October 4.
Top o' the morning, Cecy dear!
Such a glorious, allegro vivace day! The sun is shining, the air is crisp and cool, and the sauciest of breezes is coquetting with the tree-tops in the Platz. It gets into one's blood, a morning like this, and the wildest dreams seem possible of fulfilment. I came home from my lesson humming the theme of the scherzo of Beethoven's eighth symphony. It seemed to fit the buoyancy of my mood as nothing else could.
I can see you smile now and hear you say, "It's quite evident she is happy in her new surroundings." Exactly so, my dear, and there are so many delightful things to tell you about that I don't know where to begin. However, the Conservatory forms one of the most vital elements of my new life here, so I'll start by telling you of my first visit there.
Be it known, then, that the Royal Conservatory of Munich, to give it its full title, opened the eighteenth, and promptly at nine o'clock I made my way thither. What a rambling old building it is, and how replete with association! So many musicians have studied here at some time or other, although Rheinberger and many of the teachers who have made it famous are now memories of the past. With a certain indefinable thrill I realized I was actually within these walls.
Instead of the Herein! which I expected to hear in response to my knock on the door of the director's room, Stavenhagen himself opened the door. I wonder if you heard him play when he was in America. He's a handsome man, not much above thirty, with blue eyes, firm chin, straight nose, and curly blond hair and mustache.
In fact, he has all the delightful characteristics of a German, and none of the unlovely ones. Besides this, he is tall, a rarity in men of his nation.
"Eine Amerikanerin!" he said pleasantly, pushing a chair forward. "I speak a lee-tle English, but," he went on in German, "perhaps we will make more progress if I stick to my mother tongue."
"I speak a very little German," said I, smiling, not feeling in the least afraid of him, and forthwith explained my situation and what I wished to do at the school. A little man, whose face, beard, and hair all seemed the same reddish color, was looking over a pile of letters in the corner of the room. He now glanced up at me curiously as I began my inquiries about the Partitur Lesen (score reading) class of which I had read in the catalogue.