February 4.

Du liebes Cecilchen:—

I'd give every pfennig in my possession to walk into your study to-day and take you by surprise. In fact, I have stopped in the very midst of my orchestration lesson to tell you so. My chord of the seventh is unresolved, my flutes and oboes are hanging in midair, and my horns are blowing away on the fifth, all because a wave of the Indescribable swept over me, and I simply had to throw down my pencil and talk to you!

The preliminary symptoms of this abominable Something appeared this morning when my mail failed to arrive. Then after three hours' hard work on a new fugue-subject, I came to the conclusion that what I had written was absolutely worthless, and thrust it in the waste-paper basket. In the afternoon no letters came, but several newspapers, whose essential feature consisted in describing varied and brilliant festivities at home. I could not repress a sigh as I read. Finally Georg came bowing in with the announcement that the opera for the evening had been changed and Der FreischÜtz substituted for "Lohengrin." I felt like throwing my ink-well at the Obelisk, running down to the booking office in Promenade-Platz, and engaging a passage to America on the spot.

Not that I was really angry with the Obelisk, for I have but one dearer friend in all Munich, and that is the Fountain. The latter, however, no longer sings as I pass. It has, as it were, retired for the season, and a hideous paling of gray boards hides it completely from view. Such is the inartistic effect of winter. I can't tell you how much I miss its ever sympathetic, ever beautiful voice. Indeed, so barren and desolate is the upper end of the Platz, that I changed my route of walking and thus came to make the acquaintance of the Obelisk. Not only do I pass by daily, but whenever I look out of my window I can see in the distance its slender, black shaft sharply outlined against the sky. Strange, is it not, with what a keenly human note inanimate things sometimes appeal to us? Just as I hear and love the Voice in the Fountain, so I draw a feeling of protection from this towering creation of stone, as though a kindly sentinel were standing guard over me and mine.

Since my mood to-day is gray in color, I am going to tell you of the gayest thing which has happened since I wrote, namely, a gorgeous masked ball, for you know it is carnival season now and frivolity reigns supreme. I have been working so constantly lately—for my long lessons with Thuille and the work at the school take practically every moment of my time—that the ball seemed like an extraordinary piece of dissipation. Therefore I was quite excited as I joined the party of pensionnaires in the salon on Tuesday evening. What a cosmopolitan lot we were! The curious jumble of German, French, Italian, and English was laughable. The stout American and her pocket-edition of a husband have departed and given place to two Italian women who converse equally well in three languages. The Poet's Wife always speaks perfect French with Herr Doktor, which won his heart long ago. Of course we were all chatting of the frolic to come as we clambered into the droschkies awaiting us at the door. The ball, it seems, was given under the auspices of the press. The Baron had obtained invitations for us through a member of the Jugend staff. (The Jugend is that very artistic periodical which you have perhaps seen.) There were so many of us that a box had been engaged, for the affair was held at one of the theatres.

Every one who attended was obliged to wear a costume representing some feature pertaining to the woods, and it required no little thought to design something original and effective. FrÄulein Hartmann and I had decided to go as flowers, and MÜtterchen and the Poet's Wife put their heads together and created a Rose gown and a Violet gown. Frau von Waldfel was so agitated over her own costume that she quite forgot to criticise ours. She had chosen to represent a bee, and had arrayed herself in black netting. On her head was a crown of black and yellow, and from her shoulders hung, or should have hung, a pair of gauze wings. But something went wrong, and the wings, instead of suggesting airy flittings through space, drooped at a curious angle and gave the impression that they were not mates. However, her distress was mitigated by the Baroness, who declared that the costume was "wonderfully becoming," and as soon as she arrived she forgot to worry about her wings in the excitement of the ball itself.

What a fascinating sight burst upon us as we stepped inside the ballroom! The whole place was alive with a dancing crowd of fairies, gnomes, flowers, butterflies, and dryads, who flitted past in a bewildering whirl of ever changing color. All the women wore little black masks, which gave them a most coquettish appearance. The men were not masked, but their costumes were fully as artistic. As I watched the glittering throng moving to the strains of a fascinating waltz which came floating out from behind a grove of evergreens on the stage, I could easily fancy I was in fairyland.

Just as we were about to cross the hall FrÄulein Hartmann caught me by the arm.

"I've torn my gown," she said in a hurried, excited manner, as she held up the ragged ruffle on the edge of her train. "I must go to the dressing-room and fix it. Will you tell my aunt? And oh! please say it may take twenty minutes or—or a half-hour."

I looked at her in surprise. Her cheeks were flushed brilliantly, and I would have given much to have seen the expression of her eyes, which her mask half hid.

"Why, if you would let me help you——" I began, but she interrupted, pressing my arm tighter.

"Let me go alone, please, kleine Amerikanerin." Her voice was pleading and oddly intense. "It's only such a short time—and, believe me, there is nothing wrong, really. I shall thank you always."

Before I had an opportunity to reply she had slipped away in the crowd. To say I was amazed were to put it mildly. I was dumfounded. Two points alone seemed clear in my mind: first, that FrÄulein Hartmann had no idea of spending a half-hour in sewing on a few inches of ruffle; second, that whatever her motive for remaining away might be, it was "nothing wrong"; her frank, sweet nature utterly forbade such an idea.

Rather troubled, I caught up quickly with the others of the party and entered the box to find Lieutenant Blum and Lieutenant Linder waiting. They looked surprised at seeing me alone, and I hastily explained the situation. Lieutenant Linder then suggested that we three take a stroll about the hall, and we started off, I talking very rapidly, in the hope of turning their attention from the FrÄulein's continued absence. I would not have been a woman had I not myself been a bit curious about her. We made a tour of the room and at length came to the head of a flight of stairs. I declared that I was dying of curiosity to discover what lay at the foot, so we descended and found ourselves in the very midst of a forest. On every side extended paths lined with trees whose branches met above in arches. At the end of one of the paths we saw a log hut. Above, through interlaced branches, shone a silver moon. I could not help exclaiming at the beauty of the illusion.

There were countless little arbors and retreats where couples were sitting out dances. We had just started to turn down the path to the right, when I caught sight of a rose-colored dress in one of these arbors. A step farther and I saw that the girl leaning against the bench was FrÄulein Hartmann. Her head was thrown back in a characteristic attitude and her lips were parted, as though eagerly listening to the words of her companion. He—for of course it was a man—was a broad-shouldered fellow, with a smooth face and a sword-cut on his forehead. Bending forward, he looked up intently into the face of the girl, talking very earnestly, very rapidly, as if pleading a case under pressure of time.

Quick as a flash I wheeled about and faced the others, for the path was only broad enough for us to proceed in single file. I declared this walk stupid; the hut was the only thing really worth seeing; whereupon my bodyguard, although laughing at the capriciousness of my sex, obediently followed. How long I lingered about that wretched hut I can't say. At last, when every pretext was gone, I made my way back again upstairs. What a sigh of relief I gave when we reached the box, for there sat FrÄulein Hartmann, smiling in her sweet, plaintive fashion, and talking to her aunt and Herr Doktor with the utmost self-possession. A moment later we had whirled away among the dancers, and I did not have an opportunity to exchange a word with her alone.

At twelve o'clock the orchestra stopped playing for an hour and supper was served. Half of the people had been eating and drinking the entire evening, for tables had been spread in the boxes from the opening of the ball. This did not, however, seem to make any difference in the keenness of their appetites now. We had a very jolly time in our box, for beside the pensionnaires were several Americans. Among them were Mr. and Mrs. Albert Sterner. You are doubtless familiar with the delightful work of Mr. Sterner. He has won considerable reputation, especially for his illustrations. Both he and his wife added much merriment to the party, for they are very entertaining. The ball began again at one, but no one thought of going home till four o'clock. We left Lieutenant Linder still dancing.

"This lasts till five," he explained, as he took us to our carriage. "I shall get a cup of coffee at the restaurant, change to my uniform, and be ready for Dienst (service) at six. I really haven't time to go to bed."

I captured two very pretty souvenirs of the occasion, one of which you shall have to decorate your den. Every one who went down on the floor wore a favor made of blue ribbon, fastened with a gold head of Folly. Lieutenant Linder and Herr Martens both presented me with theirs, and in spite of acquiring a habit for greediness, I smilingly accepted both, with a thought for you. They will look extremely well tacked to an American wall.

I did so wish for a word with FrÄulein, but she drove home alone with her aunt. As I wrote you, I only see her at table, and so any conversation of a confidential character is out of the question. She is not a girl to practise deception, unless forced by circumstances, hence I fancy that there is something of a serious nature behind her action. Evidently the handsome young man with the sword-cut is the key to the mystery! Very likely she is in love with him, instead of with that disagreeable Blum. Were she an American girl it would not take her long to throw over the uniform and marry the man she loves; as it is, with her family and an officer weighing the balance on the opposite side of the scales, I fear the student's chances are not the most favorable.

After Supper.

At my last lesson Thuille informed me that he and Tasso were going hunting on Saturday. Would I pardon him if he gave me my lesson in his hunting costume? Accordingly to-day he appeared in a wonderful green shirt striped with white, and open at the neck. His jacket, short trousers and gaiters were of some rough cloth, and the effect was decidedly unprofessional.

The train left directly after the lesson, and Tasso was evidently quite alive to the fact, for instead of sleeping under the desk as he usually does, he roamed about restlessly during the entire hour, and finally became so importunate that his master unceremoniously put him out. I had taken in a practice piece scored for wood-wind and horn, including bass clarinet and contra-fagott. The ideas on which I had written the part for bass clarinet were suggested by that bit for the instrument in the third act of "Siegfried" where BrÜnnhilde is wakened by the all-powerful kiss. Unfortunately my result was not what might have been called an unqualified success. In one measure I had put a rest at the second beat, after writing two notes. This immediately attracted Thuille's attention.

"Why, you've left him hanging in the air! Poor fellow, he's hanging in the air between heaven and earth!" he said laughing, but not unkindly. I thought I ought to laugh too, so I joined in, nervously. It is queer how much more humorously these things strike one after a lesson than at the time they actually happen.

"This is the way he would have to play that," continued the professor. He puckered up his mouth, held his fingers exactly as the player would, squinted at my score with his head on one side, and blew two notes, "Poom! Poom!" Then he took the imaginary instrument suddenly away while his mouth seemed to be forming the same tone. He looked so funny that this time I could not help laughing heartily, and I saw my mistake at once.

Later we came to a horn passage, and in place of the mildly flowing chords in half-notes which I had written he substituted eighth-note phrases. "I thought that would be too fast," said I, in self-defence.

"Study modern scores!" he exclaimed. "Study modern horn parts! But don't forget the classics either; and never study Schumann or Brahms for orchestral writing. They were both poor scorers."

I sometimes wish he employed similes in his explanations; they have such a way of sticking in my head and making me remember. I recall now an especially vivid one which Chadwick once made to his orchestral class: "Here you have your instruments of the orchestra just like so many colors on a palette," he said. "You combine different ones just as you mix your colors, to obtain a desired effect. Your task is to make a complete, finished picture. Choose your subject and go ahead, but take care to select your materials wisely."

If you remember, Professor John K. Paine has also a fondness for illustrating his point in this manner, only he chooses literature instead of art as the source from which to draw his comparisons. I can see us now sitting side by side in that dingy little room in Vaughan House before the new music room existed, taking notes on his lectures, and can hear him saying, "Beethoven is the Shakespeare of music." Do you remember the day when Miss R—— brought her dog into the class, and Professor Paine, after peering at it mildly over his glasses from his seat behind the table, made some witty remark about the increased interest in his lectures which now drew the very beasts to hear him? And later, how kindly but firmly he insisted that Miss R—— leave her pet at home hereafter, inasmuch as he had already punctuated his paper on Haydn, and he did not consider the assistance of the dog, who broke in every now and then with sharp barks, at all necessary.

As soon as the lesson was over I hurried home, for MÜtterchen and I had seats for the ZauberflÖte that evening. We had an early supper in our rooms, for the opera began at half-past six. I had not heard a Mozart opera since last September, when the Mozart-cycle was held in the Residenz Theatre. Then I enjoyed Cosi fan tutte, with Fritzi Scheff as Despina. The Residenz Theatre is an ideal place to hear Mozart. It is only large enough to seat eight hundred persons, and the orchestra sounds most effective. The Hof Theatre is too large for the production of Mozart's operas. After one act of the ZauberflÖte I began to find the orchestra thin and somewhat monotonous. When the music is really so beautiful, it seems a pity not to give it under the best conditions.

FrÄulein Hartmann and her aunt sat just across from us in the balcony. I hoped that we might all walk home together, but when we met at the door afterwards there was Lieutenant Blum, important and self-satisfied, waiting to escort them.

Good night now, my dear.

Fasching-Dienstag (Shrove Tuesday).

MÜnchen gone mad! MÜnchen with dignity thrown to the winds and cavorting in the dress of a clown! MÜnchen laughing, dancing, fairly shrieking with pure glee! The misty atmosphere through which one always views the distant majesty of the Maximileum as one looks down Maximilianstrasse is curiously filled with a new sort of snowflake, a tiny, square atom which may be red or green or the most vivid of yellows. The sidewalks are packed with a half-crazed throng, some in vari-colored costumes, others in street dress, but all pelting one another with confetti, while the street itself is crowded with slow-moving lines of carriages whose occupants join no less wildly in the fun. And all this because it is the last day of the carnival.

My first glimpse of the frolic to come was afforded me on Saturday. I was deep in the midst of a canonic imitation when there came a knock on the door and in burst Karl, radiant, his cheeks aglow with excitement. He was dressed in a wonderful costume, which consisted of a loose white shirt with black silk pompons down the front, white trousers, a gigantic white ruff about the neck and a high pointed hat.

"Bin ich nicht nett, gnÄdiges FrÄulein?" (Am I not fine?) he cried, kissing my hand with mock deference and prancing about the study. "Just wait till you see me to-morrow! Then I am to have a grand mustache and all kinds of red and green designs painted on my cheeks!"

He grinned with delight at the thought of these cannibalistic decorations, which, however, struck me as more appropriate for a circus than a Sunday promenade.

To-day MÜtterchen, the Baroness, Herr Martens, and I took a carriage before the house at two o'clock. One's first carnival is not a thing to be taken calmly and I was all excitement, staring to right and left, and craning my neck in my endeavor not to miss anything. On every corner we passed stood old women and men with little pushcarts full of bright-colored bags of confetti or baskets of Luft-Schlangen (long paper streamers done up in small rolls, to be thrown through the air like those we have at the Harvard Class Day exercises around the statue). For ten pfennigs (two and one-half cents) one could obtain a generous supply, and following the Baroness' suggestion, we stocked the carriage well.

We found the streets already so crowded that we were forced to proceed very slowly towards Max-Joseph-Platz. Just as we reached the post-office a horn blew sharply, policemen hurriedly pushed back the crowd, and the First and Second Cavalry regiment officers came galloping by us and on down the street between the two long lines of carriages. Their appearance was most grotesque. Dressed as clowns, in suits of black or white, their painted faces made them all look alike. With snapping whips they urged on their horses at full speed. The excited animals seemed to enjoy the fun as much as their riders, and shook their gayly ribboned manes proudly.

Hardly had we started again, for our carriage had come to a halt to let them pass, when I heard a familiar voice cry, "Hola!" and as I turned to see who was shouting, a handful of confetti was thrown straight in my face. For a moment I was angry, for the sensation of eyes and mouth suddenly full of paper is not conducive to amiability. Then, realizing the absurdity of losing my temper at such a time, I dived my hand into a bag to retaliate on my antagonist. Before I could discover him another shot landed in the back of my neck and over my hat a Luft-Schlange came floating.

"Caught you that time, gnÄdiges FrÄulein," said a voice, and I met the laughing glance of Karl, who jumped on the step of our carriage and rode along with us. His white costume was sadly soiled, but he had fulfilled all his promises as to the horrible wonder of a painted mustache and streaked cheeks. A North American Indian could not have improved on him.

"I've ridden up and down five times already," he said, as he jumped off to pay a similar visit to some friends just across.

"There's Lou and the girls," I cried, catching sight of a carriage in the opposite line coming up the street as we went down. Having learned my lesson I was not slow to put it in practice, for standing up in the carriage I pelted them mercilessly, Herr Martens supplying me with a fresh bag every time I needed one, and the Baroness joining enthusiastically in the attack.

It was not a one-sided battle, for the girls were quick to return our shots, and the aim of the little Italian count who was with them was excellent. You should have seen our carriage when they were finally out of range. The floor, up to our shoe-tops, was filled with confetti; our jackets were covered with it, and from the shoulders of the driver, from our hats, from the sides of the carriage hung countless brilliant streamers.

At the big statue we turned and came back. When we finally succeeded in reaching the post-office we found a most exciting thing taking place. A company of clowns on horseback, whom we recognized as the cavalry officers who had earlier passed us, were forming in line at the farther end of the Platz. Suddenly they set off with brisk canter, swung around the statue of Max Joseph, and dashed at full speed up the high flight of stairs leading to the opera house! They came back rushing down the driveway. The horses were almost beside themselves with excitement, for their officers leaning far forward, brandished their whips, dug in their spurs, and urged on the beasts by frantic shouts and exclamations, while the crowd of onlookers cheered wildly. It was a thrilling sight, and I watched them breathlessly. I could not help feeling that at any moment one of these half-crazed creatures, now flecked with foam, might lose his balance and fall backwards down the steps crushing his rider beneath, and so I gave a relieved sigh as I saw the men at last dismount, give their quivering steeds to an orderly, and adjourn to the cafÉ opposite. Just then the Baron and Herr Doktor, who were walking, came up to our carriage.

"We'll take you into the cafÉ for a moment," said the Baron. "It is apt to grow rather rough there later, but you must get a glimpse of another side of the carnival."

Accordingly, well barricaded by the gentlemen, we quietly entered the cafÉ and took the only vacant table which stood in a retired corner. Here again the officers had undisputed possession of the place. They were laughing, dancing and singing in a boisterous though not at all in an offensive fashion. Meanwhile an orchestra in the centre of the room played some lively music.

"Your selection pleaseth me but poorly," declaimed a tall fellow with a blue ruff about his neck, as he tapped on the shoulder of the director. "Why not soothe our ears with a ditty akin to this?" whistling one of the popular student airs. He seized the baton and mounted the platform, rapping sharply on the rack. The players, entering into the spirit of the thing, followed him perfectly. This was not so simple a matter as it sounds, for he conducted with a ridiculous exaggeration of all the mannerism, gestures and poses of Weingartner. It was very cleverly done and set every one into roars of laughter, especially when the fellow insisted on a pianissimo passage. Then he would tilt back his head, wave his left hand with that curious droop of the finger-tips so characteristic of the great conductor, and nonchalantly beat time with his stick at an angle directed towards heaven.

No sooner had he finished and returned with low bows of mock modesty to his place, than an officer in the corner jumped on top of a table and, stein in hand, began singing. The crowd, who had gathered around him, joined in the refrain, clinking their mugs together, for of course every one was drinking beer—Ça va sans dire. If an officer chanced to be without any, he made his way to a table where some onlookers were sitting, and with a courteous "beg pardon," and a graceful raising of the pointed cap, helped himself to the largest stein from under the very nose of its owner, and walked serenely off. No one seemed to mind this, the original possessor of the beer least of all, for he laughed heartily, and ordered the waiter to bring him a fresh supply. The established rule of the carnival is to take everything in the greatest good humor and let the spirit of fun prevail. "To your very good health! May you live long, be prosperous, and see many carnivals!" said another fellow as he helped himself to a stranger's wine and raised the glass to his lips.

"That's Count von E——," said the Baroness in a whisper, as he set down the glass, bowing gravely. "I should know his peculiar walk anywhere."

"It was certainly most interesting," said I, as after watching the frolic for half an hour we walked out into Perusia-strasse.

"You don't have anything half as jolly in America, do you?" said Herr Martens, with a tone of superiority in his voice. Whenever any one addresses me with that inflection my spread-eagleism is aroused. I immediately began to dilate on America and the American. This time I chose as my theme "Fourth of July," which of all our celebrations seemed nearest akin to this, and my glowing description of the manifold features of Independence Day caused the carnival to seem like a children's festival.

Did I write you that the Americans in the pension opposite were to give a St.Valentine's party? Owing to illness it was postponed to the evening of Fasching Dienstag. Accordingly we finished our day by a dance and general frolic with the girls, which was one of the jolliest things I have been to this year. This letter is so full of frivolity that to tell you of my doings in a musical way seems most incongruous, so I will save all such items for my next.

As ever, dear Cecy,

M.