スーザ自叙伝「進め!Marching Along!」英日対訳


第13章(2)英日対訳・スーザ自叙伝「進め!Marching Along」

We left England and began playing the Nouveau Theatre in Paris. Among the various medleys which I had concocted and arranged for my band there appeared one that year called, “In the Realm of the Dance”, in which I had linked waltz themes which were at that time very popular. I placed it on the Paris programme and on the opening night I noticed three distinguished-looking men sitting together in the front row. When I started the number they manifested, one by one, an unusual degree of interest. At the end of the concert the three gentlemen sent in their names: M. Paul Lincke, M. Bosch and M. Danne, the three composers whose themes I had molded into my fantasy and who, strange to say, had come to my concert together and were pleasantly surprised by the number. 



After the Paris engagement we played Lille, Brussels, Ghent, Antwerp, Liége, Cologne, Berlin, Königsberg and finally opened in St. Petersburg May 16th. The audiences at the Cinicelli, where we played, were (with the exception of boys from the Westinghouse Brake Company) Russian officers, their wives, and civilian officials. The royal box, however, was draped in such a way that the occupants could not be seen. I imagine that the Czar was present several times. We gave nine performances. 



Before reaching St. Petersburg, I had received a telegram from my advance man, “The police authorities demand copies of the words to be sung by your vocalist. They must be forwarded immediately.” Miss Liebling sang coloratura songs in which there were many “Ahs.” I did not know the lines, aside from the fact that those “Ahs” did occur frequently. Of course I couldn’t send a telegram stating that the words were simply “Ah,” so it looked as if a Russian concert would be more difficult to give than an American one. Having to submit all programmes and advertisements to an official censor creates some awkward situations, especially when the songs are sung in half a dozen different languages. It was clear that something had to be done, so I telegraphed the words of “Annie Rooney” and “Marguerite”. Miss Liebling then overcame the difficulty by singing the words of “Annie Rooney” to the tune of the “Pearl of Brazil”. 



Yet another annoyance awaited me in St. Petersburg—I found the city plastered with the name of some rival who seemed to have come at the same time and whose name was Cyӡa. I wondered who this Cyӡa could be, and remonstrated with my advertising agent for not seeing that I was billed as prominently. I found out that “Cyӡa was the Russian way of spelling Sousa! 



In every country where I have played the national anthem I have awakened at once an intensity of patriotic enthusiasm, but I can remember no instance where the song of the people was received with more thrilling acclaim than in Russia. We were in St. Petersburg on the Czar’s birthday. When I entered my dressing-room in the Cirque Cinicelli, which is the equivalent of our New York Hippodrome, I found awaiting me there the secretary of the prefect of the city, who had come to request that I open the performance with the Russian national anthem. 



“And” he added, “if it meets with a demonstration will you kindly repeat it?” 



I assured him I would. 



“In fact, sir, if it meets with several demonstrations, will you repeat it again?” 



I said that I would repeat just as long as the majority applauded! 



The audience consisted almost entirely of members of the nobility and the military, with their wives, sweethearts, sons and daughters. At the playing of the first note the entire audience rose and every man came to a salute. At the end of the anthem there was great applause and I was compelled to play the air four times before the audience was satisfied. 



On retiring to my dressing-room at the end of the first part, I was again visited by the secretary who told me it was the wish of the prefect that I begin the second part of my program with the national anthem of America, and that he would have an official announce to the public beforehand the sentiment of the song. 



Before we began our second part, a tall Russian announced to the public the name and character of the words of “The Star Spangled Banner” and we were compelled to repeat it several times; I have never heard more sincere or lasting applause for any musical number, nor do I believe that it was ever played with more fervor, dignity and spirit than by our boys in the capital of the Russian Empire. 



At the end of our St. Petersburg season we went to Warsaw, Poland, and opened there on May 22, 1905. I stopped at the hotel built by Mr. Paderewski and I want to congratulate the gentleman, for he had evidently admired many appointments in American hotels and installed them in his Warsaw house for the comfort of his guests. 



I had my troubles in Poland, however. During the intermission of my Warsaw concert, M. Jean de Reszke came back-stage with Godfrey Turner, treasurer of our organization. Mr. Turner had with him a statement of the receipts which amounted to about five thousand rubles or twenty-six hundred dollars, American money, and indignantly pointed to various items charged against the whole. There were so many hundred rubles for police tax, so many for the orphans’ tax, so many for a school tax, and so on ad infinitum. I turned to M. de Reszke and said disgustedly, “Just read this.” 



But de Reszke smilingly handed it back to me, saying, “Forget it, Sousa. You’re not in America now.” 



From Warsaw we went to Vienna for eight concerts. After the first matinee, Mr. Emil Lindau the dramatist and brother of Paul Lindau, the poet, came to my room. We began to talk of Viennese composers and their work and I asked, “Is The Blue Danube still popular in Vienna?” 



“Mr. Sousa, The Blue Danube will endure as long as Vienna exists!” 



“I am glad,” I answered, “for I’m going to play it to-night as an encore.” 



It was certainly received with tremendous applause. One of the Viennese papers was kind enough to say that the performance of the waltz by my band was the first time it had really been heard since Johann Strauss died. 



I invited Mr. Lindau to dine with me and we were both pleased to discover that his wife, a Washington girl, had lived in the next block to mine and was a schoolmate of my sister, Tinnie. She was Emma Pourtales, daughter of Count Pourtales, the man who made the first survey of the Atlantic coast, and I remembered the family very well. An opera of Mr. Lindau’s, called “Frühlingsluft” was being performed in Vienna at that moment. 



Before leaving St. Petersburg I had bought a black slouch hat, much like those used by officers in the Civil War. The Vienna newspapermen all made a note of that hat. In their accounts of my arrival they described my uniform minutely and dwelt especially on the American hat I was wearing, one which, so they said, was doubtless unknown in any country except America. On looking inside the hat for the name of the maker, I found that it was manufactured in Vienna! 



From Vienna we went on to Prague where I played in the conservatory hall where Dvorák had been a professor. We played the “Largo” from the New World Symphony, and the professors were kind enough to congratulate me on my interpretation of the famous composition. 



From there to Dresden; from Dresden to Leipsig. At Leipsig my programme was largely Wagner and Sousa. We opened with the “Tannhäuser” overture and, just as the applause began to die down, and I started to give an encore, a man seated in the first row emitted a vicious hiss. I glared at him and played my encore. With the rendition of the next Wagner piece the same vicious hissing was heard. At the intermission one of the bandsmen, stirred to anger, volunteered to go out and thrash the hisser, but I forbade him to leave the stage. When we resumed the concert, the two remaining Wagner numbers were just as vigorously hissed by the same individual. As I left the platform I encountered the local manager and asked him, “Do you know that man in the duster and straw hat?” 



He replied that he did not but would bring him to my dressing-room. He jumped down from the stage and soon had the man confronting me. 



“May I ask why you hissed every Wagner number we played this evening?” I said coldly. 



The man’s face distorted with anger and bitterness as he blurted out, “I hissed Wagner music because I hate the Wagner family.” 



Our tour now took us to Hamburg, Copenhagen, Kiel, Dortmund, Amsterdam, The Hague, and finally to our favorite England. After a few concerts in Great Britain, we sailed on July 31, 1905 from Liverpool on the “Cedric”, which arrived in New York August 8th. Before we left Liverpool, Mr. John Hargreaves honored me with a luncheon at the City Hall, at which Lord Mayor Rutherford was master of ceremonies. I was delighted when they presented me with a volume printed in 1604 and written by a distinguished ancestor of mine, Louis de Sousa.