Vienna

With me came a group of my students from Berlin , all very delighted about the change and fully determined to enjoy all the splendors of Vienna to the fullest. Our apartment soon resembled a dovecote, much to the joy of my mother, who, as a true Irishwoman , appreciated a lively household. And although she was already quite old (almost seventy) and no longer able to keep up with our social bustle, she still took pleasure in watching it.

We soon settled in, and now it was time to begin concertizing. The grand promises of the agents were slow to materialize; I had to prove myself again here, and I found it not as easy as it had been in Berlin, despite the good start. I was told I ought to visit the critics personally, but I could never bring myself to do that. I found the Austrians very charming, yet more complicated than the straightforward North Germans , and after all, I had grown up in Germany .

Eventually I did get around quite a bit, even to the outermost regions of Austria , and I have truly fond memories of concerts in Premyol and Cernowitz — where, to my great astonishment, there was so much understanding and enthusiastic applause for Bach’s Chaconne — as well as in other small towns. Graz and Salzburg were included too, and in Pressburg I even played at a court concert followed by a ball, which delighted me especially, for I was passionately fond of dancing.

The Great Hall of the Musikverein , where I played several times, was to become fateful for me, for there I met my future husband, Dr. Michael Auner . A particular satisfaction to me was a student concert in the charming Gremium Hall of the Chamber of Commerce . The program included, alongside Brahms’s Violin Concerto, also the Konzertstück by Saint‑Saëns and a trio by Dvořák. The students were very gifted and all performed well.

Throughout these years I had practiced and polished the Beethoven Violin Concerto diligently, but it still never seemed ready for the public, for it demands the utmost purity and security of playing. Only in 1910 did I dare to take the leap. On a journey to Transylvania , the homeland of Dr. Auner, the Kronstadt Orchestra engaged me as soloist, and there I performed the beloved concerto. It brought me great success, and from then on I included it on my programs as often as possible.

In the spring of 1912 I heard of the Russian Ostrovski , who had invented a peculiar little device for stretching the fingers — a device that loosened the fingers and increased their reach. This piqued my interest, and I did not hesitate to make the trip to London to meet him and see his device. I never regretted it, for he was as interesting as his invention, and I benefited extraordinarily from its use. Stretches that had been difficult for my rather small hand — for instance, certain passages in Paganini’s études — I could suddenly manage immediately after the treatment. Ostrovski was said to have been the true teacher of Mischa Elman , which I readily believe.

After three months in London , I went on to give a concert in Dublin , held at the Theatre Royal and very well attended, with distinguished visitors, including the then Viceroy of Ireland, who showed great interest. My piano accompanist was my childhood friend Herbert Hamilton Harty . I played my showpiece, the Symphonie Espagnole , and at the end a large basket of beautifully bright yellow flowers was passed up to the stage. In the middle of the flowers, to my great delight, sat a tiny black kitten — some Irish students knew that I adored cats. I still cannot understand how the kitten sat so sweetly and calmly among the flowers amid all the tumult. At any rate, I was astonished and pleased, and the audience laughed and rejoiced with me.

From Dublin , we returned once more to Vienna .

In December 1912, the wedding was celebrated. Since I had many friends, it became a rather large affair. The ceremony took place in the Dorotheergasse; nine of my students were bridesmaids, an English consul was master of ceremonies, and my best student, Bessie Taylor , played the slow movement of the Beethoven Violin Concerto with organ. My bridal veil was seven meters of genuine Irish lace — a wedding gift from the father of my student Violet Jameson , who was a brother of the whiskey magnate James Jameson .

It was also wonderful that my husband’s father, a Protestant pastor in Transylvania , came to Vienna and performed the ceremony himself. He was an impressive figure in his fur‑trimmed vestments.

After a large reception at home, we left that very night by train to Hermannstadt in Transylvania , where my husband was to take up his post as archivist at the Brukenthal Museum .

Our true honeymoon did not take place until two months later, when we traveled to London , where I gave my largest concert, in the magnificent Queen’s Hall , on 13 February 1913 (13 was always my lucky number). I had set myself an extraordinary program: the Beethoven Violin Concerto , the Scottish Fantasy by Max Bruch , two short pieces of my own, and the Rondo Capriccioso by Saint‑Saëns . My friend Sir Herbert Hamilton Harty conducted. The applause was tremendous, and I had to give several encores. The reviews were very favorable.

I could not make further use of this great success, for the war soon came and destroyed all hopes.

In London , I had the opportunity to sell my Stradivarius to an American student with a very small hand — for my hand, enlarged by the Ostrovski apparatus, it was now too small. We signed a contract with a substantial down payment and the remainder to be paid in installments. But the war also destroyed that arrangement, and it took many years until I received the rest.

Time was pressing; my husband's leave was ending, and we had to hurry back to Hermannstadt .