Rubinstein Concert: 1st

“At the concert last night after the opening overture, well played by Mr. Bergmann’s orchestra, the main business of the evening began with a long and rather abstruse concerto in D minor, composed and executed by Rubinstein. It is clear and spirited in character, and graceful and delicate in detached passages, but on the whole, so far as could be judged on a first hearing, not distinguished by a large melodic outline or richness of imagination. It is, however, bristling with technical difficulties, and might be judged to have been selected as an appropriate opportunity for bringing out at one stroke all the technical virtues of the great maestro. These were accordingly displayed to the best advantage, and recognized by the audience with almost frantic enthusiasm. Herr Rubinstein is clearly one of the phenomenal executants of the age. Massive force, clearness of phrasing, the most wonderful clearness and definition in rapid passages, and the most resonant and vibrant elasticity of touch—all these, with a delicious silvery trickle of cadenza and a pianissimo as soft, yet distinct as the microscopic plumage of a butterfly’s wing, make his execution one of the marvels of modern artistic development. In the group of morceaux, which formed his second number on the programme, his performance of the Rondo in A minor, from Mozart, was delightfully quiet, tender and distinct in shading, and the following march from Beethoven’s ‘Ruins of Athens,’ was given with an electric fire and vigor which fairly took the audience off their feet, though taken, for the sake of contrast, doubtless, with an exaggerated rapidity which suggests that the Athenian soldiery must have been used to drill at the extra double quick.

Schumann’s ‘Etudes Symphoniques,’ which formed the third Rubinstein number, are hardly marked enough in melodic form, hardly distinct enough in sentiment, for a general programme in a large hall, but were given with excellent force and clearness, and the pianist closed his share of the evening’s work with a barcarole, melodie, and valse of his own composition.

Herr Wieniawski shared the honors of the evening by his execution of Mendelssohn’s concerto for violin in E minor and a Légende and Airs Russes of his own. His prominent characteristics as heard last night are a delightful firmness of execution, and the most penetrating clearness and fiery sweetness, so to speak, of tone. His work is thoroughly simple and honest, unmarred by affected sentiment or fantastic eccentricity. We miss in him somewhat of the tenderness which gives such a charm to the execution of some less distinguished violinists, but as a master of his instrument it is probable that Herr Wieniawski has not has his superior in this country.

Mme. Liebhart was heard in the familiar ‘Leise-leise,’ from ‘Der Freischütz,’ and in a pleasant ballad. Her voice is pure, strong, and clear rather than flexible, and her method marked by some of the less laudable peculiarities of the ultra-German school.

Mme. Ormeny did not do full justice to the ‘Non piu mesta,’ from ‘Cenerentola,’ but we gladly postpone comment on the lady’s performance till later hearing; as she was evidently suffering from the embarrassment of a first appearance before an audience, and in a country entirely unfamiliar.” [Reprinted DJM 10/05/72, p. 317]

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Review: New York Herald, 24 September 1872, 6.

“Steinway Hall was the scene of a remarkable event last night. It was the first appearance of an artist who, with Liszt and Wagner, forms the climax of art in Europe. The audience itself was an interesting feature. Artists of foreign and local celebrity fringed the hall, not only on the floor but in both galleries, and litterateurs were there by the score. It was a very attentive audience, too. The great pianist and his associates had willing listeners. There was no indiscriminate applause, but a severe, critical spirit seemed to have taken possession of the house, to be broken only by the efforts of genius. As for the local pianists, and we may add pianomakers, their name was Legion. The lobby at the entrance during the intermission became a noisy lyceum of declamation, and everyone obtruded his particular opinion about music in general and Rubinstein in particular. The pianist has associates in his concerts, but they are all lesser lights, lost in the effulgence of his genius. The programme had only one fault—it was too long. The following will show what its component parts were [see above].

Carl Bergmann led the orchestra and had a thankless task, for there were rioters in its ranks who would like to have inaugurated a musical Commune. The reappearance of Rubinstein was heartily greeted—no claque either, but a sound, well-meant expression of welcome. The rugged face, with its Tartar features and its frame of long, uncombed hair, and the ungainly form, which bowed repeatedly in response to the avalanche of applause, attracted and centred upon itself the deepest attention of two thousand auditors. The orchestra commenced the introduction to the concerto—a work, by the way, which Miss Krebs attempted to play at one of the Philharmonic concerts some time since. A solemn, Wagnerish movement it was, ushering in a full chorded maestoso piece of declamation on the piano. New subjects were then introduced by the composer and player with a rich background of instrumentation, and the work grew more massive and more replete with rich thoughts as it proceeded. Now and then there came a piano cadenza which seemed like a piece of orchestration in its rugged grandeur, and the finale of the movement was a whirlwind in its impetuosity and power, calling forth from the piano a perfect Thesaurus of sound, which surged above even the blatant instruments that surrounded the inspired player.

The second movement was a lovely Andante, opening with a rich melody, which became still more beautiful in the kaleidoscopic changes of treatment which it underwent. Here the Titan was transformed into a Titania, and the storm of the previous movement was lulled into a cantabile calm, in which the singing qualities of the piano were brought out to their fullest extent. Now and then the delicious melody was marred by the undue exuberance of the orchestra, and some of the best efforts of the pianist suffered in consequence. In the last movement Rubinstein gave evidence of extraordinary power. Commencing with an allegro tempo, he soon increased it to a presto, and in the pauses of the orchestra were heard passages in octaves and sixths, often combined, where we would deem single notes as difficult interpreters of the theme. There is something truly grand in Rubinstein’s grasp of a subject. With all his impetuosity and nervous strength everything is intelligible and well defined, even in the smallest details. A handful of chords in the lowest bass gives a clear, well-defined idea of each particular note. The piano is his obedient slave and responds to his touch and thought like a being instinct with life. The second work played by him, the air and variations by Handel, one of those quaint and fine old reminiscences of a great school, exhibited a new phase in his playing. He invested it with a power, expression and distinctness of phrasing absolutely wonderful. The tender little morceau of Mozart showed that the pianist could interpret true poetry as well as the stormy cadences of the modern schools. In the march from ‘The Ruins of Athens,’ he gave a perfect specimen of a diminuendo effect on the piano. Schumann’s grand work, with its enormous difficulties, was rendered with a massiveness and élan eclipsing even the performance of the concerto. In speaking of this great pianist it may be well to allude to a deserved rebuke which he gave last night to that crying nuisance in the concert hall, the extravagant and ridiculous presentation of baskets of flowers from the hands of unseemly ushers. Wreaths and flowers were alike spurned by Rubinstein, who showed a sturdy independence and a contempt for these small tricks of the profession.

Wieniaswki created a sensation of no ordinary kind. The Mendelssohn concerto is an old favorite here, and every violinist essays it sooner or later. The characteristics of the playing of the Polish violinist consist principally of an elegance and finish of style and a remarkably pure, well shaded, if not sympathetic tone. In his own works he showed a freedom almost approaching abandon, which was not perceptible in the work of Mendelssohn. Soul, that desirable element in a great violinist, seems to be subservient in Wieniawski’s case to elegance of manner, and his phrasing, well rounded and distinct, is more important to him than mere sentiment. He is the most accomplished artist we have had here for many years; but even in the perfection of his technique and his keen appreciation of the thoughts of a composer there is a lack of that warmth and feeling that made Paganini once such a potent magician over the minds of his hearers.

Mlle. Liebhart was suffering from a cold, and a veil of hoarseness marred the lower notes of her voice in the scena from ‘Der Freischütz,’ but she invested the beautiful selection from Weber with much fire and expression. Mlle. Ormeni was the victim of nervousness or stage fright in the ‘Non piu mesta’ from ‘Cenerentola,’ but recovered from it sufficiently to execute the florid passages of the aria with commendable spirit and finish. But the feature of the troupe is Rubinstein, and he is the first pianist here that can draw the effect, coloring and variety of sentiment of an orchestra from the keyboard of a piano.”

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Review: New York Post, 24 September 1872, 2.

“No piano player has ever appeared in the United States who has produced such effects as did Anton Rubinstein last evening, at Steinway Hall. To say that his performance was a triumph is very feebly to express the tempest of applause and the whirlwind of enthusiasm he excited. Yet it was a triumph in a double sense, over the instrument which, in its highest mechanique, is little adequate to make an immense impression in a large hall, and over his own grotesque, ungraceful and clumsy appearance, which is even more calculated to provoke mirth than we had supposed from the pictures of him that have been displayed for several weeks in the windows of the music shops, wherein he looks like a victim of cerebro-spinal-meningitis. Under the touch of Rubinstein the piano is a new thing; his foot upon the pedal seems to give it a forte it never had before, and his fingers upon the key-board produce a pianissimo softer and fainter than the most delicate dying sounds of nature. In the march from the ‘Ruins of Athens’ last night, the instrument [next eleven lines of text partially obstructed]. and there was in the [not visible] the musical movement [not visible] of notes that never be- [not visible] the suggestion of the tread [not visible] shaking beneath them. [not visible] inadequate to the ex- [not visible] forceful ideas. And so [not visible] of his own ‘Concerto in D [not visible] which throughout the [not visible] Rubinstein will do much [not visible] cating the musical taste of our people) the delicacy and refinement of his digitation were beyond description. A ripple of sound seemed to run across the keys from which such tremendous bursts of harmony had just been evoked, like the faintest curl on the surface of the deep sea—and then Tennyson’s words came to mind:

“O hark, o hark, how thin and clear

And thinner, clearer, farther going

O sweet and far from cliff and scar

The horns of Elfland faintly blowing!”

But the manner of Herr Rubinstein’s playing, the style of his fingering and pedaling, and his mode of treatment of the piano itself, are the last things which occur to the hearer as they seem to have no place in the thoughts of the player. Beyond a certain ungainly recognition of the sympathy of the audience, he manifests no consciousness of surrounding objects. He is not in Steinway Hall, he is in Cloud Land, Imagination Land, that Thackeray so prettily describes, apropos of a little cracked piano strummed upon by a girl, and he has to do only with his music. Never was there a more simple, direct, conscientious performer. The quiet disdain with which he seemed to regard the frippery of the flowers (and the bouquet business was ridiculously overdone last night), and the straightforward manner in which he went to work could not fail to strike every one present. But with Rubinstein it does not appear to be work at all. Painstaking as is his method, and careful as he is in each individual note struck from the clavicle, the effect is that of a conscious mastery of the instrument that was a gift, a grace, a benediction, and that came not from painful study.

We have little space to do justice to Mr. Wieniawski, whose violin playing would create a furore in itself if he were alone, and consoles us for not having heard Paganini. He is full, rich, true, careful, vigorous, all that could be wished for in a violinist, and what we have never heard before. Of the ladies of the concert troupe there is not much to be said except commonplaces of compliment carefully guarded, but a word of praise is due to the orchestra under Mr. Bergmann.

The immense success of the whole series of concerts is assured by the phenomenon of Rubinstein.”

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Review: New-York Times, 24 September 1872, 4.

“The first of the Rubinstein concerts at Steinway Hall terminated at so late an hour last night that a satisfying reference to its incidents, written after the final note was sounded, can scarcely be attempted. Happily, as yesterday’s entertainment was but the first of a series, we shall have other and more available opportunities of dealing in detail with the performers whom Mr. Grau has engaged, and with their efforts. That which most persons will be especially desirous of learning in connection with yesterday’s affair, can be told at once, in a few words. The highest expectations of Mr. Rubinstein’s admirers were not disappointed, and the enthusiasm his performances awakened quite dwarfed by its demonstration the proportions of an already very flattering reception. More remarkable piano playing than Mr. Rubinstein’s cannot be imagined. It unites a sensibility equally alive to Beethoven, to Mozart, to Handel and to Schumann; a touch of inexhaustible variety; marvelous power and delicacy of wrist; and exceeding science and taste, governing an executive skill which no one can excel, and which, in the opinion of an audience accustomed to Mr. Rubinstein’s work, it would be at least difficult for Liszt to rival. A full exhibition of the pianist’s genius and art was afforded last evening, and hence the gratifying result. A superb concerto by the performer himself; an air and variations in B minor by Handel; a rondo in A minor by Mozart; an arrangement of the march from Beethoven’s ‘Ruins of Athens;’ Schumann’s ‘Etudes Symphoniques,’ and three numbers composed by Mr. Rubinstein, were the media through which the greatness of the executant—and not to omit another claim of Mr. Rubinstein to our deepest regard, the talent of the composer—were clearly apparent. As mentioned above, it would be impossible to handle separately each of the artist’s contributions to a really too generous programme. Only those points of Mr. Rubinstein's delivery which made the deepest impression at his first hearing in the United States, can be hinted at. The marvelous combination of force and delicacy is particularly noticeable. In the most tremendous fortes, in which the piano, under Rubinstein’s fingers, copes victoriously with the orchestra; and in pianissimi, in which the effects generally attainable only by the use of stringed instruments are wrought, the quality of the tone produced is of unvarying beauty; the runs are now brilliant as though each note were a diamond, now close as chains of sound formed of the finest links; the bars in octaves have the might of Sanderson’s, and the finish of Gottschalk’s arabesques; the arpeggios justify—and how rarely they do any musician of culture will admit—the derivation of the name. All the qualities of a style to which no hurried allusion like this one can do justice, were shown by the first night’s labors of Mr. Rubinstein. Indifferent as the artist seems to those evidences of delight of which concert goers are often, perhaps, too liberal, the pianist could not have mistaken, or failed to appreciate the cordial greeting at the outset of the entertainment, and the twenty or more recalls during its progress. Three summons to reappear at the conclusion of the magnificent concerto in D minor; we know not how many after the recital of the march from ‘The Ruins of Athens,’ erst brought out with a distinctness indicative of the proximity of a whole band, and gradually receding until its melody grows ‘so fine that nothing lives ‘twixt it and silence.’—these, with floral tributes, disdained rather ungraciously, were the proofs of Mr. Rubinstein’s triumphs. To the extent to which any artist can share the laurels of a contest with so colossal a genius, Mr. Wieniawski divided them with Mr. Rubinstein. We remember no kindred influence exercised by a violinist over his hearers. Mr. Wieniawski’s tone is of the most unexceptional strength, roundness, and purity; his bowing in the cantabile portions of his music is perfect in its suavity and eloquence; his harmonics are of unfailing purity; his staccati are simply marvelous. Mendelssohn’s concerto in E minor was the vehicle for the exposition of the violinist’s school; his own ‘Russian Airs,’ in which the gentle pathos of a well-remembered Northern tune, first made known to Europe by Thalberg, was never until yesterday so potent, and his ‘Légende,’ one of the most poetical compositions ever written for the violin, supplied testimony as to the creativeness and imagination of the musician and executant. Mr. Wieniawski, as well as Mr. Rubinstein, was constrained to reappear time and again. The artists whose exertions as vocalists secured occasional and desirable repose for the instrumentalists were Mlle. Louise Liebhart and Mlle. Louise Ormény. Mlle. Liebhart was somewhat hoarse, last evening. But the grand aria from ‘Der Freyscheutz’ and one of Allen’s ballads proved that she is not without skill, however slight, at the present period of her existence, her resources. Mlle. Ormény is a mezzo-soprano of limited compass rather than a contralto, for her lower notes are not worth taking into account. In the second piece assigned to her—an air from Bellini’s ‘Capuletti e Montecchi’—she was heard to most advantage, for her execution was utterly inadequate to the florid ‘Non piu mesta’ from Rossini’s ‘La Cenerentola,’ and her intonation was frequently inaccurate. A proficient, though rather noisy, orchestra under the baton of Mr. Bergmann assisted, and when the services of an accompanyist were required, M. Rembielinski discharged capably the thankless duties of that personage. The second Rubinstein concert will be given tomorrow. We must not neglect to say that Steinway Hall was, on the occasion we write of, crowded.”

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Review: New-York Daily Tribune, 24 September 1872, 4.

“The series of concerts opened by Mr. Grau last night at Steinway Hall promises to be one of the most remarkable ever given in America. About Herr Rubinstein, at any rate, there can be no two intelligent opinions. The verdict of New-York, perhaps, was not exactly necessary to stamp him as one of the two most extraordinary pianists of the age; but the verdict has been pronounced, and that with all possible earnestness and unanimity. Nothing like his playing has ever been heard in America; nothing like it probably will be heard here by the present generation unless we should some time have a visit from Liszt. The programme last night was excessively long, and was somewhat curtailed in the performance; nevertheless the enthusiasm steadily increased until the end, and the evening closed with shouts of triumph. Herr Rubinstein introduced himself with his D minor concerto, which, if we are not mistaken, has been played in this city by Miss Krebs. The first movement gave a fair but not adequate idea of his brilliant execution; the second, with its beautiful andante, was a gem of cantabile playing; but in the closing prestissimo the full glory of his tremendous force and the magnetism of his touch burst forth upon the astounded audience. In his subsequent selections he seemed to grow better and better. Handel’s Air and variations in D minor never could have had such an interpretation before, even from the old composer himself. Mozart’s Rondo in A minor was exquisite. The famous March from ‘The Ruins of Athens’ resounded through the hall with the splendor, one would have thought, of a full band; and Schumann’s Etudes symphoniques received the most brilliant, forcible, and sympathetic handling. It would be a mistake to suppose, however, that force is the predominant characteristic of Rubinstein’s playing. He has the strength of a giant, but it is united with the delicacy of a poet. No one else can so completely gather up the full resources of the piano, and pour them forth in a torrent of grand and sonorous harmonies; no one else has so thoroughly mastered the difficulties of the most intricate and rapid execution; no one else is so brilliant, so fiery, so incredibly enduring; yet, on the other hand, no one else can teach the piano to sing such soft and tender strains, or touch the keys so gently with a finger of velvet. The soft passages of his music are quite as wonderful as the more showy; the beautiful refinement of his expression is beyond all praise, and no opportunity for display ever tempts him to forget it. It would be impossible to imagine Rubinstein glorifying himself with piano pyrotechnics, for he is not only a genuine reverential artist, but he is something more; he has the true fire of genius; and he is the only pianist ever heard in America of whom that could be said. In appearance he is somewhat rude and strange; in manner he is courteous yet abrupt. His stern Tartar face never lights with a smile. He puts away the humbug of flowers and wreaths with a calm, undemonstrative disregard, and sets himself to his work like a man whose heart is in his music, and to whom applause is nothing.

In Mr. Wieniawski he has a worthy companion. This illustrious artist surpasses all our previous experience of violinists; we will not say as much as Rubinstein surpasses other pianists, but far enough to leave Vieuxtemps and Ole Bull in some respects far behind. His style is formed more nearly upon the romantic school of Paganini than of any other model; yet he combines with the peculiar fascinations of that school a beautiful classical polish and correctness. He, too, is an artist who reverences art, and knows how to forget the display of his own powers. What could have been more conscientious than his playing of the Mendelssohn concerto in E minor? It was given as Mendelssohn himself would have said it ought to be played. His tones are perfection,--clear, sonorous, rich, true, and absolutely free from the occasional rasping which disfigures nearly all violin playing. His technique is phenomenal; and lastly he is sympathetic. Here we have all the requisites of a good player; to which we may add that Mr. Wieniawski’s compositions are also excellent. He played, last night, in addition to the concerto, two pieces of his own, a ‘Legende’ and an arrangement with variations of a well-known Russian popular air which Thalberg transcribed for the piano. They both had an orchestral accompaniment of notable richness and originality.

The two vocalists who accompany the troupe are artists of a very different class. Mlle. Liebhart excels in a certain kind of ballad, of which ‘Comin’ through the Rye’ is an example, where dramatic action is intended to supplement the voice. She was successful in that, and also in a ballad about a little bird, with flute obbligato by Mr. Rietzel, wherein she called her solemn accompanist in gold-rimmed glasses a ‘birdie,’ and ‘sweet,’ and various other things of that sort, and ran out her bill at him; but in the ‘Softly sighs’ from ‘Der Freischütz,’ she betrayed the possession of a well-worn and not very luscious voice. Mlle. Ormeny, the contralto, has a strong and moderately tuneful organ, not remarkable for culture, and destitute of sensibility. The orchestra, led by Mr. Bergmann, was excellent.”

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Review: New York Clipper, 05 October 1872, 214.

“Anton Rubenstein, the great Russian pianist, made his first bow to an American audience at Steinway Hall, on the night of September 23d and was received by a crowded auditory, composed mainly of French and German people of the fashionable classes of the metropolis, the American portion being in the minority. In the second concert company which has been presented to the New York public this season, we have a troupe including two genuine stars of the musical hemisphere of Europe, vis:--Rubenstein and Wieniawski, the former one of the greatest living pianists, and the latter one of the finest vocalists [sic] of the day. Rubenstein is undoubtedly a master of the piano. In delicacy of touch and in bringing forth the surging tones of a piano he excels Thalberg, while in brilliancy of execution he is thought to be ahead of Liszt. With all his great abilities, however, he will not please the majority of American concert patrons, for the reason that he is too devoted to the modern classical school of music, of which the models he copies from—Wagner and Liszt—are the great exponents. This school delights in extreme harmonies, and in an arrangement of chords and melodies trenching too much on what may be termed scientific discord to suit the popular, or even the cultivated ear. Rubenstein is an enthusiastic admirer of the Liszt style of composition, with its wild and novel combinations, and all his own works are characterized by the same class of harmonies. He copies after Liszt, too, in wearing his hair long, and while he is playing his hair bothers him by getting in front of his face. The violinist, Wieniawski, is a Pole by birth, and is a novelty as a violinist, inasmuch as he is quite stout. Ordinarily, your great violinists are thin, gaunt looking fellows. He plays the most difficult compositions with an ease and grace quite remarkable. In fact, he is a thorough artist. With this troupe there is an excellent orchestra, under the able leadership of Carl Bergman, and there are two vocalists, one a soprano, ‘Miss’ Leibhardt—and the other a contralto—‘Miss’ Ormeny. Both possess cultivated voices, the one favoring the German style of vocalism, and the other the Italian. Both, however, are passe. They have seen their best vocal days in Europe, and therefore are not up to the standard of the stars of this troupe in this regard. Curiosity attracted good houses on Monday and Wednesday, but foreign papering had to be resorted to during the other nights of the week to fill the hall. Singularly enough, the same faces we are accustomed to see in the assemblage of claquers on opera nights were to be seen enthusiastically applauding the stars of these concerts. Managerial tact and skillful manipulation of the daily press has a great deal to do with the success of ‘Grand opera’ and ‘concert companies’ in the metropolis, as the career of the Strakosch troupe fully exemplifies.”