
 of Professor from the King; 1878, teacher of Counterpoint and History 
 of Music at the Hoch Conservatory, Frankfort; retired 1885 to Dresden. 
 Literary works : Altdeutsches Liederbuch (Leipzig, 1877; a collection of 
 German folk-songs — words and melodies of 12th and 17th centuries); 
 Aufgabenhuch sum Studium, der Harmonie (l880); Kursus der Harmonie 
 (Mayence, 1882); Geschichte des Tanzes in Deutschland (Leipzig, 1895). 
 He is the editor of Erk's Deutscker Liederhort, and has published several 
 books of sacred part songs and choruses for men's voices. 
 
 2 — Stephen Austiij Peaece 
 
 Born at London, England, November 7, 1836. Pupil of J. L. Hopkins; 
 graduate of Oxford University. Visited the United States and Canada 
 in 1864; became organist and musical director of two London churches; 
 returned to America in 1872 and was appointed instructor of vocal music 
 at Columbia College, New York ; lecturer on Harmony, etc. , at the General 
 Theological Seminary, on Music of all Nations at the Peabody Institute, 
 Baltimore, and on Classical Orchestral Music at Johns Hopkins University. 
 Organistof the Collegiate Church, Fifth Avenue and48th Street, New York. 
 
 3 — Benjamin Johnson Lang 
 
 Born at Salem, Mass., December 28, 1837; died in 1909 at Boston, 
 Mass. A piano pupil of his father, of F. G. Hill of Boston, and of Alfred 
 Jaell and Gustav Satter. In 1855 he studied composition in Berlin and 
 piano playing under Liszt. From 1852, organist successively at Doctor 
 Neale's church, the Old South, the South Congregational church and 
 King's Chapel, Boston. Also, for about twenty-five years, organist of the 
 " Handel and Haydn Society," Boston, of which he became conductor in 
 1895, succeeding Zerrahn. Besides conducting the "Apollo Club" and 
 the "Cecilia" since their organization, he gave very numerous concerts 
 (orchestral, choral, chamber-music) on his own account. As a pianist, 
 teacher, conductor and organist, he was in the first rank of Boston's mu- 
 sicians for a third of a century ; and brought out a long list of important 
 
 [ ^^5 ] 
 
works by foreign and native composers. His own compositions include the 
 Oratorio, David ; symphonies and overtures ; much chamber and piano mu- 
 sic; a great many church compositions; also songs. 
 
 4 — Stephen Albert Emery 
 
 Born at Paris, Maine, October 4, 1841 ; died at Boston, April 15, 1891. 
 His first teacher was H. S. Edwards of Portland ; in 1862 he studied under 
 Plaidy, Papperitz, Richter and Hauptmann at Leipzig, and afterwards 
 at Dresden under Fritz Spindler. He returned to Portland, 1864; went 
 to Boston in 1866, taught in the N. E. Conservatory" there from 1867 ; 
 on the foundation of the College of Music ' ' of Boston University he was 
 appointed professor of Harmony and Counterpoint. He was also assistant 
 editor of the Musical Herald. Works : Sonatinas and other pieces for the 
 pianoforte, string quartets, part songs, songs, also two textbooks : 
 . ' ' Foundation Studies in Pianoforte Playing "and Elements of Harmony . ' ' 
 
 5 — Karl Klindworth 
 
 Pianist and pedagogue. 
 
 Born at Hanover, September 25, 1830. A precocious, self-taught pianist. 
 At six he played a piano arrangement of Boieldieu's Calffe de Bagdad; 
 but the violin was his chief instrument. Atfifteen he wished to go to Spohr, 
 but lack of money prevented it ; at seventeen, obliged to earn his own liveli- 
 hood, he became conductor of a travelling opera troupe. In 1849 on his 
 way to Amsterdam to conduct the German opera, a telegram apprised 
 him that the venture had failed ; so he went back to Hanover and gave 
 lessons. While on a concert tour he met Liszt, and in 1852 went to Weimar 
 for two years' study. He made rapid progress and in 1854, armed with 
 letters of introduction, went to London. His first concert on March 30, 
 appears to have made an unfavorable impression, but Wagner, next year, 
 heard and admired him and became his firm friend. 
 
 Klindworth gradually made his way in London and remained there 
 from 1854 to 1868 as a piano teacher and concert virtuoso. Anton Rubin- 
 stein then called him to Moscow as professor at the Imperial Conservatory. 
 While there he completed two monumental works ; his pianoforte scores of 
 Wagner's "Ringdes Nibelungen,"and acomplete revised edition ofCho- 
 pin's compositions (l878). After Nicholas Rubinstein's death in 1881, 
 Klindworth settled in Berlin, conducting for ten years all the concerts of 
 the JVagnerverein and (with Joachim and Wiillner) the Philharmonic Con- 
 certs. He also established a Klavierschule, Von Biilow co-operating one 
 month each year; this was united with the Scharwenka Conservatory 
 when Klindworth retired to Potsdam in 1893. 
 [ ^^6 ] 
 
As a finishing teacher he was in the froqt rank. His masterly arrange- 
 ments of Wagner's music dramas, Schubert's C major Symphony, Tchai- 
 kowsky's symphonic poem Francesca da Rimini " are world renowned, 
 as are his revised edition of Beethoven's Sonatas. Among his original 
 compositions for the pianoforte may be mentioned a diflScult and effective 
 Polonaise-Fantaisie and twenty-four grand pianoforte etudes in all keys. 
 
 6 — Otto Tiersch 
 
 Born at Kalbsrieth, Thuringia, September 1, 1838 ; died Berlin, Novem- 
 ber 1, 1892. Pupil of J. G, Topfer at Weimar, and Bellermann, A. B. 
 Marx, and L. Erk at Berlin. Teacher of singing nt the Stern Ck»nservatory, 
 Berlin. As a theorist he was a disciple of Hauptfflann, but laid more stress 
 on the relationship by the Third (of keys and chords) than the latter. 
 Writings : System and Methode der Harmonielehre (l868) : Elgmentarbuch der 
 Musikalischen Harmonie- und Modulationslehre (l874); Kurze praktische 
 Generalhass, Harmonie-und Modulationslehre (l876), etc. — 
 
 7 — Hans Guido von Bulow 
 
 A pianist,' conductor and critic of wonderful versatility and the highest 
 attainments. 
 
 Born at Dresden, January 8, 1880; died February 12, 1894, at Cairo. 
 At the age of nine, his teachers were Friedrich Wieck and Eberwein ; 
 when in 1848 he matriculated at Leipzig University as a law student, 
 he continued contrapuntal study under Hauptmann- Next year, however, 
 found him at Berlin where he adopted Wagner's radical tendencies. He 
 was confirmed in his views by hearing Lohengrin" given at Weimar 
 under Liszt's direction, and joined Wagner in his exile at Zurich. During 
 18.50 and 1851 the master initiated him into the art of conducting. 
 Bulow then acted as conductor in the theatres at Zurich and St. Gallen 
 and finally became Liszt's pupil at Weimar. His first pianistic tour (l853) 
 through Germany and Austria met with fair success; his second in 1855, 
 secured him the succession to Kullak as first pianoforte teacher in the 
 "Stern Conservatory," Berlin, a post held until 1863. He married Cosima 
 Liszt in 1857 ; in 1858 he was appointed court pianist; in 1868 the Uni- 
 versity of Jena made him Dr. Phil. hon. causa. 
 
 Wagner, having been recalled from banishment by Ludwig II of Ba- 
 varia influenced his royal patron to invite Biilow to Munich in 1864 as 
 court pianist. From 1867 to 1869 he was also court-conductor, and Direc- 
 tor of the School of Music. From 1869, after separation from his wife, 
 Bulow lived in Florence as a teacher, pianist and conductor till 1872; 
 here he was also a power in musical circles and did much to introduce 
 
 [ 2^7 ] 
 
German music. After an interval filled chiefly by concert tours, he suc- 
 ceeded Fischer in 1878, as court-conductor at Hanover; but frequent 
 embroilments with the royal superintendent of the theatre led to Bulow's 
 resignation in 1880 ; and from October 1, of that year, until 1885 he acted 
 as Hqfrmisik-Intendant at Saxe-Meiningen. In 1882 he took his second vi'ife, 
 Marie Schanzer, an actress at Meiningen. From 1885 to 1888, Biilow de- 
 voted much time to teaching at the Raff Conservatory, Frankfort, and 
 Klindworth's Conservatory, Berlin. Helikevirise directed the Philharmonic 
 Concerts at St. Petersburg and Berlin. In 1888, he founded at Hamburg, 
 the Subscription Concerts " which were a great success from the start. 
 When Biilow died, Ethelbert Nevin wrote of him : 
 
 The musical world knows of him as the pianist and conductor, and 
 the outside world has heard of him as an eccentric creation. Now that he 
 has ended his life's race and is not here to take exception to the pleasant 
 things said of him — which were to him very disagreeable — I am sure 
 my classmates would all join with thanks and gratitude to him for his 
 patient, kind and encouraging instruction. We were not a brilliant assem- 
 blage, just everyday pianoforte pupils, so one can imagine his conscien- 
 tious devotion to the art of music, when it did not seem an overpowering 
 task for him to labor with our brains and hands for hours at a time. 
 
 There are many young American men and women who have been 
 privileged to work under his guidance and I know they will echo my 
 appreciation and thankfulness that it was possible for us to absorb some 
 of his wonderful knowledge and musical integrity." 
 
 8 — Rudolf Bial 
 
 Born at Habelschwerdt, Silesia, August 26, 18S4; died at New York, 
 November 13, 1881. Violinist in Breslau orchestra; then made a tour in 
 Africa and Australia with his brother Karl. Settled in Berlin as conductor 
 of the Kroll orchestra, and (l864) conductor of the Wallner Theatre where 
 his numerous farces and operettas have been performed. Conductor of 
 Italian opera in Berlin, and concert agent in New York. 
 
 [ ^-^s ] 
 
THE COMPOSITIONS OF 
 ETHELBERT NEVIN 
 
THE COMPOSITIONS OF 
 
 ETHELBERT NEVIN 
 
 CHRONOLOGICALLY ORDERED, ACCORDING 
 TO THE YEAR OF PUBLICATION 
 
 1874 
 Lilian Polka Piano 
 
 1880 
 Apple Blossoms Song' and Dance 
 
 1881 
 
 The Lovers (In the garden were leisurely walking) Song 
 
 The Milk Maid (Shame upon you, Robin) . Song 
 
 1886 
 
 ' ' 1 once had a sweet little doll, dears " Song 
 
 "Stars of the summer night" Song 
 
 Summer Longings (Ah! My heart is weary waiting) .Song 
 
 "When all the world is young, lad " Song 
 
 1887 
 
 Bed-time Song {Sway to and fro in the tmlight gray). Song 
 
 Cradle Song (Sleep, baby, sleep) Song 
 
 1888 
 Op. 2, Sketch Book 
 
 1 . Gavotte . Piano 
 
 2. Im wundersehonen Monat Mai (^Twas in the lovely month of 
 May) . Song 
 
 3. Love Song . ■ . . Piano 
 
 4. Du bist wie eine Blume (Oh ! fair, and sweet and holy) Song 
 
 5. Berceuse Piano 
 
 6. Lehn' deine Wang (Oh! let thy tears fill fast with mine). . .Song 
 
 [ ^J^ ] 
 
7. Serenata Piano 
 
 8. " Oh ! that we two were maying " Song' 
 
 9. Valse Rhapsodie Piaiw 
 
 10. " In winter I get up at night " ... .Song 
 
 11. " Of speckled eggs the birdie sings " So7ig 
 
 12. " Dark brown is the river " ...Song 
 
 13. " The night has a thousand eyes " Mixed chorus and violin obbligato 
 
 Op. 3, Theee Songs 
 
 1. " Deep in a rose's glowing heart" Song with violin and ^ cello obbligati 
 
 2. " One spring morning " " " " " 
 
 3. "Doris" " " " " 
 
 Serenade ( Good-night, good-night, beloved) Song 
 
 May Day Dance Unison chorus, with piano 4^-hand ace. 
 
 1889 
 
 Op. 4, Five Songs 
 
 1. Herbstgefiihl {Autumn sadness) Song 
 
 S,. Chanson des Lavandieres ( What care I, unwilling) Song 
 
 3. " 'Twas April " Song 
 
 4. Raft Song {From upwards my raft drifts down) Song 
 
 5. "Before the daybreak " Song 
 
 The Earth has Grown Old . ■ . Christmas Carol 
 
 Everywhere, Everywhere, Christmas Tonight . Christmas Carol 
 
 Wynken, Blynken and Nod Solo and chorus of mixed voices, with piano 
 
 4.-hand ace. 
 
 1890 
 Op. 6, Three Duets for the Piano 
 
 1. Valse Caprice Piano, four hands 
 
 2. Country Dance " " " 
 
 3. Mazurka 
 
 Op. T, Four Pieces 
 
 1. Valzer Gentile. .... .... . .Piano 
 
 2. Slumber Song . . . . . . . Piano 
 
 3. Intermezzo . Piano 
 
 4. Song of the Brook . . .Piano 
 
 [ ^J-' 1 
 
Jesu, Jesu, Miserere Sacred Song 
 
 The Silent Skies are Full of Speech Christmas Carol 
 
 Nunc Dimittis Mixed Voices 
 
 Benedictus Mixed Voices 
 
 Jubilate Mixed Voices 
 
 1891 
 
 Op. 8, 1. Melody Violin, and Piano 
 
 %. Habanera Violin and Piano 
 
 Une Vieille Chanson {If a lovely laxrni there be) Song 
 
 Barcarolle {The crimson glow of sunset fades) Men's Voices 
 
 Op. 12, Five Songs 
 
 1 . A Summer Day Song 
 
 2. ' ' Beat upon mine little heart " Song 
 
 8. In a Bower Song 
 
 4. Little Boy Blue Song 
 
 5. At Twilight Song 
 
 Op. 13, Water Scenes 
 
 1. Dragon Fly Piano 
 
 2. Ophelia Piano 
 
 S. Water Nymph . . Piano 
 
 4. Narcissus Piano 
 
 5. Barcarolle Piano 
 
 1892 
 The Rhine and the Moselle Chorus of Men's Voices 
 
 Op. 16, In Arcady 
 
 1. A Shepherd's Tale Piano 
 
 2. Shepherds All and Maidens Fair Piano 
 
 3. Lullaby Piano 
 
 4. Tournament Piano 
 
 Op. 17, Three Songs 
 
 1. Hab' ein Roslein {The Rosebud) Song 
 
 2. Le Vase Brise {The Vase) Song 
 
 3. Rappelle-toi {Remember well) Song 
 
 [ ^33 ] 
 
Op. 18, Two Etudes 
 
 1 . In the form of a Romance . 
 
 2. In the form of a Scherzo . 
 
 Piano 
 ■ Piano 
 
 1893 
 
 Barcarolle 
 Evening Song . 
 Mv Love. 
 
 Op. 
 
 Violin and Piano 
 
 ■ Chorus of Mixed Voices 
 
 ■ Chorus of Mixed Voices 
 
 20, A Book of Songs 
 
 1. A Fair, Good Morn. . . 
 
 2. Sleep, little Tulip 
 
 3. Ev'ry Night 
 
 4. Airly Beacon . . 
 
 5. When the Land Was White with Moonlight. 
 
 6. A Song of Love 
 
 7. Nocturne {Up to her chamber windoze). 
 
 8. Dites-moi (Tell me). 
 
 9. Orsola's Song . 
 10. In the Night 
 
 When Christmas Comes . 
 
 1894 
 The Merr;', Merry Lark .... 
 
 La Vie (Lifi) 
 
 Ti Saluto {Thine my greetmg) 
 
 1896 
 Op. 21, May ix Tuscaxy 
 
 1 . Arlecchino 
 
 2. Notturno {In Boccaccio'' s Villa) ... 
 
 3. Barchetta 
 
 4. Misericordia 
 
 5. II Rusignuolo {In my neighbor' s garden) . 
 
 6. La Pastorella( J/ow^epiano). 
 
 Op. 22, Two Soxgs 
 
 1 . Rechte Zeit ( Time enough! ) . 
 
 2. Madel, wie bliiht's {Maiden, how siveet) . 
 [ ^U ] 
 
 ■ Song 
 
 ■ Song 
 
 ■ Song 
 
 ■ Song 
 
 ■ Song 
 
 ■ Song 
 
 ■ Song 
 
 ■ Song 
 
 ■ Song 
 
 ■ Song 
 ■ Christmas Carol 
 
 ■ Song 
 Song 
 
 ■ Song 
 
 ■ Piano 
 
 ■ Piano 
 
 ■ Piano 
 Piano 
 
 ■ Piano 
 
 ■ Piano 
 
 ■ Song 
 
 ■ Song 
 
1898 
 The Rosary Song 
 
 Life Lesson {There, little girl, don't cry). . . .Song 
 
 "My Love's Waitin' " Song 
 
 Op. 25, A Day in Venice 
 
 1 . Alba ( Dazmi) . Piano 
 
 2. Gondolieri {Gondoliers) .Piano 
 
 8. Canzone Amorosa {Love Song) .Piano 
 
 4. Buona Notte {Good Night) .Piano 
 
 March of the Pilgrims, for the Knight Templars .Piano 
 
 1899 
 Op. 28, Songs from Vineacee 
 
 1 . A Necklace of Love .... Song 
 
 2. Sleeping and Dreaming . Song 
 
 3. The Dream-maker Man . . . Sang 
 
 4. Ein Liedchen.. .. .Song 
 
 5. My Desire ... . . .... . . . Song 
 
 6. The Nightingale's Song. Song 
 
 7. La Lune Blanche Song 
 
 8. Ein Heldenlied So7ig 
 
 Op. 29, Captive Memories. .Bar. Solo, Solo Quartet and Reader; Song Cycle 
 
 Op. 30, En Passant 
 
 1. A Fontainebleau Piano 
 
 2. In Dreamland Piano 
 
 3. Napoli ... Piano 
 
 4. At Home {A June Night in Washington) Piano 
 
 1900 
 Memorial Day Mixed Voices 
 
 POSTHUMOUS WORKS 
 
 1901 
 
 An African Love Song Song 
 
 "Mighty lak' a rose " Song 
 
 To Anne Song 
 
 [ ^JS J 
 
At Rest . Smig 
 
 The Woodpecker Song 
 
 The Four Seasons Mixed Voices 
 
 1902 
 
 O'er Hill axd Dale 
 
 'Twas a lover and his lass . . . Piano 
 
 The Thrush Piano 
 
 Love is a-stra}'ing, ever since maying Piano 
 
 The Lark is on the wing ... Piano 
 
 The Quest Cantata 
 
 1907 
 
 Sweetest Eyes were ever seen Song 
 
 1909 
 Wedding Morn Song 
 
 1913 
 
 Marguerites Song 
 
 Rain Song Song 
 
 I Fear Thy kisses, gentle maiden Song 
 
 •[ 236 ] 
 
MUSIC 
 
Rain Song 
 
 i 
 
 R. L. Stevenson 
 Allegretto mf 
 
 Ethelbert Nevin 
 
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 And on the ships at sea. 
 
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 B. M. Co. 3822 
 
 Copyright, 1913, by The Boston Music Co. For all countries 
 
 [239] 
 
Marguerites 
 
 Moderate : con espressione 
 
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 B. M. Co. 3824 
 [240] 
 
 Copyright, 1913, by The Boston Music Co. For all countries 
 
mi 
 
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 B. M. Co. 3824 
 
 [241] 
 
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 B. M. Co. 3824 
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 B. M. Co. 3824 
 
 [243] 
 
m 
 
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 B. M. Co. 3824 
 [244] 
 
I Fear Thy Kisses, Gentle Maiden 
 
 Percy Bysshe Shelley 
 
 mi) Andante m oderato 
 
 WS^^: 
 
 Ethelbert Nevin 
 
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 I. I fear thy kiss - es, gen - tie maid -en, 
 2.1 fear thy mien, thy tones, tliy mo-tion; 
 
 Thou need - est not fear 
 Thou need - est not fear 
 
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 B. M. Co. 3823 
 
 Copyright, 1913, by The Boston Music Co. For all countries 
 
A Christmas Carol 
 
 Margaret E. Sangster 
 Allegretto semplice 
 
 Ethelbert Nevin 
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 Cf 
 
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 s^et 
 
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 Christ 
 Christ 
 Christ 
 Christ 
 u, tetnpo 
 
 raas comes with song 
 
 mas comes we light 
 
 mas comes, wher e'er 
 
 mas comes on sea 
 
 and stir. We bring our boughs of 
 
 our tree, In cheer and mirth and 
 
 we roam. We hear the mer ry 
 
 or land, 'Tis love sends gifts from 
 
 I 
 
 A- 
 
 i^^a 
 
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 Pedale 
 
 From "Harper's Young People." Copyright, 1893, by Harper & Brothers. Used by permission, 
 B. M. Co. 3S25 
 
 [246] 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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 And 
 Our 
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 them we say, "By 
 star ry arc, So 
 
 on the street, Laugh 
 
 Vir gin's Son, Him 
 
 God's good will be glad and gay. By 
 
 shone the Star a cross the dark, So 
 
 out when stran ger folk they meet. Laugh 
 
 self be stows on ev 'ry one, Him 
 
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 shone 
 
 out 
 
 self 
 
 good 
 the 
 
 when 
 be 
 
 will 
 
 Star 
 
 stran 
 
 stows 
 
 be 
 a 
 
 ger 
 on 
 
 glad 
 
 cross 
 
 folk 
 
 and gay." 
 
 the dark. 
 
 they meet, 
 
 'ry one. 
 
 Sing, sing, 
 
 Sing, sing. 
 
 Sing, sing. 
 
 Sing, sing, 
 rit. 
 
 •nf y After last verse 
 
 B. M. Co. 3825 
 
 [247] 
 
A