Anton Schindler, one of the well-known musical characters of the day, and who had been Beethoven's most intimate friend during the latter years of the great composer's life, lived at Frankfort, and, being members of the same club, the Bürger Verein, I often enjoyed the pleasure of his society, and heard much concerning Beethoven. Schindler had written a life of Beethoven, and was naturally very proud of his close association with the great master. During his residence in Paris, some years previous to the time of which I am writing, he caused to be printed on his visiting-cards, "Anton Schindler, Ami de Beethoven."
He worshiped his idol's memory, and was so familiar with his music that the slightest mistake in interpretation or departure from Beethoven's invention or design jarred upon his nerves—or possibly he made a pretense of this. He held all four-hand pianoforte arrangements of works designed and composed for orchestra as abominations. Extreme sensitiveness is a rôle sometimes assumed by men in no wise remarkable, in order to enhance their own importance in the eyes of others. Schindler's attitude as to the undesirability of orchestral pianoforte arrangements will meet with the approval of many, but he certainly carried his sensitiveness in regard to the interpretation of Beethoven's works to amusing extremes.
Every winter a subscription series of orchestral concerts was given in Frankfort, each program of which included at least one symphony. The concerts took place in a very old stone building called the "Museum," and on the occasion here referred to the symphony was Beethoven's "No. 5, C Minor." It so happened that, owing to long-continued rains and extreme humidity, the stone walls of the old hall were saturated with dampness, in fact, were actually wet. This excess of moisture affected the pitch of the wood wind-instruments to such a degree that the other instruments had to be adjusted to accommodate them. Schindler, it was noticed, left the hall at the close of the first movement. This seemed a strange proceeding on the part of the "Ami de Beethoven," and when later in the evening he was seen at the Bürger Verein and asked why he had gone away so suddenly, he replied gruffly, "I don't care to hear Beethoven's 'C Minor Symphony' played in the key of B minor."
SCHINDLER AND SCHNYDER VON WARTENSEE
ANOTHER story current in Frankfort at this time further illustrates Schindler's peculiarity. Among the noted musicians living in Frankfort was a theoretician, Swiss by birth, named Schnyder von Wartensee, who was of considerable importance in his day. Schindler and Von Wartensee had lived in Frankfort, but had never met each other, although common friends had at various times made ineffectual efforts to bring them together. They were both advanced in years, and, as it seemed, ought to have been genial companions. Possibly the failure to arrange a meeting had been due to Wartensee's being older than Schindler, and thus in a position to expect the latter to call first, while Schindler, being "Ami de Beethoven," felt it beneath his dignity to make the first move. However, some time previous to my arrival another plan for an interview was contrived, and as so many previous ones had failed the outcome of this was watched with interest.
By the exercise of considerable diplomatic tact Schindler was persuaded to agree to call upon Wartensee and to fix a time for the visit. The friends of the gentlemen had all been looking forward with much interest to the result of this meeting, hoping thereby to hear a great many musical reminiscences, and a committee was appointed to watch Schindler and make sure that he kept the appointment. After a while the committee returned to the Bürger Verein and reported that they had seen him almost reach Wartensee's house, then pause for a moment, and suddenly turn and hurry away. Later Schindler himself came in, and being questioned concerning the interview, exclaimed, "Bah! as I got near the house I heard them [Wartensee and his wife] playing a four-handed piano arrangement of the 'Eroica.'"
FIRST LONDON CONCERT
IN January, 1853, my stay in Frankfort was brought to an end by a letter from Sir Julias Benedict, asking me to come to London to play at one of the concerts of the Harmonic Union at Exeter Hall. I accepted the engagement, and made my first appearance in London under Benedict's conductorship, playing Weber's "Concertstück." An account having been published in a London paper of the very delightful celebration, in 1899, of my seventieth birthday by my pupils, past and present, and by many of my friends, I received an inquiry from a lady living in London, asking whether I was the same William Mason whom she had heard in Exeter Hall nearly half a century ago!
I accepted only one other engagement to play in public, though I remained near London for more than two months, just to look about.