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dFatnou0  Compo0er0 

BY 

NATHAN  HASKELL  DOLE 


VOLUME     II 


f 

WITH    PORTRAITS 


THOMAS   Y.   CROWELL  &  CO. 
PUBLISHERS 


Copyright,  1891  and  1902 
By  Thomas  Y.  Crowell  $  Co. 


CONTENTS. 


VOL.  II. 

PAGE 

SCHUBERT 283 

Louis  SPOHR 305 

MEYERBEER 327 

»  MENDELSSOHN 347 

SCHUMANN 375 

FREDERIC  FRANCOIS  CHOPIN 400  p 

MIKHAIL  IVANOVITCH  GLINKA 432    ?. 

v  HECTOR  BERLIOZ 451  ^ 

FRANZ  LISZT 489     ff 

RICHARD  WAGNER   .  ...  ,  517 


SCHUBERT. 

(1797-1828.) 


VIENNA,  in  the  early  years  of  this  century,  was  a 
cruel  and  capricious  foster-mother  to  the  sons  of 
Art.  Mozart  came  to  her  from  Salzburg,  and  she 
allowed  him  to  starve.  Beethoven  came  to  her  from 
Bonn,  and  she  allowed  him  to  die  in  melancholy  soli- 
tude, deserting  him  for  Rossini. 

She  was  a  still  more  cruel  and  neglectful  mother. 
Schubert  was  her  one  native-born  singer.  He  died 
before  his  time,  in  the  very  plenitude  of  his  powers, 
unknown,  unappreciated,  the  victim  of  privation  and 
sorrow. 

Such  is  the  natural  and  sentimental  way  of  looking 
at  it. 

There  is  a  truer  and  more  philosophical  point  of  view. 
The  pity  that  has  been  evoked  by  Mozart's  disappointed 
career  is  found  to  be,  if  not  misplaced,  at  least  tempered 
by  a  knowledge  of  how  far  he  himself  was  responsible 
for  his  disappointment.  Beethoven's  seclusion  from  the 
world  was  self-chosen.  "The  soothsayer  of  the  inner- 
most world  of  tones "  found  consolation  in  that  "  far 
countree."  And  Schubert's  poverty  was  not  only  his 
own  fault,  but  was  probably  less  the  cause  of  suffering 
than  it  would  have  been  to  a  person  of  finer  physical 

283 


284  SCHUBERT. 

fibre.  What  he  wasted  on  strong  drink  would  have  pro- 
cured for  him  "the  common  necessities  of  life,"  the 
lack  of  which,  though  pitiable,  need  not  make  "one's 
blood  boil,"  as  Sir  George  Grove  indignantly  exclaims. 

Schubert  is  the  Burns  of  music.  Of  peasant  origin 
he  had  a  marvellous  gift  for  singing.  As  W.  Miiller 
says,  "  The  German  folk-song  found  in  him  its  highest 
and  finest  ennoblement ;  through  him,  the  genuine  Ger- 
man native  singer,  came  the  ancient  folk-song  into  life 
again,  purified  and  transfigured  by  art."  Like  Burns, 
he  was  most  at  ease  among  those  of  his  own  station  in 
life;  like  Burns,  he  was  too  fond  of  gay  carousals. 
Unlike  Burns,  however,  being  of  mean  personal  appear- 
ance, he  cared  little  for  the  fair  sex,  nor  did  the  fair  sex 
care  for  him.  And  yet,  strangely  enough,  he  had  a 
"  nameless  personal  charm  "  which  always  won  for  him 
earnest  friends. 

Franz  Peter  Schubert  was  born  on  the  last  day  of 
January,  1797,  at  the  house  of  the  Ked  Crab  (Zum 
Rothen  Krebseri),  in  one  of  the  immediate  suburbs  of 
Vienna.  His  father  was  a  schoolmaster,  poor,  but  of 
sterling  character,  who,  like  Beethoven's  father,  had 
married  a  cook.  A  patriarchal  family  of  nineteen  chil- 
dren blessed  this  and  a  subsequent  union,  but  only  eight 
grew  up. 

Little  is  known  of  the  home-life  in  the  Schubert  house- 
hold, or  of  the  influence  and  character  of  his  mother. 

There  are  no  anecdotes  of  the  musical  precocity  which 
must  have  been  shown  by  the  gifted  child,  so  strangely 
placed.  From  his  father's  own  words  regarding  his  youth- 
ful days,  we  know  merely  that  at  five  he  was  prepared 
for  school,  at  six  he  was  the  leader  of  his  comrades,  and 
always  fond  of  society. 


FRANZ   SCHUBERT. 

After  the  aquarell  of  W.  A.  Rieder  (1796-1888). 
Property  of  Dr.  G.  Granitsch  in  Vienna. 


SCHUBERT.  285 

"  In  his  eighth  year,"  the  father  continues,  "  I  taught 
him  the  rudiments  of  violin  playing,  and  brought  him 
along  far  enough  to  play  easy  duets  tolerably  well. 
Then  I  sent  him  to  take  singing  lessons  of  Mr.  Michael 
Holzer,  the  parish  choir-master,  who  declared  many 
times,  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  that  he  never  before  had 
such  a  pupil.  'If  I  wanted  to  put  anything  new  be- 
fore him/  said  he,  'I  found  that  he  knew  it  already.  So 
I  really  gave  him  no  instruction,  but  simply  talked  with 
him  and  looked  at  him  in  silent  amazement.' " 

His  oldest  brother  Ignaz,  who  followed  his  father's 
calling,  gave  him  lessons  in  piano  playing;  but  as  Sir 
George  Grove  says,  he  soon  outstripped  these  simple 
teachers.  What  a  pity  that  he  had  not  a  father  like 
Leopold  Mozart,  capable  of  guiding  wisely  such  a  porten- 
tous genius !  He  lisped  in  numbers,  for  the  numbers 
came  ;  but  there  was  no  one  who  dared  correct  the  songs 
and  other  compositions  which  he  wrote  before  he  was 
ten  years  old.  "  He  has  harmony  in  his  little  finger," 
exclaimed  the  delighted  Holzer,  who  heard  him  extem- 
porize on  a  theme  that  he  gave  him. 

When  he  was  eleven  years  and  eight  months  old  he 
was  examined  for  the  Konvikt,  or  school  for  educating 
the  choir-boys  for  the  Imperial  Chapel.  The  other 
candidates,  seeing  the  fat  awkward  lad  in  his  light  gray 
suit  of  homespun,  took  him  for  a  miller's  son,  and  made 
sport  of  him ;  but  they  repented  of  their  impertinence 
when  Salieri  and  the  other  examiners  called  him  up, 
and  his  clear,  pure  voice  rang  out  in  the  well-known 
tunes ;  for  he  had  already  been  first  soprano  in  the 
parish  church  of  Lichtental,  where  he  had  also  played 
the  violin  solos  required  in  the  service. 

The  "  miller's  "  suit  was  soon  exchanged  for  the  gold- 


286  SCHUBERT. 

laced  uniform  of  the  Konvi'kt.  A  boys'  school  in  those 
days  was  not  a  paradise,  even  when  the  uniform  was 
decorated  with  gold  lace.  Schubert's  earliest  known 
letter  to  his  brother  Ferdinand,  dated  November  24, 1812, 
gives  a  serio-comic  picture  of  the  hardships  endured  by 
the  lads  of  the  Imperial  Chapel :  — 

"  You  know  from  experience  that  oftentimes  a  fellow 
would  like  to  eat  a  biscuit  and  a  couple  of  apples,  espe- 
cially when  one  has  to  wait  for  eight  and  a  half  hours 
from  a  mediocre  dinner  till  a  wretched  supper.  .  .  . 
Nolens  volens"  he  adds,  "  I  must  have  a  change."  And 
he  beseeches  his  brother  to  send  him  two  kreutzers  a 
month,  on  the  principle  that  he  who  hath  two  coats 
should  give  one  to  the  poor. 

His  father  could  spare  him  only  two  groschen,  and 
those  were  quickly  spent.  In  winter  the  practice-room 
was  unheated  and  icy-cold.  In  spite  of  cold  and  hunger 
and  other  discomforts,  the  love  of  music  flourished. 

There  was  an  orchestra,  into  which  Schubert  was  ad- 
mitted. The  leader  of  the  band,  an  older  lad  named 
Joseph  von  Spaun,  "turned  round  the  first  day  to  see 
who  was  playing  so  cleverly,  and  found  it  to  be  *  a  small 
boy  in  spectacles,  named  Franz  Schubert/  r  The  two  be- 
came great  friends,  and  Spaun  was  generous  enough  to 
provide  Schubert  with  music-paper,  which  he  was  too  poor 
himself  to  buy. 

He  thus  had  a  chance  to  become  acquainted  with  the 
orchestral  works  of  the  great  composers.  During  a  per- 
formance of  Mozart's  G-minor  Symphony  he  declared 
he  could  hear  the  angels  singing.  His  reverence  for 
Beethoven  was  deeply  ingrained.  Soon  after  he  entered 
the  school,  when  some  one  said  that  he  could  already  do 
a  great  deal,  he  shook  his  head  and  exclaimed,  "  I  some- 


SCHUBERT.  287 

times  have  such  dreams,  but  who  after  Beethoven  can  do 
anything  ?  " 

It  seems  strange  that  so  little  care  was  taken  to  give 
Schubert  a  thorough  grounding  in  the  foundations  of 
musical  composition.  The  director,  Eucziszka,  is  said  to 
have  given  him  lessons  in  harmony,  but  soon  found  that 
his  pupil  knew  more  than  he  did,  and  declared  that  he 
had  got  it  "  from  the  dear  God."  Salieri,  when  he  saw 
the  boy's  capacity,  exclaimed :  "  He  can  do  everything ! 
He  is  a  genius.  He  composes  songs,  masses,  operas, 
string-quartets,  in  fact,  anything  you  like." 

It  was  true  :  between  May-Day,  1810,  when  he  finished 
his  four-hand  fantasia  for  piano,  and  October  28,  1813, 
when  he  finished  his  first  symphony,  he  had  composed  a 
quintet  overture,  seven  string-quartets,  and  many  other 
instrumental  pieces,  besides  a  quantity  of  vocal  compo- 
sitions. 

Music  occupied  him  so  wholly  that  after  his  first  year 
in  the  school,  his  general  studies,  comprising  mathemat- 
ics, history,  geography,  poetry,  writing,  drawing,  French, 
Latin,  and  Italian,  were  neglected.  Many  of  his  com- 
positions were  played  by  the  pupils  of  the  Konvikt; 
and  his  quartets,  as  well  as  those  by  other  composers, 
were  practised  on  Sundays  and  holidays  at  home ;  his 
brothers  taking  the  first  and  second  violin,  his  father  the 
'cello,  and  he  himself  the  viola.  His  ear  was  quick  to 
detect  the  slightest  false  note,  and  he  would  say  with 
a  modest  smile,  "  Herr  Vater,  there  must  be  some  mis- 
take there." 

He  also  occasionally  had  a  chance  to  hear  an  opera 
by  Weigl,  Cherubini,  Bo'ieldieu,  or  Gluck.  At  various 
concerts  during  these  years,  Beethoven's  masterpieces, 
the  Fifth,  Sixth,  and  Seventh  Symphonies,  and  other 


288  SCHUBERT. 

works,  were  given.  All  such  privileges  were  eagerly 
seized,  and  added  fuel  to  his  zeal  for  composition.  But 
at  that  time  he  seemed  to  think  that  Beethoven  united 
too  much  "  the  tragic  and  the  comic,  the  agreeable  and 
the  repulsive,  the  heroic  and  the  petty,  the  holiest  and 
a  harlequin."  "Mozart,  immortal  Mozart,"  as  he  calls 
him  in  his  diary,  was  his  favorite,  and  exercised  a  deeper 
influence  on  his  compositions. 

When  his  voice  changed  he  might  have  stayed  on  in 
the  school  on  the  Merveldt  scholarship,  had  he  consented 
to  pass  a  certain  examination.  He  did  not  choose  to  do 
so,  since  it  involved  studying  during  the  summer  vaca- 
tion. It  is  interesting  to  know  that  Schubert's  memory 
was  warmly  cherished  in  the  school,  that  the  Konvikt 
orchestra  still  continued  to  play  his  compositions,  and  that 
a  number  of  the  friends  whom  he  made  during  his  five 
years'  stay,  afterwards,  when  they  reached  positions  of 
influence,  always  stood  by  him  in  calling  public  atten- 
tion to  his  works. 

It  speaks  volumes  for  the  quality  of  Schubert's  educa- 
tion at  the  Konvikt,  that  in  order  to  become  his  father's 
assistant  he  was  obliged  to  study  several  months  at  the 
Normal  School  of  St.  Anna,  and  even  then  was  given 
only  the  preparatory  classes !  Why  he  should  have 
taken  up  with  a  work  that  was  sure  to  be  utter  drudg- 
ery, is  not  known.  His  brother  thought  that  it  was  to 
secure  his  exemption  from  service  in  the  army.  Possi- 
bly it  was  because  his  father  doubted  his  ability  to  earn 
a  livelihood  by  music. 

He  was  a  nervous,  irritable  teacher,  and  sometimes 
so  severely  boxed  the  ears  of  the  stupid  or  mischievous 
little  girls  under  him,  that  their  fathers  interfered. 
Indeed,  one  such  scene  is  said  to  have  led  to  his  resigna- 
tion of  the  position. 


SCHUnERT.  289 

The  three  years  of  drudgery  had  been  prolific  in  won- 
derful music,  —  a  list  of  upwards  of  four  hundred  com- 
positions of  every  sort  and  kind.  In  1815  he  wrote  one 
hundred  and  thirty-seven  songs ;  some  of  them  his  most 
characteristic,  most  of  them  immortal.  On  the  fifteenth 
of  August  he  wrote  eight.  Once  written  he  threw  them 
aside,  and  even  forgot  sometimes  that  they  were  his. 
The  "Erlkonig  "  was  written  on  the  spur  of  the  moment, 
Schubert  having  just  seen  Goethe's  ballad.  He  took  it 
the  same  evening  to  the  Konvikt,  to  try  it  over,  for  there 
was  no  piano  at  the  house;  but  it  was  not  very  well 
received ;  the  extraordinary  harmonies  and  its  original- 
ity were  not  understood. 

His  first  mass  was  composed  for  the  Parish  Church, 
and  first  performed  on  Sunday,  October  16, 1814.  It  was 
repeated  ten  days  later  at  the  Augustine  Church.  Franz 
conducted ;  his  brother  Ferdinand  played  the  organ. 
Holzer  led  the  choir,  and  Therese  G-rob  —  with  whom 
it  is  supposed  Schubert  may  for  a  short  time  have  been 
in  love  —  sang  the  soprano  part ;  and  Schubert's  father 
was  so  proud  that  he  presented  the  composer  with  a  five- 
octave  piano.  Salieri  was  present,  and  claimed  Schubert 
as  his  pupil,  —  a  relation  which  Beethoven  also  gladly 
acknowledged. 

A  number  of  operas,  composed  unfortunately  to  wretch- 
ed librettos,  fell  in  this  same  period.  Some  of  them  are 
now  fragmentary,  owing  to  the  ravages  of  a  servant-girl, 
who,  in  that  revolutionary  year,  1848,  could  find  no 
better  fuel  wherewith  to  light  her  fires  than  those  pre- 
cious but  neglected  scores. 

Salieri  is  said  to  have  given  him  many  lessons,  but  to 
have  advised  him  to  avoid  Goethe  and  Schiller's  poems. 
He  was  wise  enough  to  follow  his  own  counsels.  It  was 


290  SCHUBERT. 

through  Goethe,  especially,  that  he  was  inspired  to  the 
highest  lyrical  flights ;  and  yet,  strange  to  say,  Goethe 
did  not  appreciate  the  honor.  He  neither  expressed 
pleasure  at  the  immortal  alliance,  nor  even  acknowledged 
the  receipt  of  them.  Fifteen  years  afterward,  when  it 
was  too  late,  the  famous  Madame  Schroder-Devrient 
sang  to  the  gray-haired  old  man,  and  he  suddenly  awoke 
to  the  beauty  of  the  "Erlkdnig  "  music,  and  confessed  that 
when  thus  sung  he  saw  its  completeness,  which  before 
had  escaped  him. 

In  1816  a  government  school  of  music  was  established 
in  connection  with  the  new  Normal  Institute  at  Laybach, 
near  Trieste.  Schubert  applied  for  the  position  of 
director,  which  carried  with  it  a  salary  amounting  to 
little  over  a  hundred  dollars.  He  failed  to  secure  it,  nor 
did  he  ever,  in  spite  of  several  efforts  and  applications, 
hold  any  public  place.  It  may  be  reasonably  doubted 
whether,  in  fact,  he  was  qualified  by  temperament  or 
training  to  succeed  in  any  such  charge.  His  life  was 
wholly  private.  He  was  not  a  master  upon  any  instru- 
ment. He  was  a  composer,  pure  and  simple  ;  even  teach- 
ing music  was  irksome  to  him,  and  his  pupils  were  few 
and  far  between. 

In  the  autumn  of  this  same  year,  having  forsworn  the 
duty  of  grounding  infants  in  the  mysteries  of  the  Ger- 
man alphabet,  we  find  him  lodging  in  town  with  a  young 
student  of  gentle  birth,  named  Franz  von  Schober. 
"  Fortunate  is  he  who  finds  a  true  friend,"  wrote  Schu- 
bert in  his  diary  that  summer.  Schober  was  that  true 
friend.  Knowing  Schubert's  songs,  he  was  anxious  to 
make  the  composer's  acquaintance,  and  when  he  saw 
how  hampered  he  was  by  his  drudgeries,  proposed  that 
they  should  live  together.  How  happy  he  was,  may  be 


SCHUBERT.  291 

judged  from  a  letter  written  to  him  by  his  brother 
Ignaz,  who  was  also  a  teacher,  and  never  broke  loose 
from  the  toils  :  — 

"You  fortunate  man!  How  you  are  to  be  envied!  You  live 
in  a  sweet  golden  freedom  ;  can  give  your  musical  genius  free 
rein,  can  express  your  thoughts  as  you  please,  are  loved,  admired, 
idolized,  while  the  rest  of  us  are  devoted,  like  so  many  wretched 
beasts  of  burden,  to  all  the  brutalities  of  a  pack  of  wild  youth, 
and,  moreover,  must  be  subservient  to  a  thankless  public,  and 
under  the  thumb  of  a  stupid  priest." 

Another  of  Schubert's  friends  was  the  eccentric, 
gloomy  poet,  Mayrhover,  of  whom  Bauernfeld  wrote :  — 

"  Sickly  was  he,  peevish- tempered ; 
Held  aloof  from  gay  companions, 
Busied  only  with  his  studies, 
Found  in  whist  his  recreation. 
Earnest  were  his  features,  stony; 
Never  even  laughed  or  jested. 
Both  his  learning  and  behavior 
With  respect  filled  all  us  blackguards. 
Little  speech  he  made,  but  meaning 
Weighted  all  the  words  he  uttered. 


Only  music  could  enchant  him 
Sometimes  from  his  stony  dulness; 
And  when  Schubert's  songs  were  given, 
Then  his  nature  grew  more  cheerful." 

It  was  a  curious  companionship  between  the  light- 
hearted  Schubert,  fond  of  practical  jokes  and  all  sorts 
of  buffooneries  (his  favorite  amusement  was  to  sing 
the  "  Erlkonig  "  through  a  fine-toothed  comb  ! )  and  the 
misanthropic  poet  whose  career  was  so  pathetic.  Schu- 
bert set  more  than  fifty  of  his  poems  to  music,  else 
had  they  been  wholly  forgotten.  The  two  even  lived 


292  SCHUBERT. 

together  for  some  time  in  quarters  which  Mayrhover  thus 
describes :  — 

"It  was  in  a  gloomy  street.  House  and  room  had 
suffered  from  the  tooth  of  time;  the  roof  was  some- 
what sunken,  the  light  cut  off  by  a  great  building  oppo- 
site ;  a  played-out  piano,  a  small  bookcase  —  such  was 
the  room,  which,  with  the  hours  that  we  spent  there,  can 
never  pass  from  my  memory." 

Still  a  third  of  Schubert's  new  friends  was  Johann 
Michael  Vogl,  a  tenor  singer  of  the  Vienna  opera-house. 
Spaun,  his  early  friend  of  the  Konvikt,  claims  to  have 
introduced  them,  and  tells  how  the  awkward,  retiring, 
and  blushing  Schubert  met  the  famous  and  rather 
haughty  singer  "  with  a  clumsy  bow  and  scrape,  and  a 
few  disconnected,  stammering  words." 

Vogl,  perfectly  at  his  ease,  came  into  the  room,  which 
was  littered  with  music.  He  picked  up  some  of  the 
songs  and  hummed  them  through.  Then,  when  he  took 
his  departure,  he  slapped  Schubert  on  the  back,  arid  said : 
"  There  is  something  in  you,  but  you  are  too  little  of  a 
player,  too  little  of  a  charlatan.  You  squander  your 
beautiful  thoughts  without  bringing  them  to  anything." 

Nevertheless,  he  came  back,  and  soon  found  himself 
under  their  spell.  He  was  a  man  of  culture  and  refine- 
ment; his  hints  were  of  real  value  to  the  composer; 
and  as  he  had  the  entree  to  all  the  great  houses  of 
Vienna,  and  sang  many  of  Schubert's  best  songs,  it  was 
not  long  before  they  were  well  known  in  society.  Vogl, 
in  his  diary,  speaks  of  them  as  "  truly  divine  inspira- 
tions," "utterances  of  a  musical  clairvoyance,"  exempli- 
fications of  the  phrases:  "speech,  poetry  in  tones," 
"words  in  harmony,"  "thoughts  clad  in  music." 

Vogl  understood  how  to  enter  into  the  very  spirit  of 


SCHUBERT.  293 

Schubert's  songs.  The  latter  wrote  his  brother  Ferdi- 
nand :  "  The  way  in  which  Yogi  sings  and  I  accompany, 
the  way  in  which  for  the  moment  we  seem  to  be  one,  is 
something  quite  new  in  the  experience  of  these  people." 

In  1817  Rossini's  music  was  introduced  into  Vienna ; 
Schubert  was  inclined  to  make  fun  of  it,  and  even 
wrote  a  travesty  of  the  "  Tancredi "  overture,  but  it 
decidedly  influenced  his  compositions,  as  may  be  noted  in 
his  Sixth  Symphony.  Perhaps  it  was  due  to  Rossini's 
all-conquering  popularity  that  the  quantity,  but  not  the 
quality,  of  his  compositions  fell  off  during  this  and  the 
succeeding  year. 

How  he  lived  during  this  time  is  not  known.  His 
friendship  with  Schober  was  not  broken,  but  the  arrival 
of  Schober's  brother  deprived  him  of  his  lodgings.  He 
had  no  pupils,  and  the  only  money  that  so  far  he  had 
earned  by  his  music  was  only  about  twenty  dollars  by 
the  sale  of  a  cantata  written  and  performed  some  years 
before. 

In  the  summer  of  1818  Schubert  became  music-teacher 
in  the  family  of  Count  Johann  Esterhazy.  This  position 
gave  him  a  winter  home  in  Vienna,  and  a  summer  home 
at  Zelesz  on  the  Waag,  and  an  honorarium  of  two  gulden 
for  each  lesson  that  he  gave  the  three  children.  The 
whole  family  was  musical,  and  the  great  baritone  singer, 
Baron  von  Schonstein,  who  afterwards  sang  many  of 
Schubert's  songs  with  great  applause,  was  a  frequent 
member  of  their  home  concerts,  at  which  they  sang 
Haydn's  "Seasons,"  Mozart's  "Requiem,"  and  other 
things,  including  works  by  Schubert  himself,  for  he 
writes  his  friend  Schober  that  he  is  "  composing  like  a 
god." 

He  doubtless  yearned  for  the  freedom  and  independ- 


294  SCHUBERT. 

ence  of  his  humbler  life,  and  in  September  he  writes 
again,  declaring  mournfully  that  "  not  a  soul  there  has 
any  feeling  for  true  art,  unless  the  Countess  be  an  excep- 
tion. So  I  am  alone,"  he  adds,  "  with  my  beloved,  and 
must  hide  her  in  my  room,  in  my  piano,  in  my  breast. 
Although  this  often  makes  me  sad,  on  the  other  hand,  it 
elevates  me  all  the  more." 

Sir  George  Grove  inclines  to  think  that  he  was  more 
at  home  in  the  servants7  quarters  than  in  the  Countess's 
salon.  He  was  there,  perhaps,  treated  with  more  considera- 
tion. He  writes  :  "  The  cook  is  rather  jolly ;  the  ladies' 
maid  is  thirty ;  the  housemaid  very  pretty,  often  quite 
social ;  the  nurse  a  good  old  soul ;  the  butler  my  rival. 
The  two  grooms  are  better  suited  for  the  horses  than  for 
us.  The  Count  is  rather  rough ;  the  Countess  haughty, 
yet  with  a  kind  heart ;  the  Countesses  nice  girls.  ...  I 
am  good  friends  with  all  these  people." 

It  has  been  surmised  that  Schubert  fell  in  love  with 
the  youngest  daughter,  Caroline  von  Esterhazy.  There 
is  a  story,  not  well  authenticated,  that  once  when  she 
was  teasing  him  because  he  had  never  dedicated  any  of 
his  works  to  her,  he  replied,  "  Why  should  I,  when  all  I 
do  is  consecrated  to  you  ?  "  But  the  Countess  Caroline 
was  only  eleven  that  summer  of  1818,  and  though  she 
played  the  piano  well  (Schubert  wr'ote  some  of  his  best 
four-handed  pieces  for  her),  any  love  which  he  felt 
would  be  ideal.  But  his  love  must  at  any  rate  have 
been  ideal. 

He  was  a  little  man,  not  much  over  five  feet  tall,  with 
rotund  figure,  fat  arms,  and  such  short  fingers  that  he 
could  not  master  the  technique  of  his  own  pieces ;  his 
complexion  was  bad ;  his  nose  insignificant ;  the  beauty 
of  his  eyes  hidden  by  the  spectacles  which  he  wore  even 


SCHUBERT.  295 

in  bed.  What  hope  could  such  a  peasant  have  of  win- 
ning the  love  of  a  lovely  Austrian  countess  of  the 
proud  race  of  Esterhazy  ! 

He  longed  to  get  back  to  "  beloved  Vienna,"  where,  as 
he  wrote  his  brother,  all  that  was  dear  and  valuable  to 
him  was  to  be  found.  It  is  interesting  to  know  that  his 
stepmother  looked  out  for  his  comfort.  He  thanks  her 
"  motherly  care  "  for  sending  him  pocket-handkerchiefs, 
stockings,  and  cravats. 

The  following  winter  was  spent  in  gay  companionship 
with  congenial  friends.  Having  brought  back  from 
Hungary  plenty  of  money,  —  his  earnings  for  July 
alone  were  two  hundred  florins,  equivalent  to  about 
forty  dollars,  —  Schubert  was  "  without  anxiety."  He 
was  loved  by  all  the  circle  that  gathered  at  Schober's 
rooms  or  some  convenient  coffee-house.  They  called 
him  "the  Tyrant,"  because  he  made  Joseph  Hiitten- 
brenner  fetch  and  carry  for  him ;  they  called  him 
"Kanevas,"  because  when  any  new  man  joined  them, 
he  always  asked,  in  his  quaint  Viennese  dialect,  "  Can 
he  do  anything  ?  "  They  called  him  "  Schwammerl " 
(toadstool)  or  "Bertl."  They  were  rough  and  noisy; 
they  indulged  in  sham  fights ;  they  howled  and  played 
practical  jokes  j  they  drank  deep,  and  staggered  home 
late  at  night. 

Marvellous  contradiction!  Strange  dual  nature  of 
man !  Even  amid  these  wild  orgies  what  lovely  songs 
were  born,  as  water-lilies,  pure  and  white,  grow  from  the 
filth  and  ooze  of  the  pond  !  Thus  once  in  a  beer-garden 
Schubert  picked  up  a  volume  of  Shakspere  that  some 
literary  friend  had  laid  on  a  table.  The  song,  "  Hark  ! 
hark,  the  lark  ! "  met  his  eye.  He  exclaimed  :  "  Such  a 
lovely  melody  has  come  to  me  I  If  only  I  had  some 
music-paper !  " 


296  SCHUBERT. 

A  few  staves  were  hastily  drawn  in  pencil  on  the  back 
of  a  bill-of-f are,  and  amid  such  incongruous  surroundings 
one  of  the  most  perfect  of  songs  was  jotted  down.  Yet 
Schubert  exclaimed,  "My  music  is  the  product  of  my 
genius  and  my  poverty,  and  that  which  I  have  written 
in  my  greatest  distress  is  what  the  world  seems  to  like 
the  best." 

He  was  naturally  shy,  free  from  self-conceit,  utterly 
lacking  in  jealousy;  what  he  sometimes  was  in  his 
cups,  is  shown  by  a  rather  comical  incident  told  by  his 
friend  Bauernfeld. 

It  was  late  at  night.  Schubert  had  been  drinking  a 
good  deal,  when  two  musicians  from  one  of  the  theatres 
dropped  into  the  beer-room,  and  spying  the  composer, 
asked  him  to  compose  something  for  their  special  instru- 
ments. Schubert  leaped  to  his  feet,  drained  a  last  glass 
of  punch,  pushed  his  hat  over  his  ear,  and  drew  up 
threateningly  against  the  two  men,  one  of  whom  was  a 
head  and  shoulders  taller :  — 

"  Artists,  you  ?  "  he  cried.  "  You  are  musicians,  and 
nothing  else.  One  of  you  bites  the  brass  mouthpiece  of 
your  wooden  stick,  and  the  other  puffs  out  his  cheeks 
over  his  French  horn.  Call  that  art  ?  That's  a  mere 
trade.  .  .  .  You,  artists !  You  are  blowers  and  fiddlers, 
one  and  all.  /  am  an  artist !  I,  I  am  Schubert,  Franz 
Schubert,  whom  everybody  knows  and  names,  who  has 
done  great  and  beautiful  things  above  your  comprehen- 
sion, and  will  do  still  more  beautiful  ones :  cantatas  and 
quartets,  operas  and  symphonies.  For  I  am  not  merely 
a  composer  of  country  waltzes  {Landler\,  as  it  says  in 
the  stupid  paper,  and  as  stupid  fellows  prate.  I  am 
Schubert,  Franz  Schubert,  I  would  have  you  know,  and 
if  the  word  i  art '  is  spoken,  it  concerns  me,  and  not  you,  > 


SCHUBERT.  297 

worms  and  insects,  who  want  solo  pieces  —  but  I  will 
never  write  them  for  you,  and  I  know  why,  you  creep- 
ing, gnawing  worms  which  I  would  crush  under  foot  — 
the  foot  of  a  man  who  reaches  the  stars  —  Sublime 
feriam  sidera  vertice  —  translate  that !  —  yes,  the  stars, 
I  say  —  while  you  poor,  puffing  worms  wriggle  in  the 
dust!" 

The  men  stared  at  him  in  utter  amazement  at  this 
outburst.  When  Bauernfeld  went  to  Schubert's  room 
the  next  morning,  he  found  everything  in  the  direst 
disorder,  an  inkstand  overturned,  and  a  few  aphorisms 
scratched  down  on  paper. 

Schubert  tumbled  out  of  bed  somewhat  shamefaced, 
and  promised  to  atone  for  his  rudeness  by  writing  the 
solos  for  the  virtuosos. 

It  must  not  be  judged  by  this  that  he  was  an  habitual 
sot.  His  habits  were  generally  regular;  his  hours  of 
labor  arduous.  A  beautiful  poem,  or  such  music  as 
Beethoven's  C-sharp  minor  quartet,  threw  him  almost 
into  paroxysms  of  excitement.  It  was  like  the  rock 
touched  by  Moses'  rod:  the  fountains  gushed  forth. 
The  finer  fibre  in  him  was  hidden,  but  it  was  there, 
ready  to  vibrate  in  unison  with  all  harmony.  The 
orgies  —  which  were  less  culpable  at  that  time  —  were 
simply  those  of  good  fellowship,  and  not  wanton. 

Schubert's  earnings  at  Zelesz  were  sufficient  to  allow 
him  the  next  summer  to  make  an  excursion  into  Upper 
Austria  with  Vogl,  who  introduced  him  into  the  circle  of 
his  family  and  friends.  Several  letters  dated  at  Steyr 
and  Linz  describe  the  delights  of  this  excursion  :  the 
fascinating  scenery,  the  jovial  comradeship,  the  music 
and  dances.  Schubert  was  famous  for  his  facility  in 
improvising  waltzes  by  the  hour  when  among  those 


298  SCHUBERT. 

whom  he  knew  well.  His  stubbed  little  fingers  flew  like 
lightning  over  the  keys.  He  played  with  wonderful 
expression  — "  like  a  composer,"  said  some  one  who 
heard  him  —  and  made  the  piano  sing  like  a  bird. 

In  February,  1819,  a  song  of  Schubert's  was  sung  for 
the  first  time  in  public.  Two  years  later,  after  a  semi- 
public  performance  of  the  "  Erlkonig"  a  hundred  copies 
were  subscribed  for,  and  the  great  song  was  engraved 
and  printed  "  on  commission,"  no  publisher  being  willing 
to  incur  the  risk.  In  nine  months  eight  hundred  copies 
were  sold.  This  was  the  entering  wedge,  and  it  was 
followed  by  a  succession  of  eighteen  in  five  numbers, 
dedicated  to  men  who  had  been  kind  to  him :  Salieri, 
Count  Dietrichstein,  the  Patriarch  of  Venice,  and  other 
noblemen.  The  success  was  so  great  that  the  Diabellis 
were  now  willing  to  publish  others  on  their  own  account. 
Had  Schubert  been  wise,  or  his  friends  looked  out  for 
his  interests,  his  future  might  have  been  assured.  He 
foolishly  sold  his  first  twelve  works  for  eight  hundred 
silver  gulden  ($400).  One  single  song  in  Opus  Four  — 
"  The  Wanderer  "  —  brought  its  publishers  between  1822 
and  1861  upwards  of  $13,000.  Moreover,  he  mortgaged 
his  future  works  in  the  same  short-sighted  way. 

About  this  time  he  was  offered  the  position  of  organist 
to  the  Court  Chapel ;  but,  much  to  the  distress  of  his 
father,  he  refused  it  knowing  that  his  erratic  and 
unsystematic  habits  would  not  conduce  to  his  success. 
"  Absolute  freedom  of  movement  was  more  necessary  to 
Schubert  than  to  the  fish  in  the  water  ! "  exclaims  one  of 
his  biographers.  Perhaps  also  his  attraction  to  the  theatre 
stood  in  his  way. 

His  great  desire  was  to  write  an  opera.  But,  poor 
fellow  !  Such  wretched  librettos  he  had  !  He  himself, 


SCHUBERT.  299 

whom  Liszt  called  "the  most  poetical  musician  that 
ever  was,"  could  be  inspired  by  a  placard;  and  his 
judgment  as  to  the  merit  of  poetry  was  most  unfortu- 
nate. Not  one  of  his  many  operas  was  successful ;  some 
were  not  heard  till  years  after  he  died.  Such  was  the 
case  with  "  Alfonso  and  Estrella,"  begun  during  a  visit 
with  Schober  at  the  castle  of  Ochsenburg  —  where  in 
company  with  "  a  princess,  two  countesses,  three  baron- 
esses/' and  other  music-loving  friends,  he  spent  a  de- 
lightful time  in  the  autumn  of  1821.  This  opera  was 
resurrected  by  Liszt  in  Weimar,  twenty-six  years  later; 
but  not  until  1881,  with  a  new  libretto  in  place  of  the 
inane  and  stupid  one  written  by  Schober,  did  it  meet 
with  success  when  given  at  Karlsruhe. 

With  this  opera  is  connected  a  curious  story  concern- 
ing Schubert  and  Weber.  Schubert,  like  Spohr,  could 
see  no  reason  for  Weber's  popularity.  He  declared 
that  "Euryanthe"  contained  not  one  original  melody. 

"  The  '  FreischutzJ "  he  said,  "  was  so  tender  and 
sincere,  it  charmed  by  its  liveliness  ;  but  in  '  Eury- 
anthe' little  sentiment  is  to  be  found." 

Weber  heard  of  his  criticism,  and  exclaimed,  "  Let  the 
snob  learn  something  before  he  judges  me." 

Schubert,  to  prove  that  he  knew  something,  took  the 
score  of  "  Alfonso  and  Estrella  "  to  Weber,  who  glanced 
through  it,  and  said  slightingly,  "I  tell  you,  puppies 
and  the  first  operas  are  drowned  ! " 

Such  was  not  a  very  harmonious  beginning ;  but 
Schubert  was  good-natured  and  generous,  and  the  two 
masters  of  romantic  song  parted  amicably,  and  Weber 
made  some  attempt  to  have  the  new  opera  played  at 
Dresden. 

Another  bitter  disappointment  came  in  the  rejection 


300  SCHUBERT. 

of  his  more  ambitious  three-act  opera  "  Fierabras"  — 
a  thousand  pages  of  beautiful  music,  written  in  four 
months,  to  a  wretched  libretto.  He  shows  in  his 
letters  signs  of  low  spirits.  He  speaks  of  his  brightest 
hopes  come  to  naught;  of  his  health  broken  beyond 
repair ;  of  being  "  the  most  unlucky,  the  most  wretched 
man  in  the  world ; "  he  declares  that  he  goes  to  sleep 
every  night  hoping  never  to  wake  again. 

Schubert  had  been  ill :  indeed,  several  of  his  loveliest 
songs  (die  Sckone  Mullerin  series)  had  been  written  in 
the  hospital.  But  in  the  summer  of  1824  he  was  with 
the  Esterhazys  again,  among  the  Hungarian  mountains  ; 
and  the  wholesome  country  life  entirely  restored  his 
health.  While  he  was  with  the  Esterhazys  he  became 
familiar  with  the  fascinating  melodies  so  characteristic 
of  the  Hungarian  peasantry  and  which  he  reproduced 
with  so  much  originality. 

He  felt  his  isolation  even  more  than  before,  and 
writes  his  regret  that  he  had  been  for  a  second  time 
enticed  into  the  "  deep  Hungarian  land "  where  he  had 
not  a  single  man  with  whom  to  speak  a  sensible  word. 

Yet  we  find  him  enjoying  walks  with  Baron  Schon- 
stein,  and  composing  splendid  piano  pieces  and  songs  for 
the  young  countesses  now  in  the  very  bloom  of  life. 

May  not  the  complaints  which  fill  his  letters  be  the 
outcome  of  that  hopeless  love  for  the  Countess  Caroline  ? 
It  seems  reasonable. 

Kenewed  health,  plenty  of  money,  —  wasted  in  playing 
the  Croesus  for  the  benefit  of  his  impecunious  friends, 
whom  he  fed  and  treated  to  concerts,  —  as,  for  instance, 
taking  Bauernfeld  to  hear  Paganini,  "that  infernally 
divine  fiddler ;  "  evenings  at  Bogner's  Cafe,  on  the  Sing- 
ers' Street,  where  wine  flowed  in  streams  j  mornings 


FRANZ    SCHUBERT   IN    HUNGARY,    LISTENING    TO  THE   WEIRD    MELODIES 
OF   A    GYPSY    BAND    AND    TAKING    NOTES   OF   THE    MUSIC. 


SCHUBERT.  301 

devoted  to  work ;  letters  from  distant  publishers  inquir- 
ing about  his  terms ;  and  finally  five  summer  months 
passed  with  Vogl  "in  a  delightful  mixture  of  music, 
friends,  fine  scenery,  lovely  weather,  and  absolute  ease 
and  comfort,"  —  all  this  went  to  make  the  year  1825  one 
of  the  happiest  of  his  life.  What  good  spirits  he  felt 
may  be  judged  from  his  letters,  which  were  more  num- 
erous and  lengthy  that  summer  than  at  any  other  time, 
—  full  of  odd  rhymes  and  quaint  conceits,  as  well  as 
vivid  descriptions  and  sound  common  sense. 

Early  in  1826,  in  consequence  of  the  death  of  Salieri, 
the  vice  kapellmeistership  of  the  Royal  Chapel  became 
vacant.  It  bore  a  salary  of  a  thousand  gulden,  and 
free  lodgings.  Schubert  applied  for  it.  It  was  given 
to  Weigh  Schubert  said :  "  I  should  have  liked  that 
place,  but  since  it  is  given  to  such  a  worthy  man,  I 
ought  to  be  content." 

He  failed  also  to  obtain  the  post  of  director  at  the 
Karnthnerthor  Theatre,  owing,  as  some  say,  to  his  obsti- 
nacy in  refusing  to  alter  his  test-piece.  Schubert's  great 
fault  was  a  dogged  obstinacy,  which  even  his  best  friends 
could  not  overcome.  This  year  six  publishers  issued 
over  a  hundred  of  Schubert's  works,  some  fairly  well  paid 
for,  others  at  incredibly  low  prices.  Often  he  got  only 
twenty  cents  apiece  for  his  songs." 

Schubert  was  one  of  the  torch-bearers  at  Beethoven's 
funeral.  This  was  right  and  proper.  The  younger  had 
long  worshipped  him  from  afar.  Though  they  lived  in 
the  same  city,  Schubert  rarely  met  with  him  personally. 
The  first  time  he  was  so  confused  that  he  could  not  write 
a  word  on  that  ever-ready  tablet.  Beethoven,  who  cared 
little  for  the  works  of  his  contemporaries,  was  pleased 
however  with  some  variations  which  Schubert  dedicated 


302  SCHUBERT. 

to  him.  On  his  death-bed  he  was  shown  some  of  Schu- 
bert's songs,  and  was  amazed  to  learn  that  he  had  writ- 
ten more  than  five  hundred.  "  Truly  he  has  the  divine 
fire  in  him  ! "  he  exclaimed ;  and  he  often  spoke  of  him, 
regretting  that  he  had  not  known  him  sooner. 

At  the  last  Schubert  visited  the  dying  man  twice,  and 
Beethoven  is  said  to  have  exclaimed,  "Franz  has  my 
soul." 

On  the  way  back  from  the  funeral,  Schubert  went  into 
a  tavern  with  several  friends,  and  drank  two  glasses  of 
wine ;  one  to  Beethoven's  memory,  the  other  to  the  one 
that  should  follow  next.  He  drank  to  his  own  spirit. 

Once  more  Schubert  enjoyed  an  outing  with  congenial 
friends  at  Gratz,  — "  excursions  and  picnics  by  day 
through  a  beautiful  country,  and  at  night  incessant 
music  ;  good  eating  and  drinking,  clever  men  and  pretty 
women,  no  fuss,  a  little  romping,  a  good  piano,  a  sympa- 
thetic audience,  and  no  notice  taken  of  him."  This  was 
in  the  autumn  of  1827. 

The  next  year  he  composed  "his  greatest  known 
symphony,  his  greatest  and  longest  mass,  his  first  orato- 
rio, his  finest  piece  of  chamber  music,  three  noble  piano 
concertos,"  and  a  number  of  splendid  songs  including 
the  "  Swan  Song."  In  March,  the  anniversary  of  Beetho- 
ven's death,  he  gave  his  first  and  only  public  concert. 
It  consisted  wholly  of  his  own  compositions,  and  netted 
him  over  one  hundred  and  fifty  dollars,  so  that  "  money 
was  as  plenty  as  blackberries "  with  him.  Most  of  it 
went  to  pay  his  debts.  That  year  he  got  only  thirty 
florins  for  a  piano  quintet,  and  only  twenty-one  for  his 
splendid  E-flat  trio. 

When  summer  came  he  felt  too  poor  to  make  a  pro- 
posed journey  to  Styrian  Gratz.  If  he  had  gone,  it  might 


SCHUBERT.  303 

have  saved  his  life.  He  stayed  in  hot  Vienna ;  though 
in  October  he  enjoyed  a  three-days'  walking  tour  with  his 
brother  Ferdinand,  with  whom  he  was  now  living  in  the 
Neue  Wieden  suburb.  They  visited  Haydn's  old  resi- 
dence and  grave  at  Eisenstadt,  and  the  out-of-door  life 
did  him  good.  He  had  been  ailing  for  some  time.  On 
his  return  the  bad  symptoms  reappeared,  —  giddiness 
and  rush  of  blood  to  the  head. 

Nevertheless,  he  determined  to  work  on  counterpoint, 
his  deficiency  in  which  had  been  brought  to  his  notice 
by  study  of  Handel's  works.  He  made  arrangements  to 
take  lessons  of  Sechter,  an  authority  on  the  subject. 

The  lessons  were  never  begun.  On  the  eleventh  of 
November,  he  wrote  Schober  that  he  had  not  eaten  any- 
thing for  eleven  days.  On  the  fourteenth  he  took  to  his 
bed ;  on  the  nineteenth  he  died.  Shortly  before  his 
death  he  tried  to  raise  himself  up,  and  with  feeble  voice 
sang  that  pathetic  part  of  the  "  Erlkonig "  where  death 
is  mentioned.  He  died  fearlessly,  peacefully ;  his  face 
was  calm. 

By  his  own  request  he  was  buried  near  Beethoven, 
and  over  his  grave  was  erected  a  monument  bearing  an 
inscription  to  the  effect  that  "  Music  had  buried  a  rich 
treasure,  but  still  fairer  hopes." 

Schubert  and  Beethoven  now  both  rest  in  the  great 
Central  Cemetery  of  Vienna.  The  reburial  of  the  former 
took  place  in  September,  1888,  with  most  impressive 
ceremonies. 

He  who  had  left  as  his  sole  earthly  possessions  a  few 
old  clothes  valued  at  only  fifty  florins,  and  "  a  quantity 
of  old  music  "  inventoried  after  his  death  as  worth  about 
ten  florins  ($2),  —  had  to  wait  a  generation  before  his 
greatness  was  realized.  Schumann  was  one  of  the  first 
to  discover  the  buried  treasures  of  his  genius. 


S04  SCHUBERT. 

Now  Schubert  stands  second  only  to  Beethoven,  and 
is  by  some  regarded  as  by  nature  greater  even  than 
Beethoven.  No  one  finds  his  "  heavenly  length  "  too  Ion  g. 
Every  scrap  that  bears  his  name  is  prized.  His  pencil, 
says  Schumann,  "  was  dipped  in  moonbeams  and  in  the 
flame  of  the  sun."  Richest  in  fancy,  most  spontaneous 
in  musical  creation,  his  only  fault  was  lack  of  pro- 
portion. 

He  himself  predicted  that  he  should  be  in  his  old  age 
like  Goethe's  harper,  —  creeping  and  begging  at  the 
gates.  His  life  was  cut  short  like  his  great  unfinished 
symphony,  and  yet  such  was  his  fecundity  that  even  now 
the  stream  of  Schubert  publications  is  still  flowing. 
What  inspiration  he  has  been  to  other  musicians,  may 
be  seen  in  the  multitude  of  transcriptions  of  his  songs, 
the  influence  which  his  style  has  exerted. 

Taken  all  in  all,  he  was  certainly  the  most  remarkable 
composer  who  ever  lived.  "  There  never  has  been  one 
like  him,  and  there  never  will  be  another."  He  was 
"  the  last  star  that  glittered  in  the  musical  firmament 
of  Vienna." 


LOUIS  SPOHR. 

(1784-1859.} 


POHK,"  says  one  of  his  critics,  "  was  a  master 
who,  during  a  period  critical  for  its  individual  and 
national  development,  led  German  art  with  courage  and 
lofty  idealism,  in  the  right  direction,  and  preserved  it 
from  harm." 

The  career  of  Spohr  offers  a  decided  contrast  to  those 
of  most  of  the  great  musicians.  He  found  appreciation 
wherever  he  went.  He  was  singularly  happy  in  his 
domestic  relations.  Success  crowned  him,  and  after  a 
long  life  he  died  full  of  honors  —  almost  an  autocrat 
of  German  music. 

His  grandfather  was  a  clergyman  in  the  district  of 
Hildesheim,  where  the  famous  ever-blossoming  roses 
grew.  His  father,  Karl  Heinrich,  to  escape  punish- 
ment at  school,  ran  away  at  the  age  of  sixteen;  and, 
after  an  adventurous  life,  succeeded  in  establishing  him- 
self as  a  physician  at  Brunswick,  where  he  married  the 
daughter  of  the  pastor  of  the  Aegydian  Church.  The 
young  couple  resided  at  the  parsonage.  Here  Louis, 
or  Ludwig,  was  born  on  April  5,  1784.  Two  years  later 
his  father  became  district  physician  and  ultimately  Ober- 
appellationsgerichtsrat,  or  judge  of  appeals,  at  Seesen, 
where  four  brothers  and  a  sister  were  born. 

305 


306  LOUIS  SPOHR. 

Both  parents  were  musical,  so  that  Louis's  feeling  and 
love  for  the  art  were  early  awakened.  When  he  was 
four,  a  terrific  thunderstorm  came  up.  The  house  grew 
dark.  The  rain  poured  down.  The  boy  sat  in  a  corner 
troubled  and  frightened.  But  soon  the  clouds  lifted; 
the  deep  organ  tone  of  the  thunder  sounded  far  in  the 
distance ;  the  sun  burst  forth,  and  the  room  was  flooded 
with  light.  A  little  bird  hanging  in  the  window  broke 
forth  in  song,  and  Spohr's  young  heart  was  filled  with 
strange  emotion.  It  was  the  awakening  of  the  spirit  of 
music.  This  same  year  he  began  to  sing  duets  with  his 
mother.  His  father  bought  him  a  violin,  on  which, 
without  instruction,  he  tried  to  "  pick  out "  the  melodies 
that  he  heard.  Soon  after,  he  took  lessons  from  a  Mr. 
Riemenschneider,  and  was  allowed  to  share  in  the  even- 
ing music.  With  his  father  and  mother  he  played  trios 
for  flute,  piano,  and  violin. 

An  emigre,  named  Dufour,  came  to  Seesen  in  1790,  and 
supported  himself  by  giving  music  and  French  lessons. 
Under  his  direction  Louis  wrote  some  violin  duets, 
which  the  two  executed  together  to  the  delight  of  their 
friends.  His  father  long  preserved  these  youthful  effu- 
sions, which  were  naturally  full  of  musical  bad  grammar 
and  yet  were  not  wholly  formless  or  unmelodious.  As  a 
reward  he  was  presented  with  a  gala-dress,  consisting  of 
a  crimson  jacket  with  steel  buttons,  yellow  breeches,  and 
laced  boots  with  tassels. 

Dufour,  astonished  at  the  lad's  ability  and  rapid  prog- 
ress, urged  his  parents  to  make  him  a  musician  instead 
of  a  doctor ;  and  it  was  decided  to  send  him  to  Bruns- 
wick, where  he  might  receive  more  thorough  instruction. 

A  difficulty  stood  in  the  way.  He  could  not  go  until 
he  was  confirmed,  and  according  to  a  law  in  that  Duchy 


SPOHR. 


LOUIS   SPOHR.  307 

confirmation  could  not  be  granted  before  the  age  of  four- 
teen. Accordingly,  he  was  given  over  to  the  charge  of  his 
grandfather  at  Woltershausen.  The  kindly  but  strict 
old  minister  did  not  approve  of  the  plan ;  but  he  taught 
his  grandson  religion  and  other  things,  and  let  him  walk 
throughout  the  winter  twice  a  week  to  Alefeld,  where  the 
precentor  helped  him  with  his  music.  Halfway  stood  an 
old  mill,  where  he  often  stopped  and  played  to  the  mill- 
er's wife,  who  liked  to  treat  him  to  coffee,  cake,  and  fruit. 

At  Brunswick  he  boarded  in  the  family  of  a  rich 
baker,  and  studied  the  violin  with  Kammermusicus 
Kunisch ;  and  harmony  with  an  old  organist  named 
Hartung.  "The  latter,"  says  Spohr  in  his  autobiog- 
raphy, "  corrected  his  essays  in  composition  so  unmerci- 
fully, and  scratched  out  so  many  ideas  that  to  him 
seemed  sublime,  that  he  lost  all  desire  to  submit  any- 
thing further  to  him." 

Lessons  in  theory  were  soon  ended,  owing  to  Har- 
tung's  illness.  Henceforth  in  this  department  of  his 
art  Spohr  was  left  to  his  own  guidance.  By  reading 
works  on  harmony,  and  studying  scores,  he  learned  to 
write  correctly,  and  even  appeared  at  a  Katharine  school 
concert  with  an  original  composition  for  the  violin. 

Shortly  after  he  was  invited  to  take  part  at  some 
subscription  concerts,  and  was  mightily  pleased  with 
his  first  honorarium  as  an  artist.  He  also  sang  soprano 
in  the  perambulations  of  the  school  chorus  through  the 
town. 

The  best  violinist  of  the  Brunswick  orchestra  was  the 
director  Maucourt.  With  him  Spohr  studied  for  nearly 
a  year,  until  his  father,  finding  the  expenses  of  his  grow- 
ing family  too  great,  determined  to  send  him  to  Hamburg, 
for  the  purpose  of  giving  concerts  there. 


308  LOUIS  SPOHR. 

Provided  with  several  letters  of  introduction  he  went 
"  full  of  hopes  and  high  spirits,"  ready  to  conquer  the 
world.  But  he  found  that  the  possession  of  a  great 
name,  or  else  of  considerable  means,  was  necessary  to 
get  a  hearing  in  the  big,  busy  city ;  and,  moreover,  it 
was  summer,  and  most  of  the  influential  people  were  at 
their  country  residences.  All  this  he  learned  of  Pro- 
fessor Biisching,  the  head  of  the  commercial  college 
where  his  father  had  taught  when  a  youth. 

Young  Spohr  was  so  discouraged  that  he  packed  up 
his  violin  and  sent  it  back  to  Brunswick,  whither  he  him- 
self returned  on  foot.  At  first  he  was  cast  down  by  the 
thought  that  his  enterprising  father  would  reproach  him 
for  his  lack  of  energy ;  then  the  thought  struck  him  that 
the  Duke  of  Brunswick  had  once  played  the  violin,  and 
would  perhaps  recognize  his  ability. 

He  accordingly  wrote  a  petition,  and,  waiting  for  a 
good  opportunity,  handed  it  to  the  Duke  in  person  as 
he  was  walking  in  the  palace  park.  The  Duke  read  it, 
and  asked  him  a  few  questions  which  he  answered  with 
characteristic  readiness.  He  was  commanded  to  repair 
to  the  palace  at  eleven  the  next  morning.  The  groom 
addressed  him  in  a  supercilious  manner,  but  announced 
him.  Spohr  was  so  indignant  that  he  burst  forth: 
"Your  serene  Highness,  your  servant  insults  me.  I 
must  protest  earnestly  against  being  addressed  in  such 
a  way ! " 

The  Duke  was  greatly  amused,  and  assured  him  that 
the  groom  should  not  offend  again. 

It  was  arranged  for  Spohr  to  play  at  the  next  concert 
in  the  Duchess's  apartments.  The  Duchess  was  more 
fond  of  ombre  than  of  music ;  and  usually  at  her  con- 
certs a  thick  carpet  was  spread  to  deaden  the  sound,  and 


LOUIS  SPOHR.  309 

the  orchestra  were  bidden  to  play  as  softly  as  possible. 
This  time,  however,  cards  were  banished,  and  the  Duke 
himself  was  present. 

Spohr  played  his  best,  knowing  that  his  fate  depended 
on  it.  After  he  had  finished,  the  Duke  patted  him  on 
the  shoulder,  and  said,  "  You  have  talent ;  I  will  take 
care  of  you." 

Thus  in  August,  1799,  he  was  appointed  kammer- 
musicus,  with  a  salary  of  a  hundred  thalers  a  year 
and  the  duty  of  playing  at  court  concerts  and  at  the 
theatre.  From  that  time  forth  he  was  enabled  to  pay 
his  own  way,  and  even  to  help  his  brother  Ferdinand 
obtain  a  musical  education. 

The  Duke  kept  watch  over  his  progress  and  was  often 
present  at  the  concerts  when  he  was  announced  to  play 
some  new  work.  One  time  when  the  Duke  was  not  pres- 
ent, and  the  game  of  ombre  was  in  full  swing,  he  tried  a 
new  violin  concerto  of  his  own,  and  forgot  the  Duchess's 
prohibition.  While  he  was  playing  with  the  greatest 
zeal,  a  lackey  suddenly  arrested  his  arm  and  whispered  : 

"  Her  Grace  sends  me  to  order  you  not  to  scrape  away 
so  furiously." 

Spohr  played  louder  than  ever,  which  resulted  in  his 
receiving  a  rebuke  from  the  court  marshal.  He  com- 
plained to  the  Duke,  who  laughed  heartily  and  then 
asked  him  which  of  the  great  violinists  of  the  day  he 
would  prefer  as  a  teacher.  Spohr  immediately  named 
Viotti,  called  "the  father  of  modern  violin  playing," 
who  was  then  living  in  London.  Viotti,  who  had  dis- 
covered that  the  English  liked  wine  better  than  music, 
wrote  back  that  he  had  become  a  merchant  and  could 
not  receive  any  pupils. 

The  next  application  was  made  to  Ferdinand  Eck  of 


310  LOUIS  SPOHB. 

Paris ;  but  he  too  refused  to  take  any  pupils,  having 
married  a  rich  countess  with  whom  he  lived  on  the  fat 
of  the  land.  He  suggested  his  brother,  Francis  Eck, 
who  was  then  travelling  through  Germany.  Francis 
Eck  came  to  Brunswick,  played  at  court ;  and  it  was 
arranged  for  Spohr  to  accompany  him  on  his  artistic 
tour  as  a  pupil  for  a  year,  the  Duke  paying  for  the 
instruction  and  half  of  the  travelling  expenses. 

They  set  forth  in  April,  1802,  and  reached  St.  Peters- 
burg toward  the  end  of  December.  Spohr's  diary  and 
autobiography  give  interesting  pictures  of  their  journey 
and  adventures. 

At  Hamburg,  he  lost  his  heart  to  a  charming  Miss 
Liitgens,  who,  though  only  thirteen,  was  a  born  coquette. 
She  had  curly  hair,  bright  brown  eyes,  and  a  dazzling 
white  neck.  Spohr,  whose  allegiance  was  divided  be- 
tween painting  and  music,  took  a  miniature  likeness  of 
her ;  but  her  coquetry  for  him  spoiled  all  the  pleasure 
of  her  acquaintance. 

At  Strelitz,  where  they  spent  the  summer,  he  worked 
assiduously  with  Eck,  who  took  great  pains  with  him. 
Their  relations  were  those  of  friends  and  comrades, 
rather  than  teacher  and  scholar.  Here  Spohr  finished 
his  first  violin  concerto.  During  an  illness  which  over- 
took Eck,  Spohr  became  acquainted  with  two  beautiful 
young  women,  who  for  a  time  deceived  him  as  to  their 
real  character.  It  was  a  romantic  and  rather  pathetic 
adventure,  though  it  ended  without  any  serious  conse- 
quences. 

Spohr,  who  was  a  handsome  man  of  gigantic  frame 
and  herculean  constitution,  was  extremely  attractive  to 
the  fair  sex,  and  his  own  feelings,  though  kept  under 
excellent  control?  were  easily  excited.  He  says  himself, 


LOUIS  SPOHR.  311 

"The  young  artist  from  his  earliest  youth  was  very  sus- 
ceptible to  female  beauty,  and  already  when  a  boy  he 
fell  in  love  with  every  pretty  woman." 

At  Mitava,  Spohr  played  for  the  first  time  in  the 
presence  of  his  teacher,  and  in  his  place.  Eck  was 
requested  to  accompany  a  young  pianist  in  one  of 
Beethoven's  violin  sonatas ;  but,  not  being  a  ready 
reader,  refused. 

Spohr  offered  to  take  the  part,  and  his  skill  at  sight- 
reading  stood  him  in  good  service.  They  stayed  at 
Mitava  till  December,  and  Spohr  had  then  the  oppor- 
tunity of  hearing  for  the  first  time  many  of  the  master- 
pieces of  Mozart  and  Beethoven. 

The  journey  from  Narva,  where  the  governor  detained 
them  to  play  at  an  evening  party,  to  Petersburg,  occupied 
six  days  and  five  nights.  The  contrast  between  the 
magnificent  city  in  all  its  winter  gayety,  and  the  sordid 
huts  which  they  had  seen  on  their  long  and  monotonous 
journey,  greatly  impressed  him. 

At  Petersburg,  Eck  so  pleased  the  Empress  that  he 
was  engaged  as  solo  violinist  in  the  Imperial  Orchestra, 
at  a  salary  of  thirty-five  hundred  rubles.  Spohr  made 
the  acquaintance  of  all  the  famous  musicians,  including 
the  Irishman  John  Field  and  the  Italian  Clementi  — 
who  at  that  time  were  reaping  a  golden  harvest  at  the 
Russian  capital.  He  heard  also  the  strange,  crazy 
violinist  Titz,  and  the  forty  hornists  of  the  Imperial 
orchestra,  who  had  each  only  one  note  to  blow.  They 
played  an  overture  by  Gluck  "  with  a  rapidity  and 
exactness  which  would  have  been  hard  for  stringed 
instruments."  Spohr  adds :  "  The  adagio  of  the  over- 
ture was  more  effective  than  the  allegro,  for  it  must  be 
always  unnatural  to  execute  such  quick  passages  with 


312  LOUIS  SPOHE. 

these  living  organ  pipes,  and  one  could  not  help  think- 
.ng  of  the  thrashings  which  they  must  have  received." 

At  a  performance  of  Haydn's  "  Seasons  "  the  orchestra 
consisted  of  seventy  violins.  Spohr  was  present  during 
the  festivities  of  carnival,  "  the  mad  week  "  as  it  was 
called.  He  describes  the  snow  mountains  and  the  break- 
ing up  of  the  ice  in  the  Neva.  He  was  also  in  Peters- 
burg at  the  time  of  the  jubilee  commemorating  the  found- 
ing of  the  city  by  Peter  the  Great. 

In  June,  Spohr  took  leave  of  his  beloved  teacher, 
whom  he  was  destined  never  to  see  again,  and  in  com- 
pany with  Leveque,  the  director  of  an  orchestra  of 
serfs  belonging  to  a  Russian  noble,  set  sail  for  Lttbeck. 
They  were  greatly  buffeted  by  contrary  winds,  and  the 
trying  voyage  lasted  three  weeks. 

Shortly  after  his  return,  he  played  at  a  concert  before 
the  Duke  and  a  numerous  audience,  and  was  so  over- 
whelmed with  applause  that  he  remembered  it  always 
as  one  of  the  happiest  days  of  his  life.  He  was  ap- 
pointed first  violin  with  an  addition  salary  of  two 
hundred  thalers. 

In  January,  1804,  Spohr  started  for  Paris  with 
his  friend  Bencke,  intending  to  give  concerts  there. 
Just  as  they  were  entering  Gottingen  he  discovered 
that  his  trunk  had  been  stolen  from  the  back  of  the 
carriage.  It  contained  not  only  his  manuscripts,  his 
clothes  and  linen,  and  a  considerable  sum  of  money, 
but  most  precious  of  all  a  splendid  Guarnerius  violin, 
which  one  of  his  admirers  had  presented  to  him  in 
Petersburg.  It  was  never  recovered.  The  next  day  the 
police  found  an  empty  trunk  and  violin-case  in  a  field. 
Only  the  bow  remained,  clinging  to  the  cover  of  the 
case. 


LOUIS  SPOHR.  313 

Imagine  Spohr's  despair  !  But  he  was  of  a  sunny  and 
philosophic  disposition.  He  borrowed  a  Stainer  violin 
of  an  acquaintance,  and  gave  his  first  concert  outside  of 
Brunswick.  The  story  of  the  lost  violin  helped  to  fill 
the  hall,  and  he  had  excellent  success ;  but  he  was 
obliged  to  give  up  the  "artistic  tour."  Not  even  the 
best  violin  in  Brunswick,  which  the  Duke's  munificence 
enabled  him  to  purchase,  could  take  the  place  of  the 
perfect  instrument  which  he  had  lost. 

The  next  autumn  he  started  on  a  new  tour  through 
Germany.  At  Leipzig,  he  selected  one  of  Beethoven's 
new  quartets  to  play  at  a  private  party ;  but  the  music 
was  altogether  too  fine  for  the  audience.  Before  he  left 
town,  however,  he  was  enabled  to  make  the  Beethoven 
quartets  really  understood  and  popular. 

His  concerts  at  Leipzig  established  his  reputation 
throughout  Germany.  The  Councillor  Rochlitz  wrote 
in  his  musical  journal  that  Herr  Spohr  might  doubt- 
less take  rank  among  the  most  eminent  violinists  of 
the  day. 

At  Berlin,  Spohr  first  heard  the  young  Meyerbeer, 
then  only  thirteen,  who  was  exciting  so  much  attention 
by  his  wonderful  execution  on  the  pianoforte.  Spohr 
had  meantime  lost  his  heart  again  to  the  beautiful  Rosa 
Alberghi,  who  had  sung  in  several  of  his  concerts  and 
even  accompanied  him  with  her  mother  to  Berlin.  Rosa 
more  than  reciprocated  his  passion ;  but  though,  as  he 
said,  "she  was  an  amiable,  unspoiled  girl,  richly  en- 
dowed by  nature,"  her  education  had  been  somewhat 
neglected,  and  her  bigoted  devotion  to  her  own  church 
began  to  repel  him.  He  therefore  avoided  a  declaration, 
and  when  they  bade  each  other  farewell,  he  had  so 
schooled  himself  that  he  did  not  lose  his  self-control, 


314  LOUIS  SPOHR. 

while  Rosa  burst  into  tears,  flung  herself  into  his  arms, 
and  pressed  into  his  hands  a  card  with  the  letter  R 
worked  upon  it  with  thread  made  of  her  raven  black 
tresses. 

When  Rosa  with  her  mother  afterwards  spent  a  few 
days  with  Spohr's  parents,  and  confessed  her  love  for 
the  young  musician,  they  took  it  for  granted  that  the 
two  were  betrothed,  and  were  very  indignant  at  Spohr's 
letter  denying  it.  His  father  declared  he  was  a  fool  to 
refuse  such  a  charming  girl. 

She  afterwards  entered  a  convent. 

In  June,  1805,  Spohr  was  invited  to  Gotha  to  play  at 
a  concert  in  celebration  of  the  Duchess's  birthday.  His 
playing  so  delighted  Baron  von  Leibnitz,  the  musical 
intendant,  and  the  Duchess,  that  in  spite  of  his  youth,  he 
was  immediately  appointed  concert  director  to  the  Ducal 
Court  with  a  salary  of  about  five  hundred  thalers. 

At  Gotha,  where  his  engagement  opened  most  auspi- 
ciously, he  became  acquainted  with  the  charming  Dorette 
Scheidler,  who  was  a  skilled  performer  on  the  harp  and 
piano.  She  also  played  the  violin,  but  Spohr  was  old- 
fashioned  in  his  notions,  and  considered  it  an  instrument 
unbecoming  for  women.  She  therefore  relinquished  the 
practice  of  it.  He  wrote  for  her  a  concerted  sonata  for 
violin  and  harp,  which  they  practised  together.  "  They 
were  happy  hours,"  writes  Spohr.  One  day  after  they 
had  played  it  before  the  court,  and  were  driving  home, 
he  found  courage  to  say,  "  Shall  we  not  thus  play  to- 
gether for  life  ?  " 

She  burst  into  tears  and  sank  into  his  arms.  Then  he 
led  her  to  her  mother,  who  gave  them  her  blessing  in 
the  proper  and  conventional  manner. 

They  were  married  in  the  Palace  Chapel,  and  thus 


LOUIS  SPOHR.  315 

began  a  happy  and  congenial  union  which  lasted  for 
almost  thirty  years. 

The  principal  events  of  this  period  were  connected 
with  the  concert  tours  which  they  undertook  together 
almost  every  year,  everywhere  meeting  with  brilliant 
success.  Thus  in  1812,  the  same  year  in  which  he  com- 
posed his  sacred  oratorio,  "The  Last  Judgment,"  they 
went  to  Leipzig,  Prague,  and  Vienna;  in  1816  they 
visited  Switzerland,  and  went  to  Italy  where  they  spent 
many  months ;  in  1820  they  made  their  first  journey  to 
England,  and  Mrs.  Spohr  played  for  the  last  time  upon 
the  harp.  From  that  time  forth  she  devoted  herself  to 
the  piano-forte. 

In  1813  Spohr  was  induced  by  Count  Palffy  to  accept 
a  three-years'  engagement  as  leader  and  director  of  the 
orchestra  in  the  theatre  "An  der  Wien,"  at  a  salary 
more  than  three  times  what  both  he  and  his  wife  received 
at  Gotha.  Through  the  Count's  munificence  he  was  en- 
abled to  engage  excellent  artists,  and  soon  his  orchestra 
was  regarded  as  the  best  in  Vienna  if  not  in  Germany. 
This  position  gave  him  also  opportunity  to  carry  out  his 
ambition  of  writing  an  opera,  —  a  task  which  he  had 
already  several  times  attempted,  but  without  satisfying 
his  ideal.  The  young  poet,  Theodor  Korner,  had  agreed 
to  furnish  him  with  a  libretto,  but  this  plan  was  inter- 
rupted by  Kb'rner's  sudden  departure  from  Vienna  to 
fight  and  to  die  for  his  country,  the  victim  of  patriotism 
and  unrequited  love. 

A  poet  by  the  name  of  Bernard  offered  him  a  version 
of  "  Faust,"  and  Spohr  composed  the  music  in  less  than 
four  months.  It  was  immediately  accepted  by  Count 
Palffy,  but  owing  to  later  disagreements  was  not  pro- 
duced in  Vienna  for  some  years.  It  afterwards  became 


316  LOUIS  SPOHR. 

popular  throughout  Germany,  but  is  now  seldom  given, 
having  been  superseded  by  Gounod's  more  poetic  work. 

One  of  Spohr's  great  admirers,  Herr  von  Tost,  immedi- 
ately struck  a  curious  bargain  with  him  which  was  to  last 
for  three  years.  Herr  Tost  was  anxious  to  be  admitted 
to  the  musical  society  of  Vienna.  He  agreed  to  pay 
Spohr  thirty  ducats  for  the  exclusive  possession  of  any 
new  quartet,  and  proportional  sums  for  more  complicated 
pieces.  At  the  end  of  the  three  years  the  manuscripts  were 
to  be  returned  to  the  composer.  Spohr  was  thus  enabled 
to  get  considerable  ready  money  and  furnish  his  new 
house  luxuriously,  and  Herr  von  Tost  was  soon  s^en 
everywhere  in  Vienna  with  his  portfolio  of  quartets. 
Unfortunately  he  soon  lost  his  money,  and  the  arrange- 
ment came  to  an  end. 

During  Spohr's  stay  in  Vienna  he  became  acquainted 
with  Beethoven,  who  often  visited  at  his  house,  and  was 
"  very  friendly  with  Dorette  and  the  children."  Spohr 
says  that  his  opinions  regarding  music  were  always  so 
decided  as  to  admit  of  no  contradiction.  Fond  as  Spohr 
was  of  "  the  poor  deaf  maestro's  "  earlier  compositions, 
he  was  unable  to  relish  his  later  works,  including  even  the 
Fifth  (C-minor)  Symphony,  which  he  declared  "  did  not 
form  a  classic  whole."  The  Ninth  Symphony  he  regarded 
as  so  trivial  that  he  could  not  understand  how  such  a 
genius  could  have  written  it ! 

Count  Palffy  proved  to  be  a  disagreeable  patron,  and 
threw  all  sorts  of  difficulties  and  annoyances  in  Spohr's 
way,  so  he  terminated  his  engagement  at  the  end  of  the 
second  year.  One  of  his  experiences  during  his  stay  in 
Vienna  he  relates  vividly  in  his  autobiography.  It  was 
during  the  great  inundation  of  1814.  His  house  was 
situated  on  the  banks  of  the  Wien  Kiver,  and  the  water 


if 

0.       C4 


LOUIS  SPOHR.  317 

rose  almost  to  the  second  story.  He  spent  the  night 
composing  a  song,  and  occasionally  went  to  the  piano. 
His  landlord's  family  were  on  the  floor  above  engaged  in 
prayer,  and  were  much  disturbed  at  what  they  called 
"the  Christless  singing  and  playing  of  the  Lutheran 
heretic  !  "  Yet  both  Catholic  and  heretic  escaped,  and 
the  world  was  richer  by  a  song  ! 

The  summer  following  his  departure  from  Vienna,  he 
spent  in  Silesia  at  the  mansion  of  Prince  von  Carolath. 
It  was  a  very  formal  but  pleasant  existence,  and  when 
the  Prince,  who  was  a  devoted  Free  Mason,  though  Free- 
masonry was  then  against  the  law,  discovered  that  Spohr 
also  belonged  to  the  order,  he  almost  embarrassed  him 
with  attentions. 

Spohr  describes  his  Italian  tour  with  much  enthusiasm, 
though  he  found  little  to  praise  in  the  domain  of  music. 
At  Venice  he  met  the  famous  wizard  of  the  violin,  the 
strange  and  mysterious  Paganini.  He  tried  in  vain  to 
induce  him  to  play  to  him  alone.  Paganini  refused,  say- 
ing his  style  was  calculated  for  the  general  public  only, 
which  confirmed  Spohr  in  his  impression  that  the  other 
was  a  trickster.  But  they  met  in  a  public  competition  in 
1816,  and  Spohr  carried  off  the  honors.  Spohr  himself 
played  in  a  concert  at  Milan,  and  was  hailed  as  one  of 
the  first  of  living  violinists,  even  superior  to  Paganini 
himself,  —  "  the  first  of  singers  on  the  violin." 

Spohr's  expenses  in  Italy  were  large,  as  he  had  his 
whole  family  with  him,  and  they  had  frequent  illnesses, 
and  moreover  they  indulged  in  many  excursions.  At 
Rome  he  gave  a  concert  which  relieved  their  pressing 
necessities ;  but  when  they  reached  Geneva  in  the  spring 
of  1817  their  funds  were  completely  exhausted,  and  for 
the  first  time  in  his  life  Spohr  found  himself  compelled 


318  LOUIS  SPOHR. 

to  pawn  some  of  his  valuables.  Pastor  Gerlach,  how- 
ever, came  to  his  aid,  and  advanced  what  money  he 
needed,  and  even  refused  to  take  as  security  a  diamond 
tiara  presented  to  his  wife  by  the  Queen  of  Bavaria. 

These  meagre  days,  caused  by  the  prevailing  famine,  did 
not  last  long.  Their  tour  took  them  even  into  Holland, 
where  they  had  abundant  receipts.  When  they  reached 
Amsterdam,  Spohr  was  recalled  to  Germany  by  an  offer 
to  become  director  of  music  at  Frankfurt.  Here  there 
was  unfortunately  a  yearly  deficit,  and  the  directors  had 
to  practise  economy,  but  Spohr  succeeded  in  getting  his 
"  Faust,"  for  which  he  wrote  a  new  aria,  brought  out 
with  good  success.  He  also  wrote  his  opera  "  Zelmira 
and  Azor,"  and  began  one  on  "  The  Black  Huntsman," 
which  he  generously  abandoned  when  he  found  that 
Weber  was  engaged  on  the  same  subject.  Yet  the 
"  Freischutz  "  did  not  appear  till  1820. 

Spohr's  connection  with  the  Frankfurt  theatre  was 
brought  to  a  close  in  about  two  years,  by  the  obstinacy 
and  closeness  of  the  president  of  directors,  a  merchant 
named  Leers,  who  put  all  sorts  of  obstacles  in  his  way. 
Spohr  was  not  sorry  to  be  free  again,  and  immediately 
made  arrangements  to  go  to  London,  where  he  was 
already  engaged  for  the  concerts  of  the  Philharmonic 
Society. 

In  London,  which  he  reached  after  an  extremely 
boisterous  passage,  Spohr  created  a  great  sensation  by 
appearing  in  the  street  in  a  red  waistcoat.  It  was  shortly 
after  the  death  of  George  III.,  and  a  general  mourning 
had  been  officially  ordered.  He  narrowly  escaped  a  pelt- 
ing from  the  street  Arabs. 

At  the  first  concert  he  was  exceptionally  allowed  to 
play  his  own  compositions.  He  passed  the  ordeal  tri- 


LOUIS  SPOHR.  319 

umphantly.  At  a  subsequent  concert  he  was  required 
to  direct,  and  he  created  another  sensation  by  beating 
time  with  a  baton  instead  of  leading  with  violin  in  hand, 
as  had  hitherto  been  the  case.  During  this  visit  Spohr 
laid  the  foundation  for  his  popularity  in  England,  which 
was  increased  by  every  subsequent  visit. 

On  his  way  back  he  made  a  trip  to  Paris,  where  the 
famous  violinist  Kreutzer  (now  remembered  only  by  the 
fact  that  Beethoven  dedicated  a  sonata  to  him!)  was 
enjoying  great  vogue  as  a  composer  of  ballet  music. 
During  his  two  months'  visit  Spohr  played  much  in  pri- 
vate, and  gave  a  public  concert  which  was  successful, 
though,  on  account  of  his  standing  on  his  dignity,  and 
refusing  to  solicit  good  notices,  the  press  the  next  day 
was  inclined  to  be  critical. 

In  order  to  complete  the  musical  education  of  his 
daughters,  Spohr  determined  to  remove  to  Dresden ;  but 
he  was  scarcely  settled  in  his  new  apartments  before  Carl 
Maria  von  Weber,  who  had  received  an  offer  to  go  to  Cassel 
as  kapellmeister  at  the  new  theatre,  and  did  not  care  to 
accept  it,  offered  to  recommend  him  in  his  place.  It  is 
curious  to  remember  that  the  State  revenues  of  Cassel 
were  largely  the  result  of  the  sale  of  the  Hessian  soldiers 
to  the  British  during  our  Revolutionary  War ! 

Thus  it  was  that  Spohr  became  engaged  by  the  new 
Elector  William  II.,  at  a  life  salary  of  two  thousand 
thalers  and  certain  artistic  privileges. 

The  new  engagement  began  on  the  first  day  of  January, 
1822,  and  continued  with  unbroken  activity  till  he  was 
pensioned  off  by  the  Elector  of  Hesse-Cassel  in  Novem- 
ber, 1857. 

For  the  court  theatre  he  wrote  his  operas  of  "  Jes- 
sonda"  in  1823,  "The  Mountain  Sprite"  in  1825, 


320  LOUIS  SPOHR. 

"Pietro  von  Albano"  in  1827,  "The  Alchymist"  (from 
the  story  by  Washington  Irving)  in  1830,  and  his  "  Crusa- 
ders "  in  1844.  He  was  instrumental  in  founding  the  So- 
ciety of  St.  Cecilia,  of  which  the  song-writer  Curschman 
was  one  of  the  leading  lights.  For  this  society,  though 
at  the  invitation  of  Rochlitz  of  Leipzig  who  sent  him  the 
text,  Spohr  wrote  his  oratorio  "The  Last  Judgment," 
which  afterwards  entirely  supplanted  the  earlier  oratorio 
on  the  same  subject.  It  was  sung  on  Good  Friday,  1826, 
with  great  success,  before  an  audience  of  over  two  thou- 
sand persons,  and  it  was  shortly  after  given  at  the 
Rhenish  festival  at  Diisseldorf,  where  it  had  to  be  re- 
peated. 

In  February,  1831,  Spohr  celebrated  his  silver  wedding 
with  interesting  music  performed  in  a  new  music-room 
which  he  had  built  on  his  suburban  place  near  the 
Cologne  Gate.  The  same  year  he  finished  his  great 
treatise  on  the  study  of  the  violin  (Die  Violin- Schule}, 
by  which  it  was  thought  at  the  time  he  would  "  insure 
eternal  celebrity  and  add  a  new  and  beautiful  leaf  to  the 
laurel  wreath  that  encircled  his  brow." 

The  following  year  began  a  series  of  petty  annoyances 
by  the  new  Elector  of  Hesse-Cassel,  who  at  first  tried  to 
close  the  theatre  and  dismiss  all  the  singers,  actors,  and 
musicians.  Spohr  insisted  on  his  rights,  and  in  this  he 
was  supported  by  most  of  his  colleagues  and  succeeded 
in  maintaining  their  position.  The  Prince  afterward 
seemed  to  take  pleasure  in  opposing  Spohr's  interests, 
and  utterly  refused  to  give  him  leave  of  absence  even 
when  his  application  was  indorsed  by  the  royal  house  of 
England.  These  were  mere  minor  annoyances,  however. 

In  1834  Mrs.  Spohr  died;  but  the  gallant  composer, 
while  he  still  thought  "  with  bitter  sadness  of  the  mo- 


LOUIS  SPOI1 R.  321 

ment  when  he  pressed  the  last  kiss  on  her  brow,"  within 
two  years  married  Marianne,  the  eldest  daughter  of 
Councillor  Pfeiffer  of  Cassel,  who  proved  to  be  a  partner 
such  as  he  desired  —  "  one  capable  of  taking  an  interest 
in  his  musical  labors."  The  Prince,  who  bore  Pfeiffer 
ill-will  owing  to  the  part  he  had  played  in  the  first  Hes- 
sian parliament,  tried  to  interfere  with  the  marriage,  and 
only  gave  his  consent  at  the  last  moment,  at  the  same 
time  requiring  her  to  give  a  bond  waiving  all  claim  to  a 
pension. 

The  year  after  his  marriage  he  proposed  to  give  a 
great  music  festival  at  Cassel,  and  perform  among  other 
things  Mendelssohn's  oratorio  of  "  St.  Paul  "  and  his  own 
oratorio  of  "The  Last  Judgment."  After  nearly  all 
arrangements  had  been  made,  the  Prince  refused  to  allow 
it  to  take  place  during  Whitsuntide,  nor  would  he  permit 
any  scaffolding  to  be  erected  in  the  church,  "  as  it  would 
be  unbecoming  in  the  vicinity  of  the  burial-vaults  of  the 
Electoral  family ! " 

Neither  would  he  permit  "  St.  Paul "  to  be  given  on 
Whitsunday  for  the  benefit  of  a  relief  fund.  Consequently 
the  whole  scheme  fell  through.  Afterwards,  when  he 
had  practised  the  choruses  of  Bach's  "  Passion  Music  " 
for  long  months,  and  had  it  all  ready  for  performance  on 
Good  Friday,  the  Prince  again  refused  his  permission, 
and  yielded  only  when  a  clergyman  certified  that  the 
music  was  "  perfectly  fitted  for  the  church  and  the  day." 

He  was  so  annoyed  by  such  vexations  as  these  that  he 
almost  decided  to  accept  an  appointment  offered  him  as 
director  of  the  Prague  Conservatory.  Owing  to  his 
wife's  grief  at  leaving  her  friends,  he  resisted  the  temp- 
tation. 

Strange  as  it  may  seem,  Spohr  was  at  first  a  great  ad- 


322  LOUIS  SPOHR. 

mirer  of  Wagner,  and  Wagner,  on  his  side,  was  delighted 
with  "  the  honorable,  genuine  old  man,"  as  he  called  him. 
He  brought  out  "The  Flying  Dutchman,"  and  wrote  that 
he  considered  Wagner  "  the  most  gifted  of  all  the  dra- 
matic composers  of  the  day."  What  he  would  have 
thought  of  Wagner's  later  innovations,  is  a  question. 
He  himself  was  to  a  certain  extent  an  innovator,  and 
liked  to  try  new  inventions  and  give  odd  titles,  though 
he  could  never  disguise  his  own  musical  physiognomy. 
Robert  Schumann,  speaking  of  his  so-called  Historic 
Symphony,  said :  "  Napoleon  once  went  to  a  masked  ball, 
but  before  he  had  been  in  the  room  a  few  moments,  he 
folded  his  arms  in  his  well-known  attitude.  '  The  Ein- 
peror !  The  Emperor ! '  ran  through  the  assembly.  Just 
so,  through  the  disguises  of  the  symphony,  one  kept 
hearing  '  Spohr !  Spohr ! '  spoken  in  every  corner  of  the 
room." 

In  1843  Spohr  was  invited  to  England  to  conduct  his 
new  oratorio  "The  Fall  of  Babylon,"  at  the  Norwich 
festival.  The  Prince  refused  his  consent  in  spite  of  the 
application  of  Lord  Aberdeen  and  the  Duke  of  Cam- 
bridge, who  asked  it  as  a  personal  favor,  while  the  in- 
habitants of  Norwich  sent  an  immense  petition.  During 
his  vacation,  however,  he  went  to  London,  and  conducted 
it  there  with  great  success.  The  whole  audience  rose 
spontaneously  from  their  seats  to  salute  him.  The 
Queen  received  him,  and  Prince  Albert  and  the  King  of 
the  Belgians  were  very  polite  to  him.  At  a  Sunday  con- 
cert given  in  his  honor,  all  the  works  performed  were  by 
him,  and  included  his  three  double  quartets,  —  the  only 
ones  at  that  time  that  had  ever  been  written. 

In  1844,  Spohr,  who  had  been  the  recipient  of  distin- 
guished honors  at  Paris  and  at  his  native  town  of  Bruns- 


LOUIS  SPOHR.  323 

wick  (where  he  conducted  his  "  Fall  of  Babylon  "  in  the 
church  in  which  he  had  been  baptized  sixty  years  before), 
was  invited  to  a  great  musical  festival  in  New  York 
City.  His  daughter  Emily  had  already  come  to  this 
country,  and  he  would  have  been  glad  to  accept,  but  the 
journey  was  too  long  and  hazardous  for  a  man  of  his 
age. 

In  1847  occurred  the  twenty-fifth  anniversary  of 
Spohr's  directorship  of  the  Cassel  theatre,  and  the .  day 
was  celebrated  with  extraordinary  festivities  :  serenades, 
congratulatory  addresses,  musical  performances,  and  the 
presentation  of  laurel  crowns  and  costly  gifts.1  Even 
the  Prince  who  had  just  forbidden  him  to  direct  his  ora- 
torio at  Vienna,  though  the  request  was  countersigned 
by  Metternich,  gave  him  a  higher  official  position. 

The  same  year  Mendelssohn's  death  occurred,  and 
Spohr  commemorated  it  by  a  festival  in  which  the  St. 
Cecilia  Society  sang  twelve  characteristic  choruses  by 
Bach,  Handel,  Haydn,  Mozart,  Beethoven,  Hauptmann, 
Mendelssohn,  and  Spohr. 

The  year  1848,  as  every  one  knows,  was  full  of  revo- 
lutionary excitement.  Spohr  felt  its  influence.  The 
excitement  of  politics  was  not  favorable  for  composition, 
yet  he  wrote  his  great  sextet  significant  of  "  the  glorious 
uprising  of  the  nations,  for  the  liberty,  unity,  and  grand- 
eur of  Germany." 

The  following  year,  during  his  convalescence  from  a 
severe  fall  on  the  ice,  he  wrote  his  ninth  symphony, 
called  the  "  Seasons,"  and  later  his  seventh  string-quintet. 

In  the  summer  of  1852  he  started  on  his  vacation 
tour  through  Italy  without  leave  of  absence.  He 

*  This  occasion  gave  rise  to  Spohr's  autobiography,  which  he 
brought  down  to  1838. 


324  LOUIS  SPOHR. 

arrived  at  Cassel  before  his  vacation  was  over  but 
was  fined  five  hundred  and  fifty  thalers  for  "  the  bold 
stroke,"  on  which  his  friends  had  congratulated  him  so 
warmly.  Such  was  the  treatment  which  a  man  of 
Spohr's  fame  received  from  a  petty  prince  who  is  known 
now  only  for  having  had  Spohr  in  his  employ. 

In  1856  Spohr  wrote  his  thirty-fourth  and  thirty-fifth 
quartets,  but  they  did  not  satisfy  him,  and  he  would  not 
allow  them  to  be  published ;  it  was  the  same  with  a  new 
symphony,  which  seemed  to  him  unworthy  of  his  repu- 
tation. 

The  year  that  Spohr  was  pensioned,  and  retired  to 
private  life,  he  had  the  misfortune  to  fall  and  break  his 
left  arm.  Though  the  bone  knit  remarkably  well,  he  had 
no  more  strength  to  play  his  beloved  Stradivarius,  and 
it  was  laid  aside  forever.  He  tried  in  vain  to  compose 
a  requiem.  The  fountain  of  harmony  was  sealed  to  him, 
but  he  succeeded  in  composing  music  to  one  of  Goethe's 
loveliest  songs.  This  was  his  last  composition. 

He  kept  up  to  the  end  his  generous  instruction  of  tal- 
ented young  pupils,  for  which,  like  Liszt  later,  he  would 
receive  no  compensation.  No  less  than  one  hundred  and 
eighty-seven  pupils,  many  of  whom  became  famous, 
called  him  master. 

Toward  the  end  of  his  life  he  still  undertook  short 
trips,  and  enjoyed  as  always  natural  scenery  and  the 
friendly  intercourse  with  kindred  spirits ;  but  he  began 
to  find  the  excitement  too  much  for  him. 

On  the  twenty-second  of  October,  1859,  this  "elegiac 
soul,"  as  he  has  been  called,  quietly  breathed  his  last, 
surrounded  by  his  children  and  nephews  to  whom  he  had 
been  such  a  loving  friend. 

Few  men  were  ever  more  honored  in  life,  few  more 


LOUIS   SPOHR.  325 

successful  in  all  that  they  undertook.  He  found  appre- 
ciation for  every  form  of  musical  composition:  songs, 
stringed  and  concerted  music,  operas,  and  oratorios.  He 
was  one  of  the  greatest  virtuosi  that  ever  lived.  He  was 
a  member  of  more  than  thirty  musical  societies.  But 
his  fame  reached  its  climax  in  his  own  lifetime.  Melo- 
dious and  clear,  sweet,  graceful,  as  his  compositions  were, 
they  have  not  the  strength  of  immortality.  They  are  too 
full  of  restless  enharmonic  changes,  they  show  more  tal- 
ent than  genius,  and  most  of  them  are  already  forgotten. 

Personally,  his  character  was  beyond  reproach.  Some 
people  got  the  impression  that  he  was  coarse  and  churlish 
in  his  manners.  Chorley,  an  English  critic,  speaks  of  his 
"  bovine  self-conceit."  Never  was  reproach  more  unjust. 

So  independent  was  he,  that  he  never  in  all  his  life 
dedicated  one  of  his  compositions  to  a  prince ;  and  on 
one  occasion  when,  being  invited  to  some  court  festivity, 
he  had  to  appear  in  full  dress,  he  wore  a  heavy  overcoat 
though  it  was  hot  weather,  so  as  not  to  display  the  orders 
on  his  coat.  Independence,  uprightness,  honesty,  were 
his  characteristics.  We  cannot  fail  to  agree  with  the 
eloquent  words  of  Wagner,  who  at  the  news  of  his  death 
wrote :  — 

"  I  let  the  whole  world  of  music  measure  what  freshness  of  power, 
what  noble  productiveness,  vanished  with  the  master's  departure 
from  life.  He  has  ever  impressed  me  as  the  last  of  that  long  list 
of  noble,  earnest  musicians,  whose  youth  was  immediately  irradi 
ated  by  Mozart's  brilliant  sun,  who  with  touching  fidelity  cherished 
the  light  put  into  their  hands,  like  vestal  virgins  guarding  the  pure 
flame,  and  kept  it  against  all  the  storms  and  tempests  of  life  on  the 
chaste  altar.  This  beautiful  service  kept  the  man  pure  and  noble  ; 
and  if  it  be  permitted  me  to  express  in  one  stroke  what  Spohr  with 
inextinguishable  clearness  meant  to  me,  I  declare  that  he  was  an 
earnest,  honest  master  in  his  art;  the  keynote  of  his  life  was  faith 


326  LOUIS  SPOHR. 

in  his  art,  and  his  deepest  inspiration  sprang  from  the  power  of  this 
faith.  This  earnest  faith  freed  him  from  all  personal  pettiness; 
what  he  failed  to  comprehend,  he  put  to  one  side  without  attacking 
it  or  persecuting  it.  This  explains  the  coolness  or  bluntness  so 
often  ascribed  to  him.  What  he  understood,  —  and  a  deep  fine 
feeling  for  all  that  was  beautiful  was  to  be  expected  in  the  author 
of  '  Jessonda,' — that  he  loved  and  prized  candidly  and  jealously, 
so  soon  as  he  recognized  one  thing  in  it;  earnestness,  serious  treat- 
ment of  art." 

With  such  beautiful  words  one  master  bids  another 
hail  and  farewell. 


MEYERBEER. 

(1791  [4  ?}-1863.) 


A  CCOKDING  to  the  Sunday-school  question-books, 
-£jk-  Tubal  Cain  was  the  first  musician ;  but,  famous 
as  were  many  of  the  sweet  singers  of  Israel,  from  the 
time  when  the  captive  Hebrews  hung  their  harps  on  the 
willows  near  the  waters  of  Babylon  down  to  the  present 
century,  the  Jew  has  been  an  unknown  quantity  in  the 
modern  history  of  music. 

With  good  reason,  indeed,  he  left  his  harp  still  hang- 
ing on  the  willows.  He  had  little  cause  to  make  music 
for  the  world. 

But  with  the  entrance  of  the  Jew  as  an  important 
factor  into  politics  and  finance,  a  change  came  about.  It 
was  discovered  that  there  was  some  reason  in  Shylock's 
questions :  — 

"  Hath  not  a  Jew  eyes  ?  Hath  not  a  Jew  hands,  organs,  dimen- 
sions, senses,  affections,  passions  ?  Fed  with  the  same  food,  hurt 
with  the  same  weapons,  subject  to  the  same  diseases,  healed  by  the 
same  means,  warmed  and  cooled  by  the  same  winter  and  summer 
as  a  Christian  is  ?  If  you  prick  us,  do  we  not  bleed  ?  if  you  tickle 
us,  do  we  not  laugh  ?  if  you  poison  us,  do  we  not  die  ?  " 

The  Jew  grew  rich,  became  a  banker,  was  raised  into 
the  nobility ;  once  again  Daniel  stood  behind  the  throne 
of  the  Pharaohs  as  prime  minister  to  the  king.  What 

327 


328  MEYERBEER. 

wonder  that  under  the  warming  sun  of  prosperity  and 
social  recognition,  the  Jew  should  again  strike  up  the 
harp  of  his  father  David  ?  Was  not  "  liberty,  equality, 
fraternity,"  the  watchword  of  the  day  ?  And  the  Jew 
at  last  was  admitted,  grudgingly  perhaps  still,  into  the 
privileges  of  the  Revolution. 

Yet  how  typical  of  the  modern  Jew  was  Meyerbeer 
as  we  see  him  born  and  educated  a  German,  and  trans- 
formed successively  into  an  Italian  of  the  Italians,  and 
a  Gaul  of  the  Gauls  ! 

Jakob  Liebmann  Beer  was  born  at  Berlin,  on  the  fifth 
of  September,  1791  —  the  year  of  Mozart's  death.1  His 
father  laid  the  foundation  of  a  large  fortune  in  a  sugar- 
refining  establishment,  and  notably  increased  it  by  en- 
gaging in  banking.  He  was  a  man  of  fine  culture,  and 
his  house  was  a  generous  meeting-ground  for  poets,  com- 
posers, artists,  and  scientists. 

His  mother,  Amalie  Wulf,  daughter  of  the  so-called 
Croesus  of  Berlin,  was  beautiful,  gentle,  and  gracious. 
Heinrich  Heine,  the  sarcastic,  scoffing  poet,  said  of  her : 
"  Kot  a  day  passes  without  her  helping  some  poor  soul. 
Verily  it  seems  as  if  she  could  not  go  to  bed  unless  she 
had  first  done  some  noble  deed.  So  she  lavishes  her 
gifts  on  people  of  all  denominations,  —  Jews,  Christians, 
Turks,  and  even  on  the  wretchedest  sorts  of  unbelievers. 
She  is  unwearied  in  well-doing,  and  seems  to  look  upon 
this  as  her  highest  vocation.-*' 

Jakob  was  the  oldest  son.     There  were  three  others  : 

1  Afterwards,  to  please  a  relative,  and  insure  an  inheritance,  he  adopted 
the  name  Meyer  instead  of  Liebmann  or  Lipmann,  and  ultimately  united  the 
two  names  into  the  one  by  which  he  is  known  to  the  world,  with  the  Italian 
for  Jakob,  or  James,  Giacomo  Meyerbeer.  The  date  of  his  birth  rests  in 
doubt.  There  is  official  basis  for  1791 ;  but  some  of  his  later  biographers  claim 
that  it  was  really  1794. 


MEYERBEER. 
Painting  from  Jife  by  Gustav  Richter. 


MEYERBEER.  329 

Wilhelm  became  a  famous  astronomer ;  Michael's  career 
as  a  poet  was  cut  short  by  his  untimely  death  in  1833. 

Jakob  very  early  showed  his  talent  for  music.  He 
would  catch  any  tune,  and  try  to  play  it  again  on  the 
piano,  making  up  instinctively  an  accompaniment  with 
his  left  hand.  When  he  was  four,  he  organized  a  little 
band  of  playmates  with  drums,  fifes,  and  cymbals.  Peo- 
ple were  amazed  to  see  how  cleverly  he  conducted  from 
a  sheet  of  paper  on  which  he  had  scratched  an  imaginary 
score.  His  parents  were  delighted;  and  when  he  was 
five  they  intrusted  him  to  the  well-known  Bohemian 
teacher  and  composer  Franz  Ignaz  Lauska,  under  whom 
he  made  astonishing  progress.  When  he  was  nine  he 
played  for  the  first  time  in  public  in  one  of  the  concerts 
which  for  many  years  the  piano  teacher  Johann  August 
Patzig  had  been  in  the  habit  of  giving  in  his  beautiful 
hall  decorated  with  portraits  of  the  old  masters.  The 
boy  played  Mozart's  D-minor  Concerto  with  brilliant 
success.  From  that  time  he  was  regarded  as  the  best 
pianist  in  Berlin.  His  relations  were  justly  proud  of 
him,  and  one  of  them  remarked  one  night,  on  returning 
from  a  lecture  on  astronomy,  — 

"  Just  think,  our  Beer  has  been  already  placed  among 
the  constellations.  Our  professor  showed  us  one  which 
in  his  honor  was  called  the  little  Beer  !  " 

His  parents  had  a  full-length  portrait  of  the  boy 
painted  as  a  memorial  of  the  occasion.  The  next  year 
he  was  in  demand  as  a  concert  pianist,  and  won  great 
applause.  The  papers  of  the  day  printed  poems  in  his 
honor,  and  the  Abbe  Vogler,  who  had  been  giving  some 
organ  recitals  in  Berlin  on  his  way  back  from  a  tour  to 
Denmark,  heard  him  play  at  Tausch's  concert,  in  Febru- 
ary, 1801,  \vas  amazed,  and  predicted  that  the  young 


330  MEYERBEER. 

artist  would  become  a  great  musician.  This  prophecy 
had  great  weight  in  Berlin.  Though  he  practised  seven 
or  eight  hours  a  day,  his  general  education  was  not  neg- 
lected. A  resident  tutor  taught  him  French,  Italian,  and 
Latin. 

In  1802  the  famous  Muzio  dementi,  author  of  the 
Gradus  ad  Parnassum  and  so  many  studies  that  it  was 
jokingly  asserted,  recently,  that  the  commission  estab- 
lished to  count  them  had  not  yet  reached  the  end  of 
them,  came  to  Berlin  with  his  pupil,  the  gifted  young 
Irishman  John  Field,  on  their  way  to  Kussia.  They 
were  guests  at  the  Beers'.  Clementi  had  given  up  teach- 
ing, but  he  was  so  delighted  with  the  little  musician 
that  he  offered  to  instruct  him  during  his  stay. 

His  teacher  in  harmony  was  the  stern  and  strict 
Zelter,  the  friend  and  correspondent  of  Goethe.  Zelter 
had  a  singing-school  which  Jakob  and  his  brother  Hem- 
rich  attended,  thus  gaining  familiarity  with  the  master- 
pieces of  song.  But  it  is  said  Zelter  was  too  rough  and 
coarse  in  his  treatment  of  the  delicately  organized  young 
genius,  who  after  some  time  was  transferred  to  the  care 
of  Bernard  Anselm  Weber,  the  royal  kapellmeister,  an 
excellent  composer  but  an  easy-going,  negligent  teacher. 
Under  him  Meyerbeer  composed  a  number  of  cantatas 
and  other  pieces  for  family  festivals,  but  they  are  all 
lost. 

Musical  knowledge  is  based  on  counterpoint.  The 
test  of  counterpoint  is  ability  to  write  correct  fugues. 
Kapellmeister  Weber  was  so  pleased  with  a  fugue 
brought  him  by  his  pupil,  that  he  sent  it  to  Vogler. 

It  was  long  before  an  answer  came,  but  not  from  neg- 
lect. The  Abbe,  not  content  with  merely  acknowledging 
the  production,  took  time  and  pains  to  write  a  treatise 


MEYERBEER.  331 

on  fugues  in  general.  Then  he  analyzed  Meyerbeer's 
work,  picking  it  to  pieces  ruthlessly.  Finally  he  took 
the  original  themes,  and  wrote  the  fugue  as  it  should 
be,  or  as  he  thought  it  should  be.  The  treatise  was  pub- 
lished after  his  death,  but  unfortunately  critics  discover 
that  the  so-called  "  Master's  Fugue  "  is  not  so  very  far 
superior  to  the  scholar's. 

Meyerbeer  was  not  discouraged.  Adopting  Vogler's 
principles,  he  wrote  a  new  fugue,  and  sent  it  to  him. 
This  was  the  Abbe's  grandiloquent  reply  :  "  Art  opens  to 
you  a  great  future.  Come  to  me  at  Darmstadt.  You 
shall  be  treated  as  a  son,  and  at  the  very  fountain-head 
you  shall  quench  your  thirst  for  musical  knowledge." 

Meyerbeer  could  not  resist  this  appeal.  His  family 
objected  at  first,  but  he  persuaded  them,  and  at  the  age 
of  nineteen  went  to  Darmstadt,  where  he  became  an 
inmate  of  the  Abbe  Vogler's  house. 

Vogler,  who  had  hitherto  been  a  sort  of  meteor  in  the 
firmament  of  art,  darting  about  Europe  to  the  amazement 
of  men,  and  dazzling  them  by  his  brilliant  though  super- 
ficial qualities,  had  at  last,  at  the  age  of  fifty-eight,  set- 
tled down  as  the  bright  particular  planet  in  the  music- 
loving  court  of  the  Elector  Karl  Theodor,  who  paid  him 
a  handsome  salary,  gave  him  a  title,  and  put  him  over 
his  newly  organized  chapel. 

He  was  a  man  who  dabbled  in  all  sorts  of  arts,  wrote 
books,  concocted  systems,  invented  instruments,1  always 
strove  after  originality.  It  has  been  said  of  him  that  he 
"  was  a  modern  spirit  who  unfortunately  still  wore  the 
eighteenth-century  wig."  In  other  words,  he  was  born 
too  early  and  too  late.  Though  he  is  generally  looked 

1  Read  Browning's  beautiful  poem  entitled  "  Abt  Vogler,"  after  he  has 
been  extemporizing  upon  the  musical  instrument  of  his  invention. 


332  MEYERBEER. 

down  upon  as  a  typical  musical  charlatan,  Weber  had  a 
high  opinion  of  his  rare  psychical  development,  his 
honorable  character,  and  his  skill  in  making  the  most  of 
young  composers,  and  fully  intended  to  write  his  life. 

It  was  Vogler's  greatest  glory  that  he  had  as  pupils 
two  such  men  as  Weber  and  Meyerbeer.  He  exclaimed 
more  than  once,  "  Oh,  how  sorry  I  should  have  been  if  I 
had  died  before  I  formed  these  two  !  " 

Meyerbeer  found  Weber  already  studying  with  Vogler, 
and  they  became  firm  friends.  Meyerbeer  lodged  with 
Vogler,  Weber  and  his  friend  Gansbacher  had  rooms 
near  by.  During  the  day  the  abbe  made  them  work  : 
practice  on  the  organ  and  piano,  rigorous  exercises  in 
composition,  frequent  cantatas  and  fugues,  corrected  and 
criticised,  made  up  the  round  of  their  duties.  They 
met  at  mass,  then  they  spent  some  time  improvising  on 
the  two  chapel  organs.  Their  evenings  were  devoted 
to  music.  Occasionally  they  made  excursions  together 
to  Mannheim  and  Heidelberg.  Often  they  had  jolly 
feasts  at  Meyerbeer's  rooms,  when  a  box  would  arrive 
from  his  Berlin  home  containing  Russian  caviar,  Pom- 
meranian  ducks,  and  choice  wine. 

Meyerbeer's  first  important  work  was  a  cantata  en- 
titled "  God  and  Nature,"  performed  in  the  presence  of 
the  Grand  Duke  of  Hesse,  who  was  so  pleased  with  it 
that  he  appointed  him  composer  to  his  court.  About 
the  same  time  he  wrote  music  for  seven  of  Klopstock's 
sacred  odes.  The  cantata  was  given  in  Berlin  in  May, 
1811,  by  the  Singakademie  assisted  by  solo  singers  and 
members  of  the  Koyal  Chapel.  The  composer,  accom- 
panied by  his  friend  Weber,  went  home  for  the  occa- 
sion, and  had  a  perfect  ovation.  Weber  was  received 
like  a  son  in  the  charming  mansion  of  the  Beers,  The 


MEYERBEER.  333 

critic  of  the  evening  paper,  none  other  than  Weber  him- 
self, declared,  that  the  work  manifested  "glowing  life, 
genuine  loveliness,  and  above  all  the  perfect  power  of 
burning  genius,"  and  predicted  that  if  the  composer 
went  on  with  equal  diligence  and  discretion  he  would 
confer  rich  fruit  upon  art. 

On  his  return  to  Darmstadt,  Vogler  said  he  had  noth- 
ing more  to  teach  him.  Consequently,  having  com- 
pleted an  opera  "  Jephtha's  Vow,"  —  his  first  unless  the 
anonymous  one  entitled  "The  Fisher  and  the  Milk 
Maid  "  be  considered  his,  —  he  went  to  Munich  where 
the  new  work  was  to  be  performed.  It  fell  flat.  But 
the  composer  won  much  praise  for  his  skill  as  a  pianist. 

At  Munich  he  obtained  a  new  libretto  entitled 
"Alimalek,  Host  and  Guest,  or  A  Jest  Becoming 
Serious."  This  was  first  performed  at  Stuttgart,  with 
sufficient  success  to  justify  its  request  for  the  Karntner- 
thor  Theatre  in  Vienna. 

To  Vienna  he  therefore  went,  and  on  the  very  evening 
of  his  arrival  heard  the  renowned  pianist,  Nepomuk 
Hummel,  who  so  impressed  him  with  the  delicacy  and 
beauty  of  his  touch,  that  he  went  into  a  sort  of  voluntary 
retirement  and  only  at  the  end  of  ten  months  of  inces- 
sant practice  made  his  first  appearance  as  a  concert 
virtuoso.  It  was  at  the  time  of  the  Congress  of  1813, 
and  Vienna  was  crowded  with  notabilities,  whose  high 
favor  he  instantly  won.  Even  the  well-liked  Moscheles 
scarcely  dared  to  enter  the  field  against  such  a  rival. 

At  this  time  he  wrote  a  number  of  piano  and  instru- 
mental compositions,  —  a  polonaise  with  orchestral  ac- 
companiment, two  piano  concertos,  many  variations, 
marches,  and  duets  for  harp  and  clarinet.  Most  of  these 
works  still  exist  in  manuscript,  but  have  never  been 
published. 


384  MEYERBEER. 

His  opera  produced  under  the  name  of  "The  Two 
Califs  "  the  following  November  made  a  fiasco.  It  was 
considered  dull.  The  music  was  too  finely  shaded  and 
too  difficult.  Nevertheless,  Weber  brought  it  out  under 
more  favorable  auspices  at  Prague,  where  it  caused  con- 
siderable enthusiasm. 

Meyerbeer  was  discouraged  by  this  second  failure. 
He  was  almost  tempted  to  renounce  dramatic  composi- 
tion, but  Salieri,  who  must  have  seen  some  merit  in  the 
work,  advised  him  to  go  to  Italy,  and  there  study  the  art 
of  writing  for  the  voice. 

This  advice  was  followed.  He  went  first  to  Paris, 
where  he  remained  long  enough  to  make  many  acquaint- 
ances, and  also  to  compose  two  operas.  Neither  of  them 
was  played,  but  the  one  —  "  Robert  and  Elise  "  —  is  in- 
teresting as  the  foreshadowing  of  his  greater  "  Robert." 

In  Italy  he  reaped  precisely  such  laurels  as  had  fallen 
to  the  lot  of  Gluck  and  Mozart.  To  be  sure,  he  was  not 
granted  the  title  of  Chevalier,  but  Dom  Pedro  of  Brazil 
made  him  a  Knight  of  the  Order  of  the  Southern  Star. 
When  he  first  reached  Venice,  in  1816,  Rossini's  "  Tan- 
cred "  was  on  the  top  wave  of  popularity,  a  popularity 
which,  in  spite  of  its  violating  all  the  sound  canons  of 
true  dramatic  and  musical  art,  it  has  once  more  won  at 
Rome  during  the  late  Rossini  revival  there. 

It  was  not  difficult  for  Meyerbeer  to  catch  the  trick  of 
this  light,  graceful,  soulless  melody.  Fort}'-  years  later 
he  wrote  to  a  friend :  — 

"  All  Italy  was  then  revelling  in  a  sweet  delirium  of  rapture. 
It  seemed  as  if  the  whole  nation  had  at  last  found  its  Lost  Paradise, 
and  nothing  further  for  its  happiness  was  seeded  than  Rossini's 
music.  I  was  involuntarily  drawn  into  the  delicious  maze  of  tones 
and  bewitched  in  a  magic  garden  from  which  I  could  not  and  would 


MEYERBEER.  335 

not  escape.  All  my  feelings  became  Italian ;  all  my  thoughts  became 
Italian.  After  I  had  lived  a  year  there  it  seemed  to  me  that  I  was 
an  Italian  born.  I  was  completely  acclimated  to  the  splendid  glory 
of  nature,  art,  and  the  gay  congenial  life,  and  could  therefore  enter 
into  the  thoughts,  feelings,  and  sensibilities  of  the  Italians.  Of 
course  such  a  complete  re-tuning  of  my  spiritual  life  had  an  imme- 
diate effect  upon  my  methods  of  composition.  I  was  loath  to  imi- 
tate Rossini,  and  write  in  the  Italian  style,  but  I  had  to  compose 
as  I  did  because  my  inmost  being  compelled  me  to  it." 

His  first  Italian  opera  ( "  Romilda  e  Costanza  " )  was 
produced  in  June,  1818,  at  Turin,  and  was  so  successful 
that  it  immediately  brought  him  orders  for  works  at 
Turin,  Venice,  and  other  cities.  His  success  was  all  the 
greater  for  being  won  in  direct  rivalry  with  Rossini  him- 
self. But  to  a  man  of  Meyerbeer's  training  and  nature, 
such  fruits  of  fame  were  apples  of  Sodom.  As  the  poet 
Heine  said :  — 

"  Such  intoxication  of  the  senses  as  he  experienced  in 
Italy  could  not  long  satisfy  a  German  nature.  A  certain 
yearning  for  the  earnestness  of  his  fatherland  awoke  in 
him.  While  he  found  his  ease  amid  the  Italian  myrtles, 
the  mysterious  murmur  of  the  German  oaks  recurred  to 
him.  While  Southern  zephyrs  caressed  him  he  thought 
of  the  sombre  chorals  of  the  north  wind." 

His  operas  travelled  to  Germany,  and  his  best  friends 
who  heard  them  not  only  felt  that  he  was  serving  false 
gods,  but  had  the  courage  to  tell  him  so.  Weber  wrote  : 
"  It  makes  my  heart  bleed  to  see  a  German  composer  of 
creative  power  stoop  to  become  a  mere  imitator  in  order  to 
curry  favor  with  the  crowd."  He  asked  him  if  it  was  so 
hard  to  despise  the  applause  of  the  moment,  or  look  upon 
it  as  something  not  the  highest.  In  his  public  critique 
on  "  Emma  di  Resburgo"  which  reached  Berlin  early  in 
1820,  he  wrote  :  — 


836  MEYERBEER. 

"I  believe  the  composer  has  deliberately  chosen  to 
make  a  descent  in  order  to  show  that  he  can  rule  and 
reign  as  lord  and  master  over  all  forms."  But  he  ex- 
pressed the  wish  that  Meyerbeer  would  return  to  Ger- 
many and  join  the  few  earnest  ones  whose  hearts  were  set 
on  building  up  a  genuine  national  opera. 

This  was  not  to  be.  Perhaps  it  was  just  as  well  that 
a  Hebrew  should  have  found  a  more  cosmopolitan  field 
in  what  has  been  called  "  the  world-opera." 

He  still  retained  his  friendship  for  Weber,  and  the 
protests  of  the  earnest  Germans  evidently  made  an  im- 
pression upon  him.  He  afterwards  called  these  Italian 
works  his  "wild  oats."  The  last  and  most  successful  of 
them,  the  only  one  of  this  period  that  is  still  occasion- 
ally heard  (  "  H  Crociato  in  Egetto"  written  for  Venice), 
is  said  to  show  a  decided  advance  upon  the  earlier  ones ; 
as  though  he  had  tried  to  show  that  he  might  combine 
both  methods — the  light  Italian  and  the  earnest  Ger- 
man. It  was  heard  everywhere  in  Europe,  even  in  St. 
Petersburg.  And  an  Italian  company  sang  it  in  Rio  di 
Janeiro. 

Meyerbeer's  mother  had  come  on  to  Italy  to  share  in 
his  triumphs,  and  see  him  crowned  upon  the  stage.  In 
company  with  her  he  visited  the  chief  cities :  Kome, 
where  Baini  showed  him  the  treasures  of  the  Sistine 
Chapel ;  Florence,  where  again  he  found  delightful  hos- 
pitality in  the  house  of  Lord  Westmoreland,  the  English 
minister  to  the  Tuscan  Court. 

Shortly  after  his  return  to  Berlin  he  lost  his  father 
but  found  consolation  in  his  love  for  his  cousin  Minna 
Mosson,  whom  he  married  in  1827.  Meantime  he  saw 
that  Paris  was  the  place  for  him,  and  he  took  up  his 
residence  there,  where  amid  the  intellectual  ferment  of 


MEYERBEER.  337 

the  time  his  mind  found  wonderful  stimulus.  He  formed 
friendly  relations  with  Cherubini,  Boieldieu,  Auber,  Hab- 
eneck,  Halevy,  and  Adam  ;  and  he  and  Rossini,  in  spite 
of  all  their  rivalries,  were  the  warmest  of  friends.  Yet 
Eossini  once  said,  "  Meyerbeer  and  I  can  never  agree ; " 
and  when  some  one  in  surprise  asked  why,  he  replied, 
"Meyerbeer  likes  sauerkraut  better  than  he  does  mac- 
aroni ! " 

Several  years  passed,  and  nothing  of  consequence  came 
from  his  pen.  Yet  he  was  secretly  hard  at  work.  The 
able  French  poet  Scribe  had  furnished  him  with  a  libretto, 
but  the  composer  was  morbidly  sensitive.  He  could 
never  tire  of  polishing  and  filing.  He  could  never  say, 
"  It  is  finished." 

Other  circumstances  delayed  the  production  of  this 
work :  his  marriage,  the  death  of  a  child,  the  July  revo- 
lution, the  uncertainty  as  to  the  management  of  the 
theatre.  But  at  last  Dr.  Veron,  the  new  royal  director, 
agreed  to  bring  it  out,  and  the  rehearsals  began.  They 
lasted  nearly  five  months,  and  only  on  the  22d  of  Novem- 
ber, 1831,  was  "Robert  le  Diable  "  given  for  the  first  time. 
Scenic  effects,  striking  contrasts,  novel  and  brilliant  in- 
strumentation, fascinating  melody,  dramatic  force,  all 
appealed  to  the  public. 

Mendel  says,  "  To  the  flowing  melody  of  the  Italians 
and  the  solid  harmony  of  the  Germans  he  united  the 
pathetic  declamation  and  the  varied  piquant  rhythm  of 
the  French." 

Mendelssohn  found  no  pleasure  in  it.  He  called  it  a 
cold  calculated  work  of  imagination,  without  heart  or 
effect.  So  thought  many  of  the  Germans.  Ambros  de- 
clared that  Meyerbeer's  music  was  "  banker's  music,"  — 
luxury  music  for  la  haute  finance,  — and  deserved  the  fate 
that  befell  the  money-changers  in  the  temple. 


338  MEYERBEER. 

Yet  this  opera  made  the  fortune  of  the  theatre.  In 
1858  it  had  brought  in  upwards  of  four  million  francs. 
It  was  given  333  times  in  twenty  years.  In  1883  it  was 
given  in  Vienna  for  the  401st  time  in  fifty  years.  Louis 
Philippe  nominated  the  composer  as  a  member  of  the 
Legion  of  Honor,  and  shortly  after  he  was  elected  a  mem- 
ber of  the  Institute  of  France. 

In  1836  appeared  his  second  French  opera,  "  Les 
Huguenots"  the  libretto  of  which  was  also  furnished 
by  Scribe.  A  date  had  been  set  for  its  completion,  but 
Meyerbeer  failed  to  have  it  ready,  and  paid  the  stip- 
ulated forfeit  of  thirty  thousand  francs.  No  one  else 
could  be  found  to  undertake  the  work,  so  the  manage- 
ment of  the  theatre  refunded  the  money,  and  the  work 
was  put  upon  the  stage.  At  first  it  was  not  so  success- 
ful as  "  Robert"  but  the  public  soon  learned  to  appreciate 
its  beauties.  Berlioz  called  it  a  musical  encyclopaedia, 
with  enough  material  for  twenty  ordinary  operas.  It 
has  been  compared  to  a  cathedral ;  it  has  been  called  "  an 
evangel  of  religion  and  love."  It  has  been  said  to  be 
"  the  most  vivid  chapter  of  French  history  ever  penned." 

On  the  other  hand,  the  German  critics  were  even  more 
severe  upon  it  than  they  had  been  upon  "  Robert"  Schu- 
mann could  see  nothing  in  it  but  falsity  and  trickery.  All 
of  Meyerbeer's  operas  repelled  him,  and  he  declared  that 
they  might  be  calmly  left  to  their  fate. 

Meyerbeer's  next  great  undertaking  was  suggested  by  a 
German  novel  that  had  pleased  him.  He  consulted  with 
Scribe,  and  the  libretto  was  quickly  in  his  hands.  He 
found  fault  with  it.  Scribe  changed  it  again  and  again, 
but  failed  to  please  the  composer ;  anxious  for  his  royal- 
ties, he  threatened  a  lawsuit  if  the  work  were  not  brought 
out.  Meyerbeer  avoided  the  dilemma  by  going  back  to 


MEYERBEER.  339 

Berlin,  and  when  he  returned  to  Paris  Scribe  was  in 
Eome.  Thus  the  great  opera,  "  U Africaine"  remained 
only  an  unfulfilled  project.  For  a  long  time  it  lay  in 
embryo,  wrapped  up  in  white  paper,  labelled  "  Vecchia, 
Africana,"  —  "The  Old  African  Woman."  He  never 
lived  to  see  it  put  upon  the  stage,  though  it  from  time  to 
time  occupied  his  attention  until  the  very  end. 

Meantime  King  Friedrich  Wilhelm  IV.  enrolled  him 
in  the  newly  founded  order  —  Pour  le  Merite  —  of  Arts 
and  Sciences,  and  appointed  him  royal  director  of  music. 
Honors  thick  and  fast  showered  upon  him.  The  King  of 
the  Netherlands  gave  him  the  order  of  the  Oak  Crown. 
The  Eoyal  Academy  of  London  elected  him  one  of  its 
associates.  Spontini  resigned  his  position  in  Berlin,  and 
Meyerbeer  was  appointed  kapellmeister  in  his  place,  with 
a  salary  of  three  thousand  thalers,  which  he  distributed 
among  the  orchestra  and  members  of  the  chapel. 

He  came  to  live  in  Berlin,  and  was  indefatigable  in 
his  labors.  He  wrote  a  number  of  cantatas,  psalms, 
motets  for  the  chapel,  which  he  enlarged  and  strength- 
ened. Marches  and  his  famous  "  Fackeltanzen"  so-called, 
were  produced  for  the  weddings  of  the  Crown  Prince 
Max  and  others.  His  only  original  opera  for  Berlin  was 
entitled  "  Ein  Feldlager  in  Schlesien"  It  was  produced 
for  the  first  time  in  December,  1844,  to  celebrate  the 
opening  of  the  new  opera-house.  It  was  given  a  num- 
ber of  times  with  great  success,  especially  the  following 
year,  when  his  protegee,  the  young  Swedish  singer, 
Jenny  Lind,1  made  her  German  debut  in  the  part  of 

1  Herr  Josephson,  who  attended  the  rehearsals,  thus  speaks  in  his  diary  of 
meeting  the  composer  :  "  He  is  a  most  polite  man;  something  of  the  courtier; 
something  of  the  man  of  genius ;  something  of  the  man  of  the  world,  and 
has,  in  addition,  something  fidgety  about  his  whole  heing.  Before  reprodu- 
cing the  opera  with  Jenny  Lind  he  called  upon  her,  to  the  beat  of  my  belief, 


340  MEYERBEER. 

"  Vielka"  She  won  still  greater  glory  in  Vienna,  when 
the  opera  was  given  under  the  name  of  "  Vielka/7  and  a 
medal  was  struck  in  honor  of  the  composer. 

In  February,  1845,  he  brought  out  "  Euryanthe  "  for  the 
benefit  of  the  Weber  monument,  and  thus  added  six 
thousand  thalers  to  the  fund.  In  July  of  the  same  year, 
he  had  Spohr's  "  Crusaders  "  performed,  and  with  his  own 
hand  crowned  the  gray-haired  composer  with  a  laurel 
wreath. 

Meyerbeer  was  often  criticised  for  his  niggardly  man- 
ner of  life  in  Paris.  It  has  been  said  that  he  almost 
starved  himself.  On  the  other  hand  he  was  charged  with 
spending  a  fortune  in  bribing  the  critics  to  be  favorable 
to  his  work,  for  he  was  morbidly  sensitive  to  blame. 

Yet  he  was  not  lacking  in  generous  sentiments.  He 
brought  it  about  that  composers  for  the  royal  opera- 
house  should  be  assured  of  ten  per  centum  of  the  re- 
ceipts, and  that  three  new  works  by  living  German 
musicians  should  be  brought  out  each  year.  After  the 
death  of  Lortzing,  author  of  "  Tsar  and  Carpenter,"  he 
helped  raise  a  fund  of  sixteen  thousand  dollars  for  his 
family.  He  assisted  an  aged  widow,  —  a  descendant  of 
Gluck,  —  not  only  with  his  own  funds,  but  with  certain 
proceeds  arising  from  the  performance  of  Gluck's  operas 
in  Paris.  He  also  contributed  to  the  relief  of  the  fam- 
ily of  the  great  French  composer  Kameau. 

He  found  the  labors  at  Berlin  too  exacting.  He  was 
not  a  good  conductor,  as  he  himself  confessed,  and  he  was 
anxious  to  be  released.  At  first  he  was  granted  only 
leave  of  absence  ;  he  went  to  Paris  and  then  received  the 

at  least  a  hundred  times,  to  consult  about  this,  that,  or  the  other.  He  alters 
incessantly,  curtails  here,  dovetails  there,  and  thus,  by  his  eagerness  and  anx- 
iety, prevents  the  spontaneous  growth  of  the  work,  and  imparts  a  fragmentary 
character  to  ite  beauty." 


MEYERBEER.  341 

libretto  of  "  Le  Prophete "  from  Scribe,  still  in  Rome. 
While  engaged  with,  enthusiasm  upon  this,  he  composed, 
at  the  request  of  the  Princess  of  Prussia,  and  in  the 
brief  time  of  six  weeks,  the  music  for  his  brother 
Michael's  melodrama  "  Struensee"  which  was  performed 
with  great  success  in  the  royal  theatre.  The  overture  is 
considered  one  of  his  highest  achievements  in  sustained 
instrumental  composition. 

The  same  year,  he  went  to  London  with  Jenny  Lind, 
where  they  shared  in  a  reception  almost  unequalled  for 
its  enthusiasm.  On  his  return  to  Berlin,  he  brought  out 
Richard  Wagner's  "  Rienzi."  Meyerbeer  had  already  be- 
friended Wagner,  whom  he  had  found  living  in  poverty 
in  Paris.  He  was  rewarded  by  an  ingratitude  which 
even  Wagner's  admirers  found  it  hard  to  explain  away. 

Probably  Wagner  was  jealous  because  some  of  his  pet 
reforms  were  carried  out  by  a  man  who  did  not  believe 
in  his  principles.  Wagner  compared  him  to  one,  who, 
catching  the  first  syllable  of  another's  speech,  screams 
out  the  whole  sentence  in  a  breath  without  really  wait- 
ing to  know  what  was  meant.  He  called  him  a  "most 
miserable  music-maker,"  a  Jew  banker,  who  tried  to  com- 
pose. And  in  1850,  over  the  name  of  "  R.  Freigedank," 
he  wrote  his  famous  article  on  the  Jew  in  Music,  for 
the  New  Journal  of  Music,  in  which  he  declared  that  the 
Jew  was  incapable  of  any  kind  of  artistic  manifestation, 
and  while  attacking  the  whole  race,  vented  his  spleen 
equally  on  Meyerbeer  and  Mendelssohn. 

After  endless  polishing  and  changing  of  details,  "  Le 
Prophete "  was  at  last  ready  for  its  first  production  in 
Paris.  Rehearsals  began  in  January,  1849 ;  and,  as  the 
eventful  April  day  drew  nigh,  excitement  ran  boundless. 
Expectation  was  indeed  pitched  too  high,  and  in  spite  of 


342  MEYERBEER. 

the  efforts  of  a  Garcia  and  a  Costellan,  there  was  a 
general  feeling  of  disappointment.  Its  greatness  was 
nevertheless  appreciated,  and  in  spite  of  a  fearfully  hot 
summer  and  the  prevalence  of  cholera,  it  kept  the  boards 
and  soon  reached  its  hundredth  performance. 

Meyerbeer  was  made  commander  of  the  Legion  of 
Honor.  The  University  of  Jena  gave  him  the  degree  of 
Doctor  of  Music.  The  year  1850  he  spent  in  Berlin,  work- 
ing from  early  morning  till  into  the  afternoon  in  his  room 
overlooking  the  Thiergarten  Park.  After  three  o'clock 
he  received  calls,  and  usually  spent  the  evening  at  the 
theatre  or  went  to  a  concert.  The  King  ordered  his 
portrait  to  be  painted  for  the  Gallery  of  Famous  Contem- 
poraries. 

He  was  invited  to  St.  Petersburg  by  the  Emperor  of 
Russia  to  direct  the  music  of  "  Struensee  "  for  the  fifty- 
years'  jubilee  of  the  Philharmonic  Society,  but  his  fail- 
ing health  obliged  him  to  decline.  Berlioz  and  Spohr 
were  also  asked,  but  were  unable  to  accept. 

In  February,  1853,  he  composed  his  splendid  Ninety- 
first  Psalm  for  solo  and  eight-part  chorus.  It  was  in 
honor  of  his  mother's  eighty-seventh  birthday.  It  was 
sung  as  her  requiem  when  she  died,  the  following  year, 
mourned  by  the  whole  nation. 

For  the  first  time  in  its  history  the  Opera  Comique 
opened  its  doors  to  a  foreigner.  Meyerbeer  was  allowed 
to  write  for  that  world-famous  stage,  and  his  first  work 
was  "L'lZtoile  du  Nord."  Owing  to  the  outbreak  of 
war  with  Russia,  the  censorship  nearly  forbade  its 
presentation;  but  owing  to  the  personal  influence  of 
Napoleon  III.,  it  was  permitted  after  a  few  textual 
changes  were  made,  such  as  eliminating  the  expression 
"  Vive  la  Russie"  and  changing  the  word  tsar  to  del. 


SCENE  FROM    THE    PROPHI 
Act  V.,  Sc.  III. 


MEYERBEER.  343 

It  was  performed  in  February,  1854,  and  almost  every 
number  was  re-demanded.  Within  a  year  it  had  been 
performed  a  hundred  times. 

His  next  comic  opera  was  produced  in  April,  1859, 
under  the  title  "Dinorah,"  or  " Le  Pardon  de  Ploermel" 
The  five  years  intervening  had  been  occupied  with  vari- 
ous work,  —  with  journeys  to  Italy  and  to  watering- 
places  ;  with  compositions  of  comparatively  small  inter- 
est, unless  the  fourth  Fackeltanz  for  the  marriage  of 
the  Princess  Victoria  of  England  be  excepted. 

The  latter  years  of  Meyerbeer's  life,  though  cheered 
by  many  distinguished  honors,  —  gifts  from  kings  and 
emperors,  homage  from  many  societies,  —  were  also  sad- 
dened by  the  death  of  many  friends :  Spohr  and  Lord 
Westmoreland,  his  French  and  German  librettists,  Scribe 
and  Rellstab,  and  others,  and  by  his  own  ill-health  and 
trouble  with  his  eyes.  A  Swedish  editor,  who  visited 
him  about  the  time  of  his  fiftieth  birthday,  described 
him  as  "a  little,  benevolent  old  man,  with  an  expres- 
sion of  power  and  keenness  in  his  bearing,  and  with  a 
delicate  and  yet  simple  behavior.  His  strongly-marked 
countenance  had  an  especially  shrewd  and  humorous 
look ;  and  those  fantastic  spirits,  which  have  bewitched 
the  world  in  the  night  pieces  of  '  Eobert '  and  '  The 
Prophet/  appear  to  be  lurking  in  its  wrinkles." 

In  1861  Meyerbeer  celebrated  his  seventieth  birth- 
day, which  was  remembered  by  hosts  of  his  friends  and 
admirers.  This  same  year  he  wrote  for  the  International 
Exhibition  at  London  a  festival  march  in  three  parts, 
ending  with  "  Rule  Britannia."  His  presence  added  to  the 
enthusiasm  with  which  it  was  received.  Several  theatres 
simultaneously  brought  out  his  "Prophet,"  "Huguenots," 
and  "  Dinorah  "  with  festal  success,  After  the  perform- 


344  MEYERBEER. 

ance  of  the  march  he  was  publicly  thanked  by  Lord 
Granville,  "  in  the  name  of  the  Queen,  of  all  great  artists, 
the  public,  and  the  English  nation,"  for  his  great  ser- 
vices. 

This  was  his  last  great  triumph.  His  failing  health 
and  the  trouble  with  his  eyes  grew  more  and  more 
alarming.  Occasionally  his  old  energy  would  flame  out, 
and  he  would  work  on  his  pet  opera  "  L' Africaine"  which 
had  occupied  him  for  so  many  years.  He  was  unable  to 
accept  Napoleon's  pressing  invitation  to  the  autumnal 
court  hunt  and  festivities  at  Coinpiegne.  He  was  for- 
bidden even  to  travel  to  Brussels  to  confer  with  the 
tenor  who  was  to  sing  the  role  of  "  Vasco  da  Gama." 

Unknown  to  him,  his  physician  summoned  his  two 
youngest  daughters  from  Baden-Baden.  His  nephew 
Julius  Beer  and  one  or  two  intimate  friends  hastened 
to  his  bedside. 

His  last  words  were  spoken  cheerfully  on  the  evening 
of  Sunday,  May-Day,  1863,  —  "I  will  see  you  in  the 
morning.  I  bid  you  good-night.'7 

He  died  early  the  next  day. 

His  body  lay  in  state  in  his  simple  dwelling,  in  the 
Rue  Montmartre.  Rossini  when  he  heard  the  news 
fainted  away.  Then  he  went  out  to  wander  in  the  Park 
Monceaux,  where  he  noted  down  a  religious  meditation 
inscribed  to  his  "  poor  friend  Meyerbeer." 

Meyerbeer's  body  was  taken  to  Berlin.  It  was  at- 
tended to  the  station  by  a  stately  throng  of  notabilities, 
accompanied  by  music.  Farewell  orations  were  spoken. 
Selections  from  the  "Prophet"  and  "Dinorah"  were  per- 
formed with  organ  and  voices. 

On  the  way  to  Berlin  at  every  stopping-place,  signs  of 
grief  were  manifested.  The  funeral  train  reached  Berlin 


MEYERBEER.  345 

unexpectedly.  The  King  was  just  about  to  make  a  jour- 
ney from  the  same  station.  It  was  a  dramatic  incident, 
the  meeting  of  the  living  monarch  and  the  dead  musician. 

Two  days  later  the  pompous  ceremonies  of  the  funeral 
took  place  with  black  catafalque,  silver  candelabra,  laurel 
wreath,  bouquets  from  royal  and  princely  houses,  music 
and  orations,  palm-adorned  hearse,  throngs  of  deputa- 
tions, an  endless  array  of  carriages  headed  by  the  king's, 
drawn  by  four  horses. 

He  was  buried  by  the  side  of  his  mother,  in  the  family 
tomb  in  the  Jewish  Cemetery.  Later,  a  religious  cere- 
mony in  his  honor  took  place  in  the  Meyerbeer  Synagogue 
which  had  been  founded  by  his  father. 

Meyerbeer,  though  possessed  of  millions,  always  lived 
frugally  when  in  Paris,  with  only  one  servant ;  he  labored 
as  industriously  as  though  he  were  poor,  saying :  "  I  am 
above  all  an  artist,  and  it  gives  me  satisfaction  to  think 
that  I  might  have  supported  myself  with  my  music,  from 
the  time  I  was  seven  years  old.  In  Berlin,  to  be  sure,  I 
keep  up  some  style;  but  in  Paris  I  have  no  desire  to 
stand  aloof  from  my  associates  and  play  the  rich 
amateur." 

His  habits  were  extremely  simple.  He  neither  smoked 
nor  took  snuff.  He  enjoyed  walking,  and  when  he  heard 
a  hand-organ  man  playing  one  of  his  own  compositions, 
he  would  stop  and  listen  and  reward  him  with  a  piece  of 
silver.  He  was  fond  of  the  distinctions  heaped  upon 
him.  But,  being  all  his  life  true  to  his  faith,  he  never 
possessed  the  cross  of  the  Order  of  the  Red  Eagle. 

His  judgment  of  other  composers  was  always  gener- 
ous. He  was  on  terms  of  friendship  with  nearly  all  the 
composers  of  the  day.  Gluck  and  Mozart  were  his  favor- 
ites of  the  past.  "  No  one,"  he  said,  "  will  ever  equal 


346  MEYERBEER. 

Gluck  in  simplicity,  naturalness,  and  powerful  dramatic 
expression;  and  when  I  am  enjoying  his  majestic  works, 
I  often  feel  so  humiliated  that  I  would  like  never  again 
to  write  a  note." 

His  great  property,  with  the  exception  of  a  few  thou- 
sand dollars  bequeathed  to  half  a  dozen  musical  and 
philanthropic  institutions,  was  divided  among  his  rela- 
tives. His  music,  with  the  exception  of  "  L'Africaine" 
he  directed  to  leave  untouched  for  thirty  years.  Then, 
in  case  a  grandson  were  living  it  would  be  permissible 
to  publish  it.  Otherwise  it  was  to  be  given  to  the  royal 
library  in  Berlin. 

"  L'Africaine "  was  performed  for  the  first  time  in 
April,  1865.  Every  effort  was  made  to  carry  out  the  com- 
poser's ideas ;  and  the  enthusiasm  was  so  great  that,  as 
his  biographer  says,  it  seemed  like  an  apotheosis  of  his 


1  A  still  greater  apotheosis  takes  place  in  Paris  in  September  of  the  present 
year  (1891),  when  the  hundredth  anniversary  of  his  birth  is  celebrated  with 
appropriate  ceremonies  and  the  reproduction  of  his  masterpieces.  Paris  will 
share  with  Bayreuth  the  pilgrimages  of  the  musical. 


MENDELSSOHN. 

(18O9-1847.) 


IT  is  a  proverb  that  names  go  by  contraries.  But 
proverbs,  though  often  containing  popular  wisdom 
crystallized,  no  less  often  embody  popular  delusions ; 
as,  for  instance,  that  lightning  never  strikes  twice  in  a 
place.  Berlioz  applied  the  line  of  Horace  as  a  prophecy 
to  Mendelssohn's  godson  Felix  Moscheles  :  — 

"  Donee  eris  Felix  multos  numerabis  amicos." 
("So  long  as  thou  art  Felix,  that  is  happy,  shalt  thou  reckon 
many  friends.") 

The  same  line  might  sum  up  Mendelssohn's  biography. 
He  seems  to  stand  as  the  type  of  the  fortunate  composer : 
rich,  talented,  courted,  petted,  loved,  even  adored.  "  Whom 
the  gods  love  die  young."  This  distinction  also  he  en- 
joyed, and  it  gives  an  additional  glamour  to  his  life. 

Mendelssohn  is  in  a  certain  sense  the  musician  of  the 
unmusical ;  his  "  Songs  without  Words  "  appeal  to  the 
young  Philistines  of  the  conservatories;  his  "Elijah" 
is  the  masterpiece  for  religious  Philistinism. 

There  is,  undoubtedly,  at  the  present  time  a  tendency, 
especially  among  the  adepts  of  Wagner,  to  underrate 
Mendelssohn.  It  seems  indeed  rather  ludicrous  in  a 
recent  writer  to  speak  of  him  as  being  the  last  of  the 

347 


348  MENDELSSOHN. 

musical  Titans  ;  but  we  may  sympathize  with  Schumann, 
who  said,  "  I  look  upon  Mendelssohn  as  the  first  musi- 
cian of  his  time,  and  pay  him  the  homage  due  to  a 
master." 

And  though  it  may  be  safely  maintained  that  he  had 
not  the  spontaneous  creative  genius  of  a  Bach,  a  Mozart, 
or  a  Beethoven,  still  he  deserves  the  distinction  of  hav- 
ing "  restored  the  lost  art  of  counterpoint,"  and  of  bring- 
ing back  classic  forms  at  a  day  when  romanticism  was 
compelling  men  like  Meyerbeer  and  Weber  into  en- 
chanted, if  not  dangerous  ground. 

Mendelssohn  also  restored  Bach  to  a  world  that  had 
forgotten  him  for  a  hundred  years.  This  service  alone 
was  an  immortality.  He  may  have  been  narrow  and 
prejudiced ;  but  judged  according  to  the  standard  of  the 
world,  his  character  was  well-nigh  above  reproach.  His 
aunt  declared  that  during  his  whole  career  she  could  not 
recall  a  deed  or  a  word  that  could  be  criticised.  His 
virtues  are  well  summed  up  by  the  American  translator 
of  his  Life  by  Lampadius  :  — 

"  The  son  and  heir  of  a  rich  Berlin  banker,  he  always  wrought 
as  a  poor  man's  son,  and  never  indulged  himself  in  ease  or  sloth, 
as  he  might  have  done;  tempted  to  writedown  to  the  masses,  to  win 
popularity,  rather  than  write  up  to  the  few,  to  set  a  high  standard 
and  leave  good  work  behind  him,  he  always  did  tne  latter;  nattered 
beyond  any  man  of  his  age,  not  only  in  Germany  but  in  England, 
he  never  lost  his  head  for  a  moment,  and  remained  one  of  the 
most  unaffected  of  men  ;  living  in  loose  capitals  and  surrounded  by 
unprincipled  people,  he  was  true  to  all  moral  obligations,  and  per- 
fect in  all  the  relations  of  son,  brother,  lover,  husband,  and  father; 
surrounded  by  intriguers,  he  stood  above  them  all,  and  was  frank, 
transparent,  honorable,  noble;  tempted  by  his  sunny,  enthusiastic, 
alert  nature,  to  do  simply  bright  and  genial  things  in  music,  he  was 
thorough,  studious,  earnest,  religious,  and  steadfastly  consecrated 
to  the  highest  and  the  best." 


MENDELSSOHN. 


MENDELSSOHN.  349 

Not  without  reason  does  Mendelssohn  stand  out  as 
the  type  of  the  blameless  musician. 

Some  time  before  the  middle  of  the  last  century,  a  lit- 
tle humpbacked  Jew  peddler  boy,  with  an  alert  face  and 
keen  eyes,  entered  Berlin  by  the  Rosenthaler  Gate.  The 
world  at  first  went  hard  with  him.  He  was  so  poor  that 
he  was  in  the  habit  of  marking  his  miserable  loaf  of  bread 
into  rations  by  means  of  a  string,  so  that  it  might  last  as 
many  days  as  possible.  But  his  hunger  for  knowledge 
was  greater  than  his  physical  hunger.  The  little  that  he 
could  earn  by  copying,  he  devoted  to  prosecuting  his 
studies  with  a  learned  rabbi. 

At  last  he  secured  a  position  as  resident  tutor  in  the 
house  of  a  rich  Hebrew  silk  manufacturer,  and  in  course 
of  time  married  a  Hamburg  Jewess,  and  became  rich  as 
well  as  learned.  He  wrote  a  dialogue  on  the  immortality 
of  the  soul,  that  was  translated  into  a  dozen  languages, 
and  gave  him  the  title  of  the  "  Modern  Plato."  He  was 
a  valued  friend  and  correspondent  of  the  noted  men  of 
his  day,  —  Herder  and  Kant,  Lavater  and  Lessing.  It 
is  said  that  Lessing  took  him  as  the  model  for  his  "Nathan 
the  Wise."  His  name  was  not  Nathan,  but  Moses,  and 
as  his  father's  name  was  Mendel,  he  became  known  as 
Mendel's  son,  or  in  German  Mendelssohn. 

He  had  six  children.  Abraham,  the  second  son,  was 
the  father  of  the  composer.  He  was  a  man  of  character 
and  ability,  but  often  remarked  jokingly  that  he  served 
merely  as  a  hyphen  between  Moses  and  Felix :  "  For- 
merly," said  he,  "  I  was  the  son  of  my  father ;  now  I  am 
the  father  of  my  son." 

He  began  his  commercial  training  in  Paris,  but  in  1804 
returned  home  to  Hamburg,  formed  a  partnership  with 


350  MENDELSSOHN. 

his  brother  Joseph,  and  married  Lea  Salamon,  a  young 
lady  of  property  and  accomplishments,  whose  parents 
lived  in  Berlin. 

Their  first  child  was  a  daughter,  Fanny,  who  was  born, 
as  her  mother  poetically  expressed  it,  with  "  Bach  fugue 
fingers."  Like  Mozart's  older  sister,  she  had  remarkable 
genius  for  music. 

Jakob  Ludwig  Felix  was  born  November  3,  1809. 

It  has  been  fancifully  said  that  Titania,  Queen  of  the 
Fairies,  flew  on  that  day  over  the  prosaic  city  of  Ham- 
burg and  kissed  the  child  on  his  forehead,  as  he  slept, 
endowing  him  with  all  the  graces. 

When  he  was  going  into  his  third  year,  the  French 
captured  the  city  ;  and  the  Mendelssohns  fled  to  Berlin, 
and  lived  for  some  years  in  the  grandmother's  house  on 
the  Neue  Promenade.  There  a  new  banking-house  was 
established,  and  for  various  practical,  social,  and  senti- 
mental reasons,  the  whole  family  were  baptized  into  the 
Lutheran  Church,  and  adopted  the  additional  name  of 
Bartholdy. 

The  somewhat  patriarchal  family  rule  was  not  in  the 
least  relaxed.  Absolute  and  unquestioning  obedience, 
unceasing  industry,  were  required  of  the  children.  Yet 
this  strictness  of  discipline  was  so  tempered  by  love  and 
gentleness  that  it  seemed  not  like  severity,  and  Felix 
especially  had  the  warmest  affection  for  his  father,  even 
to  the  end  of  his  life,  when,  owing  to  physical  infirmity, 
he  had  become  extremely  irritable  and  disputatious. 

The  mother  was  a  model  housewife.  She  spoke  several 
languages,  she  read  Homer  in  the  original,  she  played 
the  piano.  It  was  she  who  began  to  instruct  Fanny  and 
Felix  in  music,  giving  them  at  first  five-minute  lessons 
several  times  each  day.  Afterwards,  when  they  prac- 


MENDELSSOHN.  351 

tised,  she  sat  by  them  with  her  knitting  to  see  that 
they  wasted  no  time.  At  five  o'clock  in  the  morning 
they  began  to  study.  Discipline  was  relaxed  for  a  few 
moments  at  lunch,  but  if  Felix  spent  too  much  time  talk- 
ing over  it  she  would  appear  and  say,  "  Felix,  thust  du 
nichts  ?  "  ("  Have  you  nothing  to  do,  Felix  ?  "  ) 

He  was  allowed  out-of-door  exercise  of  course,  and 
many  people  in  Berlin  remembered  seeing  him  playing 
"  I  spy,"  and  other  games,  under  the  trees  by  the  canal 
in  front  of  their  house,  or  trotting  along  in  his  "big 
shoes  "  by  his  father's  side.  His  brown  curls,  which 
afterwards  turned  black,  always  attracted  attention,  as 
well  as  his  big  brown  eyes,  lurking  under  long  lashes. 

He  was  an  interesting  boy,  unspoiled.  When  foolish 
people  asked  him  idle  questions,  he  had  a  peculiarly  in- 
dignant, almost  spiteful,  way  of  answering  and  avoiding 
flattery. 

When  he  was  seven  years  old  his  father  was  called  to 
Paris,  and  took  his  whole  family  with  him.  Felix  and 
Fanny  profited  by  their  stay  by  taking  piano  lessons 
from  the  brilliant  Madame  Bigot.  When  they  returned 
to  Berlin  lessons  continued  still  more  strenuously. 

The  droll  little  Professor  Rosel  taught  them  drawing, 
and  the  clever  practice  of  the  pencil  which  Mendelssohn 
enjoyed  often  added  piquancy  to  his  letters  so  long  as  he 
lived.  The  methodical  Henning  gave  him  instruction 
on  the  violin ;  the  "  weak,  good-natured  "  Berger  taught 
him  on  the  piano.  His  knowledge  of  counterpoint  he 
got  from  "  the  old  bear,"  the  crusty  but  honorable  Zelter, 
who  taught  him  as  they  walked  up  and  down  in  the  big 
garden  back  of  the  house.  Marx  remarked,  "  When  Zel- 
ter became  Mendelssohn's  master,  he  merely  put  the  fish 
into  the  water  and  let  him  swim  away  as  he  liked."  Yet 


£52 

many  of  Mendelssohn's  old-fashioned  notions  were  due 
to  this  pedantic  master.  Heyse,  afterwards  professor  in 
the  University  of  Berlin,  and  father  of  Paul  Heyse  the 
novelist,  was  their  resident  tutor. 

Felix  was  excellent  in  languages.  French  was  like 
his  native  tongue.  He  spoke  English  fluently.  .  He  was 
able  to  write  a  charming  letter  in  Italian.  He  translated 
a  comedy  of  Terence  (the  "Andrea")  into  German 
verse,  and  he  made  considerable  progress  in  Greek.  He 
was  not  fond  of  mathematics.  He  .was  a  good  horse- 
man; he  could  swim  and  dance. 

When  he  was  almost  ten  years  old  he  made  his  first 
public  appearance  as  a  pianist,  and  was  much  applauded. 
The  following  year  he,  with  his  sister,  sang  alto  in  the 
famous  old  Singakademie,  founded  May,  1791,  by  Carl 
Fasch,  Frederick  the  Great's  cembalo  player,  and  at  that 
time  directed  by  Zelter.  Devrient  tells  of  seeing  him  at 
Zelter's  "  Friday  afternoons,"  dressed  in  a  close-fitting 
jacket,  open  at  the  neck,  with  his  hands  in  the  pockets 
of  his  full  trousers,  shifting  uneasily  from  one  foot  to 
another,  and  rocking  his  curly  head  from  side  to  side. 

From  this  time  he  began  to  compose.  The  list  of  his 
compositions  falling  in  the  next  four  years  is  remarkable 
for  its  amount  and  variety.  There  were  nearly  sixty 
movements  in  1821,  —  sonatas,  organ  pieces,  songs,  a  can- 
tata, and  a  little  comedy.  He  wrote  or  copied  them  with 
the  greatest  neatness  and  care  in  volumes  which  in  the 
course  of  time  extended  to  forty-four  in  number,  and  are 
now  preserved  in  the  Berlin  Library. 

As  he  grew  older  and  more  mature,  they  improved  in 
quality.  The  direct  stimulus  to  this  composition  was 
the  fact  that  they  were  performed  by  the  home  circle, 
which  consisted  now  of  four  children,  the  youngest,  Paul, 
being  four  years  younger  than  Felix. 


MENDELSSOHN.  353 

All  distinguished  musical  people  who  passed  through 
Berlin  visited  the  Mendelssohns,  and  the  Sunday  after- 
noon nmsicales  often  enlisted  the  local  talent  of  Berlin. 
Thus,  in  1822,  the  young  theatre  singer  Devrient,  through 
the  medium  of  his  betrothed,  who  was  a  friend  of  Fanny 
Mendelssohn,  came  to  take  part  in  one  of  Felix's  little 
operas.  He  gives  a  charming  description  of  the  boy 
sitting  at  the  piano  on  a  cushion  and  gravely  conducting 
while  the  performers  sat  around  the  dining-table.  Men- 
delssohn's utter  freedom  from  conceit  was  his  greatest 
charm. 

Zelter  was  generally  there  to  pick  flaws  or  give  merited 
praise.  Zelter  had  been  for  years  the  friend  of  Goethe, 
and  in  1821  he  took  his  young  pupil  to  Weimar  to  visit 
him.  They  spent  more  than  two  weeks  under  his  roof. 
The  friendship  between  the  old  man  and  Mendelssohn 
was  delightful.  Mendelssohn  called  him  "  the  pole  star 
of  poets."  Goethe  made  him  play  and  improvise  by  the 
hour,  He  was  amazed  at  the  skill  shown  by  the  boy 
in  playing  at  sight  a  manuscript  of  Beethoven's.  It 
was  like  unravelling  hieroglyphics.  Goethe  had  heard 
Mozart,  but  he  thought  Mendelssohn  vastly  his  superior. 
Once  (though  this  was  at  a  later  visit),  Goethe  said,  "  I 
am  Saul,  and  you  are  David.  When  I  am  sad  and  in 
low  spirits  you  must  come  to  me  and  calin  me  by  your 
accords."  l 

In  the  summer  of  1822  the  Mendelssohns  took  a  trip 
to  Switzerland.  At  Potsdam,  where  they  had  made  a 
brief  halt,  Felix  was  forgotten,  and  his  absence  was 
noticed  only  after  they  had  got  as  far  as  Gross  Kreuz, 
three  miles  away.  Heyse  started  back  in  search  of  the 

1  Mendelssohn's  sprightly  letters  describing  his  visit  to  Goethe  are  to  be 
found  in  a  volume  entitled  "  Goethe  and  Mendelssohn." 


354  MENDELSSOHN. 

straggler,  but  found  him  manfully  trying  to  overtake 
them  on  foot.  They  stopped  at  Cassel  and  made  music 
with  Spohr,  for  whom  Mendelssohn  professed  deep  rev- 
erence. 

After  a  pleasant  sojourn  among  the  Alps,  they  returned, 
stopping  at  Frankfort,  when  Felix  astonished  Schelble, 
the  conductor  of  the  Cecilia  Society,  by  his  powers  of 
extemporizing ;  and  at  Weimar,  where  they  enjoyed 
delightful  intercourse  with  Goethe.  In  the  following 
December,  Mendelssohn  played  in  public  a  pianoforte 
concerto  of  his  own.  The  progress  of  his  talent  can  be 
easily  followed  in  the  compositions  which  he  wrote  in 
1822  and  1823.  They  were  110  less  numerous  and  varied 
than  in  the  years  before.  A  pianoforte  quartet,  begun 
near  Geneva,  was  afterwards  published  as  his  first  opus. 

He  had  grown  into  a  tall,  slender  lad  of  fifteen,  with 
his  hair  cut  short,  and  his  features  marked  by  great  viva- 
city. His  good  spirits  were  infectious.  He  was  always 
ready  for  a  frolic.  Indeed,  so  long  as  he  lived  he  was  apt 
to  indulge  in  the  gayest  pranks.  He  was  called  by  his 
friends  "the  king  of  games  and  romps."  When  Ferdi- 
nand Hiller  first  saw  Mendelssohn  he  was  running  behind 
the  well-known  Aloys  Schmitt,  jumping  on  his  back, 
clinging  for  a  little  while  and  then  slipping  off,  to  repeat 
the  frolic.  Afterwards,  in  Paris,  Mendelssohn  suddenly 
surprised  Hiller  as  they  were  walking  along  a  boulevard 
late  one  night  by  saying,  — 

"  We  must  do  some  of  our  jumps  in  Paris.  Our  jumps, 
I  tell  you.  Now,  for  it  — •  one !  two !  three ! "  And  off 
they  went  like  kangaroos. 

One  of  Mendelssohn's  little  home  operas  was  entitled 
"  The  Two  Nephews,  or  the  Uncle  from  Boston."  It 
was  performed  for  the  first  time  on  his  fifteenth  birth- 


MENDELSSOHN.  355 

day  with  full  orchestra.  A  supper  followed.  Zelter  took 
him  by  the  hand,  and,  after  proclaiming  him  no  longer 
an  apprentice  but  a  master,  "in  the  name  of  Haydn, 
Mozart,  and  Old  Bach,"  kissed  him  amid  the  enthusiastic 
plaudits  of  all  present. 

Some  years  before,  Abraham  Mendelssohn  had  pre- 
sented Zelter  with  a  quantity  of  cantatas  and  other 
manuscripts,  written  by  "the  poor  Cantor  of  Leipzig." 
Zelter  affected  to  call  Bach's  compositions  crabbed  pieces 
(borstige  Stiicke),  and  evidently  thought  them  too  high 
for  the  comprehension  of  people;  still  he  reverenced 
these  sacred  relics,  and  sometimes  took  Mendelssohn  up 
to  the  closet  of  the  Singakademie  where  they  were 
stored,  and  showed  them  to  him,  saying, — 

"There  they  are!  Just  think  of  all  that  is  hidden 
there,"  but  he  would  never  allow  his  pupil  to  touch  them. 

At  last,  however,  Mendelssohn's  grandmother  obtained 
permission  for  his  violin  teacher,  Edward  Bltz,  who  was 
also  his  intimate  friend,  to  make  a  copy  of  the  score  of 
Bach's  Passion  Music,  and  she  presented  it  to  him  at 
Christmas,  1823.  This  had  a  great  influence  upon  his 
development. 

In  the  following  summer  he,  for  the  first  time,  saw 
the  sea  —  the  stormy  Baltic  at  Dobberan.  He  wrote  an 
overture  for  the  wind-band  of  the  bathing  establishment. 
It  was  afterwards  re-scored  and  published.  This  year 
was  memorable  for  his  progress  in  composition,  and  in- 
cluded his  C-minor  Symphony  (now  No.  1)  and  several 
important  chamber  compositions.  Later  in  the  year 
Moscheles  came  to  Berlin  and  spent  several  weeks,  see- 
ing the  Mendelssohns  daily.  He  was  persuaded  to  give 
Felix  regular  lessons,  and  he  has  left  on  record  his  im- 
pressions of  the  family :  "  Felix  a  mature  artist,  though 


356  MENDELSSOHN. 

but  fifteen  ;  Fanny  extraordinarily  gifted,  playing  Bach's 
fugues  by  heart  and  with  astonishing  correctness." 

"To-day,"  he  writes  in  his  diary,  "I  gave  Felix  his 
first  lesson."  But  he  adds  that  he  could  not  hide  the 
fact  that  he  was  with  his  master,  not  his  pupil.  The 
acquaintance  thus  formed  led  to  an  intimate  friendship, 
as  is  shown  by  the  correspondence  between  the  two. 
Felix  became  godfather  to  Moscheles's  son,  the  well- 
known  portrait  painter. 

In  the  spring  of  1825  Abraham  Mendelssohn,  who  had 
been  hesitating  whether  to  allow  his  son  to  embrace 
music  as  a  profession,  happened  to  be  in  Paris,  and 
determined  to  consult  with  the  famous  Cherubini.  The 
verdict  was  favorable.  Cherubini,  though  usually  so 
crabbed  and  uncertain,  like  old  Zelter,  seemed  fasci- 
nated by  the  boy.  Felix  compared  him  to  an  extinct 
volcano  covered  with  stones  and  ashes  and  occasionally 
belching  forth  flames. 

Felix  himself  disapproved  of  the  musicians  of  Paris, 
and  the  frivolous  atmosphere  that  prevailed  there;  he 
thought  that  the  whole  tendency  of  the  place  was  to 
make  men  lose  sight  of  strict  time  and  calm  and  ear- 
nestness and  real  musical  feeling  from  their  love  for 
strong  contrasts. 

His  own  detestation  of  such  things  carried  him  to  the 
opposite  extreme.  Even  his  friend  Hiller,  who  called 
him  "one  of  the  brightest  and  most  beautiful  stars  in 
the  firmament  of  German  art,"  thought  his  great  fault 
was  in  being  too  old-fashioned,  and  not  yielding  enough 
to  the  modern  tendencies  toward  richness  and  fulness 
of  ornamentation. 

Curiously  enough,  the  French  think  that  if  Mendels- 
sohn had  been  a  French  composer,  as  might  easily  have 


MENDELSSOHN.  357 

been  the  case,  he  would  have  lost  that  Germanic  stiff- 
ness that  repelled  them,  and  would  have  gained  in  more 
ways  than  one. 

On  their  way  back  from  Paris  they  stopped  again  at 
Weimar  for  another  —  the  third  —  visit  to  Goethe,  to 
whom  he  played  his  B-minor  Quartet  dedicated  to  him. 
Not  long  after  their  return,  Abraham  Mendelssohn  pur- 
chased the  so-called  "  Keck  Palace,"  a  spacious,  many- 
roomed  mansion,  surrounded  by  grounds  covering  over 
ten  acres  and  including  summer-houses,  rustic  seats, 
lovely  shrubbery,  noble  trees,  and  every  device  for  com- 
fort and  pleasure,  especially  in  summer.  A  separate 
building,  called  the  "  Gartenhaus,"  gave  accommodations 
for  musical  parties,  easily  seating  several  hundred  people. 

The  property  was  really  in  the  suburbs  of  Berlin,  near 
the  Potsdam  Gate  on  the  Leipzig  Koad.  It  had  three 
drawbacks :  it  was  damp,  it  was  extremely  cold  in  winter, 
and  it  was  a  long  distance  from  their  friends. 

Nevertheless,  their  friends  were  glad  to  come  to  them, 
and  their  Sunday  musicales  always  attracted  a  crowd 
of  celebrities.  Sebastian  Hensel,  who  married  Fanny 
Mendelssohn,  painted  more  than  a  thousand  portraits, 
filling  forty-seven  volumes,  of  the  family  and  their  dis- 
tinguished guests. 

This  new  home  was  the  one  oasis  to  Mendelssohn  in 
the  dreary  waste  of  Berlin.  Here,  under  the  direction 
of  a  former  royal  groom,  he  learned  to  ride  with  remarka- 
ble skill.  In  warm  weather  the  boys  played  bowls  under 
the  trees,  and  had  lively  swimming  parties,  with  songs 
sung  in  the  water,  Klingemann  furnishing  the  words  and 
Mendelssohn  the  music.  And  here  social  and  musical 
intercourse  was  delightful  and  unrestrained.  A  manu- 
script newspaper,  entitled  in  summer  The  Garden  Times, 


358  MENDELSSOHN. 

in  winter  Snow  and  Tea  Times,  to  which  such  great 
scientists  and  philosophers  as  Humboldt  and  Hegel  did 
not  scorn  to  contribute,  added  to  their  fun.  Billiards, 
and  chess,  and  whist,  also  found  their  devotees.  And 
Felix  was  in  all  things  the  central  figure,  happy,  witty, 
gay,  loved  by  all.  Just  before  their  removal  Felix  com- 
posed the  music  for  an  opera,  the  words  of  which  were 
furnished  by  Klingemann.  The  subject  was  taken 
from  "Don  Quixote,"  and  it  was  entitled  "Camacho's 
Wedding." 

It  was  submitted  to  General  Musical-Intendant  Spon- 
tini,  whose  jealousy  had  already  stood  in  the  way  of 
Spohr's  "Jessonda."  Spontini  was  living  in  a  house 
once  occupied  by  the  Mendelssohns.  Spontini  led  him 
to  the  window,  and  pointing  to  the  dome  of  the  Roman 
Catholic  church  opposite,  said  pompously  in  French : 

"Friend,  you  must  have  conceptions  as  grand  as 
yonder  cupola ! " 

Mendelssohn,  whose  one  great  fault  was  inability  to 
endure  lack  of  appreciation,  and  who  could  never  forgive 
a  disparaging  remark,  was  not  likely  to  overlook  this 
man's  insinuation.  It  is  said  that  Spontini  disliked 
Mendelssohn  because  he  conducted  without  score,  a  feat 
which  he  himself  could  not  perform. 

Spontini,  however,  after  vexatious  delays,  allowed 
"  Comacho's  Wedding "  to  be  produced  in  the  small 
theatre.  The  claque  was  made  up  of  Mendelssohn's 
friends,  but  even  after  their  vigorous  applause  had  scored 
it  a  success,  it  was  never  given  again.  The  truth  was, 
Mendelssohn  had  not  a  dramatic,  or  rather,  not  a  theatric, 
talent.  The  opera  was  poor,  and  he  himself,  almost 
twenty  years  later,  begs  that  his  "  old  sin  of  <  Comacho's 
Wedding'  should  not  be  stirred  up  again." 


MENDELSSOHN.  359 

Mendelssohn's  greatest  work  of  this  period  was  the 
overture  to  "  A  Midsummer's  Night's  Dream,"  inspired 
by  a  reading  of  a  new  translation  of  Shakspere,  and 
composed  during  the  first  summer  in  the  new  domain. 
This  work  alone  would  have  made  Mendelssohn  immor- 
tal :  nothing  more  perfect  of  its  kind  was  ever  composed ; 
and  it  was  remarkable  that  when,  in  the  last  years  of  his 
life,  he  came  to  set  music  to  the  "Midsummer's  Night's 
Dream,"  he  used  the  overture  practically  unchanged. 

This  same  year  he  entered  the  Berlin  University,  and 
the  number  of  his  compositions  fell.  It  is  not  known 
whether  he  followed  the  regular  curriculum  or  not ;  but 
ten  years  later  the  University  of  Leipzig  honored  itself 
and  him  by  conferring  upon  him  the  degree  of  Doctor  of 
Philosophy  and  B.  A.  M. 

One  of  his  friends  complained  that  Bach  seemed  to 
him  a  mathematical  exercise.  Mendelssohn  determined 
to  prove  him  mistaken ;  he  got  together  a  small  choir  of 
sixteen  voices,  and  on  Saturday  evenings  rehearsed  the 
"  Passion  according  to  St.  Matthew." 

One  of  the  number  was  Devrient,  the  opera  singer. 
His  zeal  and  enthusiasm  were  such  that  Mendelssohn's 
timidity  in  presence  of  Zelter's  opposition  was  overcome. 
One  day  the  two  young  men,  dressed  exactly  alike  in  blue 
coats,  white  waistcoats,  black  cravats  and  trousers,  and 
yellow  gloves,  called  upon  Zelter  and  laid  their  plans 
before  him.  It  may  be  remarked  in  passing  that  Men- 
delssohn had  overdrawn  his  allowance  and  had  to  borrow 
a  thaler  to  buy  his  gloves,  —  a  piece  of  bad  management 
which  his  father  felt  obliged  to  reprimand. 

Zelter  was  at  first  so  surly  that  Mendelssohn  had  his 
hand  on  the  door-knob  to  flee  incontinently,  but  Devrient 
managed  to  smooth  the  way  by  deft  flattery,  and  at  last 


360  MENDELSSOHN. 

the  old  director  yielded  and  gave  his  permission  for  the 
work  to  be  performed  by  the  Singakademie. 

The  rehearsals  began  in  January,  1828,  and  the  work 
was  performed  publicly  on  March  11,  1829,  for  the  first 
time  since  the  death  of  its  composer.  The  apathy  of 
the  people,  which  Mendelssohn  had  so  much  dreaded,  was 
stirred  to  enthusiasm.  Every  ticket  was  taken,  and 
hundreds  were  turned  away.  The  success  was  complete 
in  every  respect.  This  was  the  beginning  of  the  Bach 
revival.  Mendelssohn  remarked  one  day  to  Devrient 
with  some  glee,  "It  is  a  Jew  and  an  actor  who  have 
restored  to  the  people  this  great  Christian  work." 

Mendelssohn  knew  the  work  by  heart,  and  conducted 
without  the  score.  At  one  rehearsal  he  stopped  the  chorus 
saying,  "  In  the  twenty-third  measure  the  sopranos  have 
C-natural  —  not  C-sharp." 

This  retentive  memory  was  characteristic  of  Mendels- 
sohn. A  year  or  two  later  in  Paris,  at  the  Abbe  Bardin's, 
where  musical  reunions  were  held  every  week,  Hiller 
was  asked  to  play  Beethoven's  E-flat  concerto.  The 
parts  were  all  there,  and  the  string  quartet,  but  no  wind. 

"I  will  do  the  wind,"  said  Mendelssohn  simply,  and 
sitting  down  at  a  second  piano  he  filled  in  the  wind 
parts  from  memory,  not  neglecting  even  a  note  of  the 
second  horn.  He  always  played  his  piano  pieces  from 
memory.  Once  when  he  was  praised  for  this  feat,  the 
famous  organist  Kiihnau  exclaimed :  "  That  is  not  art. 
I  could  do  the  same  thing  if  I  did  not  manage  to  forget 
everything ! " 

It  might  have  been  supposed  that  Mendelssohn  would 
have  been  Zelter's  natural  successor  as  conductor  of 
the  Singakademie,  but  after  Zelter's  death  (May,  1832), 
when  the  election  was  held,  he  was  defeated  by  sixty 


MENDELSSOHN.  361 

votes  out  of  236.  This  added  to  the  disappointment  at 
the  failure  of  "  Camacho's  Wedding ;  "  and  the  unhappy 
relationship  between  Mendelssohn  and  many  of  the 
Berlin  musicians,  notably  the  Koyal  Orchestra,  who 
would  not  play  for  him  —  was  it  because  he  was  a  Jew  ? 
— made  Berlin  even  more  like  a  desert  to  him  than  ever. 
He  was  hopeless  of  things  bettering  themselves  there. 
"  Berlin  will  never  do  anything  in  music,"  he  declared 
to  his  last  days,  "  so  long  as  sand  is  sand,  and  the  Spree 
is  a  river." 

But  he  could  afford  to  look  down  upon  such  annoy- 
ances, and  soon  after  the  second  performance  of  "the 
Passion,"  which  took  place  on  Bach's  birthday,  he  was 
off  on  what  he  calls  his  "  grand  tour,"  and  enjoying  such 
a  succession  of  delightful  experiences  that  they  would 
alone  fill  a  book. 

He  went  first  to  England,  where  he  laid  the  foundation 
of  that  popularity  which  even  now  makes  most  English- 
men look  upon  him  as  the  greatest  of  composers.  He 
gave  four  concerts  in  London,  with  wonderful  success. 

After  the  musical  season  was  over  he  went  to  Scotland, 
stopping  at  the  Hebrides  —  where  he  was  inspired  with 
the  first  conception  of  his  overture  called  "Fingal's 
Cave," — and  at  Abbotsford.  Here  he  was  disgusted 
enough,  after  travelling  eighty  miles,  to  be  put  off  with  a 
half-hour's  "  indifferent  conversation  "  with  Sir  Walter. 
Nor  even  Melrose  Abbey  consoled  him.  "We  cursed 
great  men,  ourselves,  and  the  whole  world,"  were  his 
words. 

His  visit  in  London  on  his  return  in  September  was 
prolonged,  owing  to  a  lame  knee,  which  kept  him  in  his 
room  for  two  months,  and  prevented  him  from  being 
present  at  his  sister  Fanny's  wedding. 


362  MENDELSSOHN. 

In  December,  when  he  returned  to  Berlin,  he  found 
the  artist  and  Fanny  installed  in  the  Gartenhaus,  which 
had  been  turned  into  a  studio.  They  were  ready  to  take 
part  in  a  surprise  which  Mendelssohn  had  prepared  for 
his  parents'  silver  wedding.  This  was  a  comedietta 
entitled,  "  The  Return  from  Abroad,"  or  "  The  Son  and 
Stranger."  Every  member  of  the  family  was  to  take 
part,  but  as  Hensel  was  totally  unmusical,  he  was  given 
a  part  which  required  him  to  sing  one  and  the  same 
note.  At  the  performance  he  could  not  even  do  that. 

In  the  spring,  having  recovered  from  an  attack  of 
the  measles,  —  for  genius,  as  well  as  meaner  folk,  must 
endure  "the  slings  and  arrows  of  outrageous  fortune," 
—  Mendelssohn  resumed  his  world  tour.  He  reached 
Venice  in  October,  after  enjoying  delightful  visits  at 
Weimar  with  Goethe,  at  Munich,  at  Vienna,  and  Pres- 
burg. 

Mendelssohn's  great  passion  was  letter-writing.  One 
of  his  intimate  friends  declared  that  most  of  his  time 
was  spent  in  this  way.  The  result  is  that  we  have 
remarkably  detailed  information  in  regard  to  every  step 
of  his  Italian  journey.  He  drank  in  the  very  air  with 
ecstasy,  and,  as  he  says,  systematically  idled  away  the 
days.  Natural  scenery,  the  treasures  of  art,  intercourse 
with  brilliant  painters,  poets,  and  musicians,  kept  his 
enjoyment  to  the  highest  tension.  Italian  antiquities 
failed  to  interest  him,  and  it  has  been  remarked  that  he 
showed  scarcely  a  trace  of  devotional  sentiment,  either 
in  his  letters  or  his  music.  Indeed,  the  ancient  music  of 
the  Koman  service  entirely  irritated  him.  He  called  it 
insignificant  and  dull. 

He  spent  nearly  half  a  year  in  Rome,  and  was  for- 
tunate enough  to  witness  the  coronation  of  a  pope,  and 


MENDELSSOHN.  363 

the  ceremonies  of  Holy  Week.  He  spent  six  weeks  in 
Naples,  where  he  found  his  old  friend  Benedict.  He 
then  visited  Florence,  Genoa,  Milan,  and  the  Italian 
Lakes.  From  Geneva  he  walked  to  Interlachen,  where 
he  composed  some  waltzes,  his  only  ones, — and  yet  he 
was  passionately  devoted  to  dancing. 

In  Italy  he  composed  his  Italian  and  Scotch  sympho- 
nies, the  music  to  Goethe's  "  Walpurgis  Night,"  and  other 
pieces  instrumental  and  vocal,  and  filled  drawing-book 
after  drawing-book  with  his  sketches. 

In  December  he  reached  Paris,  where  he  threw  himself 
"  into  the  vortex  "  of  musical  and  social  life.  At  this 
time  he  had  a  marked  resemblance  to  Meyerbeer.  They 
wore  their  hair  in  the  same  way.  Mendelssohn  was 
annoyed,  and  one  morning  appeared  with  his  locks  close 
cropped.  Meyerbeer  heard  of  it,  but  took  it  "in  his 
usual  invincible  good-nature." 

In  spite  of  his  warm  reception  there,  and  the  presence 
of  Hiller  and  other  good  friends,  Mendelssohn  could  not 
stomach  Paris,  particularly  after  his  Reformation  Sym- 
phony had  been  shelved  by  the  "Concert  Society"  as 
too  learned  and  abstruse.  He  was  glad  to  be  back  in 
"that  smoky  nest,"  London,  where  he  spent  two  months, 
playing  at  many  concerts,  and  publishing  a  number  of 
important  pieces. 

During  the  following  winter  he  gave  three  public 
concerts  at  the  Singakademie,  bringing  out  a  number  of 
interesting  novelties,  his  Reformation  Symphony,  his 
overtures  to  "  Midsummer's  Night's  Dream,"  "  The  Heb- 
rides" ("Fingal's  Cave")  and  the  "Calm  at  Sea,  and 
Prosperous  Voyage,"  as  well  as  pieces  by  Beethoven  and 
Bach. 

Mendelssohn's  success  in  conducting  the  Lower  Rhine 


364  MENDELSSOHN. 

Music  Festival  at  the  end  of  May,  1833,  brought  him  an 
offer  to  undertake  the  entire  charge  of  music  in  Diissel- 
dorf  for  three  years  at  a  salary  of  600  thalers. 

By  the  advice  of  his  father,  who  was  with  him  during 
the  festival,  and  who  was  pleased  that  while  others  had 
titles  without  duties,  he  would  have  duties  without  a 
title,  he  accepted  it.  Afterwards  the  two  went  to  Lon- 
don together,  and  many  interesting  details  of  this  visit 
are  preserved.  The  old  man  learned  that  a  very  fine 
morning  in  London  was  like  the  end  of  a  November 
afternoon  in  Germany.  He  could  not  appreciate  his 
son's  enthusiasm  for  English  fog,  Sundays,  and  other 
institutions. 

Diisseldorf  proved  to  be  less  pleasant  than  Mendels- 
sohn had  anticipated.  He  complained  that  by  four 
o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  half  the  town  was  drunk,  so 
that  he  had  to  transact  all  his  business  in  the  morning. 

After  a  few  months,  during  which  he  gave  operas  by 
Mozart  and  Cherubini  at  the  theatre,  and  at  the  church 
religious  works  by  Palestrina,  Bach,  Beethoven,  and 
Handel,  he  threw  up  direction  of  the  former.  Even 
the  slight  connection  which  he  had  with  it  caused  him 
immense  irritation  and  disgust. 

Socially  there  was  much  in  Diisseldorf  to  enjoy.  He 
lodged  with  the  painter  Schadow,  who  had  established 
an  art  school  there.  Thus  he  was  thrown  into  an 
artistic  circle.  They  often  took  long  walks  together; 
Schadow  with  his  noble  head,  and  distinguished  manner 
and  eloquent  speech,  quite  overshadowing  the  bevy  of 
handsome  young  fellows  who  surrounded  him.  One 
time  Chopin  was  there.  No  one  took  much  notice  of 
him,  but  when  they  returned  to  the  studio  "the  lyric 
epicurean"  had  his  revenge.  He  was  called  upon  to 


MENDELSSOHN.  365 

play,  and,  after  the  first  note,  all  were  dumb  with 
amazement. 

Mendelssohn  kept  a  horse.  On  Christmas  Day,  1834, 
he  went  out  for  a  ride  on  his  bay.  The  steed  bolted,  and 
ran  through  the  town  straight  for  the  stables. 

"I  kept  my  seat,"  he  wrote,  "but  I  was  in  such  a 
rage !  and  weren't  the  people  just  delighted  to  see  the 
Herr  Musikdirector  racing  along  ! " 

Mendelssohn  in  a  rage  was  a  fine  sight ;  for  then  his 
eyes  simply  blazed  out  from  under  the  long  lashes. 
This  was  not  rare  with  him.  The  orchestra  at  Diissel- 
dorf  was  responsible  for  much  of  his  irritation.  He 
gives  a  humorous  description  of  their  lack  of  time  and 
tune  :  "  Every  allegro  leaves  off  twice  as  fast  as  it  began, 
and  the  oboe  plays  E-natural  in  C-minor,  and  they  carry 
their  fiddles  under  their  coats  when  it  rains,  and  when  it 
is  fine  they  do  net  cover  them  at  all ;  and  if  you  once 
heard  me  conduct  this  orchestra,  not  even  four  horses 
could  bring  you  there  a  second  time." 

In  the  following  spring,  he  was  invited  to  Leipzig,  to 
conduct  the  concerts  at  the  Gewandhaus.  He  accepted, 
and  found  it,  as  he  said,  "  a  paradise." 

A  little  more  than  a  month  after  the  first  concert,  he 
was  quite  stunned  by  the  sudden  death  of  his  father, 
who  had  become  entirely  blind  from  cataracts.  In  the 
very  last  letter  that  he  wrote,  his  father  had  urged  him 
to  keep  on  with  his  oratorio  of  "  St.  Paul "  which  he  had 
begun  several  years  before  at  Dflsseldorf.  Felix  selected 
the  words  himself.  He  once  wrote  :  "  There  are  always 
two  things  that  I  must  have  when  I  stop  anywhere :  one 
is  a  Bible,  and  the  other  is  a  piano."  • 

It  was  ordered  for  the  Cecilia  Club  of  Frankfurt,  but, 
owing  to  Schelble's  illness,  the  engagement  was  can- 


366  MENDELSSOHN. 

celled,  and  it  was  first  produced  at  the  Lower  Rhine 
Festival,  in  1836,  by  a  chorus  of  three  hundred  and  six- 
teen singers,  a  large  and  efficient  orchestra,  all  full  of 
enthusiasm.  When  it  was  over,  young  ladies  showered 
flowers  upon  the  composer,  and  crowned  the  score  which 
was  placed  upon  a  golden  lyre  on  the  conductor's  stand. 
Later  he  went  to  Frankfurt  to  supply  Schelble's  place 
for  six  weeks. 

One  of  the  aristocratic  families  of  this  place  was 
named  Souchay.  They  lived  in  a  fine  house  with  a  beau- 
tiful view  down  the  Main.  Mendelssohn  became  a  fre- 
quent visitor  at  this  house.  He  was  always  more  or  less 
in  love,  but  here,  at  last,  was  a  genuine  passion,  destined 
to  last.  The  object  of  it  was  the  granddaughter,  Cecile 
Charlotte  Sophie  Jeanrenaud,  a  beautiful  girl  of  seven- 
teen, of  most  serene  and  gentle  disposition,  with  the 
face  of  a  Madonna.  The  family,  at  first,  thought  that 
Mendelssohn  was  attracted  by  her  mother,  a  charming 
young  widow.  The  townspeople  soon  found  out  that 
there  was  a  courtship  going  on,  and  it  afforded  them 
considerable  amusement  and  curiosity  to  see  what  the 
result  would  be ;  for,  though  Mendelssohn  was  young, 
rich  and  handsome,  a  man  of  culture,  amiability,  genius, 
and  fame,  and  belonged  to  a  family  of  considerable 
celebrity,  still  all  these  things  weighed  as  little  against 
the  imponderable  significance  of  "  patrician  blood ! " 

Mendelssohn  was  hard  hit,  but,  being  a  young  man 
of  prudence,  he  determined  to  tear  himself  away  from 
his  idol  for  a  time,  and  test  his  affection  by  separation. 
It  stood  the  test.  He  was  miserable  without  her.  The 
sea  baths  at  Scheveningen  could  not  cool  his  ardor. 

At  the  end  of  a  month  he  flew  back,  proposed,  was 
accepted,  and  made  "  the  happiest  man  in  the  world." 


MENDELSSOHN.  367 

When  lie  returned  to  Leipzig,  in  the  full  halo  of  his 
bliss,  it  was  commemorated  at  an  early  concert  in  the 
season  by  the  significant  finale  to  "  Fidelio  "  —  "  Who  a 
lovely  wife  has  gotten  "  —  put  on  the  program  by  the 
directors.  He  was  compelled  to  improvise  on  the  theme 
amid  shouts  and  hurrahs  ! 

He  was  married  at  Frankfurt  in  March,  1837.  The 
delight  and  fun  of  their  happy  honeymoon  are  preserved 
in  a  diary  kept  by  them  both,  and  adorned  with  all  sorts 
of  droll  sketches  and  remarks.  Their  happiness  was 
almost  cut  short  at  "  Bingen  on  the  Rhine,"  when  Men- 
delssohn, in  attempting  to  swim  the  river,  was  taken 
with  the  cramp,  and  barely  saved  from  drowning. 

Shortly  after  this,  he  had  to  hasten  over  to  England 
—  his  fifth  visit  —  to  conduct  his  "  St.  Paul "  at  the 
Birmingham  Festival.  His  wife  was  unable  to  go  with 
him.  It  is  curious  that  he  says  so  little  about  her  in 
his  letters,  but  when  he  was  absent  from  her  he  indulges 
in  the  gloomiest  complaints :  "  What  is  the  good  of  all 
the  double  counterpoint  in  the  world,"  he  asks,  "  if  his 
Cecile  is  not  with  him  !  " 

After  a  more  than  usually  successful  visit  both  in 
Birmingham  and  London,  he  returned  to  Leipzig,  glad 
to  be  again  established  in  his  own  pleasant  home.  He 
asks  if  he  ought  not  to  be  perfectly  satisfied  with  his 
Cecile  in  a  nice  new  comfortable  house  with  an  open 
view  over  Lurgenstein's  garden,  and  the  fields,  and  the 
city  towers,  feeling  more  serenely  happy,  more  calmly 
joyful,  than  he  had  ever  felt  since  he  left  his  parents' 
roof. 

His  happiness,  the  next  year,  was  interrupted  by  his 
wife's  dangerous  illness,  and  by  his  own  ill  health.  He 
complained  of  complete  deafness  of  one  ear,  and  pain 


368  MENDELSSOHN. 

in  the  head  and  neck.  He  could  not  even  hear  his  own 
playing  on  the  piano,  and  often  missed  the  point  of 
what  people  said  to  him.  It  made  him  somewhat 
anxious,  but  a  similar  attack  four  years  previously  had 
passed  off  in  six  weeks,  and  this  one  also  was  only 
temporary. 

The  summer  of  that  year  he  spent  in  Berlin,  and  was 
full  of  work  and  pleasure.  That  memorable  twelve- 
month included  the  forty-second  and  ninety-fifth 
Psalms,  several  string  quartets,  his  violin  concerto,  and 
other  things ;  and  when  he  returned  to  Leipzig,  and  had 
recovered  from  a  second  attack  of  measles,  his  " Elijah" 
was  well  under  way. 

Mendelssohn's  favorite  motto  was :  "  What  is  worth 
doing  at  all  is  worth  doing  well."  What  he  found  time 
to  accomplish  in  his  busy  life  at  Leipzig  is  almost  incredi- 
ble :  writing  innumerable  letters,  composition,  business, 
society,  the  circus,  visits  from  friends,  the  exhausting 
labor  of  conducting  and  arranging  programs ;  and  while 
he,  one  might  say,  with  one  hand  composed  two  cantatas 
for  the  festival  in  honor  of  the  invention  of  printing, 
with  the  other  he  translated  for  his  uncle  a  number  of 
Italian  poems  into  German  verse.  It  was  a  constant 
whirl  of  excitement,  —  "a  really  overpowering  turmoil." 
He  thus  tells  of  a  soiree  given  in  honor  of  Liszt :  — 

"Three  hundred  and  fifty  people,  orchestra,  chorus, 
punch,  pastry,  Calm  at  Sea,  Psalm,  Bach's  Triple  Con- 
certo, choruses  from  St.  Paul,  Fantasia  on  Lucia,  the 
Erlking,  the  Devil  and  his  Grandmother." 

He  was  fond  of  Liszt,  and  called  his  perfect  playing 
of  the  G-minor  pianoforte  concerto  at  sight  a  miracle. 

If  he  liked  anything  he  liked  it  immensely,  but  if  he 
disliked  it  he  would  act  in  the  oddest  way.  Once,  when 


MENDELSSOHN.  369 

Hiller  played  to  him  some  poor  composition  he  threw 
himself  down  on  the  floor  and  rolled  all  about  the  room. 

Some  of  Liszt's  idiosyncrasies  he  could  not  abide. 
He  could  not  see  how  Hiller  could  see  anything  in  Ber- 
lioz's Symphony.  "  I  cannot  conceive  of  anything  more 
insipid,  wearisome,  and  Philistine,"  he  says,  "for  with 
all  his  endeavors  to  go  stark  mad  he  never  once  succeeds ; 
and  as  for  your  Liszt  with  his  two  fingers  on  one  key, 
what  does  a  homely  provincial  like  me  want  with  him  ?  " 

Mendelssohn  was  a  severe  critic  even  on  Handel,  but  he 
thought  "  William  Tell "  a  perfect  and  complete  master- 
piece. We  sometimes  get  a  pleasant  picture  of  him  at 
a  concert  or  opera  when  something  is  going  wrong.  He 
simply  boils  with  indignation,  and  his  ever  quiet  and 
serene  Cecile  lays  her  hand  on  his  coat  and  says, 
"  Dear  husband,  do  be  calm  !  " 

When  he  heard  that  Meyerbeer  had  been  made  court 
kapellmeister,  he  declared  that  he  might  have  been  jeal- 
ous if  there  had  not  been  a  distance  of  several  German 
miles  between  a  court  kapellmeister  and  a  real  ka- 
pellmeister. "  If  I  were  to  be  made  a  court  composer 
to-morrow,"  said  he,  "  I  should  be  bound  not  to  write 
another  note  so  long  as  I  lived." 

Yet  he  was  himself  to  be  a  kapellmeister,  and  his 
pleasant  life  at  Leipzig  was  to  be  disturbed  and  finally 
broken  up  by  the  ambition  of  King  Frederick  William 
IV.,  who  proposed  shortly  after  his  accession  to  the 
throne  to  found  an  Academy  of  Arts  in  Berlin. 

Mendelssohn  was  invited  toward  the  end  of  1840  to 
take  the  post  of  director  of  the  musical  division  or  class. 
His  better  judgment,  and  his  dislike  of  Berlin  with  "  its 
shoals  of  sycophant  courtiers"  and  its  utter  lack  of 
musical  taste,  stood  against  it;  but  he  was  probably 


370  MENDELSSOHN. 

weary  with  the  season's  work  at  Leipzig,  where  he  had 
given  nineteen  concerts  between  January  1  and  March 
15.  Indeed,  what  he  did  for  Leipzig  during  his  life 
there  may  be  read  in  the  sumptuous  history  of  the 
Gewandhaus  concerts  recently  published. 

He  accepted  for  a  year,  and  his  farewell  to  Leipzig 
appropriately  consisted  of  the  Matthew  Passion  Music 
of  Bach.  Mendelssohn  had  interested  himself  to  raise 
funds  for  -a  statue  of  the  old  Cantor  in  front  of  the 
Thomas  Schule.  It  was  successful, 

His  first  great  work  for  Berlin,  where  he  now  became 
kapellmeister  to  the  King,  was  the  music  for  "Anti- 
gone" The  first  performance  of  this  old  drama  with 
Mendelssohn's  beautiful  setting  took  place  on  October 
28,  1841.  It  immediately  became  popular,  but  Mendels- 
sohn's relations  with  his  band,  and  indeed,  with  the 
Berlin  public,  were  most  unsatisfactory.  The  King  was 
kind  and  obliging,  and  it  was  through  his  request  that 
Mendelssohn  wrote  the  music  to  "  Athalie"  "  Oidipous" 
"The  Midsummer's  Night's  Dream,"  and  Goethe's 
"  Walpurgisnacht" 

But  the  situation  grew  more  and  more  disagreeable, 
and  at  last  the  King  released  him  from  residence  there, 
allowing  him  a  salary  of  one  thousand  thalers  for  his 
duties  of  composition.  His  mother  had  died  in  Decem- 
ber, 1842,  and  the  Berlin  house  was  now  his.  But  during 
the  rest  of  his  life  he  lived  chiefly  in  Leipzig,  where  his 
darling  scheme  of  a  conservatory  of  music  was  carried 
into  effect.  A  legacy  left  by  a  man  named  Bliimner  was 
applied  to  this  purpose,  and  the  great  institution  destined 
to  accomplish  so  much  for  German  art  was  formally 
opened  in  April,  1843,  with  Mendelssohn,  David,  Schu- 
mann, and  other  well-known  composers  among  the 


MENDELSSOHN.  371 

teachers.  One  of  the  first  pupils  was  the  young  He- 
brew genius,  Joachim,  a  boy  of  twelve,  destined  to  be 
the  greatest  of  violinists  since  Spohr. 

Even  *<  the  long  tedious  Berlin  business  "  had  its  com- 
pensations. The  greatest  of  these  was  his  lovely  home 
life.  And  perhaps  not  least  were  his  visits  to  England, 
where  he  was  the  most  popular  of  men. 

In  the  summer  of  1842  he  made  his  seventh  journey 
to  London,  and  this  time  was  twice  received  at  Bucking- 
ham Palace,  where  he  played  accompaniments  for  the 
Queen  to  sing.  She  asked  him  how  she  could  best  ex- 
press her  thanks.  He  asked  to  see  her  sleeping  children, 
and  when  this  favor  was  granted,  kissed  them,  and 
thought  of  his  own  at  home. 

The  next  year  he  conducted  the  last  six  concerts  of 
the  Philharmonic  Society  in  London,  introducing  many 
novelties  of  his  own  composition  and  by  Bach,  Schubert, 
and  Beethoven. 

Mendelssohn  conducted  with  his  right  side  toward 
the  orchestra.  His  movements  were  short  and  decided, 
sometimes  almost  invisible.  He  took  pains  to  get  the 
best  from  his  orchestra.  He  had  great  tact  and  good- 
nature, though  sometimes  when  things  went  persistently 
wrong  his  tongue  was  sharp.  But  he  was  popular  with 
the  band,  and  inspired  them  to  enthusiasm. 

Ever  since  1838  Mendelssohn  had  kept  in  mind  the 
subject  of  Elijah  for  an  oratorio.  It  gradually  took 
shape,  and  at  last  was  engaged  for  the  Birmingham  Fes- 
tival of  1846.  In  the  midst  of  his  incessant  labors  as 
head  of  the  Conservatorium,  —  teaching  the  piano  and 
composition  and  overseeing  administrative  details,  —  he 
yet  managed  to  finish  it  in  time,  and  by  the  middle  of 
August  was  in  London  again. 


372  MENDELSSOHN. 

The  oratorio  was  performed  on  the  twenty-sixth,  with 
unheard-of  success.  Mendelssohn  himself  was  amazed, 
and  wrote  home  glowing  accounts  of  it.  But  he  was  not 
satisfied  with  the  work,  and,  in  accordance  with  his  usual 
custom,  after  judging  by  the  public  hearing,  made  many 
changes  in  it.  His  taste  was  most  fastidious,  and  often 
he  would  spend  hours  on  a  few  bars  till  he  had  polished 
them  to  perfection.  When  he  returned  to  England  for 
the  tenth  and  last  time,  to  conduct  the  "  Elijah  "  in  its 
revised  form,  the  Prince  Consort,  who  was  present,  wrote 
a  note  in  his  program-book,  addressing  him  as  another 
Elijah,  "  faithful  to  the  worship  of  true  Art,  though  sur- 
rounded by  the  idolaters  of  Baal."  He  also  played  two 
hours  at  Buckingham  Palace  for  the  Queen  and  the 
Prince  Consort  alone. 

On  his  way  back,  he  was  arrested  and  detained  by  a 
zealous  official,  who  mistook  him  for  a  Dr.  Mendelssohn 
wanted  by  the  police.  It  was  a  very  annoying  accident. 
He  had  hardly  reached  home  before  the  news  of  the  sudden 
death  of  his  sister  Fanny  was  abruptly  broken  to  him. 
With  a  cry,  he  fell  unconscious  to  the  ground.  He  spent 
that  summer  in  Switzerland,  occupying  himself  largely 
with  painting  in  water-colors.  Thirteen  large  pictures 
of  Swiss  scenery,  and  carefully  executed,  are  in  existence. 

He  who  had  so  many  times  held  vast  audiences  spell- 
bound with  his  masterly  performances  on  the  organ, 
played  for  the  last  time  in  the  village  church  of  Ring- 
genberg,  on  the  Lake  of  Brienz. 

When  he  returned  home  his  friends  were  shocked  at 
the  change  that  had  taken  place  in  him.  He  had  aged, 
and  grown  dull  and  listless.  Only  occasionally  his  usual 
gay  spirits  asserted  themselves ;  for  the  most  part  he 
was  mournful  and  depressed. 


MENDELSSOHN.  373 

The  trouble  which  he  had  suffered  in  his  head  grew 
worse.  After  three  severe  attacks  between  October  9 
and  November  3,  he  died  in  the  evening  of  Thursday, 
November  4,  1847.  It  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  all 
Europe  mourned.  In  Leipzig,  it  was  as  though  "  a  king 
were  dead/'  In  London,  Manchester,  and  Birmingham, 
where  he  was  so  beloved,  in  many  of  the  chief  cities  of 
Germany,  and  even  in  Paris,  memorial  concerts  were 
organized. 

Scholarships  were  established  in  his  honor.  Busts 
and  statues  of  him  were  erected. 

After  his  death,  a  commission  was  appointed  to  pub- 
lish selections  from  the  immense  mass  of  his  manuscript. 
They  included  male  and  mixed  part-songs,  duets,  "  songs 
without  words,"  quartets  and  quintets,  fragments  of  un- 
finished opera  and  oratorios,  overtures,  concerted  pieces, 
and  symphonies. 

As  a  song-writer  Mendelssohn  cannot  be  compared  to 
a  dozen  other  German  composers.  He  himself  did  not 
care  for  what  are  called  Volk-songs.  He  declared  that 
national  airs  were  beastly,  common,  false  things.  Scotch 
bagpipes,  Swiss  horns,  and  Welsh  harps  were  not  to  his 
heart ;  still  less,  "  so-called  melodies  whined  in  a  nasal 
tone,  stupidly  accompanied  by  maladroit  fingers."  Nat- 
urally, therefore,  his  own  songs,  with  few  exceptions, 
lack  spontaneity.  His  duets  are  better.  Still  greater 
are  his  four-part  songs,  many  of  which  are  immortal. 

He  himself  confessed  that  pianoforte  pieces  were  not 
what  he  wrote  with  the  greatest  pleasure  or  even  with 
real  success.  Yet  his  "  Songs  Without  Words "  have 
enjoyed  almost  unequalled  popularity. 

It  was  as  a  composer  of  chamber  and  concerted  music, 
especially  of  symphonies  and  oratorios,  that  Mendelssohn 


374  MENDELSSOHN. 

was  great.  His  greatness  consists  not  in  those  over- 
whelming effects  characteristic  of  the  music  of  a  later 
day;  but  in  calm,  symmetrical  beauty.  In  this  he  is 
unexcelled. 

As  a  man,  as  a  friend,  in  all  the  relations  of  family 
and  society,  Mendelssohn  stands  alone  and  apart.  His 
letters  have  endeared  him  to  the  world.  He  is  known 
as  few  other  composers  have  ever  been  known.  Though 
it  is  somewhat  the  fashion  to  sneer  at  him,  it  seems  safe 
to  predict,  that  as  time  goes  on  his  fame  will  rather 
increase  than  diminish. 


SCHUMANN. 

(18W-1856J 


MOZAKT'S  life  has  been  called  panoramic;  Beetho- 
ven's was  volcanic;  Mendelssohn's  was  kaleido- 
scopic. In  contrast  with  these,  Schumann's  was  color- 
less and  monotonous. 

Mendelssohn  and  Schumann  were  antipodes.  The  one 
clear,  open,  spontaneous,  effervescent ;  the  other,  silent 
deep,  sometimes  obscure.  The  one,  fond  of  publicity; 
the  other,  most  at  home  by  his  own  fireside,  or  in  the 
guarded  sanctum  at  the  editorial  desk.  The  one,  the 
light  and  spirit  of  any  company;  the  other,  almost  a 
hermit  and  recluse. 

We  know  both  most  intimately  through  their  letters. 
Both  have  exerted  great  influence  on  musical  art.  But 
Mendelssohn's  was  ephemeral,  and  felt  mainly  by  those 
of  weaker  fibre ;  whereas  Schumann's  has  been  felt 
especially  by  stronger  natures.  Contrast  Gade  and 
Brahms. 

Kobert  Alexander  Schumann  was  the  youngest  of  five 
children.  His  birthday  was  June  8,  1810.  His  birth- 
place was  the  quaint  little  Saxon  town  of  Zwickau,  with 
tall,  picturesque  houses  and  broad,  grass-grown  streets, 
where  his  father,  F.  A.  G.  Schumann,  carried  on  the 
business  of  bookseller  and  publisher.  His  father's 

375 


376  SCHUMANN. 

father  was  a  clergyman.  His  mother's  father  was  a 
surgeon. 

No  long  line  of  musical  ancestry  explains  his  bent  for 
the  Tone-Art.  He  was  a  graft  on  the  tree.  But  his 
father  was  a  man  of  culture,  sensitive,  imaginative,  fond 
of  poetry ;  and  his  mother  strangely  combined  strong, 
practical  common-sense  with  an  extravagant  view  of 
romantic  sentimentality.  His  father  favored  his  bent. 
The  mother  opposed  it. 

Yet  it  was  cultivated  to  a  certain  extent,  beginning 
early.  At  seven  he  was  taking  lessons  of  the  pedantic 
Baccalaureus  Kuntsch,  organist  of  the  Marienkirche, 
who  was  not  long  in  discovering  the  boy's  talent,  and 
predicted  that  he  would  be  one  of  the  lights  of  art. 
He  must  have  felt  the  lack  of  musical  nurture  at  home, 
for  he  afterwards  remarked  how  fortunate  were  they  who 
drew  in  music  with  their  mother's  milk,  thereby  feeling 
themselves  consciously  members  of  the  great  family  of 
artists,  into  which  others  like  himself  had  to  make  their 
entrance  by  dint  of  sacrifice. 

When  he  was  nine,  he  heard  the  famous  pianist 
Moscheles  at  Carlsbad.  It  was  a  revelation  to  him. 
It  awakened  ambition ;  it  made  him  conscious  of  his 
wings.  When  he  was  back  at  his  home  again,  and 
studying  at  the  gymnasium  or  high  school,  all  his 
sports  and  pleasures  had  music  for  a  background.  He 
formed  a  little  orchestra  consisting  of  two  violins,  two 
flutes,  a  clarinet,  and  two  horns.  Missing  parts  Schu- 
mann filled  in  with  the  piano.  He  composed  pieces 
suitable  for  this  band.  He  amazed  them  by  his  skill 
at  extempore  playing.  The  father  was  pleased.  He 
was  sure  of  an  audience  of  one,  who  was  ever  ready  to 
buy  classic  masterpieces  for  his  use. 


SCHUMANN.  377 

Kuntsch  gave  a  public  performance  of  a  choral  work 
by  Schneider.  A  lively  boy  of  eleven  stood  at  the  piano 
playing  the  accompaniment,  —  it  was  Schumann.  Two 
years  later  he  himself  arranged  the  150th  Psalm  (for 
chorus  and  orchestra),  and  played  in  public.  He  was 
not  precocious  merely  in  music.  When  he  was  four- 
teen, he  helped  his  father  prepare  a  book  entitled 
"Picture  Gallery  of  the  Most  Famous  Men  of  All 
Nations  and  Times." 

His  father,  who  had  been  hindered  in  his  own  choice 
of  a  profession,  wrote  to  Carl  Maria  von  Weber,  at 
Dresden,  with  a  view  to  putting  Robert  under  his  tui- 
tion. Weber  consented  to  receive  him ;  but  nothing 
came  of  it,  and  the  father  died  in  1825.  His  long  course 
at  the  gymnasium  ended  three  years  later ;  and,  out  of 
love  for  his  mother,  who  was  supported  in  her  views  by 
his  guardian,  Herr  Etidel,  the  merchant,  he  reluctantly 
sacrificed  his  inclinations,  and  began  the  study  of  law  at 
Leipzig. 

He  was  by  this  time  fully  under  the  sway  of  the  sen- 
timental Jean  Paul.  Whole  pages  of  letters  which  he 
wrote  while  still  in  Zwickau  are  like  the  rhapsodies  of 
the  author  of  "  Titan."  He  lies  on  the  sofa  with  tears 
in  his  eyes  and  his  friend's  letter  in  his  hand ;  he  wan- 
ders out  through  nature,  and  reads  it  over  a  dozen  times. 
He  feels  pure  and  undying  love  for  the  first  time  ;  he 
would  fain  be  a  smile  and  play  around  her  eyes,  would 
be  joy  so  as  to  bound  through  her  pulses,  would  be  a 
tear  and  weep  with  her,  and  die  on  her  eyelashes !  His 
poetic  mill  is  still  either  because  there  is  too  much  water 
in  the  sluiceway,  or  too  little.  Yet  can  he  hardly  tell 
whether  it  is  Liddy  or  Naimi  that  most  stirs  his  heart. 

Verily  it  cannot  be  Liddy,  for  on  a  fatal  Thursday  he 


378  SCHUMANN. 

-W-J™"'        -V. 

sat  with  her  on  the  Rosenburg;  great  bluish  mist  moun- 
tains arose  in  the  east ;  the  sun  was  setting ;  the  whole 
temple  of  nature  lay  far  and  wide  before  the  intoxicated 
vision.  It  almost  seemed  to  him  that  his  ideal  was  by 
his  side.  He  seized  Liddy's  hand,  and  pointing  to  the 
black-purple  storm-clouds  on  the  horizon  exclaimed, 
"  Liddy,  such  is  life  ! " 

But  Liddy  was  not  one  of  the  young  women  so  com- 
mon in  that  day,  who  worshipped  Jean  Paul  and  deified 
his  dog.  She  made  some  remark  that  fell  like  cold  water 
on  his  flowers  of  sentiment,  and  he  cries,  "  The  dream  is 
over." 

Quaint  and  far-fetched  conceits,  glowing  words  about 
love  and  friendship  and  the  ideal  and  the  real,  senti- 
mental pictures  of  peasant  dances  and  idyllic  scenes,  all 
that  strange  and  to  us  almost  incomprehensible  rigma- 
role of  sense  and  nonsense,  then  so  dear  to  the  German 
heart,  flow  from  his  ready  pen. 

Occasional  hints  at  his  acquirements  and  tastes :  He 
has  finished  reading  Sophokles ;  he  has  lately  taken  up 
Plato's  "  Crito,"  but  can  find  no  delight  in  it :  "  Plato  is 
food  for  men."  Tacitus  and  Sallust  attract  him  strongly, 
but  Cicero  revolts  him :  "  he  is  a  rabulist,  —  that  is,  pet- 
tifogger,—  charlatan,  and  windbag  braggart." 

It  is  Jean  Paul  who  finds  still  "  the  first  place  "  with 
him.  "  I  place  him  above  all  —  even  Schiller  (Goethe 
I  do  not  understand  as  yet)  not  excepted." 

This  influence  remained  supreme  with  him  through 
life,  and  explains  to  a  certain  extent  his  love  for  the 
brilliant  and  extravagant  in  expression,  the  sharp  con- 
trasts, —  laughter  and  tears,  —  and  the  disregard  of  form, 
which  characterize  his  music. 

Before  he  took  up  his  residence  at  Leipzig  he  went  on 


SCHUMANN.  379 

a  pleasure  trip  with  a  new-made  friend,  Gisbert  Kosen, 
also  a  strong  Jean  Paulist.  He  went  as  far  as  Munich, 
where  he  made  the  acquaintance  of  Heine,  so  many  of 
whose  poems  he  afterwards  set  to  music.  At  Augsburg 
he  lost  his  heart  to  a  charming  Clara  von  Kurrer,  but  it 
was  only  a  platonic  and  sentimental  passion.  The  young 
lady  was  engaged.  Her  image  of  which  he  writes  so 
ecstatically,  with  eloquent  silence  was  doomed  to  go  into 
that  picture-gallery  to  which  his  heart  gave  so  much 
room. 

He  made  a  pilgrimage  to  Bayreuth  to  see  the  widow  of 
Jean  Paul.  Frau  Richter  gave  him  a  portrait  of  her 
husband.  He  was  delighted  with  the  palace-like  houses, 
but  more  with  the  people,  like  Rollwenzel,  who  could  talk 
for  hours  about  his  idol. 

When  he  returned  to  Leipzig  it  was  hard  to  fix  his 
attention  on  his  law  studies.  Eosen  had  gone  to  Heidel- 
berg. "  Oh,  to  be  at  Heidelberg  with  you ! "  wrote 
Schumann  early  in  June ;  "  Leipzig  is  a  horrid  hole 
where  one  cannot  enjoy  life.  It  is  far  easier  to  make 
progress  in  the  art  of  spending  money  than  in  the  lecture- 
rooms." 

Yet  he  had  written  his  mother  only  a  few  days  before 
declaring  that  though  "  chilling  jurisprudence  "  with  its 
"  ice-cold  definitions  "  is  revolting  to  him,  yet  he  will 
get  the  better  of  it :  "  if  only  a  man  uses  his  will-power, 
he  can  indeed  do  all  things." 

He  hides  nothing  from  his  beloved  mother,  his  "  good, 
forgiving  mother,"  the  "  gentle  monitor "  of  his  youth, 
who  so  faithfully  warned  him  when  he  was  in  danger 
of  "  sinking  deeper  into  the  labyrinth  of  life."  He  writes 
her  long  letters  full  of  sentimental  effusiveness,  com- 
plaining that  there  are  no  mountains,  no  valleys,  no 


380  SCHUMANN. 

forests  where  his  thoughts  may  have  free  course ;  no 
place  where  he  may  be  alone.  "Nature,"  he  writes  her, 
"  is  the  great  wide-spread  handkerchief  of  God,  embroid- 
ered with  His  eternal  name,  and  serviceable  to  man  for 
wiping  away  all  his  tears  of  sorrow." 

The  perfect  frankness  with  which  Schumann  pours 
out  his  soul  to  his  mother,  and  the  evident  love  and 
sympathy  between  them,  make  it  somewhat  hard  to 
understand  why  she  so  opposed  him  in  making  music  his 
profession. 

He  lets  it  be  no  secret  that  he  is  still  interested  in  music. 
In  the  same  letter  that  tells  her  of  the  cost  of  his  "patri- 
archal establishment,"  he  mentions  paying  a  ducat  a 
month  for  the  hire  of  a  piano,  and  wishes  he  might 
either  have  his  own  "  dear  old  faithful  instrument,  or  be 
able  to  spend  four  hundred  dollars  in  the  purchase  of  a 
new  one." 

He  tells  her  that  he  goes  regularly  and  machine-like 
to  the  lectures,  plays  the  piano  much,  works  at  home 
and  reads  a  great  deal,  plays  chess  every  evening,  and 
goes  out  for  a  walk  of  two  or  three  hours.  He  also  takes 
fencing  lessons,  but  he  calms  her  apprehensions  as  to 
the  danger  of  duelling  by  saying,  "  I  have  never  been  a 
brawler  [Raufbold~],  and  never  will  be."  Neither  does 
he  go  often  to  the  Bierkneipen,  but  rather  finds  more 
delight  in  the  society  of  two  or  three  congenial  young 
men ;  the  only  family  whom  he  visits  is  Dr.  Carus's, 
who  were  old  acquaintances.  They  were  musical  people, 
and  led  to  Schumann's  acquaintance  with  Marschner, 
whose  "  Vampyr"  was  brought  out  that  spring,  and  with 
the  Wiecks. 

Schumann  began  to  take  lessons  of  Friedrich  Wieck, 
one  of  the  best  piano  teachers  in  Germany ;  but  as  early 


SCHUMANN.  381 

as  August  he  wrote  for  his  mother's  permission  to  leave 
Leipzig  and  go  to  Heidelberg  for  a  year,  so  as  to  hear 
the  most  famous  German  jurists,  especially  Thibaut,  the 
author  of  "  Purity  in  Musical  Art,"  who  had  performed 
the  miracle  of  combining  two  such  opposing  professions. 

His  spirits,  which  had  been  low,  immediately  improved 
at  the  prospect  of  being  with  Rosen  in  that  blooming 
paradise,  with  its  great  tun  and  little  tuns,  its  jolly  peo- 
ple, and  its  nearness  to  Switzerland,  Italy,  and  France; 
of  being  in  the  society  of  those  who  should  understand 
him.  That  was  the  cause  of  his  gloom  in  Leipzig  —  the 
lack  of  sympathizing  spirits  to  inspire  him,  the  monoto- 
nous course  of  commonplace  life. 

So  he  went  to  Heidelberg  —  the  journey  being  like 
"  a  flight  through  hundreds  of  spring  skies."  It  was  all 
illusion  about  the  law.  In  the  easy-going  life  of  a 
university  student  without  restraint  or  obligation,  the 
temptation  was  irresistible  to  drift  with  the  stream. 
Piano  open  was  more  attractive  than  pandects  covered 
with  dust.  We  read  of  practice  seven  hours  a  day,  of 
evenings  devoted  to  music,  of  Thibaut  the  musician 
rather  than  Thibaut  the  lawyer. 

Strange  forecast  of  fate !  In  his  first  enthusiastic 
letter  to  his  mother,  he  tells  her  that  his  "princely 
lodgings  "  (princely  because  of  the  view  of  the  splendid 
old  mountain  castle  and  the  green  hills  covered  with 
oaks)  are  between  the  Catholic  Church  and  the  mad- 
house, so  that  he  is  truly  in  doubt  whether  to  be  crazy 
or  Catholic  !  His  descriptions  of  the  whole  journey  are 
like  pages  from  a  sentimental  novel,  —  like  Longfellow's 
"Hyperion." 

Before  he  procures  a  piano,  he  goes  with  all  boldness 
into  the  establishment  of  a  dealer,  introduces  himself 


382  SCHUMANN. 

as  the  steward  of  a  young  English  lord  who  was  think- 
ing of  purchasing  an  instrument,  and  plays  for  three 
long  hours,  "  gaped  at  and  applauded." 

Thousands  of  such  details  are  found  in  Schumann's 
letters.  In  September  he  is  in  Italy.  He  tells  his 
sister-in-law  of  a  beautiful  English  girl  at  Milan,  who 
seemed  to  have  fallen  in  love,  not  with  himself,  but  his 
piano-playing. 

She  gave  him  a  sprig  of  cypress  when  they  parted. 
She  was  haughty  and  kind,  loving  and  hating,  hard  and 
soft,  when  he  played.  Schumann  applied  similar  con- 
tradictions to  himself :  poor  and  rich,  weak  and  strong, 
worn  out,  yet  full  of  life.  And  long  the  recollections 
of  the  cypresses  of  Milan  filled  his  heart.  Perhaps  they, 
more  than  lack  of  ready  money,  caused  him  to  weep  as 
he  sat  on  a  stone  bench  in  front  of  the  Doge's  palace  at 
Venice,  looking  with  sad  and  weary  eyes  at  the  sea 
and  the  unknown  people  passing  to  and  fro.  Sentiment- 
al hearts  like  Schumann's  have  their  valleys  of  sorrow, 
as  well  as  their  heights  of  bliss.  But  how  susceptible 
he  was,  is  shown  by  his  diary  and  his  letters.  A  pretty 
Englishwoman's  speech  is  like  the  whispering  of  an 
angel.  The  Grecian  noses  of  the  maidens  who  dwell 
with  Father  Rhine,  and  their  oval  cheeks  and  brown 
hair,  delight  him  amazingly. 

Whether  he  got  all  the  advantage  from  his  trip  to 
Italy  which  he  expected,  and  which  he  eloquently  set 
forth  under  twelve  heads  in  a  letter  to  his  mother,  cannot 
be  told.  He  had  learned  to  speak  French  and  Italian 
fluently.  But  if  the  charming  days  that  he  spent  in 
Switzerland  and  among  the  Italian  lakes  did  nothing 
more  than  confirm  him  in  his  love  for  all  things  beau- 
tiful, they  were  not  wasted.  Moreover,  he  heard 


SCHUMANN.  383 

Paganini !  And  when  he  heard  Pasta  and  Kossini 
sung  at  the  Scala  in  Milan,  it  seemed  to  him  (so  he 
wrote  Friedrich  Wieck)  as  though  God  Himself  stood 
before  him,  and  let  him  look  into  His  face.  The  charm 
was  upon  him ;  henceforth  the  law  was  an  impossibility. 
He  must  make  his  mother  renounce  her  dream  of  seeing 
him  "  a  future  diplomate,  ambassador  of  the  Royal  Court 
of  Saxony  to  the  Free  States  of  North  America  ! " 

Still  he  remained  at  Heidelberg,  undecided,  yet  long- 
ing to  decide,  toying  with  art,  and  yet  in  a  sort  of  des- 
peration making  one  more  effort  to  redeem  lost  time  by 
reviewing  the  course  with  an  old  lawyer.  An  unsatisfac- 
tory existence ;  for,  as  he  wrote  his  mother,  speaking  of 
his  attraction  for  music,  and  of  the  creative  spirit,  juris- 
prudence "turns  him  into  gristle,  and  freezes  him  into 
ice,  so  that  no  flower  of  fancy  will  any  longer  yearn  for 
the  springtime  of  the  world ! " 

He  tells  her  how  economical  he  is,  living  on  the 
simplest  of  fare,  and  spending  only  one  hundred  and 
thirty  thalers  for  the  semester,  forty  florins  for  piano- 
hire,  and  almost  as  much  for  French  lessons,  which  are 
"stupendously  dear,"  but  justifiable,  because  he  daily 
sees  how  necessary  a  perfect  knowledge  of  the  language 
is,  and  because  his  dear  father  had  recommended  it. 
Sometimes  his  economy  led  him  into  the  extravagance 
of  living  on  nothing  but  potatoes  for  a  fortnight  at  a 
time. 

Evidently  his  guardian  was  inclined  to  keep  him  on 
short  commons,  for  he  is  always  writing  to  his  "most 
honored  Herr  Riidel"  for  more  funds,  or  sharing  his 
anxieties  with  his  "dear  good  mother,"  telling  of  his 
debts,  and  his  plans  for  raising  money  by  methods  which 
he  should  adopt  only  in  the  most  unnatural  circum- 


384  SCHUMANN. 

stances ;  namely,  in  case  he  should  get  none  from 
home. 

He  was  too  light-hearted  to  be  unhappy ;  he  drifted 
with  the  current.  One  day  he  goes  to  Mannheim  in 
the  four-horse  coach  of  the  widowed  Grand  Duchess 
Stephanie  of  Baden,  "to  breathe  court  air  for  a  little 
while,  though  it  is  choking."  Then  he  figures  as  lead- 
ing soloist  "  at  the  great,  miserable  Heidelberg  concert, 
which  is  attended  by  almost  all  the  royal  highnesses 
from  Mannheim  or  Karlsruhe."  And  he  tells  his  mother 
of  the  fine  society  which,  as  it  were,  under  protest,  he 
frequents  at  Dr.  WUstenf eld's,  —  where  there  is  a  pretty 
daughter,  and  witty  gouvernante  from  Lausanne,  "with 
French  eye-play,"  which,  nevertheless,  does  not  move 
him,  —  and  elsewhere.  Or,  on  a  Thursday  he  listens  to 
a  Handel  oratorio  sung  by  a  select  chorus  at  the  "holy 
house  "  of  "  the  splendid,  divine  "  Thibaut,  of  whose  wit, 
keenness,  sensibility,  pure  artistic  sense,  charm  and 
grace,  he  cannot  say  enough. 

He  celebrates  his  mother's  birthday  in  the  ruins  of 
the  old  castle.  "  What  else  should  the  life  and  the  vo- 
cation of  a  child  be,  than  an  eternal  wish  for  the  happi- 
ness of  its  parents  ? "  he  fervently  exclaims.  As  a 
birthday  gift,  he  wrote  several  songs,  —  a  Liederkranz 
(song-wreath)  he  called  it ;  but,  as  he  failed  to  get  them 
done  in  time,  he  gave  her  —  his  piano-playing  !  adding, 
in  his  letter,  the  hope  that  she  is  not  annoyed  at  his 
wit,  and  will  smile  at  the  deceiver  again. 

But,  oh,  the  debts  !  —  145  florins  to  the  tailor  for  his 
fine  red  cloak  and  black  stockings  and  blue  dress-coat 
and  black  coat  and  waistcoat,  and  then  dues  for  shoes 
and  cobbling.  And  then  he  must  eat  and  drink,  and  go 
to  Mannheim,  and  smoke,  and  buy  books  and  music; 


SCHUMANN.  385 

masked  balls,  fees,  subscriptions,  cigars,  cigars,  piano- 
tuner,  washerwoman,  bootblack,  candles,  soap,  good 
friends  who  must  sometimes  have  a  glass  of  bier  /  and 
he  adds  pathetically,  "  For  four  long  weeks  I  have  not 
had  a  kreutzer  in  my  pocket !  " 

But  the  fateful  June  came  at  last.  How  he  revels  in 
the  glorious  summer  life  !  "  I  get  up  every  morning  at 
four,"  he  writes  his  brother  ;  "  the  sky  is  blue  enough 
to  kiss.  I  work  till  eight  on  pandects  and  civil  law ; 
play  the  piano  from  eight  to  ten ;  from  ten  to  twelve 
with  Thibaut  and  Mittermayer ;  from  twelve  to  two,  go 
out  for  a  walk  and  dinner  ;  from  two  to  four,  with  Zach- 
aria,  and  Johannsen ;  then  we  go  to  the  castle,  or  to  the 
Rhine,  or  to  my  dear  mountains." 

On  the  last  day  of  June,  he  wrote  his  mother,  at  five 
o'clock  in  the  morning,  "  the  most  important  letter  of 
his  life."  The  alcohol  boiling  and  sputtering  under  his 
coffee  machine,  the  sky  pure  and  golden  enough  to  kiss, 
his  cigar  tasting  excellently,  his  mother's  last  letter  ly- 
ing before  him,  and  now  he  comes  to  his  great  confession : 
"  My  whole  life  has  been  a  twenty  years'  battle  between 
poesy  and  prose,  or  call  it  music  and/ws." 

In  Leipzig  he  dreamed  more  and  cared  less  about  his 
plan  of  life ;  but  in  Heidelberg,  he  says  he  has  really 
tried  to  work,  with  the  result  that  he  has  come  more 
and  more  to  depend  on  art. 

"Now  I  stand  at  the  parting  of  the  ways,  and  am 
frightened  at  the  question,  '  Whither  ? ' ' 

He  tells  her  that  it  seems  to  him  his  genius  points 
out  the  right  way,  and  in  spite  of  her  good  motherly 
reasons  and  the  danger  of  "an  uncertain  future  and  a 
precarious  living,"  he  must  choose  for  himself.  Thibaut 
the  jurist  had  long  advised  him  to  dedicate  himself  to 
Art. 


386  SCHUMANN. 

And  so  he  begs  his  mother  to  write  to  Wieck,  and  ask 
him  frankly  what  he  thinks  of  him  and  his  plan  of  life. 
Hard  as  it  was  for  her,  she  consented.  His  guardian 
was  not  so  yielding.  When  her  answer  came  enclosing 
Wieck's  advice  to  try  the  experiment  for  six  months, 
what  an  earnest  protest  he  sent  her  against  any  longer 
degrading  his  talent!  With  what  eloquent  scorn  he 
holds  up  the  petty  life  as  oberactuarius  in  a  provincial 
city  of  3,000  inhabitants  and  with  600  thalers  salary, 
sitting  from  seven  in  the  morning  till  seven  at  night  in 
the  council-room,  dealing  with  four-groschen  lawsuits, 
with  convicts  and  scoundrels !  Even  the  title  of  nobility, 
and  the  much-coveted  "von"  would  not  repay  those 
years  of  service  to  a  false  ideal. 

Yet  when  he  had  turned  his  back  on  beautiful  Heidel- 
berg, ready  for  a  three-years7  devotion  to  his  art,  to  win 
his  spurs,  and  already  dreaming  of  a  career  as  a  virtuoso, 
with  America  as  one  goal,  and  an  English  wife  as  another, 
he  writes  his  dearest  mother  that  his  "  heart  is  as  dead 
and  barren  as  the  future." 

After  he  was  comfortably  settled  —  in  an  idyllic  and 
simple  fashion  —  in  Leipzig,  he  once  more  began  to  lack 
money.  On  the  sixteenth  of  November  he  wrote  his 
mother :  "  For  two  weeks  I  have  not  had  a  shilling.  I 
owe  Wieck  twenty  thalers,  and  Ltihe  thirty,  and  I  am 
actually  living  like  a  dog."  His  hair  was  "a  yard  long," 
yet  he  could  not  get  it  cut,  and  for  a  fortnight  he  had 
been  obliged  to  wear  white  cravats,  his  black  ones  were 
so  shabby.  His  piano  is  horribly  out  of  tune.  He  can't 
even  shoot  himself,  because  he  has  no  money  or  pistols. 
Still  in  all  his  mock  despair  he  assures  his  mother  that 
her  fear  lest  a  good  tree  may  bear  bad  fruit  will  not 
be  justified. 


SCHUMANN.  387 

Schumann  took  lodgings  near  Wieck's  house,  and 
began  at  the  very  beginning,  although  he  could  read  any 
concerto  at  sight.  But  he  was  so  anxious  to  get  ahead 
that  he  secretly  practised  for  hours,  fastening  the  third 
finger  of  his  right  hand  in  a  strained  position,  hoping 
thereby  to  give  it  equal  strength  with  the  others,  and 
thus  equal  if  not  surpass  Moscheles.  This,  says  Am- 
bros,  was  a  good  illustration  of  the  saying  that  a  man  is 
liable  to  break  his  neck  if  he  jumps  through  a  window 
in  order  to  get  down  stairs  quicker  than  by  descending 
the  stairway. 

In  the  summer  of  1831,  perhaps  owing  to  what  he 
calls  his  "painful,  almost  childish,  fear  of  cholera,"  — 
he  even  made  his  will,  —  Schumann  thought  of  going  to 
Weimar  to  take  lessons  of  Hummel.  But  the  plan  was 
given  up.  Was  it  because  of  the  slight  lameness  which 
he  began  to  feel  in  his  hand  ?  Perhaps. 

Two  years  later  he  wrote  his  friend  Dr.  Topken  that 
he  is  playing  the  piano  but  little,  having  injured  and 
crippled  one  of  the  fingers  of  his  right  hand.  The  injury 
began,  he  says,  by  being  insignificant,  but  through 
neglect  it  grew  worse,  so  as  to  make  it  almost  impossible 
to  play  at  all.  Yet  he  was  resigned,  and  even  considered 
it  providential. 

It  was.  It  turned  his  activity  into  two  channels, 
both  of  incomparable  influence:  composition  and  crit- 
icism. 

Composition  he  had  already  attempted,  though  he 
knew  not  the  laws  of  the  science :  at  Leipzig  a  number 
of  songs  full  of  queer  indiscretions,  but  also  of  soul  and 
poetic  feeling.  At  Mannheim  he  had  met  a  young  girl 
named  Meta  Abegg  at  a  masked  ball ;  and  on  the  letters 
a,  6,  e,  g,  g,  he  wrote  a  set  of  variations  afterwards  printed 


388  SCHUMANN. 

as  Op.  1,  and  dedicated  to  a  Countess  Pauline  Abegg,  who 
existed  only  in  his  imagination. 

This  trifle  formed  a  part  of  his  "Papillons"  ("Butter- 
flies ")  which  appeared  in  Leipzig  in  1831.  "  In  a  short 
time/,'  he  wrote  his  mother,  "  I  shall  be  the  father  of  a 
healthy,  blooming  child,  which  I  should  like  to  have 
baptized  in  Leipzig.  .  .  .  Heaven  grant  that  you  may 
understand  it  with  its  earliest  tones  of  youth,  of  living 
life ! "  They  were  directly  inspired  by  Jean  Paul's 
"  Hegeljahre"  as  he  writes  to  his  friend  Kellstab  in 
Berlin :  after  reading  the  last  scene  in  the  work,  as  he 
called  up  before  his  mind  Walt  and  Wult — and  the 
masks  —  and  the  dances,  he  sat  almost  unconscious  at 
the  piano,  "and  so  arose  one  Papillon  after  another." 

He  studied  harmony  with  Friedrich  Dorn,  conductor 
of  the  Leipzig  opera;  but  systematic  application  was 
contrary  to  his  nature,  and  years  later,  when  he  had 
begun  to  feel  the  need  of  more  thorough  knowledge,  a 
caller  found  Schumann  and  his  wife  poring  over  a  manual 
of  counterpoint.  Schumann  was  always  grateful  to  Dorn 
for  his  instruction,  and  speaks  of  him  as  the  man  who 
first  helped  him  to  the  heights  where  he  might  see  less 
of  the  common  herd  of  men,  and  drink  in  more  of  the 
pure  atmosphere  of  Art. 

Schumann  spent  the  winter  of  1832  at  Zwickau  and 
Schneeberg  writing  his  first  symphony  in  G-minor.  It 
was  never  published,  but  one  movement  was  played 
at  Zwickau  at  a  concert  in  which  Clara  Schumann,  a 
wonder  child,  took  part.  Schumann  says  her  playing 
was  so  marvellous  that  Zwickau  was  fired  to  enthusiasm 
for  the  first  time  in  its  existence. 

In  March,  1833,  he  returned  to  Leipzig,  where  he  lived 
in  quiet  though  easy  circumstances  —  a  happy  type  of 


SCHUMANN.  389 

"  the  free  lance  "  in  music,  working  as  he  pleased,  and 
surrounded  by  gifted  friends,  whose  stimulus  made  him 
eager  to  do  something  great. 

Between  him  and  the  charming  Frau  Henriette  Voigt, 
there  was  a  noble  platonic  friendship  which  was  inter- 
rupted only  by  the  early  death  of  the  latter.  He  wrote 
to  his  mother  in  the  following  summer,  of  "  two  splendid 
female  beings  "  who  had  come  into  their  circle,  —  Emily, 
the  sixteen-year-old  daughter  of  the  American  Consul, 
"an  Englishwoman  through  and  through,  with  keen, 
sparkling  eyes,  dark  hair,  firm  step,  full  of  spirit,  dig- 
nity, and  life  ;  "  the  other,  Ernestine,  the  adopted  daugh- 
ter "  of  a  rich  Bohemian,  Baron  von  Fricken,  her  mother 
a  Countess  Zeltwitz  —  a  gloriously  pure,  childlike  nature, 
tender  and  thoughtful,  with  the  most  intense  love  for 
me  and  everything  artistic,  extraordinarily  musical." 
He  whispers  into  her  motherly  and  sympathetic  ear  that 
if  he  could  choose  he  would  make  this  young  woman  his 
wife.  They  became  engaged,  but  the  engagement  was 
broken  in  the  summer  of  1835.  She  came  from  the  little 
town  of  Asch,  which  he  celebrated  in  music  with  a  theme 
made  up  of  the  letters  composing  it,  and  mystically  hidden 
in  his  own  name.1 

At  Poppe's  restaurant,  Kaffeebaum,  gathered  every 
evening  a  coterie  of  young  men,  and  Schumann  fre- 
quently joined  them,  though  he  was  apt  to  sit  silent  and 
pensive,  dreaming  his  "  Jean-Pauliads." 

He  wrote  Clara  Wieck :  "  I  am  often  very  leathery, 
dry,  and  disagreeable,  and  laugh  much  inwardly."  And 

1  A-es-c-h:  Esin  German  corresponds  with  E-flat;  h  for  B-flat.  "I  have 
just  discovered  that  the  town  of  Asch  has  a  very  musical  name,  and  that  the 
same  letters  are  found  in  my  name,  indeed,  are  the  only  musical  ones  in 
it,"  he  writes  in  a  letter  dated  September  13,  1834,  and  signed  "  Robert 
SCHumAnn." 


390  SCHUMANN. 

again,  speaking  of  his  tendency  to  seclusion,  he  says  : 
"Inwardly  I  acknowledge  even  the  most  trifling  favor, 
understand  every  hint,  every  subtle  trait  in  another's 
heart,  and  yet  I  so  often  blunder  in  what  I  say  and  do." 
Those  who  knew  him  best  were  satisfied  with  "  his  radi- 
ant expression,  and  his  speechless  glance "  when  he 
approved  of  what  was  said. 

Among  these  congenial  spirits  originated,  at  Schu- 
mann's suggestion,  the  musical  journal  which  was  to 
lead  the  revolt  of  genius  against  traditions,  and  be  the 
protest  of  youth  in  favor  of  greatei  freedom,  of  new 
things.  The  year  1834  saw  the  establishment  of  the 
New  Journal  of  Music  ("  Neue  Zeitschrift  fur  Musik  "), 
which  at  first  was  edited  by  Friedrich  Wieck,  Ludwig 
Schunke,  Julius  Knorr,  and  Schumann,  but  afterwards 
by  Schumann  alone.  The  various  contributors  employed 
various  signatures,  Schumann  taking  for  his,  either  the 
figure  2  and  combinations  of  it,  or  Florestan,  Eusebius, 
Meister  Raro,  Jeanquiritj  according  as  he  wished  to 
criticise  from  different  points  of  view,  the  impulsive 
and  imaginative,  the  gentle  and  sensitive,  the  light  and 
humorous.  These  imaginary  characters  formed  a  revo- 
lutionary band,  conspiring  to  fight  Philistinism  in  all 
its  forms.  Schumann  introduces  them  into  his  music ; 
makes  them  figure  in  his  carnival  scenes.  We  have  a 
march  of  the  Davidsbundler  against  the  Philistines. 

Schumann  certainly  revolutionized  the  science  of  criti- 
cism, and  the  influence  of  the  new  journal,  started  at  a 
time  when  both  music  and  musical  journalism  were  at 
a  low  tide,  can  never  be  over-estimated. 

Schumann  once  declared  that  if  he  had  not  been 
feared  as  an  editor,  he  would  not  have  been  able  to  find 
a  publisher  for  his  works.  They  were  not  generally 


SCHUMANN.  391 

understood  by  his  contemporaries ;  they  were  considered 
dry,  eccentric,  heavy,  out  of  rule.  Spohr,  who  could 
not  comprehend  Beethoven,  found  in  Schumann's  works 
"a  want  of  euphony  and  melodious  breadth  of  har- 
mony ! "  But  still  he  composed,  with  his  eyes  fixed  not 
on  present  popularity,  but  on  his  ideal.  Not  until  he 
published  his  lovely  "  Kinderscenen  "  was  he  appreciated 
by  the  general  public. 

Meantime  Leipzig  was  blossoming  out  as  the  most 
musical  city  in  Germany.  Mendelssohn  came  there  in 
1835.  On  the  evening  after  the  first  Gewandhaus 
concert,  Wieck  gave  the  new  conductor  a  reception. 
Mendelssohn  and  Schumann  met  for  the  first  time. 
The  next  day  they  dined  together,  and  in  the  afternoon 
at  six,  Moscheles,  Clara  Wieck,  and  a  pianist  from 
Bremen  played  Bach's  concerto  for  three  pianos,  Men- 
delssohn furnishing  the  orchestral  parts  on  a  fourth. 
"  It  was  splendid,"  wrote  Schumann. 

Mendelssohn  apparently  influenced  Schumann  in  the 
direction  of  greater  perfection  of  form.  They  met  fre- 
quently, though  Schumann  was  such  a  recluse.  He  liked 
Mendelssohn  better  than  Mendelssohn  liked  him,  as  was 
natural,  considering  their  opposite  polarities.  "Men- 
delssohn," said  he,  "is  a  glorious  fellow,  a  diamond 
right  from  heaven ! "  In  another  letter  he  calls  him 
"  a  high  mountain,  a  perfect  god !  " 

Among  the  other  brilliant  lights  who  shone  then  were 
Chopin  and  Hiller,  Gade  and  Henselt. 

Clara  Wieck  had  grown  into  a  woman.  Schumann, 
whose  warm  heart  had  been  set  to  beating  by  the  lan- 
guishing eyes  of  dark-haired  Italians,  by  intellectual 
English  girls,  and  the  pretty  maidens  of  the  Rhine,  found 
in  her  at  last  his  truest  ideal.  Years  before  she  had  been 


392  SCHUMANN. 

perfection.  He  wrote  her,  in  1832 :  "  I  think  of  you  not 
as  a  brother  of  a  sister,  or  as  a  friend  of  his  friend,  but 
perhaps  somewhat  as  a  pilgrim  thinks  of  the  far-off 
altar-picture."  And  after  asking  her  how  apples  tasted 
in  Frankfurt,  he  closed  with  the  words:  "My  paper 
comes  to  an  end.  Everything  comes  to  an  end  except 
friendship." 

She  had  become  the  greatest  pianist  in  Germany.  She 
played  Bach,  Chopin,  Beethoven,  and  it  was  said  of  her, 
"She  came,  she  played,  and  she  conquered."  No  one 
could  resist  the  poetry  of  "this  tender,  noble  appari- 
tion." Schumann  said  Schubert,  Paganini,  Chopin,  and 
now  Clara,  were  examples  of  those  brilliant  flashes  of 
lightning  which  make  the  world,  that  herd  of  cattle,  look 
up  from  its  tranquil  grazing. 

Schumann  loved  her.  But  her  father,  who  Schumann 
said  was  a  man  of  honor,  but  with  a  screw  loose,  refused 
to  hear  of  their  marriage.  He  even  forbade  any  sort 
of  intercourse,  "on  pain  of  death."  He  carried  Clara 
off,  and  Schumann  for  a  time  did  not  even  know 
where  she  was.  At  one  time  Wieck  called  him  phlegm- 
atic !  —  "  Carnaval,  and  phlegmatic  ! "  wrote  Schumann ; 
"  E-sharp  minor  sonata,  and  phlegmatic !  Love  for 
such  a  maiden,  and  phlegmatic  ! "  —  Then  he  slightingly 
asks  where  is  his  "  Don  Juan "  and  his  "  Freischutz "  ? 
Then  he  scornfully  remarks  that  the  public  will  not 
buy  his  compositions.  But  the  "  Kinderscenen "  had 
already  appeared.  And  what  promise  there  was  in  that 
marvellous  "  Toccata  "  (Op.  7),  which  is  a  prophecy  of  so 
much, — of  all ! 

In  1838  Schumann,  hoping  to  place  his  journal  on  a 
better  paying  basis,  transferred  it  to  Vienna.  But  he 
found  Vienna  had  lost  its  prestige  as  a  musical  centre. 


SCHUMANN.  393 

No  one  then  seemed  able  to  appreciate  Jean  Paul  and 
Shakspere.  The  police  authorities  interfered  with  his 
work,  and  required  him  to  have  an  Austrian  editor.  The 
struggle  was  in  vain.  Vienna  cakes  and  the  chorus  in 
the  Karnthnerthor  Theatre  helped  to  console  him,  but  in 
April  of  the  following  year  he  returned  to  Leipzig,  and 
in  revenge  placed  the  "Marseillaise"  in  his  Carnival 
Scene  *  from  Vienna. 

Wieck  was  still  strong  in  his  opposition.  But,  as 
Clara  reciprocated  his  love,  Schumann  had  recourse  to 
law.  The  father's  objections  were  overruled,  and  on 
September  12,  1840,  Schumann,  who,  at  his  own  request, 
had  been  made  Doctor  of  Philosophy  by  the  University, 
was  married  to  Clara  Wieck  at  the  church  of  Schonfeld. 
Rtickert  wrote  them  a  congratulatory  poem. 

Schumann  felt  justified  at  this  step.  He  wrote,  in  the 
following  February :  "  We  are  young,  we  have  our  fingers, 
power,  reputation.  I  have,  moreover,  a  modest  property 
which  brings  me  three  hundred  thalers  a  year;  the 
profits  of  the  Journal  are  almost  as  much,  and  my  com- 
positions are  well  paid  for." 

Yet  the  annoyances  of  the  experience  were  exceed- 
ingly trying  to  a  man  of  Schumann's  temperament.  He 
himself  acknowledged  that  his  concerto,  his  "  Davids- 
bundler  "  dances,  the  E-minor  sonata,  the  "  Kreisleriana" 
and  the  "  Noveletten"  particularly  betray  the  struggle 
that  his  Clara  had  cost  him. 

Hitherto,  with  the  exception  of  the  E-minor  sym- 
phony, his  works  had  been  written  exclusively  for  the 
piano.  Now,  under  the  inspiration  of  love,  came  up- 
wards of  one  hundred  songs  in  one  yearj  and  what 
gems  most  of  them  are  ! 

1  '•  Faschingsschwank  aus  Wien." 


394  SCHUMANN. 

Nearly  all  of  his  great  works  date  during  the  five 
years  that  followed  his  marriage :  in  1841,  three  sym- 
phonies ;  in  1842,  mostly  chamber  music  —  three  string 
quartets  in  a  month,  at  the  rate  of  one  movement  a  day. 
The  same  year  he  wrote  his  quintet  for  piano  and  strings, 
which  was  first  played  on  January  8,  1843,  Madame 
Schumann  at  the  piano.  Berlioz  was  present,  and  took 
the  fame  of  it  to  Paris. 

In  1843  Mendelssohn  established  the  Conservatory  at 
Leipzig,  and  Schumann  was  appointed  instructor  in  com- 
position and  part-playing.  He  had,  however,  little  ability 
as  a  teacher. 

The  next  year  he  accompanied  Madame  Schumann  to 
Russia.  The  imperial  family  and  many  of  the  nobility 
were  kind  to  them,  and  all  the  musicians  were  friendly. 
The  Grand  Princess  Helena,  whom  they  visited  at  Tsar- 
skoye  Selo,  "  treated  them  as  she  had  never  treated  artists 
before."  She  was  anxious  to  keep  them  there.  Schu- 
mann found  an  older  brother  of  his  mother's  living  in 
Tver,  and  enjoyed  the  unexpected  meeting.  It  is  pleas- 
ant to  read  that  complete  reconciliation  with  "  the  old 
man  "  had  at  last  taken  place,  and  many  of  the  details 
of  their  Russian  visit  are  to  be  found  in  their  letters  to 
their  "  dear  papa."  Schumann  forgave,  if  he  never  for- 
got, the  cruel  acts  of  his  father-in-law. 

After  Mendelssohn  was  called  to  Berlin,  Schumann, 
who  had  resigned  his  editorship,  settled  in  Dresden,  the 
change  being  necessitated  by  his  ill-health.  He  wrote 
Mendelssohn,  in  July,  1845,  that  he  had  been  having  an 
awful  winter :  "  absolute  nervous  prostration,  accom- 
panied by  a  swarm  of  terrible  thoughts,  nearly  drove 
him  to  despair."  Insomnia,  a  horror  of  death,  a  dislike 
of  metal  tools,  a  fear  of  being  poisoned,  tormented  him. 


SCHUMANN.  395 

The  doctor  forbade  his  hearing  music.  And  Dresden 
was  much  more  quiet  than  Leipzig.  Here  he  had  pleas- 
ant acquaintances,  also,  among  them  being  the  young 
Wagner,  then  kapellmeister,  hot-headed  and  ready  for 
any  kind  of  revolution. 

The  following  year  he  was  much  better;  "the  rosy 
glow  "  which  he  had  begun  to  feel  as  a  promise  of  re- 
newed strength  had  brought  its  sunrise,  and  he  com- 
posed his  second  symphony,  the  drums  and  trumpets  of 
which  had  been  throbbing  and  blaring  in  his  head  tre- 
mendously, as  he  writes. 

Encouraged  by  the  great  success  which  his  cantata 
"  Paradise  and  the  Peri "  *  had  won  in  the  Leipzig  con- 
certs of  December,  1843,  he  took  up  the  composition  of 
an  opera  entitled  "  Genoveva,"  which  was  completed  in 
1848.  When,  after  long  delays  caused  by  intrigue,  this 
was  produced  in  Leipzig  in  June,  1850,  it  fell  unappre- 
ciated. In  spite  of  its  exquisite  music,  it  was  regarded 
as  too  monotonous,  colorless,  as  over-sentimental  and  un- 
dramatic.  After  three  performances  it  was  shelved. 

The  same  year  he  was  called  to  Dusseldorf  as  "  city 
music  director,"  with  the  duty  of  conducting  an  orches- 
tra and  a  vocal  society.  He  believed  in  his  own  power 
as  a  director,  but  he,  like  Beethoven,  really  lacked  the 
ability.  He  was  nervous,  and  sometimes  oblivious  of 
what  he  was  doing.  If  at  rehearsal  a  piece  went  wrong, 
he  would  never  think  to  stop  and  correct  it,  but  would 
try  the  whole  over  and  over,  to  the  annoyance  of  the 
performers. 

1  In  June  he  wrote  to  a  friend  that  during  the  past  ten  days  he  had  been 
putting  on  paper  many  hundred  thousand  notes  and  getting  ready  for  the 
heavenly  journey  by  means  of  a  great  work  —  an  oratorio,  not  for  the  chapel, 
but  for  cheerful  men,  and  that  while  composing  it,  an  inner  voice  seemed  to 
say  to  him  in  sweet  accents :  "  Thou  art  not  writing  in  vain.  This  production 
will  become  immortal." 


396  SCHUMANN. 

This  difficulty  made  his  experience  at  Diisseldorf  very 
trying,  although  he  had  exceptional  opportunity  for 
bringing  out  his  own  works.  In  November,  1853,  the 
committee  requested  him  to  conduct  only  his  own  com- 
positions, and  leave  the  rest  to  Tausch,  the  music  di- 
rector. This  led  to  open  rupture,  and  he  left  Diisseldorf. 

Those  years  had  been  splendidly  prolific :  among  the 
compositions  which  poured  from  his  pen  after  the  com- 
pletion of  "Genoveva,"  was  the  beautiful  "Faust"  music, 
some  of  which  was  performed  at  Dresden,  Leipzig,  and 
Weimar,  on  the  hundredth  anniversary  of  Goethe's  birth, 
Riickert's  "  Advent  Song,"  the  music  to  Byron's  "  Man- 
fred," the  "Wood  Scenes,"  two  symphonies,  the  over- 
tures to  the  "  Bride  of  Messina,"  "  Julius  Caesar,"  and 
"  Hermann  and  Dorothea,"  the  cantata  "  The  Pilgrimage 
of  the  Kose,"  his  Mass  and  Requiem,  and  an  immense 
number  of  songs  and  instrumental  compositions.  Many 
of  them  were  written  in  most  untoward  circumstances,  — 
in  the  nursery,  surrounded  by  his  children,  in  a  noisy 
restaurant,  sitting  in  a  corner,  face  to  the  wall,  oblivious 
of  all  things. 

The  following  winter  Schumann  and  his  wife  under- 
took an  artistic  tour  through  Holland,  which,  as  he  says, 
was  "  accompanied  by  good  geniuses  from  beginning  to 
end."  He  was  surprised  and  delighted  to  find  that  his 
music  was  so  thoroughly  appreciated  there,  "almost  more 
at  home  than  it  was  in  the  Fatherland."  Still  even  the 
Fatherland  treated  him  well,  for  only  a  year  or  so  before 
he  had  written  that  he  was  accustomed  to  be  misunder- 
stood by  new  acquaintances ;  but  still  he  was  pleased 
to  notice  how  his  music  was  more  and  more  taking  root 
in  Germany  and  also  abroad :  "  I  receive  many  proofs 
of  this," 


SCHUMANN.  397 

In  1854  a  Leipzig  publisher  arranged  with  him  to  bring 
out  his  literary  and  musical  essays  in  four  volumes. 
Schumann  declared  that  he  was  glad  to  find  that  during 
the  twenty  years  since  some  of  them  had  been  written, 
he  had  scarcely  changed  his  opinions  at  all. 

These  essays  contained  most  interesting  estimates  of 
nearly  all  the  composers  and  performers  of  the  epoch. 
Schubert,  "  that  sweet,  pale  youth  round  whose  lips  ever 
plays  an  expression  of  approaching  death ; "  Bach,  who 
"  was  neither  ancient  nor  modern,  but  much  more  —  eter- 
nal ; "  Brahms,  the  "  John  who  was  destined  to  come  .  .  . 
and  to  express  the  highest  ideal  utterance  of  our  time," 
and  hundreds  of  others.  It  was  a  many-sided  criti- 
cism, a  genial  recognition  of  genius,  a  friendly  warn- 
ing, a  trumpet-blast  against  un worthiness ;  the  out- 
pouring of  a  nature  above  pettiness,  generous  and 
sympathetic. 

It  was  true  in  more  senses  than  one  that  "  Florestan," 
the  impulsive  critic,  kept  vases  full  of  flowers  instead  of 
candles  on  his  piano,  especially  when  a  woman's  compo- 
sition was  to  be  tried  for  the  first  time  ! 

Many  of  Schumann's  criticisms  have  become  the  apho- 
risms of  music.  Many  are  treasured  for  their  flashing 
keenness  and  their  wit,  as  when  he  speaks  of  "the 
length,  the  heavenly  length,  like  a  romance  in  four 
volumes,"  —  of  a  Schubert  symphony. 

When  Schumann  first  thought  of  going  to  Diisseldorf, 
he  looked  up  the  place  in  a  geography-book,  and  found 
that  it  had  three  convents  and  a  mad-house.  "  I  have  no 
objection  to  the  former,"  he  wrote,  "but  it  made  me 
rather  uncomfortable  to  read  about  the  latter.  ...  I 
have  to  be  careful  in  guarding  against  all  melancholy 
impressions." 


398  SCHUMANN. 

The  lunatic  asylum,  more  than  once  and  more  than 
twice,  loomed  up  as  a  part  of  the  landscape.  It  was  his 
doom. 

The  nervous  disorders,  which  his  passion  for  strong 
cigars  undoubtedly  aggravated,  began  to  grow  worse. 
He  imagined  that  he  heard  persistent  tones  ringing  in 
his  ears.  Sometimes  he  heard  whole  pieces.  Mendels- 
sohn and  Schubert,  who  had  been,  with  Bach,  his  guiding 
lights,  seemed  to  come  to  him  and  hold  communion  with 
him. 

One  night  he  got  out  of  bed  to  write  down  a  theme 
that  they  gave  him.  His  variations  on  this  were  his  last 
work. 

In  February,  1854,  he  attempted  to  commit  suicide  by 
throwing  himself  into  the  same  Rhine  where  Mendels- 
sohn so  narrowly  escaped  drowning.  He  also  was  rescued 
by  the  boatmen. 

After  this,  he  was  confined  in  a  private  asylum  near 
Bonn.  He  had  lucid  intervals ;  he  corresponded  with 
his  friends,  and  received  visits  from  them ;  he  played 
and  even  composed,  but  it  was  a  sad  ending  of  an  eagle's 
flight. 

He  died  on  July  29,  1856.  A  monument  was  erected 
over  his  grave  in  1880,  but  he  needed  no  other  monu- 
ment than  his  mighty  works. 

"  Thou  didst  rule  with  a  golden  sceptre  over  a  splendid  world 
of  tones,  and  thou  didst  work  therein  with  power  and  freedom. 
And  many  of  the  best  gathered  round  thee,  intrusted  them- 
selves to  thee,  inspired  thee  with  their  inspiration,  and  rewarded 
thee  with  their  deep  affection.  And  what  a  love  adorned  thy 
life!  A  wife,  gifted  with  a  radiant  crown  of  genius,  stood  at 
thy  side,  and  thou  wert  to  her  as  the  father  to  daughter,  as  bride- 
groom to  bride,  and  as  master  to  disciple,  and  as  saint  to  the 
elect.  And  when  she  could  iiol  be  with  thee  and  remove  every  stone 


SCHUMANN.  399 

from  before  thy  feet,  then  didst  thou  feel,  in  the  midst  of  dreams 
and  sorrows,  her  protecting  hand  from  the  distance ;  and  when  the 
Angel  of  Death  had  pity  on  thee,  and  drew  nigh  to  thy  anguished 
soul,  in  order  to  help  it  again  toward  light  and  freedom,  in  thy  last 
hours  thy  glance  met  hers  ;  and  reading  the  love  in  her  eyes,  thy 
weary  spirit  fled." 

Thus  cried  his  friend  Hiller,  inconsolable  at  his  loss. 


FREDERIC  FRANCOIS  CHOPIN. 

(1809-1849.) 


"  TTATS  off,  gentlemen !  a  genius ! " 

-LJL  With  those  words  Robert  Schumann,  in  his 
character  of  Eusebius  the  mild  and  dreamy,  the  gentle 
and  sentimental,  welcomed  the  young  Polish  composer, 
Frederic  Chopin,  sixty  years  ago. 

Julius  Knorr,  the  pianist,  who  describes  the  conversa- 
tion between  the  "  Davidsbundler"  —  "  the  hosts  of 
David,"  —  replies  — 

"  Chopin  ?  I  have  never  heard  the  name  before  — 
who  may  he  be  ?  Yet  still  he's  a  genius." 

And  "  heated  with  wine,  Chopin,  and  much  discussion," 
the  imaginary  army  go  to  see  "  Meister  Raro,"  who  is 
Schumann  again  as  umpire,  cool  and  critical  between  his 
own  contrary  and  conflicting  natures. 

"  Meister  Raro "  laughed  much,  and  showed  small 
curiosity  over  the  new  work. 

"I  know  you  and  your  new-fangled  enthusiasm,"  he 
cries,  "  but  let  me  see  your  Chopin  once." 

Henceforth  "  Eusebius,"  "  Florestan,"  and  "  Meister 
Raro,"  that  trinity  of  critics,  all  are  one  in  their  admira- 
tion of  Chopin,  the  first  of  the  generous  youth  "  to  scale 
the  wall  and  fall  upon  the  sleeping  Philistines,"  and 
whip  them  hip  and  thigh,  in  that  memorable  uprising  of 
Art  which  dates  from  1830. 

400 


CHOPIN. 
After  the  painting  by  Ary  Scheffer. 


FR£D£RIC  FRANCOIS  CHOPIN.  401 

"  He  came  not,"  says  Schumann,  "  with  an  orchestral 
army,  as  great  geniuses  are  wont  to  come.  He  pos- 
sesses only  a  little  cohort,  but  it  belongs  to  him  wholly 
and  entirely,  even  to  the  last  hero." 

In  the  middle  of  the  last  century  a  former  King  l  of 
Poland  was  Duke  of  Lorraine,  and  held  court  at  Nancy. 
Naturally,  many  Poles  settled  or  visited  there,  and 
through  the  friendships  or  acquaintances  thus  formed 
there  would  be  Frenchmen  going  to  Poland  for  profit 
or  pleasure. 

A  Frenchman  from  Nancy  had  started  as  a  tobacconist 
at  Warsaw.  The  demand  for  his  snuff  became  so  great 
that  he  was  obliged  to  have  an  assistant.  About  1787 
he  engaged  a  youth  of  seventeen,  named  Nicolas  Chopin, 
to  come  to  Warsaw  and  keep  his  books  for  him. 

There  is  a  mystery  about  this  Nicolas  Chopin.  All 
that  is  known  about  his  early  years  is  the  date  of  his 
birth  at  Nancy.  Whether  his  father  was  a  Polish  sol- 
dier named  Szop,  or  a  nameless  Polish  nobleman,  or  a 
French  refugee  named  Chopin  or  Choppin,  cannot  be  told. 

When  he  reached  Warsaw,  he  found  that  lively  and 
picturesque  capital  in  a  ferment.  Political  hopes  were 
beginning  to  rise,  bright  and  enticing,  before  the  eyes  of 
the  naturally  light-hearted  Poles.  The  Diet  soon  assem- 
bled, and  after  many  stormy  sessions  passed  the  famous 
constitution  of  the  third  of  May  (1791),  which  promised 
to  restore  to  the  country  her  former  greatness,  —  "  the 
golden  age  of  Poland." 

But  the  Poles  reckoned  without  their  host. 

It  was  a  mirage. 

First  came  commercial  ruin  caused  by  the  uncertainty. 

1  Stanislas  Leszczynski  (pronounced  Les-chin-skee). 


402  FR£D£RIC  FRANCOIS  CHOPIN. 

There  was  greater  demand  for  gunpowder  than  for  snuff; 
the  Frenchman's  tobacco  factory  was  closed. 

Then  came  the  national  rising  under  Kosciuszko. 

Nicolas  Chopin  joined  the  national  guard  and  became 
captain.  On  the  fifth  of  November  he  was  on  guard  at 
Praga,  and  was  relieved  only  a  few  hours  before  the 
Russians,  under  the  cruel  Suvarof,  entered  and  massa- 
cred all  the  inhabitants  —  men,  women,  and  children,  to 
the  number  of  ten  thousand. 

"  Poland,  by  the  Northern  condor's  beak 
And  talons  torn,  lay  prostrated  again." 

This  narrow  escape  turned  his  thoughts  to  his  former 
home,  but  a  severe  illness  prevented  him,  and  on  his 
recovery  he  maintained  himself  by  giving  French  lessons. 
He  was  engaged  as  resident  tutor  in  a  wealthy  family, 
one  of  his  pupils  being  afterwards  the  mother  of  Count 
Walewski,  minister  to  his  father's  nephew,  Napoleon  III. 

In  1806,  while  tutor  to  the  young  Count  Fryderyk 
Skarbek,  at  a  manor-house  about  twenty-eight  miles  from 
Warsaw,  he  married  a  Polish  lady,1  whose  name  was 
longer  than  her  fortune,  but  whose  character  was  admira- 
ble in  every  respect.  They  lived  for  a  few  years  in  a 
humble  little  cottage  belonging  to  the  Skarbek  estate, 
and  here,  on  the  first  of  March,  1809,  was  born  their 
only  son. 

Warsaw,  meantime,  had  been  erected  into  a  Grand 
Duchy,  and  Nicolas  Chopin  was  appointed  professor  of 
French  at  the  newly  founded  Lyceum.  From  this  time 
forth,  and  with  the  improving  condition  of  the  country, 
the  Chopins  were  in  easy  circumstances. 

i  Justina  Krzyzanowska.  The  village  where  they  lived  at  first,  and  where 
Fre\le>ic  Chopin  was  born,  is  Zelazowawola. 


FE£D£RIC  FRANCOIS  CHOPIN.  403 

Nicolas  Chopin  was  a  man  of  blameless  life  and  excel- 
lent abilities.  He  held  various  positions  of  trust,  and 
counted  among  his  friends  many  men  of  distinction. 
His  wife,  says  Karasowski,  "was  peculiarly  tender- 
hearted, and  rich  in  true  womanly  virtues."  She  was 
free  from  pride,  and  "  considered  the  quiet  of  home  life 
the  greatest  of  blessings." 

In  her  old  age,  after  the  sorrows  which  came  upon  her 
in  the  death  of  her  youngest  daughter,  of  her  husband, 
of  her  son,  and  of  her  oldest  daughter,  she  was  described 
as  "  a  neat,  quiet,  intelligent  old  lady,"  of  still  remarka- 
ble activity.  Her  son  called  her  "  the  best  of  mothers." 

Frederic  was  of  rarely  sensitive  nature.  All  that  is 
known  of  his  early  childhood  is  the  fact  that  he  could 
not  hear  music  without  sobbing  violently.  His  first  and 
only  piano  teacher  was  the  Bohemian  Adalbert  Zywny, 
and  his  progress  was  so  rapid  that  at  eight  he  played 
before  a  numerous  company,  and  was  regarded  as  a 
second  Mozart. 

When  he  was  nine  he  was  invited  to  take  part  in  a 
public  charity  concert  organized  by  a  number  of  influ- 
ential citizens.  The  invitation  was  given  personally  by 
Poland's  greatest  poet.1  After  the  concert,  which  took 
place  in  February,  1818,  his  mother  asked  him  what  the 
public  liked  best.  The  lad,  who  was  of  course  arrayed 
in  all  the  bravery  of  the  Polish  national  costume,  replied, 
"  Oh,  mamma,  everybody  was  looking  at  my  collar !  " 

Nearly  two  years  later  Madame  Catalani  gave  four 
concerts  in  the  Warsaw  city  hall.  She  expressed  a  wish 
to  meet  Frederic  Chopin,  of  whose  precocious  genius  so 
much  was  said.  She  was  so  delighted  with  him  that 
she  gave  him  a  watch  with  an  inscription  in  French. 

1  Ursin  Niemciewicz  (pronounced  Nee-em.tsee.a-vitch). 


404  FR£D£RIC  FRANCOIS  CHOPIN. 

About  this  same  time  he  composed  a  march  which  he 
dedicated  to  the  Grand  Duke,  or,  more  correctly,  Grand 
Prince  Konstantin  of  Russia,  who  had  renounced  all 
right  to  the  throne,  and  married  a  beautiful  Polish  lady 
—  "  the  guardian  angel  of  Poland."  The  Grand  Duke 
had  the  piece  scored  for  a  military  band,  and  played 
on  parade. 

Oftentimes  a  handsome  carriage,  drawn  by  four  fine 
horses  harnessed  abreast,  drove  up  to  the  Chopins' 
house,  bringing  Frederic's  young  friend  Paul,  the  Grand 
Duke's  son,  or  adopted  son,  with  his  tutor,  the  Count  de 
Moriolles.  The  two  boys  were  about  the  same  age  and 
were  great  friends. 

Among  the  aristocratic  families  of  the  Polish  mag- 
nates, whose  extravagance  and  pride  were  proverbial, 
young  Chopin  found  a  warm  support.  He  was  invited 
to  the  houses  of  many  princes  and  counts,  whose  long 
and  unpronounceable  names  star  the  history  of  Poland. 
There  he  got  an  insight  into  that  wonderful  elegance 
and  refinement  which  characterized  the  Poles.  This 
high  society  had  a  strong  influence  on  his  tastes  and 
character.  As  he  grew  older,  he  spent  many  summers 
at  the  country  estates  of  friendly  families  who  had  sons 
of  his  own  age. 

But  his  father,  who  kept  a  sort  of  boarding-school  for 
boys,  was  too  wise  to  let  him  fritter  away  his  time.  He 
recognized  his  genius,  but  knew  that  something  besides 
music  was  necessary ;  so  he  fitted  him  for  the  Warsaw 
Lyceum. 

Zywny,  though  not  himself  the  best  pianist  at  War- 
saw, was  a  wise  and  admirable  teacher.  His  great 
hobby  was  Bach,  and  thus  Chopin  had  for  a  foundation 
this  corner-stone  of  classic  pianism.  The  "  well-tern- 


FR£D£RIC  FRANCOIS  CHOPIN.  405 

pered  clavichord"  was  his  daily  bread.  Afterwards, 
when  about  to  give  a  concert,  instead  of  practising  his 
own  compositions,  he  would  shut  himself  up  for  a  fort- 
night and  play  his  Bach. 

He  was  equally  fortunate  in  his  master  in  composi- 
tion. This  was  Joseph  Xaver  Eisner,  a  native  of 
Silesia,  who,  after  a  busy  and  varied  life,  had  settled  in 
Warsaw,  as  musical  conductor  of  the  theatre.  He 
was  director  of  the  Warsaw  Conservatory  so  long  as  it 
existed,  and  a  man  of  keen  insight  and  fine  ability ;  "  full 
of  nobleness  of  purpose,  learning,  industry,  persever- 
ance." 

He  saw  what  a  genius  Chopin  was,  and  said,  "  Leave 
him  alone ;  he  is  extraordinarily  gifted.  He  does  not 
stick  to  the  traditional  methods,  for  he  has  his  own,  and 
he  will  develop  an  originality  never  before  discovered  in 
such  a  degree." 

Many  teachers  would  have  tried  to  run  his  genius 
into  a  mould.  Then,  after  wasting,  perhaps,  years  of  his 
life  in  the  vain  effort  to  stick  to  the  mould,  he  would 
have  split  it  by  a  sudden  effort,  and  become  unhampered, 
except  so  far  as  pieces  of  the  mould  clung  to  him. 

That  is  what  is  generally  meant  by  a  man's  three 
styles.  He  begins  as  an  imitator.  Then  follows  the 
period  of  the  mould.  Then  the  originality  asserts  itself. 

Chopin  was  original  from  the  beginning.  At  first,  to 
be  sure,  he  was  more  successful  in  evoking  the  tricksy 
spirits  on  the  pianoforte  than  in  catching  them  and  confin- 
ing them  between  the  bars.  Afterwards  this  power  also 
came  to  him.  He  might  have  had  severer  training,  but 
the  world  would  probably  have  lost. 

Eisner  had  the  strength  of  his  insight  to  resist  the 
criticisms  of  people  who  thought  Chopin  should  be 


406  FRJSDtiRIC  FRANCOIS   CHOPIN. 

drilled  in  Himmel  and  Hummel.  "  The  clever  Pan 
Eisner,"  says  a  correspondent  to  Schumann's  journal, 
"  very  clearly  perceived  what  a  poetic  germ  there  was 
in  the  pale  young  dreamer,  and  felt  very  keenly  that  he 
had  under  him  the  founder  of  a  new  epoch  of  piano- 
forte playing,  and  declined  to  put  a  nose-band  upon  him, 
knowing  well  that  such  a  noble  thoroughbred  may,  in- 
deed, be  cautiously  led,  but  must  not  be  trained  and 
fettered  in  the  usual  way." 

Chopin  always  felt  himself  deeply  beholden  to  his  two 
teachers,  especially  to  Eisner,  who  taught  him,  as  Liszt 
says  "  to  be  self-exacting,  and  to  value  the  advantages 
obtainable  only  through  patience  and  hard  work." 

Chopin  had  great  gift  for  improvisation.  It  is  proved 
by  two  anecdotes. 

Once  when  his  father's  assistant  was  not  able  to  keep 
order  in  the  schoolroom,  Frederic  told  the  boys  that  if 
they  would  sit  down  and  keep  quiet,  he  would  impro- 
vise an  interesting  story  for  them.  He  had  the  lights 
put  out  (for  he  always  preferred  darkness  when  impro- 
vising), and  began. 

He  told  how  robbers  were  approaching  the  house,  but 
just  as  they  were  going  to  climb  into  the  windows,  they 
were  frightened  away  by  some  noise.  Instantly,  with 
winged  feet  they  make  for  the  deep,  dark  forest,  and 
there,  under  the  starry  skies,  they  lie  down  and  fall 
asleep. 

He  played  more  and  more-  softly,  and  at  last  found 
that  all  his  audience,  like  the  robbers  themselves,  were 
sound  asleep. 

Then  he  stole  out,  called  in  his  sisters  and  the  ser- 
vants with  lights,  and,  seating  himself  at  the  piano 
again,  played  a  crashing  chord,  which  woke  up  all 


FR£D£RIC  FRANCOIS  CHOPIN.  407 

the  sleeping  robbers,  much,  to  the  amusement  of  every 
one. 

Another  time,  the  summer  before  he  entered  the 
Lyceum,  he  was  visiting  at  a  country  house.1  Some 
Jews  had  come  to  the  village  to  buy  grain.  He  invited 
them  to  his  room,  and  entertained  them  by  playing 
Majufes,  or  wedding  marches.  His  guests  fell  to  dan- 
cing, and  were  so  pleased  that  they  urged  him  to  come 
to  an  approaching  Jewish  wedding;  for,  said  they,  "you 
play  like  a  born  Jew ! " 

In  his  letters  home  he  gives  entertaining  descriptions 
of  life  in  the  country,  especially  of  his  attempts  at 
horseback  riding.  The  flies  bother  him  by  lighting  on 
his  prominent  nose,  and  the  mosquitoes  bite  him  —  for- 
tunately not  on  his  prominent  nose. 

He  was  full  of  good  spirits,  a  capital  mimic,  and  not 
only  acted  well,  but  also  wrote  a  clever  little  play  that 
was  performed  on  his  father's  birthday. 

In  the  early  summer  of  the  year  following,  Chopin 
improvised  in  public  on  a  new-fangled  instrument  called 
an  aelopantaleon  —  a  sort  of  combination  of  aeolomelodi- 
con  and  piano.  When  the  Emperor  Alexander  I.  was  in 
Warsaw  at  the  same  time,  he  expressed  a  desire  to  hear 
the  aeolomelodicon,  which  was  the  invention  of  a  War- 
saw genius.  One  was  set  up  in  the  Lutheran  Church, 
and  Chopin  was  called  upon  to  play  it  and  display  it. 
The  Emperor  was  so  pleased  that  he  rewarded  the  boy 
with  a  diamond  ring. 

This  same  year  was  also  memorable  for  the  publication 
of  his  first  opus  —  a  rondeau  for  the  piano,  dedicated  to 
Mrs.  Linde,  the  wife  of  his  father's  friend  the  Rector, 
Dr.  Linde.  Schumann,  who  got  hold  of  it  later,  charac- 

1  With  the  Dziewanowskis  at  Szafarnla. 


408  FR£D£RIC  FRANCOIS  CHOPIN. 

terized  it  as  "  very  pretty,  very  piquant,  almost  Mosche- 
lesque." 

His  progress  toward  individuality  and  freedom  was 
very  marked  in  his  next  pieces.  As  Schumann  said, 
there  must  have  been  two  years  and  twenty  works  be- 
tween Opus  one  and  two.  They  were  not  published  in 
the  order  of  their  birth. 

In  his  second  rondeau  (a  la  Mazur),  Chopin's  liking 
for  difficult  skips,  and  for  chords  to  be  grasped  only  by 
large  hands,  began  to  manifest  itself.  It  is  said  that  in 
order  to  stretch  his  own  hand,  he  invented  an  apparatus 
to  put  between  his  fingers  and  wear  at  night.  He  was 
more  fortunate  than  Schumann,  for  the  experiment  did 
not  end  in  permanent  lameness. 

During  the  summer  holidays  of  1826,  Chopin,  with 
his  mother  and  sisters,  went  to  Reinerz,  a  famous  water- 
ing-place in  Prussian  Silesia,  to  drink  whey  for  his 
health.  He  had  been  overworking.  He  was  forbidden 
to  climb  the  Heuscheuer  mountain ;  but  in  spite  of  what 
he  calls  his  laziness,  he  gave  a  successful  concert  in 
behalf  of  two  young  children  who  had  been  left  orphans, 
without  money  enough  to  pay  the  funeral  expenses  of 
their  poor  mother  or  to  reach  their  home. 

At  this  time  he  is  described  as  being  a  youth  with 
clear,  finely-cut  features,  high  brow,  thin  lips,  the  lower 
protruding  slightly,  and  an  expression  of  gentle  melan- 
choly. His  health,  though  not  robust,  was  generally 
good. 

From  Eeinerz,  Chopin  went  to  the  summer  residence 
of  his  godmother,1  and  also  visited  Prince  Anton 
Radziwill  at  his  country  seat,  Aiitonin,  which  was  near 

by. 

1  Mrs.  Wiesiolowska  at  Strzyzewo,  sister  of  Count  Fryderyk  Skarbek. 


FP.£D£RIC  FRANCOIS  CHOPIN.  409 

Prince  Radziwill  was  goveruor  of  Posen,  and  nearly 
related  to  the  royal  family  of  Prussia.  He  was  also 
passionately  fond  of  music,  and  composed  very  credit- 
able works  —  for  a  prince.  His  music  to  "  Faust "  was 
performed  at  the  Berlin  Singakademie  only  a  few  years 
ago,  to  considerable  satisfaction.  A  few  years  later, 
when  the  Prince  was  the  representative  of  Prussia  at 
the  coronation  of  Nicholas  at  Warsaw,  he  frequently 
visited  the  Chopins.  The  friendship  between  him  and 
the  delicate,  sensitive  youth  was  very  pleasant. 

In  1827  Chopin  passed  his  examinations,  though  not 
with  flying  colors,  so  much  had  music  absorbed  his  time 
and  energies,  and  graduated  from  the  Lyceum.  It  was 
finally  decided  that  he  should  devote  himself  to  Art, 
and  so  with  great  joy  he  made  his  first  visit  U  Berlin 
in  company  with  a  learned  friend  of  his  father's,  who 
was  going  to  attend  the  Scientific  Congress  there. 

Chopin  was  more  interested  in  musical  celebrities 
than  in  the  zoological  professors  who  gathered  round 
Humboldt.  He  was  too  modest  to  intrude  upon  Men- 
delssohn and  the  other  famous  musicians  who  were  there 
at  the  time,  but  he  heard  some  fine  performances  of 
opera,  and  was  greatly  impressed  by  Handel's  "  Ode  on 
St.  Cecilia's  Day."  His  letters  home  detail  all  his  expe- 
riences, and  give  the  impression  of  a  keen-witted,  rather 
satirical  young  man,  who  finds  a  comedy  in,  not  on,  the 
stage,  who  pokes  fun  at  the  scientists,  —  all  save  Hum- 
boldt,—  and  who  criticises  the  dress  of  the  Berlin 
ladies. 

On  his  return  to  Warsaw,  Chopin  led  a  rather  gay 
life  —  going  to  so  many  parties  that,  as  he  expressed  it, 
he  could  compose  nothing  worthy  either  of  God  or  of 
man.  He  had  a  pleasant  little  nook  in  his  father's 


410  FRfiDfiRIC  FRAN  (JO  IS  CHOPIN. 

house,  where  many  of  the  talented  young  musicians  and 
poets  of  the  city  often  gathered. 

Warsaw,  though  out  of  the  world,  as  it  were,  was  not 
wholly  without  advantages  :  French  and  German  operas 
were  given  at  the  theatres,  and  the  great  Hummel 
played  that  winter  and  had  a  powerful  influence  on 
Chopin's  style.  He  also  heard  Paganini,  and  perhaps 
helped  toward  purchasing  the  gold  snuff-box  which  was 
presented  to  the  uncanny  magician  of  the  violin. 

Next  August  found  Chopin  in  Vienna,  after  a  delight- 
ful journey  with  three  congenial  friends  in  a  private 
carriage,  through  "the  Polish  Switzerland,"  and  "the 
picturesque  regions  of  Galicia,  Upper  Silesia,  and 
Moravia."  His  friends  urged  him  to  give  a  concert,  and 
at  last  he  consented.  It  took  place  at  the  Imperial 
Opera  House  on  the  eleventh  of  the  month.  He  writes 
that  he  was  called  back  several  times,  and  his  "free 
fantasy  "  on  a  Polish  theme  electrified  the  audience,  and 
was  "followed  by  stormy  applause  and  many  recalls." 

The  only  drawback  was  the  grumbling  and  sour  faces 
of  the  orchestra,  at  having  to  read  his  illegible  manu- 
script. 

A  week  later  he  gave  a  second  concert,  which  was 
even  more  successful,  though  he  refused  to  be  paid  for 
his  services  at  either.  He  was  praised  by  all  the 
amateurs  and  favorably  criticised  by  the  press.  Some 
of  the  ultra  Germans  ("  Stockdeutschen ")  thought  he 
played  too  delicately.  This  was  indeed  his  strong  point. 
"  I  know,"  says  he,  "  that  I  have  pleased  the  ladies  and 
the  musicians." 

The  days  and  evenings  of  his  stay  were  fully  occupied 
with  sight-seeing,  music,  and  visits  at  the  houses  of  the 
Vienna  aristocracy,  with  whom  he  instantly  became  a 


FR&D&IUC  FRANCOIS  CHOPIN.  411 

great  favorite.  Musically,  also,  his  visit  was  a  great 
gain  to  him.  He  wrote  home  that  he  already  felt  forty 
years  wiser  and  more  experienced.  His  health  was 
good,  and  he  was  in  capital  spirits.  The  day  before  he 
left  Vienna  he  remarked,  "  My  popularity  is  here  on  the 
crescendo,  and  that  indeed  pleases  me." 

Such  praise  and  compliments  as  he  received  would 
have  intoxicated  a  more  experienced  man.  Neverthe- 
less, he  was  sober  enough  to  write  that  his  finances  were 
in  the  best  of  order. 

After  a  tearful  parting  from  his  new  Vienna  friends, 
Chopin  started  for  Dresden,  stopping  on  the  way  at  the 
famous  old  city  of  Prague,  where  he  enjoyed  "the 
charming  views,  the  majestic  cathedral  with  its  silver 
statue  of  St.  Johannes,  the  beautiful  chapel  of  St. 
Wenzel,  adorned  with  amethysts  and  other  jewels,"  and 
a  visit  to  the  Museum  under  the  personal  direction  of 
the  learned  Waclaw  Hanka,  a  friend  of  Count  Skarbek's. 

He  also  made  the  acquaintance  of  the  parsimonious 
but  celebrated  pianist  and  composer,  August  Alexander 
Klengel,  whom  he  liked  much  better  than  Czerny, 
though  he  did  not  wish  his  "dear  ones  "  to  repeat  it. 

At  Teplitz,  Chopin  found  a  number  of  friendly  Poles, 
and  one  of  them  introduced  him  to  Prince  Clary,  one  of 
the  richest  magnates  of  Austria.  He  went  to  the  castle, 
dressed  in  his  best  white  gloves,  and  found  a  brilliant 
assemblage  of  Austrian  princes,  generals,  counts,  and 
ladies.  He  was  asked  to  play,  and  judged  that  he  suc- 
ceeded in  pleasing  with  an  improvisation  on  the  chief 
theme  from  Eossini's  "  Moses." 

He  was  urged  to  dine  next  day,  and  even  to  make  a 
longer  stay  at  the  castle,  but  he  refused  the  temptations 
offered,  and,  joining  his  travelling  companions,  was 


412  FR£D£RIC  FRANCOIS  CHOPIN. 

borne  into  Dresden  by  a  team  which  cost  the  enormous 
sum  of  two  thalers ! 

At  Dresden,  Tieck's  adaptation  of  Goethe's  "Faust" 
was  given  in  commemoration  of  the  author's  eightieth 
birthday,  with  passages  from  Spohr's  music  to  "  Faust " 
in  the  entr'actes.  There  was  such  a  rush  for  places  that 
Chopin  had  to  stay  for  an  hour  in  the  "queue"  that 
was  formed  in  front  of  the  box-office. 

He  was  back  in  Warsaw  by  the  middle  of  September. 

Prince  and  Princess  Radziwill  offered  him  lodgings  in 
their  palace  in  Berlin,  but  he  distrusted  their  "fair 
words  "  and  remembered  the  old  proverb,  "  It  is  not  good 
to  eat  cherries  with  great  lords ; "  nevertheless,  he  could 
not  resist  the  temptation  of  a  week  at  Antonia,  that 
"  Paradise  "  whereof  the  young  princesses  are  the  "  two 
Eves." 

But  Berlin  offered  slight  advantages  for  a  musician. 
He  exclaimed  in  a  letter  to  a  friend  that  he  had  under- 
taken so  much  work  that  it  would  be  wiser  to  stay  at 
home,  even  though  Warsaw  were  a  melancholy  place  to 
him.  He  must  be  near  his  parents,  and,  moreover, 
"Pan  Frycek,"  —  Mr.  Freddie,  —  as  his  Polish  friends 
called  him,  had  found  his  ideal  and  was  worshipping  her 
faithfully  and  sincerely,  and  dreaming  of  her  every 
night  (so  he  said),  though  he  had  never  spoken  a  word 
with  her ! 

This  was  Constantia  Gladkowska,  a  young  singer  who 
was  receiving  her  musical  training  at  the  Warsaw  Con- 
servatory. His  letters  for  a  year  to  come  to  his  friend 
Titus  l  are  full  of  sentimental  ravings  worthy  of  Jean 
Paul  and  quite  out-Schumann  Schumann !  A  vein  of 
humor  saves  them  from  being  nauseating.  He  was  so 

1  Titus  Woyciechowski,  whose  country  seat  was  at  Poturzyn. 


FRANCOIS  CHOPIN.  413 

deeply  in  love,  that  in  a  fit  of  melancholy,  such  as  occa- 
sionally made  the  valleys  between  his  mountainous 
spirits,  he  wished  that  when  he  was  dead,  his  ashes 
should  be  scattered  under  her  feet.  Like  most  youthful 
passions,  it  burned  itself  out.  Not  even  ashes  of  roses 
were  left. 

On  November  1, 1830,  he  left  his  "  sweet  home  "  as  he 
calls  it,  with  the  presentiment  that  he  should  never 
return  to  it,  or  see  his  native  land  again.  His  friends 
accompanied  him  part  way  on  his  journey :  a  farewell 
banquet  was  given  him  at  the  end  of  the  first  stage  ;  the 
Conservatory  pupils  sang  a  cantata  composed  for  the 
occasion  by  the  worthy  Eisner,  and  a  silver  goblet  filled 
with  Polish  soil  was  presented  to  him  with  the  needless 
injunction  never  to  forget  his  country  or  his  friends  who 
expected  great  things  of  him. 

It  took  him  nearly  a  month  to  reach  Vienna,  for  he 
delayed  four  days  at  Breslau  at  "the  Golden  Goose" 
Inn,  and  enjoyed  music  and  the  theatre,  and  intercourse 
with  congenial  friends ;  also  a  week  at  Dresden,  where 
he  had  his  first  ride  in  a  post-chaise^  or  sedan-chair, — 
"a  curious  but  comfortable  box,"  the  bottom  of  which  he 
was  tempted  to  kick  out,  —  and  visited  the  Green  Vault, 
and  went  to  innumerable  dinners,  soirees,  operatic  per- 
formances ;  also  at  Prague,  where  he  probably  went 
through  the  same  routine. 

His  first  letter  to  his  parents,  from  Vienna,  shows  him 
in  good  spirits  —  "  sound  as  a  lion."  He  makes  a  ter- 
rible pun,  occasioned  by  the  fact  that  he  and  his  friend 
Titus  were  occupying  three  charming  rooms  on  the 
cabbage  market,  just  vacated  by  an  English  admiral. 
"  Admiral ! "  he  exclaims,  "  and  I  receive  admiration  ! " 

Chopin  expected  to  find  the  impression  which  he  had 


414  FR£D£RIC  FRANCOIS  CHOPIN. 

made  in  Vienna  still  vivid  —  the  iron  still  hot.  He  was 
mistaken.  All  his  plans  for  concerts  fell  through.  The 
publishers  were  not  ready  to  accept  his  compositions, 
much  less  to  pay  for  them. 

Then  came  the  Polish  insurrection,  caused  by  the 
tyranny  of  the  Grand  Duke  Konstantin.  Chopin  was 
moved  to  join  the  insurgents.  He  hired  post-horses, 
and  tried  to  overtake  his  friend  Titus,  who,  at  the  first 
news,  had  started  for  home. 

But,  after  a  few  stages,  his  resolution  gave  out.  He 
returned  to  Vienna,  and  had  his  picture  painted,  since 
he  was  not  in  a  mood  for  playing.  He  says  the  artist 
has  given  him  an  inspired  look,  though  why,  he  cannot 
imagine.  He  makes  many  visits,  attends  "  many  din- 
ners, soirees,  concerts,  and  balls,"  which  only  bore  him, 
and  he  indulges  in  sarcastic  references  to  various  nota- 
bilities ;  which  he  confesses  is  due  to  his  frivolity,  and 
promises  to  amend.  Yet,  at  heart,  he  longs  to  be  at 
home. 

"I  am  sad,"  he  writes  one  of  his  Warsaw  friends. 
"  I  feel  so  lonely  and  neglected  here.  I  cannot  live  as  I 
would  like.  I  must  dress,  must  appear  in  the  salons 
with  cheerful  face ;  but  when  I  am  in  my  room  again,  I 
have  a  confidential  talk  with  my  piano,  and  tell  it  all 
my  woes  as  to  my  best  friend  here  in  Vienna." 

Niecks  declares  that  Chopin  mentions  in  his  letters 
from  Vienna  upwards  of  forty  families  and  individuals 
with  whom  he  was  personally  acquainted,  and  that  his 
gayeties  prevented  him  much  study  or  composition. 

Chopin's  eight  months  at  the  Austrian  capital  were 
productive  of  little  good.  He  added  almost  nothing 
to  his  list  of  compositions,  and  he  made  no  money. 
Toward  the  end  of  his  stay  he  forced  himself  to  give 


FRANCOIS  CHOPIN.  415 

a  concert,  but  it  did  not  pay  expenses.  It  was  at  exactly 
the  wrong  moment,  and  perhaps  caused  him  to  draw 
upon  his  parents,  suggesting  that  they  should  sell  the 
ring  given  him  by  the  Emperor  Alexander. 

He  was  often  in  low  spirits,  but  found  recreation  in 
excursions  and  other  amusements. 

In  June,  1831,  he  went  to  Munich,  where  he  was  kept 
waiting  for  funds,  but  having  made  some  musical  ac- 
quaintances, he  was  induced  to  give  a  concert  in  the  hall 
of  the  Philharmonic  Society  at  which  he  played  his  E- 
minor  concerto,  and  a  fantasia  on  Polish  national  songs. 
He  "  gained  unanimous  applause." 

It  was  the  last  time  that  he  ever  played  in  public  in 
Germany. 

At  Stuttgart  he  learned  of  the  capture  of  Warsaw  by 
the  Russians.  This  sad  event  is  said  to  have  inspired 
his  etude  in  C-minor. 

The  Russian  ambassador  at  Vienna  gave  Chopin  per- 
mission to  go  only  to  Munich,  but  his  passport  contained 
the  words  (in  French),  "  Passing  through  Paris  to  Lon- 
don," and  to  Paris  he  came.  It  was  henceforth  his  home. 

Poland  and  the  Poles  were  at  this  time  objects  of 
sympathy  to  the  Parisians ;  whereas  in  Austria,  in 
Vienna,  it  was  quite  the  opposite.  General  Ramorino 
had  just  returned  from  Poland,  where  he  had  taken  part 
in  the  insurrection.  A  regular  mob  shouting  "  Vivent  les 
Polonais  !  "  besieged  his  lodgings.  The  police  had  to 
clear  the  streets. 

And  the  timid,  gentle,  irresolute  Chopin  lived  in  the 
fourth  story  of  a  house  opposite  the  General's  lodgings  ! 

But  other  things  besides  mobs  excited  the  Paris  of 
1831.  It  was  the  very  heyday  of  French  romanticism, 
and  Victor  Hugo,  Balzac,  Dumas,  Alfred  de  Musset,  and 


416  FR£D£RIC  FRANCOIS  CHOPIN. 

a  dozen  other  young  geniuses,  were  just  beginning  to 
give  the  world  the  benefit  of  their  lights. 

Romanticism  in  music  was  also  welcomed;  Chopin 
had  found  his  place.  And  what  a  host  of  talented  mu- 
sicians and  composers  there  were  in  Paris  at  that  time  ! 
We  need  only  mention  Rossini,  Meyerbeer,  and  Liszt ! 
They  all  met  in  the  salon  of  old  Cherubini,  whom  at  first 
Chopin  called  a  mummy,  though  he  afterwards  came  to 
like  him  better. 

The  stiff,  elegant,  and  marchpane-like  Kalkbrenner, 
whom  he  thought  as  perfect  in  his  way  as  Paganini, 
wanted  to  give  him  lessons,  and  promised  in  three  years' 
time  to  make  a  great  artist  of  him,  thoroughly  grounded 
in  the  old  traditions.  But  Chopinetto  (as  Mendelssohn 
called  the  little  man)  had  no  wish  to  surrender  his  indi- 
viduality, even  though  he  recognized  his  shortcomings 
in  technique. 

"I  shall  never  become  a  copy  of  Kalkbrenner,"  he 
wrote  his  old  teacher  Eisner :  "  he  will  not  be  able  to 
break  my  perhaps  bold  but  noble  resolve  —  to  create  a 
new  art  era." 

He  did,  however,  attend  Kalkbrenner's  class  for  ad- 
vanced pupils,  to  see  what  it  was  like  :  and  Mendelssohn 
and  some  of  Chopin's  other  friends,  who  undervalued 
Kalkbrenner  and  thought  Chopin  played  better  than  he 
did,  were  furious. 

Chopin's  first  concert  in  Paris  took  place  on  February 
26,  1832,  after  several  annoying  delays  and  postpone- 
ments. He  was  assisted  by  Kalkbrenner  and  others ; 
financially  it  was  a  failure,  the  audience  consisting 
chiefly  of  Poles,  and  most  of  the  tickets  having  been 
given  rather  than  sold.  But  all  the  musical  celebrities 
of  Paris  were  there,  and  everybody  was  taken  by  storm. 


FR£D£RIC  FRANCOIS  CHOPIN.  417 

Mendelssohn  was  present  and  "  applauded  triumphantly." 
In  the  following  May  he  played  again  at  a  charity  con- 
cert given  by  the  Prince  de  la  Moskowa. 

At  first  he  seems  to  have  had  plenty  of  funds,  for  he 
paid  twenty-five  francs  for  a  place  at  the  opera  to  hear 
Malibran,  Rubini,  and  Schrdder-Devrient.  Later,  his 
funds  ran  low.  His  health  became  precarious,  and  he  was 
depressed  in  spirits.  He  seriously  thought  of  emigrat- 
ing to  America.  His  parents  advised  him  to  return  to 
Warsaw,  and,  against  the  advice  of  Liszt  and  his  friends, 
he  was  on  the  point  of  doing  so  when  (so  the  story 
runs),  he  met  Prince'  Valentine  Radziwill,  who  took  him 
to  a  soiree  at  the  Rothschilds',  where  he  played  and 
delighted  every  one. 

From  this  time  forth  he  began  his  career  as  one  of  the 
great  pianists  of  Paris,  and  "  professor  par  excellence  of 
the  aristocracy." 

He  himself  wrote  early  in  1833  :  — 

"  I  move  in  the  highest  society  —  among  ambassadors, 
princes,  and  ministers;  and  I  don't  know  how  I  got 
there,  for  I  did  not  thrust  myself  forward  at  all."  Then 
speaking  of  the  esteem  in  which  he  is  held  by  his  fellow- 
artists  who  dedicate  their  compositions  to  him,  he  con- 
tinues :  — 

"  Pupils  of  the  Conservatoire,  nay,  even  private  pupils 
of  Moscheles,  Herz,  and  Kalkbrenner  (consequently  clever 
artists),  take  lessons  from  me,  and  regard  me  as  the  equal 
of  Field.  Really,  if  I  were  somewhat  more  silly  than  I 
am,  I  might  imagine  myself  a  finished  artist ;  neverthe- 
less, I  feel  daily  how  much  I  have  still  to  learn." 

His  friendship  with  Hiller  and  Liszt  was  very  delight- 
ful, and  at  the  houses  of  the  influential  Poles  in  Paris  he 
was  always  a  welcome  visitor.  One  day  he  came  into 


418  FR£D£RIC  FRANCOIS  CHOPIN. 

Count  Plater's  salon  in  the  character  of  Pierrot  or  Harle- 
quin, and  after  jumping  and  dancing  about  for  an  hour, 
left  without  saying  a  word  ! 

Yet  generally  he  was  distinguished  for  his  gracious 
manners,  his  "  studied  but  somewhat  affected  refinement 
in  all  things,  his  gentleness  and  winning  playfulness." 
Affectionate  as  he  was  to  his  friends,  it  was  only  a  few, 
and  those  his  Polish  intimates,  who,  as  Liszt  says,  "  pene- 
trated into  the  sacred  recess  where,  apart  from  the  rest 
of  his  life,  dwelt  the  secret  fountain  of  his  soul." 

Chopin  used  his  growing  popularity  and  fame  to  float 
his  compositions,  many  of  which  he  had  brought  with 
him  from  Poland.  In  looking  over  the  list  one  is  sur- 
prised both  at  the  rapid  succession  with  which,  after 
1832,  they  came  out,  and  at  the  skill  with  which  he 
selected  princes  and  counts,  princesses  and  countesses, 
for  his  dedications.  In  this  respect  he  was  rivalled  only 
by  Beethoven. 

Though  his  works  were  written  in  such  an  unusual 
vein,  they  were  generally  well  received  by  the  critics, 
which  was  not  the  case  with  those  of  Schumann,  who 
was  often  soundly  rated  by  those  who  failed  to  under- 
stand his  depth  and  height.  Chopin,  however,  knew 
himself  and  his  limitations.  He  could  not  be  induced 
to  write  an  opera.1  To  one  of  Louis  Philippe's  aides 
who  asked  him  why,  with  his  admirable  ideas,  he  did 
not  do  so,  he  replied :  "  Ah,  count,  let  me  compose  noth- 
ing but  piano-forte  music  j  I  am  not  learned  enough  to 
write  operas." 

Such  self-knowledge  is  rare.     It  has  been  remarked 

*  The  Polish  national  opera  was  established  in  1778.  Between  that  time 
and  1859  there  were  at  Warsaw  5,917  performances,  of  285  works  with  Polish 
words.  Of  these  ninety-two  were  composed  by  16  Polish  composers. 


FR£D£RIC  FRANCOIS  CHOPIN.  419 

that  geniuses  often  have  prided  themselves  most  on 
what  they  did  least  well.  Chopin's  forte  lay  in  the 
smaller  forms  of  music ;  even  orchestral  writing  he 
quickly  abandoned,  and  thus  he  stands  forth  as  the 
greatest  of  masters  of  pure  pianoforte  composition.  In 
this  respect  one  might  compare  him  to  a  Japanese  artist, 
whose  greatest  labors  were  exerted  on  carving  a  minute 
piece  of  ivory  into  a  marvel  of  delicate  beauty. 

During  the  year  1835  he  played  frequently  in  public, 
but  each  time  he  came  to  dread  it  more  and  more.  He 
told  Liszt  that  he  was  not  fit  to  give  concerts,  that  the 
crowd  intimidated  him  and  paralyzed  him  with  their 
curious  looks. 

Moreover,  his  playing  was  too  delicate,  refined,  and 
subtile  for  large  audiences  ;  and  modest  as  he  was,  this 
lack  of  success  on  a  grand  scale  was  a  great  disappoint- 
ment to  him,  as  Niecks  says,  cruelly  torturing  and  slowly 
consuming  his  life  like  a  malignant  cancer. 

In  private,  however,  and  with  congenial  spirits,  he 
delighted  in  showing  his  unique  mastery  of  the  piano ; 
and  during  a  charming  visit  which  he  made  to  Leipzig, 
primarily  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  Clara  Wieck,  he 
played  at  several  houses,  enchanting  every  one.  Even 
Mendelssohn  called  him  "  a  really  perfect  virtuoso." 

Schumann,  Mendelssohn,  and  Chopin,  whom  Niecks 
calls  "the  three  most  distinguished  composers  of  their 
time,"  were  together  for  several  hours. 

Chopin  also  went  to  Carlsbad,  where  he  met  his  father 
and  mother,  after  an  absence  of  five  years ;  and  from 
there  he  ran  across  to  Dresden  to  see  his  boyhood  friends, 
the  Wodzinskis.  There  were  three  brothers,  all  of  whom 
took  part  in  the  Polish  revolution,  and  one  sister,  the 
Countess  Maria,  a  tall,  slender  girl  of  nineteen,  with 


420  FE£D£RIC  FRANCOIS  CHOPIN. 

fiery  black  eyes,  long  luxuriant  ebony-black  hair,  and  a 
talent  for  music  and  painting. 

Chopin  fell  in  love  with  her,  and  offered  himself  to 
her.  She  liked  him,  but  yielding  to  her  parents'  wishes, 
refused  his  hand.  She  gave  him  a  rose  and  drew  his 
portrait.  He  composed  for  her  a  waltz. 

Afterwards  she  married  a  son  of  Chopin's  godfather, 
Count  Fryderyk  Skarbek,  and  the  marriage  turned  out 
a  failure. 

Chopin  was  in  Leipzig  again  the  following  summer 
(just  after  his  rejection  by  the  lovely  countess),  and 
enjoyed  much  intercourse  with  Schumann.  He  wrought 
with  him  some  "  heavenly  "  etudes,  nocturnes,  mazurkas, 
and  a  new  ballade,  all  of  which  he  played  "  very  incom- 
parably." 

In  July,  1837,  Chopin  visited  London,  and  was  intro- 
duced to  the  piano  manufacturer  James  Broadwood, 
under  the  name  of  M.  Fritz.  He  dined  at  Broadwood's 
house  and  played  "  most  beautifully  "  (so  Mendelssohn 
reported),  and  was  detected  in  his  incognito.  He  was 
suffering  with  his  lungs,  and  therefore  refrained  from  all 
acquaintances.  He  attended  a  few  concerts,  and  disap- 
peared as  mysteriously  as  he  came. 

Hitherto  his  health,  though  never  robust,  had  been 
good;  from  this  time  forth  his  life  was  a  long  battle 
with  disease. 

Early  in  1837  Chopin  gave  a  little  party  in  his  rooms. 
Liszt  brought  with  him  the  famous  novelist,  George 
Sand,1  a  beautiful  but  undisciplined  genius,  in  whose 
veins  flowed  the  blood  of  Polish  kings  mixed  with  that 
of  the  daughters  of  French  Bohemia. 

1  Amantine  Lucile  Aurore  Baronue  Dudevant  (ne'e  Dupin).  Her  great- 
grandfather was  Marshal  de  Saxe,  natural  son  of  August  the  Strong,  King 
of  Poland. 


FR£D£RIC  FRANCOIS  CHOPIN.  421 

Separated  from  her  husband,  George  Sand  amused  her- 
self with  love-affairs  with  poets  and  musicians.  Alfred 
de  Musset  had  fallen  under  her  spell ;  now  it  was  Cho- 
pin's turn.  He  was  delicate  and  feminine ,  she  was  mas- 
culine, and  even  at  times  wore  men's  clothes.  He  was 
weak  and  vacillating;  she  was  strong  and  self-willed. 
She  soon  obtained  complete  control  of  him. 

Accounts  differ  as  to  Chopin's  personal  appearance. 
Niecks,  who  follows  Karasowski  to  a  certain  extent,  says 
he  was  slim  and  of  middle  height,  with  delicately  formed 
hands  and  feet,  an  oval  softly  outlined  head,  a  pale  trans- 
parent complexion,  long  silken  hair  of  a  light  chestnut 
color,  parted  on  one  side ;  tender  brown  eyes,  intelli- 
gent rather  than  dreamy ;  a  finely  curved  aquiline  nose ; 
a  sweet  subtle  smile,  and  graceful  and  varied  gestures. 

His  dress  was  always  studiously  elegant,  vainer  of 
dress  than  any  woman ;  he  even  had  his  hair  curled. 
Perhaps  George  Sand's  utter  unconventionality  was  the 
cause  of  Chopin's  first  impression  of  dislike  to  her.  This 
was  soon  dissipated  by  her  beauty  and  her  wonderful 
power  of  pleasing. 

He  visited  her  several  times  at  her  country  estate  at 
Nohant,  and  when,  in  1838,  she  went  to  Majorca  for  the 
sake  of  her  son  Maurice's  health,  Chopin  was  induced  to 
accompany  her,  thinking  that  the  rest,  the  freedom  from 
care,  and  the  out-of-door  life,  would  be  good  for  him. 

At  first,  the  picturesque  tropical  scenery,  the  de- 
licious climate  and  the  novel  life  were  delightful ;  but 
when  the  wet  season  set  in,  the  dampness  and  the  impos- 
sibility of  keeping  warm  set  Chopin  to  coughing  worse 
than  ever.  All  the  doctors  in  the  island  were  called  in, 
and  Chopin,  who  gives  an  amusing  account  of  their 
methods  of  procedure,  declares  that  he  had  a  narrow 


422  FRtiDtiRIC  FRANCOIS   CHOPIN. 

escape  from  their  bleedings,  cataplasms,  and  such  like 
operations.  They  took  up  their  lodgings  in  "an  old, 
vast,  abandoned,  and  ruined  monastery  of  Carthusians  " 
at  Valdemosa;  "the  most  poetic  residence  on  earth." 
Chopin's  cell,  so  he  wrote,  was  shaped  like  a  coffin,  high 
and  full  of  dust,  with  a  small  window  shaded  by  orange, 
palm,  and  cypress  trees,  and  over  their  heads  majestic- 
ally soared  the  eagles. 

He  had  a  piano  sent  to  him  from  Paris,  but  it  fell  into 
the  clutches  of  the  customs  officers,  who  demanded  a 
duty  of  five  or  six  hundred  francs,  but  accepted,  after 
much  wrangling,  three  hundred.  Kightly  enough, 
Chopin  called  the  people  thievish.1 

Their  food  consisted  mainly  of  pork  "  appearing  in  all 
imaginable  and  unimaginable  guises  and  disguises." 
Juicy  grapes,  excellent  potatoes  from  Malaga,  and  fried 
Valencia  pumpkins,  gave  a  zest  to  their  appetite,  but  the 
terrible  rains  frequently  spoiled  everything,  and  to  keep 
from  starving  they  had  to  gnaw  the  dryest  of  dry  bread. 
Had  Chopin  been  well,  he  might  have  enjoyed  the  rough- 
and-ready  picnic,  but  bronchitis  and  nervous  excitement 
brought  on  symptoms  of  pulmonary  phthisis,  and  his 
spirits  were  at  the  lowest  ebb.  He  was  irritable  and 
difficult  to  manage ;  in  short,  as  George  Sand  declared, 
"  a  detestable  patient." 

Toward  the  last  of  February,  when  fair  weather  set  in, 
they  left  Majorca  on  a  steamboat  loaded  down  with  pigs, 
which  made  the  voyage  almost  unendurable,  and  when 
they  reached  Barcelona,  he  was  "  spitting  basins  of  blood 
and  crawling  along  like  a  ghost."  The  doctor  on  a 
French  war-ship  soon  stopped  the  hemorrhage,  and  he 

1  Bead  George  Sand's  Un  Hiver  A  Majorque  for  an  exaggerated  but  charm- 
ingly poetic  description  of  this  abode  in  the  Carthusian  monastery. 


FEAN^OIS  CHOPIN.  423 

began  to  improve.  At  Marseilles  he  was  kept  till  early 
summer  under  the  care  of  an  excellent  doctor,  "  resign- 
ing himself  to  recover  patiently." 

By  the  last  of  April  he  was  so  much  better  that  he 
could  play  the  organ  at  a  memorial  service  at  the  Church 
of  Notre-Daine-du-Mont,  for  the  tenor,  Adolphe  Nourrit, 
who  had  committed  suicide  at  Naples.  He  played  a 
simple  melody  of  Schubert's  "  as  a  souvenir  to  place 
upon  his  coffin."  The  organ  was  very  bad,  but  Chopin 
did  his  best  with  it,  and  the  song  sounded  "  like  the  far- 
off  echo  from  another  world." 

He  also  made  a  trip  to  Genoa,  and  for  the  first  time 
saw  Italy,  which  nine  years  before  had  been  the  land  of 
his  dreams. 

After  a  visit  at  Nohant  he  returned  to  Paris  in  Octo- 
ber, 1839,  and  immediately  resumed  his  lessons.  He 
must  have  been  very  much  better,  for  Moscheles,  who 
met  him  for  the  first  time  a  few  months  later,  spoke  of 
him  as  merry  and  exceedingly  comical  in  his  imitations 
of  Liszt  and  other  musicians.  He  and  Moscheles  were 
invited  together  to  play  at  St.  Cloud  before  Louis  Phi- 
lippe and  the  royal  family.  The  King  sent  Chopin  a  gold 
cup  and  saucer,  and  to  Moscheles  "  a  travelling-case,  the 
sooner  to  get  rid  of  him,"  remarked  Chopin  with  sly 
humor.  Chopin,  however,  did  not  like  a  Jew. 

In  April,  1841,  and  in  the  following  February,  Chopin 
mustered  courage  to  give  concerts  at  PleyePs  rooms. 
The  audiences  were  most  aristocratic,  and  the  critics 
waxed  eloquent  over  the  chaplets  of  trembling  pearls, 
the  roses  and  mignonettes,  the  interplay  of  gay  colors, 
over  "  the  perfumed  heads  and  snowy  shoulders "  of 
beautiful  women  whom  princely  salons  were  proud  to 
honor. 


424  FBfiDtiRIC  FRANCOIS  CHOPIN. 

The  effect  of  Chopin's  playing  upon  the  poets  and 
musicians  of  the  time  was  very  remarkable,  and  so  many 
of  them  have  described  it  that  we  almost  know  what  it 
was.  Individuality  was  its  great  featare.  Schumann 
declared  that  he  knew  his  instrument  as  no  one  else  did. 
He  was  called  the  Ariel  of  the  pianoforte.  Heine  and 
Liszt  rhapsodize  about  his  poetic  interpretations.  His 
playing  was  the  soul  of  tenderness,  delicacy,  refinement. 
It  reminded  some  one  of  the  warbling  of  linnets.  George 
Sand  called  him  "  Velvet  Fingers." 

Between  1838  and  1846  Chopin  spent  eight  summers 
at  the  Chateau  de  Nohant.  The  monotonous  life  there, 
varied  though  it  was  by  the  singing  of  nightingales  and 
the  visits  of  distinguished  people,  bored  him  frightfully. 
He  longed  for  Paris,  but  his  love  for  George  Sand  kept 
him  a  prisoner;  and,  moreover,  the  quiet  and  freedom 
from  cares  enabled  him  to  indulge  in  composition. 
Niecks  speaks  of  the  friendship  between  him  and  the 
painter  Delacroix  as  a  green  oasis  in  the  barren  desert, 
amidst  the  affectations,  insincerities,  and  superficialities 
of  his  social  intercourse  at  Nohant.  His  infatuation 
reminds  one  of  that  of  Odysseus  for  the  immortal  but 
cruel  nymph  Kalypso.  But  Chopin's  Kalypso  smoked, 
and  smoked  enormously  thick  Trabucco  cigars  :  and  she 
called  him  "  mon  cher  cadavre  !  " 

In  Paris  they  lived  in  fine  apartments  in  the  Court 
d'Orleans,  called  Little  Athens  from  the  number  of 
celebrities  who  had  inhabited  it. 

Chopin's  rooms  were  furnished  with  much  luxury ; 
flowers,  of  which  he  was  passionately  fond,  always 
abounded.  Easy-chairs  and  cushions  embroidered  by 
princesses  and  titled  dames,  his  pupils,  rugs,  and  hand- 
some tablecloths  made  them  cosey.  He  had  a  "sane- 


FR£D£RIC  FRANCOIS  CHOPIN.  425 

turn,"  where  he  could  retire  if  he  liked ;  but  he  used  it 
chiefly  in  giving  his  lessons.  He  was  generally  short 
of  money,  and  always  quarrelling  with  his  publishers, 
whom  in  his  letters  he  calls  Jews,  rogues,  dogs,  fools, 
knaves,  and  thieves  who  tried  to  cheat  him  out  of  all 
profit  for  his  "  manuscript  flies  "  and  "  spider  feet." 

Though  he  earned  much  he  was  generous  and  improvi- 
dent. His  poor  countrymen  were  always  draining  him 
of  his  last  franc.  On  one  occasion  he  spent  a  thousand 
francs  at  a  charity  fair,  and  gave  back  all  the  knick- 
knacks  he  bought  to  be  sold  again.  He  got  twenty 
francs  a  lesson,  but  he  never  taught  more  than  five  hours 
a  day,  and  many  of  his  lessons  were  for  love,  not  money. 
He  kept  a  cat,  and  indulged  in  the  luxury  of  a  male  serv- 
ant at  a  salary  of  nearly  two  thousand  francs. 

In  spite  of  his  exquisite  manners,  his  love  for  "  high 
society"  sometimes  made  him  actually  rude  to  those 
who  much  more  deserved  his  consideration.  He  was 
often  tormented  by  "  dilettante  bores,"  and  he  kept  clear 
of  young  pianists  so  far  as  he  could.  Karasowski  relates 
an  example  of  his  impertinent  behavior  to  the  young 
Bohemian,  Schulhof,  until  the  latter  had  played  to  him, 
when  he  made  amends.  It  was  a  common  criticism 
of  him,  that  he  was  spoiled  by  the  caprices  of  society, 
and  "was  too  apt  to  treat  his  brother  artists  with  a 
supercilious  hauteur  which  many  of  his  equals  and  a  few 
of  his  superiors  were  wont  to  stigmatize  as  insulting." 

Niecks  says  that  even  among  his  friends  he  was  more 
loved  than  loving.  Liszt  says,  "  Ready  to  give  every- 
thing, he  did  not  give  himself."  He  was  too  apt  to  say 
pleasant  things  to  people's  faces,  and  cutting  things  be- 
hind their  backs. 

He  was,  at  least  in  his  later  years,  when  worn  with 


426  FRfiDtiRIC  FRANCOIS  CHOPIN. 

illness,  extremely  irritable ;  and  when  teaching,  if  things 
went  wrong,  would  jump  up  and  ask  if  a  dog  had  been 
barking  j  or  (so  it  is  said)  fling  the  music  on  the  floor 
and  break  up  the  chairs  as  ferociously  as  Beethoven 
himself  ever  did.  Such  were  some  of  the  spots  on  the 
sun. 

Bach  and,  above  all,  Mozart  were  his  ideals,  "his 
gods."  Hummel,  Field,  and  Moscheles  were  his  favorite 
pianists.  Field's  "  Nocturnes  "  were  greatly  prized  by 
him.  He  admired  Schubert,  though  not  without  reserve. 
Weber  and  Beethoven  only  partially  satisfied  him.  He 
disliked  much  of  Mendelssohn's  music,  and  found  still 
less  to  praise  in  Schumann,  never  using  any  of  his  pieces 
in  giving  his  lessons.  He  disapproved  of  Berlioz,  and 
while  he  liked  Meyerbeer 1  personally  he  heartily  disliked 
his  music.  Liszt  says  truly  that  Chopin  sought  in  the 
great  masterpieces  only  that  which  corresponded  with 
his  nature.  "  What  resembled  it  pleased  him ;  what 
differed  from  it  received  scant  justice  from  him." 

With  Liszt  himself  he  was  on  terms  of  the  most  inti- 
mate comradeship  until  their  quarrel,  which  is  said  to 
have  resulted  from  a  circumstance  not  very  creditable  to 
the  former.  Yet  he  and  Liszt  can  hardly  be  said  to  have 
been  friends.  Chopin  rarely  mentioned  him  without  a 
sneer,  and  Liszt,  who  wrote  a  poetic  rhapsody  in  prose 
on  Chopin's  life,  did  not  fail  to  point  out  his  weak- 
nesses. 

Just  as  Eossini  dreaded  the  fatal  number  thirteen, 
Chopin  had  a  superstitious  horror  of  the  figure  seven. 

i  It  is  said  that  once  Meyerbeer  had  a  falling-out  with  his  wife.  He  sat 
down  at  the  piano,  and  played  a  nocturne  sent  him  by  Chopin.  Such  was 
the  effect  of  the  music  on  his  helpmeet,  that  she  went  and  kissed  him.  There- 
upon Meyerbeer  wrote  the  composer,  telling  him  of  the  incident,  and  inviting 
him  to  come  and  see  their  domestic  happiness. 


FR£D£RIC  FRANCOIS  CHOPIN.  427 

He  would  not  live  in  a  house  that  bore  the  number,  or 
start  to  travel  on  a  day  of  the  month  that  was  marked 
by  it.  His  shameful  alliance  with  Madame  Sand  began 
in  1837,  and  it  was  in  1847  that  it  ended.  It  is  a  long 
and  sad  story.  Probably  Kalypso  tired  of  Odysseus. 
She  sought  a  pretext  for  dissolving  the  wearisome  bonds. 
In  her  novel  "Lucrezia  Floriani,"  under  the  mask  of 
Prince  Karol  she  caricatured  Chopin  and  deeply  wounded 
him. 

The  connection  was  broken.  The  two  geniuses  parted, 
never  to  meet  but  once  again,  and  then  only  for  a  mo- 
ment. As  for  Chopin,  he  loved  her  to  the  end. 

In  February,  1848,  Chopin  gave  his  last  concert  in 
Paris,  before  an  audience  said  to  have  been  selected  and 
sifted  by  himself  from  a  long  list,  so  that  he  was 
surrounded  only  by  his  friends.  Tickets  were  twenty 
francs,  and  never  did  he  win  greater  success.  A  second 
concert  was  projected,  but  the  outbreak  of  the  French 
Revolution  on  February  22,  1848,  upset  all  his  plans. 

Two  months  later  Chopin  arrived  in  the  "  whirlpool  of 
London,"  and  secured  a  "fine  large  room,"  where  he 
hoped  to  be  able  "  to  breathe  and  play." 

He  could  rarely  be  prevailed  upon  to  play  in  society. 
But  he  was  heard  at  the  Countess  of  Blessington's  and  at 
the  Duchess  of  Sutherland's,  and  also  at  a  private  house, 
where  one  who  was  present  wrote  :  "  I  do  not  know  what 
he  played  to  us,  I  do  not  know  how  long  our  ecstasy 
lasted  ;  we  were  no  longer  on  earth  ;  he  had  transported 
us  into  unknown  regions,  into  a  sphere  of  flame  and 
azure,  where  the  soul  freed  from  all  corporeal  bonds  floats 
towards  the  infinite.  This  was,  alas  !  the  song  of  the 
swan." 

He  was  invited  to  play  at  the  Philharmonic,  but  de- 


428  FR£D£RIC  FRANCOIS  CHOPIN. 

clined.  He  gave,  however,  two  matinees  at  private 
houses,  with  tickets  at  a  guinea.  They  brought  him 
money,  but  he  was  in  such  wretched  health  that  life 
seemed  dark  to  him,  and  he  soon  gave  up  his  possible 
plan  of  settling  in  England. 

He  played  at  Manchester  for  sixty  pounds  sterling, 
and  made  a  long  visit  in  Scotland,  where  one  of  his 
favorite  pupils,  Miss  Stirling,  resided.  He  gave  a  suc- 
cessful concert  also  in  Glasgow  and  Edinburgh.  It  is 
said  that  the  Broadwood  piano  on  which  he  played  was 
afterwards  sold  at  a  premium  of  £30. 

After  a  visit  at  Stirling  Castle  he  wrote  that  he  should 
soon  be  forgetting  his  Polish ;  that  he  already  spoke 
French  with  an  English  accent,  and  English  like  a 
Scotchman.  French  he  always  spoke  with  a  foreign 
accent  in  spite  of  his  French  birth.  His  intercourse  as 
usual  was  with  the  high  nobility.  "I  drag,"  he  wrote, 
"  myself  from  one  lord  to  another,  from  one  duke  to 
another." 

The  last  concert  at  which  he  ever  appeared  —  this,  says 
Niecks  (whose  admirable  biography  ought  to  be  in  the 
hands  of  every  music  lover),  "  may  be  truly  called  the 
swan's  song,"  — took  place  at  Guildhall  on  the  sixteenth 
of  November,  1848,  on  the  same  evening  as  the  annual 
"  Grand  Polish  Ball."  Mr.  Hueffer  says  "  he  was  in  the 
last  stages  of  exhaustion,  and  the  affair  resulted  in  dis- 
appointment." 

Perhaps  the  little  attention  which  this  performance 
attracted  caused  him  to  exclaim  on  the  journey  home : 
"  Do  you  see  the  cattle  in  that  meadow  ?  They  have 
more  intelligence  than  the  English  ! " 

On  his  return  to  Paris  he  was  too  ill  to  teach.  His 
capricious  improvidence  had  left  him  almost  penniless, 


FRANQ01S  CHOPIN.  429 

and  only  the  generosity  of  his  friends,  especially  Miss 
Stirling,  who  sent  him  anonymously  twenty-five  thou- 
sand francs,  kept  him  from  actual  want. 

His  last  days  were  days  of  weariness  and  pain.  His 
sister  Louisa,  the  faithful  Princess  Czartoryska,  the 
beautiful  Countess  Potocka,  who  loved  him  dearly,  and 
several  other  friends,  were  unwearied  in  their  attentions. 
The  death  struggle  was  long  and  trying.  Two  days  be- 
fore he  died,  the  Countess  Potocka,  "  mastering  her  sor- 
row and  suppressing  her  sobs,"  sang  "  beside  the  bed 
where  her  friend  was  exhaling  his  life."  A  Polish  abbe l 
gave  him  the  sacrament. 

The  priest  afterwards  writing  of  it  said :  — 

"  From  this  moment,  by  God's  grace,  or  rather  under 
the  hand  of  God  Himself,  he  became  quite  another  man, 
and  one  might  almost  say  he  became  a  saint.  .  .  .  His 
patience  and  resignation  to  the  will  of  God  did  not 
abandon  him  up  to  the  last  minute." 

He  died  early  in  the  morning  of  October  17,  1849.  A 
fortnight  later  a  most  imposing  funeral  ceremony  took 
place  in  the  Church  of  the  Madeleine,  which  was  packed 
to  the  doors.  Mozart's  Kequiem  was  performed,  with  the 
greatest  singers  of  Paris  as  soloists.  Liszt  conducted  the 
procession  which  carried  Chopin's  body  to  the  mauso- 
leum, to  the  solemn  sounds  of  his  own  "  funeral  march." 

He  was  buried  in  Pere-la-Chaise,  Meyerbeer,  Prince 
Czartoryski,  Delacroix,  and  other  noted  men,  being  pall- 
bearers. Over  his  coffin  was  scattered  the  Polish  soil 
which  he  had  kept  for  nineteen  years  in  the  silver  cup 
presented  to  him  on  leaving  Warsaw  forever.  His  heart 
was  taken  to  Poland,  and  is  preserved  in  the  Holy  Cross 
Church  at  Warsaw,  where  a  marble  bust  of  the  composer 
was  set  up  a  few  years  ago. 

i  Alexander  Jelowicki. 


430  FRfiDtiRIC  FRANCOIS   CHOPIN. 

Clesinger,  the  husband  of  George  Sand's  daughter,  de- 
signed a  monument,  which  was  unveiled  on  the  next 
anniversary  of  his  death. 

Miss  Stirling  bought  at  the  public  auction  all  the 
furniture  of  his  former  rooms,  a  portrait  painted  by 
Ary  Scheffer,  his  Pleyel  piano,  the  Sevres  porcelain  pre- 
sented to  him  by  Louis  Philippe,  and  all  the  trophies  of 
his  friendships. 

In  1858,  after  Miss  Stirling's  death,  these  objects  were 
sent  to  Warsaw  to  Chopin's  mother,  and  three  years 
later  came  into  the  hands  of  his  sister  Isabella. 

The  Eussian  Count  Berg,  Governor-general  of  Poland, 
after  the  insurrection  on  January,  1863,  was  shot  at 
from  a  house  next  where  Chopin's  sister  lived.  The 
Russian  soldiery,  infuriated,  surrounded  the  two  houses, 
removed  all  the  inhabitants  of  them,  and  then  sacked 
them.  All  the  precious  Chopin  memorials  were  thrown 
into  the  street,  and  helped  to  make  a  bonfire.  A  Russian 
officer  himself  flung  the  Ary  Scheffer  portrait  into  the 
flames.  Thus  perished  all  the  books  and  papers,  and 
the  letters  which  had  been  preserved  during  eighteen 
years.  Only  the  Pleyel  piano,  which  happened  to  be 
elsewhere,  was  saved. 

Such  an  ending  of  Chopin  memorials  seems  to  me 
quite  in  keeping  with  the  tragic  note  of  Chopin's  life, 
—  that  tragic  note  which  rings  persistently  through  his 
marvellous  compositions. 

Niecks  says  Chopin's  importance  in  the  realm  of  art 
"  lies  in  his  having  added  new  elements  to  music,"  in 
having  originated  new  "means  of  expression"  for  moods 
and  emotions,  and  shades  of  moods  and  emotions  that 
hitherto  had  "belonged  to  the  realm  of  the  unuttered 
and  the  unutterable,"  and  he  quotes  with  approval  the 


FRANCOIS  CHOPIN.  431 

dictum  that  his  compositions  are  "  the  celestial  echo  of 
what  he  had  felt,  loved,  and  suffered." 

His  works  are  indeed  his  autobiography,  told  only  to 
those  who  can  read  under  the  notes.  "  No  other  poet," 
says  Niecks  again,  "  has  like  Chopin  embodied  in  art  the 
romance  of  the  land  and  people  of  Poland.  And  also  no 
other  poet  has  like  him  embodied  in  art  the  romance  of 
his  own  existence." 

"Poland,"  says  Heine,  "gave  him  his  chivalrous 
temper  and  historic  passion  (Schmerz) ;  France  gave 
him  his  airy  charm  and  grace  ;  Germany  gave  him  his 
romantic  melancholy ;  while  nature  gave  him  an  elegant, 
slender,  rather  slim  figure,  the  noblest  heart,  and 
genius." 

In  spite  of  his  failures  and  shortcomings  he  was  one 
of  the  greatest  (within  a  limited  sphere)  that  the  world 
of  music  has  produced,  and  his  errors  were  cruelly  ex- 
piated and  purged  by  the  fire  of  suffering  and  sorrow. 

NOTE. — During  Chopin's  life  the  published  number  of  his  works  (including 
rondeaux,  nocturnes,  mazurkas,  concertos,  variations,  krakowiaks,  scherzos, 
ballades,  etudes,  preludes,  impromptus,  raises,  polonaises,  etc.)  was  64 ;  to  these 
must  be  added  four  works  without  opus  numbers.  After  his  death  ten  more 
works  with  opus  numbers  were  published,  including  seventeen  Polish  songs, 
also  six  mazurkas  and  several  other  pieces  of  little  value  without  opus 
number ;  in  all  nearly  200  distinct  compositions  of  which  it  may  almost  be 
said  that  the  least  are  the  greatest. 


MIKHAIL  IVANOVITCH  GLINKA. 

(18O4-18B7.) 


,  though  only  partially  a  Pole  by  birth,  was 
wholly  one  by  predilection.  He  took  the  peculiar 
rhythms  of  his  native  land  —  the  dance  songs  of  Krakof 
and  Mazur,  —  and  adopted  them,  bringing  them  by 
refinement  and  careful  nurture  to  be,  as  it  were,  his  own 
children.  He  is  the  typical  representative  of  Polish 
music. 

Yet  Poland  had  no  monopoly  of  national  music.  All 
the  Slavs  are  musical,  but  Russia,  it  is  claimed,  leads  in 
the  number,  beauty,  and  variety  of  folk-melodies. 

Poland,  being  on  the  border,  was  more  open  to  Western 
influences.  Russia  was  isolated  from  Europe,  and  hence 
preserved  in  greater  purity  that  heritage  of  song  which 
has  come  down  through  the  ages.  Curiously  enough  the 
widespread  use  or  abuse  of  the  harmonicum  through 
the  central  Russian  provinces  has  had,  in  later  years,  the 
effect  of  destroying  the  national  type  of  song.  Rightly 
enough  Cui  calls  it  an  anti-musical  instrument. 

The  characteristics  of  Russian  music  are  very  marked. 
The  principal  feature  is  the  complete  liberty  of  rhythm, 
which  often  seems  like  caprice,  perhaps  in  a  few  meas- 
ures changing  several  times. 

Odd  modulations,  harmonies  suddenly  ending  in 
432 


GLINKA. 


MIKHAIL  IVANOVITCH  GLINKA.  433 

unisons,  plaintive  minor  cadences,  dashing  dance  forms, 
frequent  reminiscences  of  ancient  Greek  modes  —  the 
Lydian  and  Dorian — give  Eussian  folksongs  a  character 
all  their  own,  as  individual  as  the  jerky  measures  of  the 
Magyar  Nep  or  the  singsong  of  the  Scottish  ballad. 

Eussian  musicians  have  done  much  to  rescue  from 
forgetfulness  these  charming  wild  flowers  of  song.  The 
first  collection  that  is  known  was  published  toward  the 
end  of  the  last  century ;  and  from  this,  or  the  second 
edition  of  it,  Beethoven  took  the  themes  which  he  em- 
bodied in  the  Eazumovski  quartets.  Thus  he  wrote  an 
adagio  in  the  Lydian  mode  in  Opus  132.  Still  better 
collections  have  been  published  since.1 

Nevertheless,  outside  of  Eussia,  little  is  generally 
known  of  Eussian  music,  and  some  of  the  best  Eussian 
composers  cannot  be  even  said  to  be  "names  and  nothing 
more." 

Early  in  the  "  sixties "  a  Eussian  prince,  Yuri  N. 
Galitsin,  whose  father  had  been  one  of  Beethoven's  many 
patrons,  directed  several  hundred  concerts  in  London 
and  other  cities  of  England  and  Scotland.  The  Times 
declared  that  through  the  prince's  efforts  Eussian  music 
had  been  acclimated.  At  one  hundred  and  fifty  of  these 
concerts  a  gay  and  rollicking  piece  entitled  "  Kamdrins- 
kaya"  was  played,  and  not  once  did  it  fail  to  be  re- 
demanded. 

This  piece,  which  represented  a  popular  wedding  and 
the  songs  sung  at  it,  interrupted  by  the  inevitable  intoxi- 
cation, and  full  of  the  wild  glee  and  broad  humor,  was 
composed  by  the  prince's  teacher,  Eussia's  greatest  com- 

1  Such  are  the  little  Russian  Pisni  of  Kotsipinski ;  Balukiref  s  "  National 
Russian  Songs  ; "  and  the  collections  of  Prokudin,  Ruimsky-Koraakof,  and 
Professor  A.  I.  Rubets. 


434  MIKHAIL  IV^NOVITCH  GLINKA. 

poser,  —  Mikhail  Ivanovitch  [or,  in  English,  Michael 
John's-son]  Glinka  —  often  called  the  "Berlioz  of 
Russia." 

Glinka  was  born  on  the  first  of  June,  1804,  at  a  little 
village l  in  the  Government  of  Smolensk,  belonging  to 
his  father,  who  was  a  retired  captain.  He  was  early 
intrusted  to  the  care  of  his  adoring  grandmother,  Thekla 
Glinka,  in  whose  apartment  he  grew  up,  rarely  seeing 
his  parents.  He  was  a  sickly,  nervous,  impressionable 
child,  "a  sensitive  plant"  as  he  afterwards  called  himself 
in  his  "Becollections,"  but  remained  sweet-tempered 
and  docile  in  spite  of  the  over-indulgence  with  which  he 
was  treated. 

He  was  precocious  in  his  studies,  and  amazed  every 
one  by  his  ability  in  reading  the  Holy  Books.  The 
Holy  Books  in  Russia  are  printed  in  quaint,  difficult 
type,  and  in  a  language  that  differs  essentially  from 
ordinary  Russian.  It  was  as  though  a  boy  or  girl  should 
be  compelled  to  read  Coverdale's  version  of  the  Bible 
printed  in  black-letter. 

He  had  a  natural  gift  for  drawing,  and  he  was  passion- 
ately fond  of  all  musical  sounds,  especially  of  the  bells 
as  they  would  ring  out  over  the  steppe  at  all  hours  of 
the  day  from  the  gayly  painted  belfries  of  the  churches. 
He  would  greedily  listen  to  them,  and  then  mimic  their 
music  by  striking  on  brazen  wash-hand-basins. 

After  his  ailing  old  grandmother's  death,  Glinka 
returned  to  his  mother.  She  had  no  belief  in  the  system 
of  coddling  to  which  he  had  been  accustomed,  and  tried 
to  throw  around  him  a  fresher  and  more  wholesome 
atmosphere.  But  he  was  a  hot-house  flower,  and  pined 
for  the  old  companionship. 

1  Novospaskoy^. 


MIKHAIL  IVANOVITCH  GLINKA.  435 

According  to  the  custom  of  old-time  landed  proprie- 
tors, his  father  often  entertained  their  neighbors  at  great 
dinners,  at  which  the  music  was  the  chief  attraction. 
It  was  usually  furnished  by  his  brother-in-law's  orches- 
tra, composed  of  serfs. 

Many  great  nobles  at  that  day  had  private  orchestras 
and  opera  companies.  In  the  Imperial  Orchestra  were 
forty  hornists  who  each  played  only  one  note,  and  yet 
executed  most  difficult  music.  They  served  instead  of 
an  organ,  and  supported  choruses  with  great  firmness 
and  strength. 

Some  of  the  proprietors  derived  considerable  income 
from  letting  their  serfs  practise  and  teach  music.  In 
1773  a  serf  named  Danila  Kashin,  belonging  to  Aleksei 
Bibikof,  not  only  taught  but  composed  many  songs,  some 
of  which  became  very  popular,  and  he  was  the  promoter 
of  the  first  musical  journal  in  Russia. 

Young  Glinka  was  simply  overcome  by  the  beautiful 
music  of  his  uncle's  orchestra.  He  was  like  one  charmed. 
It  plunged  him,  or  rather  lifted  him,  into  a  delicious  but 
tormenting  region  of  dreams.  As  he  grew  older  it 
absorbed  him  more  and  more ;  and  when  his  tutor  again 
and  again  reproved  him  for  his  abstraction  and  for 
neglecting  his  studies  for  music,  he  replied,  — 

"  What  can  I  do  ?     Music  is  my  very  life  !  " 

His  first  teacher  in  his  father's  house  was  a  French 
governess,  who  had  no  ideas  above  routine.  She  com- 
pelled the  boy  to  learn  his  lessons  by  heart.  Her  sys- 
tem was  not  a  success  with  such  a  sensitive  nature. 
She  taught  him  some  of  the  rudiments  of  music,  but  in 
this  also  she  was  mechanical  and  without  inspiration. 
Still,  he  made  rapid  progress,  and  seemed  to  have  a 
natural  predilection  for  all  that  was  worthiest  and  best. 


436  MIKHAIL  IVANOV1TCH  GLINKA. 

One  of  his  uncle's  fiddlers  taught  him  the  violin,  but 
there  was  some  fault  in  his  handling  of  the  bow,  and 
Glinka  caught  it  from  him.  Afterwards,  when  he  went 
to  take  lessons  of  Bohm,  the  latter  exclaimed  in  queer 
broken  French,  "Me  Sieu  Klmka,fous  ne  chourez  cha- 
mais  du  fiolon  "  ("  Mr.  Glinka,  you  will  never  learn  to 
play  the  violin)." 

When  he  was  in  his  fourteenth  year  he  was  sent  to 
the  newly  opened  boarding-school  for  the  sons  of  the 
nobility,  connected  with  the  chief  Palseological  Institute 
at  St.  Petersburg.  The  teachers  in  the  upper  classes 
were  excellent  men,  who  had  enjoyed  training  in  Euro- 
pean universities,  but  in  the  lower  classes  they  were 
rough  and  boorish.  The  sub-inspector,  I.  E.  Kolmakof, 
enjoyed  great  popularity  among  the  students,  owing  to 
his  sweet  temper  and  his  comical  ways. 

Glinka  mimicked  him  capitally,  and  never  forgot  him 
as  long  as  he  lived.  Some  of  the  students  composed 
some  doggerel  lines,  — 

Podinspektor  Kolmakof 
Umnozhaet  durakof 
On  glazami  vsio  morgaet 
I  zhilet  svo'i  poprevlyaet. 

which  might  be  translated  freely  :  — 

Sub-inspector  Kolmakof 

Is  a  fellow  odd  enough. 

With  his  eyes  he's  always  blinking, 

And  his  vest  fits  to  his  thinking. 

Glinka  set  these  words  to  music,  and  one  day  after 
dinner  the  students  sang  them  in  the  fashion  of  a  sere- 
nade. 

Kolmakof  listened.     He   pricked   up  his  ears.     The 


MIKHAIL  IV AN 0V ITCH  GLINKA.  437 

sense  or  nonsense  of  the  verses  began  to  dawn  upon 
him.  It  touched  his  dignity.  He  started  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  singing.  But  when  he  came  to  the  suspected 
spot  he  found  the  students  quietly  sitting  in  their  places 
and  diligently  studying,  while  the  jolly  but  offensive 
singing  sounded  from  a  different  quarter. 

At  the  time  of  Glinka's  arrival  at  Petersburg  the 
most  distinguished  piano-teacher  there  was  the  composer 
of  nocturnes,  John  Field.  Field,  who  was  of  Irish  origin, 
was  a  curious  and  interesting  figure.  He  had  blond 
hair,  blue  eyes,  a  light  complexion,  and  expressive  and 
pleasing  features.  He  was  remarkable  for  "an  almost 
somnolent  tranquillity,"  and  for  the  "  clear  limpid  flow  " 
of  his  playing.  Afterwards  he  was  inclined  to  indulge  too 
much  in  strong  drink.  He  became  heavy,  vulgar-look- 
ing, —  a  sort  of  musical  Falstaff.  He  was  extremely 
indolent  and  easy-going,  sometimes  falling  asleep  while 
giving  lessons.  On  one  occasion  when  this  happened  he 
was  asked  whether  he  thought  he  was  paid  twenty  rubles 
for  allowing  himself  to  be  played  to  sleep.  Another 
time  he  dropped  his  cane  and  waited  till  some  one  came 
along  to  pick  it  up  for  him.  Another  time,  finding  his 
dress-boots  too  tight,  he  put  on  slippers,  and  wore  them 
in  a  most  fashionable  company. 

Glinka  began  to  take  lessons  of  him,  and  made  rapid 
progress.  When  Field  quitted  the  Russian  capital, 
Glinka  continued  with  one  of  his  pupils,  named  Osman, 
whom  he  shortly  after  exchanged  for  the  famous  Zeuner. 
But  Zeuner  made  him  learn  his  theoretical  lessons  by 
heart,  a  process  which  the  young  man  could  not  endure, 
and  in  consequence  he  made  still  a  third  change,  this 
time  selecting  another  German  named  Karl  Mayer,  also 
a  pupil  of  Field,  and  so  far  his  equal  that  if  the  piano 


438  MIKHAIL  IVA^NOVITCH  GLINKA. 

were  screened  from  sight,  not  even  clever  connoisseurs 
could  tell  which  was  playing. 

On  the  day  of  his  graduation  in  1822,  Glinka  and 
Mayer  played  in  public  Hurnmel's  A-minor  concerto 
for  two  pianos.  His  progress  on  the  violin  had  not 
been  less  brilliant.  During  the  summer  vacations  which 
he  spent  at  his  father's  home,  he  played  frequently  in 
his  uncle's  orchestra,  and  learned  the  piccolo  and  other 
instruments,  and  acquired  a  practical  knowledge  of 
orchestral  demands. 

At  Petersburg  he  often  went  to  the  theatre,  and  heard 
many  operas  and  ballets.  He  particularly  liked  Kossini's 
music. 

At  first  he  studied  diligently  ;  and  as  he  had  remark- 
able aptitude  for  languages,  he  made  great  advances  in 
German,  Latin,  English,  and  Persian.  French  he  con- 
sidered barbaric  and  thoroughly  unpoetical,  and  he  made 
little  progress  in  it. 

Afterwards  he  grew  lazy,  and  neglected  his  studies. 
Only  through  the  memory  of  his  earlier  attainments  and 
by  certain  clever  artifices,  the  nature  of  which  is  not 
known,  he  managed  to  graduate  with  good  rank,  obtain- 
ing the  chin  (as  it  is  called  in  Eussia)  of  Collegiate 
Councillor,  corresponding  to  staff  captain  in  the  army, 
and  conferring  personal  nobility.  The  same  year  he 
published  several  pieces  for  harp  and  piano,  and  com- 
posed a  string  quartet. 

The  next  winter  he  went  to  the  Caucasus  Mountains 
to  drink  the  waters  of  some  famous  mineral  springs. 
He  relates  in  his  "  Recollections "  that  his  cousin, 
who  was  undergoing  a  course  of  treatment  by  means  of 
magnetism,  went  into  a  trance,  and  advised  him  to  try 
similar  measures.  Glinka,  like  Rossini  and  Chopin,  was 


MIKHAIL  IVANOVITCH  GLINKA.  439 

extremely  superstitious.  He  believed,  for  instance,  in 
the  fatal  meaning  of  seeing  three  burning  lights. 

The  mineral  waters  of  the  Caucasus  had  a  bad  effect 
on  his  health.  He  returned  to  Petersburg  worse  than 
he  had  left  it ;  but,  in  accordance  with  his  father's  wishes, 
he  entered  the  chancellery  of  the  Department  of  Public 
Highways  as  assistant  secretary,  a  position  which  re- 
quired not  more  than  an  hour's  service  each  day ;  and 
brought  him  into  friendly  relations  with  Count  Sievers, 
a  great  lover  of  music,  who  had  around  him  a  pleasant 
circle  of  friends. 

During  a  visit  to  the  country  to  attend  his  sister's 
betrothal,  he  wrote  his  variations  on  the  then  fashionable 
aria  Benedetto,  sia  la  Madre,  and  dedicated  them  "  to  his 
dear  niece ; "  and  while  at  Smolensk  he  furnished  some 
choruses  and  an  aria,  as  a  prologue  to  General  Apukhin's 
"Death  of  Alexander  and  Accession  of  the  Emperor 
Nikolai  Pavlovitch." 

This  was  the  poetical  and  dreamy  part  of  Glinka's 
life.  He  was  carried  away  by  the  romantic  poetry  of 
young  Zhukovsky;  he  wrote  melancholy  "romances," 
and  loved  "  to  weep  the  sweet  tears  of  emotion." 

In  1827,  thanks  to  the  selfish  and  narrow-minded 
policy  of  his  chief,  he  was  removed  from  his  position 
in  the  public  service  ;  but  it  was  for  the  gain  of  art. 

Fortunately  the  debts  which  had  encumbered  his 
father's  estate  were  wiped  out  by  a  sudden  rise  in  the 
tide  of  prosperity.  A  man  named  Pogodin,  who  was 
afterwards  senator  and  court  intendant,  learning  that 
Glinka's  father  was  anxious  to  embark  in  a  speculation 
that  promised  great  returns,  decided  to  help  him.  Trust- 
ing to  his  stainless  reputation,  he  loaned  him  500,000 
rubles,  taking  a  share  in  the  transaction.  It  succeeded, 
and  the  profits  were  very  great. 


440  MIKHAIL  IVANOVITCH  GLINKA. 

During  this  eventful  year  Glinka  made  the  acquaint- 
ance of  Prince  Sergyei  Galitsin,  a  connection  of  the 
Prince  Yuri,  who  was  such  a  devoted  friend  to  him. 
Prince  Sergyei  encouraged  the  sensitive  young  com- 
poser, stirred  his  activity,  wrote  verses  for  him,  had  his 
works  performed,  and  introduced  him  to  many  of  the 
leading  members  of  the  aristocracy  of  the  city. 

In  company  with  Galitsin  and  his  friends,  he  made  an 
excursion  on  the  Chernaya  Biver,  in  two  boats,  illumin- 
ated with  lanterns.  In  the  stern  of  one  of  them  was 
placed  a  piano,  on  which  he  accompanied  the  attendant 
musicians. 

Afterwards,  encouraged  by  the  success  of  these  "  sere- 
nades," as  they  were  called,  the  musicians  gave  a  comic 
operatic  performance  for  the  benefit  of  Prince  Kotchubey, 
President  of  the  Imperial  Council.  Glinka,  arrayed  in  a 
muslin  dress  and  red  wig,  took  the  part  of  Donna  Anna, 
in  Mozart's  "  Don  Giovanni." 

Glinka  was  always  feeble  in  health.  It  has  been  said 
that  he  was "  the  voluntary  victim  of  medicine  and 
doctors."  In  1828,  finding  that  his  breath  troubled  him 
more  and  more,  he  called  in  Dr.  Spindler,  who  examined 
him,  found  that  he  had  a  "  whole  quadrille  of  diseases," 
and  advised  him  to  go  abroad  for  three  years. 

In  1830  he  summoned  up  energy  and  started  on  the 
long  journey,  taking  with  him  as  a  travelling  companion 
the  tenor  singer  Nikolai  Ivanof,  who  afterwards  enjoyed 
a  great  reputation  in  Italy  and  Paris. 

Glinka  went  first  to  Dresden.  The  doctors  advised 
him  to  try  the  waters  of  Aix.  Thence  he  passed  leis- 
urely through  Switzerland ;  and  when  he  reached  Italy, 
he  took  up  his  abode  for  some  time  in  Milan,  Turin,  and 
Naples  j  and  visited  Venice,  Rome,  and  other  cities. 


MIKHAIL  IV^NOVITCH  GLINKA.  441 

Twice  lie  and  Ivanof  almost  died  from  accidental  poi- 
soning, their  meals  having  been  prepared  in  an  untinned 
saucepan. 

Yet  Glinka  worked  diligently,  and  composed  many 
pieces,  —  among  others,  a  sextet,  a  trio,  and  variations 
on  Italian  themes.  He  went  into  society,  meeting  at 
the  houses  of  the  Russian  envoys  the  most  distinguished 
artists  and  composers  of  the  day.  He  also  took  lessons 
in  singing,  and  studied  the  Italian  method  of  writing  for 
the  voice. 

At  first,  like  Meyerbeer,  he  felt  completely  under  the 
influence  of  the  Italians,  and,  like  Meyerbeer,  he  quickly 
recovered  from  the  subtle  intoxication.  He  even  grew 
weary  of  the  sensuous,  soulless  style  of  Donizetti  and 
Bellini  and  the  lesser  imitators  of  Rossini. 

His  physical  infirmities  grew  alarming.  He  became 
subject  to  hallucinations ;  but,  strange  to  say,  owing  to 
the  excessive  tension  of  his  nervous  system,  his  voice, 
which  had  been  hoarse  and  uncertain,  developed  into  a 
strong,  high  tenor. 

On  reaching  Vienna,  Glinka  underwent  what  was  called 
"a  homoeopathic  cure,"  and  seemed  really  to  improve 
under  it. 

At  this  time  Vienna  had  fallen  from  its  high  estate  as 
a  musical  centre.  The  great  masters  whom  it  had 
allowed  'to  die  in  neglect  were  still  forgotten.  Strauss 
and  Lanner  were,  as  Chopin  said,  the  elite  of  the  city. 

Glinka  heard  the  dance  music  of  these  popular  com- 
posers, and  was  moved  to  imitate  them.  He  wrote  a 
theme  which  he  afterwards  utilized  in  his  great  Russian 
opera. 

In  1836  he  got  word  of  his  father's  death  and  hastened 
back  to  his  home.  In  Moscow,  the  same  year,  it  sud- 


442  MIKHAIL  IV^NOVITCH  GLINKA. 

denly  occurred  to  him  to  write  an  opera ;  but  he  could 
find  no  suitable  words,  and  the  few  scenes  that  he  com- 
posed on  a  subject  that  occurred  to  him  were  laid  aside. 

He  was  making  his  preparations  to  go  abroad  again, 
and  had  even  applied  for  his  passport,  when  at  the 
house  of  the  Stuneyefs  he  met  a  relative  of  theirs, 
Mary  a  Petrovna  Ivanova.  It  was  a  case  of  love  at  first 
sight.  He  married  her  in  May,  1835,  and  settled  in 
Petersburg,  where  an  enthusiastic  set  of  young  literary 
men  who  were  more  than  dreaming  of  a  great  national 
literature  stimulated  him  to  compose  a  national  opera. 

Russian  opera  had  been  established  by  the  Empress 
Elizabeth  Petrovna,  and  in  1775  a  troupe  of  Russian 
singers  had  performed  "Kephale  and  Prokris,"  the  music 
of  which  was  composed  by  an  Italian,  Francisco  Araja. 
Sarti,  Cimarosa,  Paisiello,  Bo'ieldieu,  and  many  other  dis- 
tinguished foreign  composers,  had  visited  Russia,  and 
helped  to  stimulate  the  national  love  of  music,  and  drill 
singers  and  orchestral  performers  for  their  work. 

Some  had  taken  up  their  abode  in  Russia.  Sarti, 
Saliva,  Sapienza,  and  others,  wrote  operas  on  Russian- 
texts.  Caterino  Cavos,  who  was  a  Venetian  by  birth, 
came  to  Petersburg  in  1775,  and  devoted  his  great  talents 
to  treating  Russian  subjects ;  so  that  he  himself  came 
to  be  regarded  as  a  genuine  Russian.  One  of  his  works 
bore  the  same  name  as  that  first  chosen  by  Glinka. 

There  were  others  of  genuine  Russian  birth  who  com- 
posed operas,  but  Glinka  was  the  first  to  make  the  music 
as  well  as  the  subject  national. 

The  poet  Zhukovsky  suggested  to  him  a  subject  taken 
from  the  troublous  times  of  Russian  history,  and  was 
anxious  to  write  the  "  book  of  the  opera ;  "  but  he  failed 
to  fulfil  his  promise,  and  the  task  was  intrusted  to 


MIKHAIL  IV^NOVITCH  GLINKA.  443 

Baron  Rosen,  who  found  it  difficult  to  keep  up  with 
Glinka's  energetic  flow  of  ideas.  Oftentimes  he  was 
obliged  to  fit  the  words  to  the  music.  "  All  you  had  to 
do,"  said  Glinka,  "  was  to  show  him  what  sort  of  verse 
you  wanted,  —  no  matter  how  complicated ;  'twas  all  the 
same  to  him.  In  a  day's  time  it  was  all  done."  Zhu- 
kovsky  remarked,  laughingly,  that  Rosen  had  verses  all 
billeted  in  his  pocket.  "  Tell  him  what  sort,  and  there 
you  are  !  "  Moreover,  he  had  the  most  implicit  faith  in 
the  inspiration  of  his  own  poetry. 

The  composition  of  the  opera  was  somewhat  hindered 
by  domestic  troubles.  Glinka  was  remarkable  for  the 
sweetness  of  his  disposition,  but  his  wife  was  one  of  those 
women  who,  as  the  saying  goes,  would  try  the  temper  of 
a  saint.  While  he  was  writing  his  immortal  work,  she 
complained  before  every  one  that  he  was  wasting  ruled 
paper. 

Another  time,  in  the  presence  of  visitors,  she  re- 
marked to  her  husband :  "  All  poets  and  artists  come  to 
some  bad  end,  as,  for  example,  Pushkin,  who  was  killed 
in  a  duel." 

Glinka  for  once  was  goaded  to  make  a  savage  retort. 
He  replied :  "  I  do  not  claim  to  be  wiser  than  Pushkin ; 
but  I  should  certainly  not  expose  myself  to  a  bullet  for 
the  sake  of  my  wife." 

The  incompatibility  between  them  was  fomented  by 
Glinka's  mother-in-law,  and  finally  they  separated,  and 
she  married  another  man.  Glinka  tried  to  procure  a 
divorce,  but  failed  after  enduring  many  unpleasant  expe- 
riences. 

On  Friday,  December  9,  1836,  Glinka's  great  opera, 
"  A  Life  for  the  Tsar,"  was  performed  for  the  first  time 
at  the  Bolsho'i  (or  Great)  Theatre,  in  the  presence  of 


444  MIKHAIL  IVANOVITCH  GLINKA. 

the  Emperor  and  a  brilliant  audience.  The  success  was 
immense.  Immediately  after  the  curtain  fell,  he  was 
summoned  to  the  Emperor's  box,  and  congratulated  by 
the  Imperial  family,  —  the  Empress  and  the  Grand 
Dukes.  Glinka  was  bound  by  a  written  agreement  not 
to  demand  any  compensation  for  his  work ;  but  shortly 
after  the  Emperor  sent  him  a  purse  of  four  thousand 
rubles,  and  in  the  following  January  appointed  him 
kapellmeister  to  the  court  chapel. 

The  secret  of  the  success  of  "  A  Life  for  the  Tsar " 
was  not  far  to  seek.  It  appealed  to  all  the  patriotic 
emotions  of  the  people,  and,  moreover,  embodied  in 
itself  many  of  the  elements  of  popular  national  song. 

After  the  death  of  the  Tsar  Ivan  the  Terrible,  an  am- 
bitious boydr  named  Boris  Godundf,  by  murdering  the 
young  Prince  Dimitri,  paved  the  way  to  the  throne.  He 
reigned  only  seven  years.  Just  before  he  died  a  monk 
named  Otrepief  pretended  that  Dimitri,  the  son  of  the 
late  Tsar,  had  not  been  murdered,  but  that  he  had 
escaped.  He  claimed  to  be  the  Tsarevitch,  and  man- 
aged to  enlist  to  his  support  an  army  of  Poles,  joined 
by  many  disaffected  Russians.  Public  opinion  made  his 
conquest  easy.  The  young  son  of  Boris  was  murdered, 
and  Otrepief  became  Tsar. 

His  reign  was  of  short  duration.  Russia  became  the 
prey  of  warring  factions.  Anarchy  threatened  to  ruin 
the  realm.  When  the  trouble  was  at  its  height,  a 
butcher  named  Minin  and  a  prince  named  Pozharsky, 
forgetting  all  differences  of  rank,  heroically  determined 
to  restore  order.  By  their  efforts  a  Tsar  of  pure  Rus- 
sian origin  was  elected ;  and  thus  came  into  power  the 
present  house  of  Romanof. 

These  exciting  years,  filled  as  they  were  with  in- 


il 

§ 


o  g 


MIKHAIL  IV AN 0V ITCH  GLINKA.  445 

tensely  dramatic  events,  have  furnished  the  Russian 
poets  with  material  for  many  brilliant  plays.  From  this 
Glinka  also  chose  the  subject  of  his  opera. 

The  Poles  who  had  come  in  with  the  False  Dimitri  are 
still  in  possession  of  the  Kreml,  or  city  fortress  of  Mos- 
cow. They  plot  to  abduct  the  new  Tsar  Mikhail 
Romanof.  They  force  the  peasant,  Ivan  Susanin,  to 
conduct  them  in  the  guise  of  ambassadors  to  his  hiding- 
place.  The  peasant  instead  leads  them  into  pathless 
brambles,  and  when  his  design  is  accomplished  and  dis- 
covered, he  is  made  to  pay  the  penalty  with  his  life. 

In  the  first  act  of  the  opera,  the  peasant  at  first  for- 
bids his  beautiful  daughter,  Antonida,  to  marry  Sabinin 
because  of  the  dangerous  uncertainty  of  political  affairs ; 
but  when  news  arrives  of  the  election  of  the  Romanof, 
he  gives  his  consent.  The  second  act  is  a  ballet  diver- 
tissement, introducing  a  polonaise,  a  krakoviak,  a 
mazurka,  and  other  popular  Polish  dances.  The  third 
act  shows  the  wedding  preparations  for  Antonida  and 
Sabinin  interrupted  by  the  arrival  of  the  Polish  party. 
Susanin  sends  his  son,  Vanya,  to  warn  the  Tsar,  and 
after  a  tender  farewell  to  Antonida,  departs  with  the 
Poles  to  certain  death.  Sabinin,  entering,  discovers 
what  is  in  the  wind,  hastily  gathers  a  party,  and  starts 
in  pursuit. 

The  fourth  act  has  two  scenes  and  an  epilogue.  The 
first  portrays  Vanya  warning  the  Tsar ;  the  second,  the 
death  of  Susanin.  The  epilogue  relates  the  story  of 
the  martyr's  death,  and  concludes  with  the  Tsar's  solemn 
entry  into  Moscow. 

This  brief  synopsis  of  the  opera  will  give  a  hint  at 
the  possibilities  of  song  and  dramatic  situations  which 
it  afforded.  Glinka's  great  innovation  was  the  employ- 


446  MIKHAIL  IVANOVITCH  GLINKA. 

ment  of  national  melodies,  especially  the  contrast  of 
Polish  and  Russian  ones. 

Whenever  the  Poles  are  introduced,  as  in  the  last  act, 
Polish  rhythms  are  employed,  and  there  is  a  mazurka 
quite  worthy  of  Chopin.  This,  and  the  orchestral  remi- 
niscences of  the  melodies  of  Vanya  and  Antonida,  are 
distinct  foreshadowings  of  what  in  Wagner  are  called 
leading  motives. 

"Glinka,"  says  his  countryman,  Tsesar  Antonovitch 
Cui,  "was  a  fertile  and  inexhaustible  melodist,  under- 
standing the  art  of  giving  songs  a  perfectly  vocal  form, 
free  from  violence  and  the  commonplace.  He  displays 
variety,  grace,  and  animation.  His  melody  is  always 
expressive.  His  musical  knowledge,  the  astonishing 
richness  of  his  harmonic  inventions,  —  bold,  original,  and 
always  lucid,  —  are  equal  to  his  melodic  genius.  His 
harmony  introduced  a  multitude  of  effects  absolutely 
novel  and  full  of  good  taste." 

In  April,  1838,  Glinka  was  despatched  by  command  of 
the  Emperor  to  "  Russia  Minor,"  —  the  Ukraina,  that 
border  land,  so  fertile  in  popular  songs,  where  the  three- 
stringed  lute,  whose  very  name,  balalaika,  is  suggestive 
of  dance  and  sweet  refrain,  still  was  heard  in  many  a 
peasant  hut.  His  especial  service  was  to  procure  sing- 
ers, and  he  succeeded  in  enlisting  in  the  Emperor's 
service  nineteen  boys  and  three  men,  among  them  the 
famous  Gulak-Artemovsky.  Nicholas  was  so  pleased 
that  he  gave  Glinka  fifteen  hundred  rubles.  Glinka  did 
not  retain  his  position  as  kapellmeister  beyond  the  fol- 
lowing year.  Owing  to  his  shattered  health,  —  he  had  a 
severe  attack  of  fever, — the  death  of  his  brother, 
Andrei,  and  various  disagreeable  circumstances,  chief  of 
which  was  the  quarrel  with  his  wife,  he  retired  on  the 
last  day  of  December,  1839. 


MIKHAIL  IVANOVITCH  GLINKA.  447 

Not  quite  three  years  later,  his  second  opera,  "  Ruslan 
and  Luidmfla,''  was  brought  out  for  the  first  time. 

The  idea  of  the  opera  had  been  suggested  by  Prince 
Shakdvsko'i,  who  saw  the  possibilities  of  a  dramatic 
score  in  Pushkin's  famous  narrative  poem,  the  scene  of 
which  is  laid  in  the  East.  Had  it  not  been  for  the  fatal 
bullet  of  the  duel  which  cut  off  Russia's  greatest  poet 
and  dramatist  in  the  very  prime  of  his  powers,  Glinka 
would  have  followed  the  author's  indications ;  but  as  this 
was  impossible,  a  certain  Bakhturin,  one  of  the  many 
brilliant  young  men  who  gathered  at  the  house  of  the 
Kukolnik  brothers,  undertook  the  task,  and,  as  Glinka 
himself  said,  finished  the  libretto  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
"with  his  drunken  hand."  Four  or  five  others  had 
made  experiments  with  the  libretto.  The  plot  repre- 
sents Liudmila,  the  daughter  of  an  Eastern  prince,  wooed 
by  Kuslan,  a  Slav,  Katmir,  an  Oriental,  and  Farlaf,  a 
villain.  Nuptial  choruses,  the  singing  of  a  prophetic 
bard,  the  marvels  of  a  magician,  all  enter  into  the  score. 

A'ivazovsky,  who  had  been  in  Persia,  gave  Glinka  three 
Tatar  songs,  which  he  introduced  into  the  third  act  to 
give  an  Eastern  coloring.  Moreover,  while  travelling 
more  than  ten  years  before,  Glinka  had  caught  a  charm- 
ing theme  from  the  lips  of  his  yamshchik,  or  postilion : 
this  he  utilized  for  the  ballad  of  "  Phinna." 

The  first  performance  of  "  Ruslan  "  took  place  on  the 
9th  of  December,  1842.  The  favorite  singer,  Petrova,  was 
ill,  and  the  important  part  of  "  Ratinir  "  was  intrusted 
to  a  pupil  who  bore  the  same  name  but  was  not  by  any 
means  her  equal.  The  scenery  painted  by  Roller,  who 
had  quarrelled  with  the  director,  Gedeonof,  was  ut- 
terly wretched.  The  chorus  were  not  well  drilled,  and 
did  not  know  their  music.  Though  the  music  was  of  a 


448  MIKHAIL  IVANOVITCII  GLINKA. 

higher  quality  than  that  in  "  A  Life  for  the  Tsar,"  the 
opera  was  not  nearly  so  dramatic,  and  it  did  not  appeal 
so  directly  to  patriotic  emotions.  This,  together  with 
the  faults  of  the  performance,  caused  it  to  be  coldly 
received  by  the  public,  and  when  the  curtain  fell  hisses 
were  mingled  with  the  faint  applause. 

One  of  Glinka's  friends  tried  to  comfort  him  by  say- 
ing :  "  Come  now,  Christ  suffered  more  than  you  do." 

At  the  third  representation  Petrova  herself  took  part, 
and  more  enthusiasm  was  shown.  The  composer  was  to 
receive  ten  per  centum  on  two-thirds  of  the  receipts,  but 
instead  of  bringing  him  profit  it  plunged  him  three 
thousand  silver  rubles  into  debt.  Bulgarin  criticised 
the  opera  unmercifully,  and  the  Northern  Bee,  edited 
by  Count  Bielgorsky,  had  a  cruel  sting  for  the  sensitive 
composer. 

The  next  year  the  Italian  opera  came  to  Petersburg, 
and  "Kuslan"  was  shelved.  Nor  was  it  ever  revived 
during  his  lifetime. 

Glinka,  who  felt  this  failure  bitterly,  soon  went 
abroad,  and  this  time  visited  Paris.  Berlioz  appreciated 
his  greatness,  and  caused  the  "  Leschinka,"  a  Caucasian 
dance  from  "  Kuslan,"  and  a  cavatina  from  "  A  Life  for 
the  Tsar,"  to  be  executed  in  public.  But  neither  was 
successful.  Glinka  remarked,  what  Mozart  had  re- 
marked before  him,  that  the  French  were  bad  listeners 
and  worse  singers. 

He  gave  a  concert  at  which  his  krakoviak,  "  Cherno- 
mor's  March  "  (from  "  Kuslan  "),  a  waltz  scherzo,  and  an 
Italian  romance,  "  R  Desiderio"  were  performed,  but  in 
spite  of  the  presence  of  all  the  Russians  in  Paris,  and 
a  good  audience,  he  lost  1,500  francs. 

In  May,  1845,  he  went  to  Spain,  and  travelled  over  a 


MIKHAIL  IVANOVITCH  GLINKA.  449 

large  part  of  the  country,  indulging  Ms  passion  for  col- 
lecting folk-songs.  He  was  there  for  two  years.  At 
Madrid,  in  1847,  he  composed  his  great  fantasy  on  the 
popular  dance  "  la  jota  arragonesa,"  which  he  followed 
with  a  symphonic  poem  called  "A  Night  in  Madrid." 

At  the  desire  of  his  aged  mother  he  returned  to 
Russia  this  year,  and  again  his  health  failed.  From 
this  time  forth  he  led  a  restless,  wandering  life,  some- 
times in  Warsaw,  sometimes  in  Moscow,  or  in  Peters- 
burg, or  Smolensk.  In  June,  1857,  he  received  a  letter 
from  home,  and  before  he  had  opened  it  felt  a  nervous 
shock  from  his  finger-tips  :  it  contained  the  news  of  his 
mother's  death. 

During  these  five  years  of  nomadic  life  he  wrote  for 
Prince  Varshavsky's  orchestra  a  number  of  pieces,  in- 
cluding his  pot-pourri  "Recollections  of  Castile,"  and 
his  ever-famous  "  Kamdrinskaya" 

The  following  May  he  went  abroad  for  the  third  time, 
again  visited  Paris,  and  started  for  Spain ;  but  his  pain- 
ful nervous  sufferings  drove  him  back  from  Toulouse  to 
Paris.  He  was  homesick  for  his  native  land,  and  dreamed 
of  a  quiet  life  in  a  little  house  with  a  garden,  where  he 
should  have  room  for  his  pet  animals  and  birds. 

It  was  about  this  time  that  he  wrote  his  Recollections, 
or  Autobiography. 

Just  two  years  later  he  was  in  Russia  once  more  and 
visiting  his  sister  Liudmila  Ivanovna  Shetakova,  who 
lived  at  Tsarkoye  Selo.  At  Petersburg  he  found  great 
pleasure  in  the  society  of  the  great  singer  Leonova,  and 
began  for  her  an  opera  to  be  entitled  "  Drumuzhnetsa  " 
("The  Bigamist"),  or  "The  Robbers  of  the  Volga,"  for 
which  he  intended  to  apply  some  sketches  of  Malo- 
Russian  songs,  formerly  written  for  "  Taras  Bulba." 


450  MIKHAIL  IVANOV1TCU  GLINKA. 

The  libretto,  unfortunately,  did  not  reach  him  in 
time. 

Physical  pains  again  made  him  restless,  and  in  April, 
1856,  he  went  to  Berlin  in  order  to  study  the  music  of 
the  ancients,  especially  the  so-called  church  ecclesiastical 
modes.  Here  he  was  greatly  delighted  because  a  trio  of 
his  was  performed  by  the  King's  band  at  a  parade  con- 
cert, and  his  "  Life  for  the  Tsar  "  was  given  in  Germany 
for  the  first  time. 

He  was  suddenly  taken  ill,  and  died  in  February,  1857. 
No  one  was  with  him,  but  he  was  found  peacefully  rest- 
ing in  bed  with  a  holy  image  pressed  to  his  lips. 

His  body  was  brought  to  Russia  in  May,  and  buried 
in  the  cemetery  of  the  Nevsky  Monastery,  near  the 
grave  of  the  great  Kruilof,  the  Msop  of  Eussia. 

Glinka  always  had  the  good  fortune  to  make  friends, 
and  his  intimates  were  the  leading  spirits  of  his  time, 
who  looked  upon  him  with  the  greatest  admiration. 
There  are  in  existence  numerous  portraits  of  him.  He 
is  portrayed  as  a  regular-featured  boy  in  1817;  as  a 
sentimental  young  man  in  1824 ;  as  an  inspired  official 
in  a  uniform  coat  in  1830;  as  a  contented  citizen  of  the 
world,  wearing  a  Turkish  fez,  in  1850;  and  in  1856, 
the  year  before  his  death,  as  a  dark-eyed  Titianesque 
thinker,  with  hair  changing  to  gray,  self-willed  and 
imperious  in  expression. 


HECTOR  BEELIOZ. 

(1803-1869.) 


Colossal  genius  of  the  eagle's  wing! 

Fierce,  unrestrained,  ambitious,  passionate, 

With  vast  capacities  for  love  and  hate, 
Foiled,  fostered,  ever  met  by  spur  and  sting, 
Taught  by  thy  nature's  wondrous  art  to  sing, 

Volcanic  in  impatience,  doomed  by  Fate, 

Successful  in  defeat,  to  work  and  wait ;  — 
What  message  hadst  thou  to  the  world  to  bring  ? 

A  message  far  too  vast  for  human  thought ! 
It  was  as  though  thy  spirit  mounted  high 

And  caught  the  choiring  voices  of  the  spheres, 
And  fitted  them  to  earthly  harmony ; 

It  wakes  our  wonder,  stirs  us,  causes  tears, 
Yet  we  who  hear  it  comprehend  it  not ! 

LOUIS  HECTOR  BERLIOZ  was  born  in  the  chill 
month  of  Frimaire,  in  the  twelfth  year  of  the 
French  Republic ;  that  is  to  say,  his  birthday  was  Sun- 
day, December  11,  1803.  His  birthplace  was  Cote- 
Saint-Andre,  a  tiny  village  (to  use  Berlioz's  own  words) 
"built  on  the  slope  of  a  hill  and  overlooking  a  vast 
plain,  rich,  golden,  green,  the  silence  of  which  was 
characterized  by  a  peculiarly  dreamy  majesty,  still 
further  enhanced  by  the  belt  of  mountains  shutting  it 
in  on  the  south  and  east,  and  surmounted  in  the  far 
distance  by  the  gigantic  snow-capped  peaks  of  the 
Alps." 

His   father,   of   honorable    family   and    considerable 
451 


452  HECTOR  BERLIOZ. 

wealth,  was  a  "  health  officer,"  who  practised  medicine 
for  humanity's  sake  rather  than  profit,  and  enjoyed  the 
love  and  respect  of  the  humble  peasantry,  who  called 
him  Monsieur  Berl.  His  medical  acquirements  must 
have  been  considerable,  for  he  won  a  prize  for  a  memo- 
rial on  chronic  diseases  that  was  published  in  Paris. 
His  was  a  dreamy  and  meditative  nature,  a  man  free 
from  prejudices  of  any  sort,  inclined  to  the  scepticism 
of  the  Revolutionary  philosophers,  though  he  never 
interfered  with  the  beliefs  of  others.  In  later  life  he 
was  a  victim  of  the  opium  habit.  He  was  his  son's 
instructor  in  languages,  literature,  history,  geography. 

Berlioz,  while  paying  tribute  to  his  father's  learning 
and  patience,  considered  that  this  method  of  home  in- 
struction was  injurious  to  him.  Having  dealings  almost 
exclusively  with  relations  and  servants  and  only  care- 
fully chosen  companions,  and  seeing  little  of  real  life, 
he  was  unfitted  for  rude  contact  with  the  world.  "  I  am 
certain,"  says  he  in  his  Memoirs,  "that  in  this  respect 
I  remained  an  ignorant  and  awkward  child  till  I  was 
twenty-five." 

Geography  was  his  delight,  and  such  was  his  passion 
for  studying  the  maps  of  far  countries,  and  reading  all 
possible  stories  of  foreign  travel  and  adventure,  that  he 
declared  if  he  had  been  born  nearer  the  sea  he  should 
certainly  have  become  a  sailor,  with  or  without  the 
consent  of  his  parents. 

By  a  curious  freak  of  heredity  his  own  son  became  a 
sailor  and  visited  the  lands  of  which  the  father  dreamed 
and  never  ceased  dreaming. 

He  was  obliged  each  day  to  learn  by  heart  several 
lines  of  Horace  and  Vergil,  but  found  the  task  odious. 
Nevertheless,  at  the  early  age  cf  twelve  he  was  so  im- 


HECTOR   BERLIOZ. 
After  a  photograph  from  life. 


HECTOR  BERLIOZ.  453 

pressed  by  the  pathos  of  the  story  of  Dido  in  the  fourth 
book  of  the  ^Eneid,  that  he  found  it  impossible  to 
read  it  aloud  without  a  breaking  voice  and  flowing  tears. 

The  secret  of  this  lay  not  so  much  in  the  magic  of 
Vergil's  hexameters,  so  completely  unfelt  by  the  average 
schoolboy,  as  in  the  youthful  Hector's  precocity  in  fall- 
ing a  victim  to  what  poets  call  "the  tender  passion," 
what  he  himself  called  "  the  cruel  passion  ! "  Indeed, 
he  was  so  hard  hit  by  Cupid's  dart,  child  though  he  was, 
that  half  a  century  later  the  wound  had  not  healed ! 

Every  summer  he  was  in  the  habit  of  going  with  his 
mother  and  sisters  to  visit  his  grandfather,  "  who  bore 
the  name  of  Walter  Scott's  fabulous  warrior,  Marmion." 
His  home  was  in  the  romantic  and  picturesque  village 
of  Maylan,  above  the  valley  of  the  Isere,  and  looking 
toward  the  mountains.  Hector's  uncle  Felix  was  in  the 
army,  and  between  the  campaigns  often  returned  home 
"  all  warm  with  the  cannon's  breath,  adorned  sometimes 
with  a  mere  lance  thrust,  sometimes  with  a  gun-shot  wound 
in  his  foot,  or  a  magnificent  sabre  cut  across  his  face." 

He  was  one  of  those  intrepid  heroes,  like  Captain 
Coignet,  who  followed  "  the  great  Emperor's  luminous 
path,"  was  "  ready  to  give  his  life  for  a  glance,  believing 
the  Napoleon's  throne  to  be  as  solid  as  Mont  Blanc." 
Many  stories  he  had  to  tell  of  his  adventures,  gallant 
and  jovial  lance  that  he  was  !  He  also  played  the -vio- 
lin and  sang  comic  songs. 

But  this  warrior  made  a  less  vivid  impression  on  the 
doctor's  son  than  a  girl  of  eighteen,  who  lived  with  her 
sister  and  her  aunt,  Madame  Gautier,  during  the  sum- 
mer, high  up  on  the  mountain-side,  in  a  white  cottage, 
surrounded  by  vines  and  gardens,  and  guarded  by  a 
ruined  tower  and  the  mighty  crag  of  St.  Eynard. 


454  HECTOR   BERLIOZ. 

One  of  Hector's  favorite  books  was  a  pastoral  ro- 
mance, entitled  "  Estelle  et  Nemorin"  which  he  had  dis- 
covered in  his  father's  library,  and  read  again  and 
again.  "The  nymph,  the  Hamadryad  of  St.  Eynard," 
was  also  named  Estelle.  She  was,  says  Berlioz,  "tall, 
and  of  elegant  figure,  with  great  eyes  armed  for  war, 
though  they  were  always  smiling,  a  head  of  hair  worthy 
of  adorning  the  helmet  of  Achilles,  and  feet,  perhaps 
not  Andalusian,  but  thoroughly  Parisian,  and  rose-colored 
buskins ! " 

The  first  time  that  the  boy  saw  this  superior  being, 
he  felt  an  electric  shock.  He  grew  dizzy  with  mysteri- 
ous pain.  "  I  spent  whole  nights,"  he  says,  "  a  prey  to 
desolation.  By  day  I  hid  in  the  corn-fields,  in  the 
secret  retreats  of  my  grandfather's  orchard,  like  a 
wounded  bird,  silent  and  sad.  Jealousy,  that  pallid 
companion  of  the  purest  love,  tormented  me  if  a  man 
spoke  the  merest  word  to  my  idol." 

Forty  years  after,  when  he  had  forgotten  the  color  of 
her  hair,  he  still  remembered  her  sparkling  eyes,  her 
rose-colored  buskins,  and  still  the  clinking  of  his  uncle 
Marmion's  spurs  as  he  danced  with  her  brought  a  pang 
to  his  heart. 

He  was  only  a  boy  of  twelve,  and  she  was  eighteen 
at  least,  and  so  his  passion,  which  he  could  not  hide, 
afforded  great  amusement  to  the  country-side.  Estelle 
herself,  "  the  star  of  the  mountain,"  encouraged  him  for 
diversion's  sake.  Perhaps  she  knew  not  what  cruel  pain 
it  caused  him. 

"  One  evening,"  he  relates,  "  there  was  a  large  party  at  her 
aunt's  to  play  barres.  In  order  to  form  the  two  hostile  camps,  we 
had  to  divide  ourselves  into  equal  groups.  The  gentlemen  chose 
their  partners.  They  took  pains  to  make  me  point  out  my  choice 


HECTOR  BERLIOZ.  455 

in  presence  of  all.  But  I  had  not  the  courage ;  my  heart  beat  too 
violently.  I  silently  dropped  my  eyes.  Every  one  was  mocking, 
me.  When  Miss  Estelle,  seizing  my  hand,  exclaimed,  *  Very 
well,  let  me  choose  ;  I  take  Mr.  Hector.'  Oh,  agony  !  She 
also  laughed,  the  cruel  one,  as  she  looked  down  upon  me  from  the 
height  of  her  loveliness." 

This  pathetic  episode  was  of  brief  duration,  but  it 
colored  all  his  life.  Other  loves  failed  to  blot  out  the 
memory  of  the  first. 

"  I  was  thirteen  when  I  parted  from  her.  I  was  thirty  when,  as 
I  came  home  from  Italy,  across  the  Alps,  I  saw  afar  off  St.  Eynard 
and  the  little  white  house,  and  the  old  tower  — I  still  loved  her." 

Berlioz  declares  in  his  memoirs  that  music  was  re- 
vealed to  him  at  the  same  time  with  love,  at  the  age  of 
twelve.  He  means  that  it  was  then  he  first  began  to 
compose. 

His  first  impression  of  music  was  gained  at  his  first 
communion. 

His  mother,  who  was  a  tall  woman,  rather  stern,  and 
extremely  religious,  duly  taught  him  the  first  precepts 
of  her  faith. 

His  older  sister,  Nancy,  was  a  pupil  at  the  Ursuline 
convent ;  and  early  one  spring  morning,  the  sun  shining, 
the  fragrant  breeze  murmuring  in  the  poplars,  the  priest 
came  to  take  him  to  the  "  holy  house,"  where  the  august 
ceremony  was  to  occur.  In  the  chapel  he  found  his  sis- 
ter and  her  companions  all  clad  in  white,  their  heads 
bowed  in  prayer. 

Blushing  at  the  undeserved  honor  of  being  invited  to 
the  table  before  those  charming  maidens,  he  received  the 
Host,  and  just  at  that  moment  "a  chorus  of  virginal 
voices,  joining  in  a  hymn  to  the  Eucharist,"  filled  him 
with  "a  mystic  and  passionate  agitation." 


456  HECTOR  BERLIOZ. 

"  I  thought,"  says  he,  "  that  I  saw  heaven  opening  — 
the  heaven  of  love  and  chaste  delight  —  a  heaven  purer 
and  a  thousand  times  more  beautiful  than  that  of  which 
I  had  heard  so  much.  Oh,  marvellous  power  of  true 
expression,  incomparable  beauty  of  a  melody  coming 
from  the  heart ! 

"  Thus,"  he  continues,  "  I  became  suddenly  a  saint  — 
a  saint,  in  so  far  as  going  to  hear  mass  every  day,  taking 
the  communion  every  Sunday,  and  going  to  the  tribunal 
of  penitence  to  tell  my  spiritual  director,  *  My  father,  I 
have  done  nothing?  —  '  Very  well,  my  boy,'  replied  the 
worthy  priest ;  '  keep  on  so/  And  for  many  years  I 
followed  his  advice  only  too  well." 

Before  he  was  twelve  he  found  a  flageolet  in  a  drawer, 
and  his  father  succeeded  in  a  day  or  two  in  giving  him 
so  good  an  idea  of  its  use  that  he  was  able  to  play  the 
popular  air  "  Marlborough."  Later  he  practised  the 
flute,  so  that  in  seven  months  he  played,  as  he  himself 
says,  passably  well.  Dr.  Berlioz,  who  had  taught  him 
all  he  knew,  then  made  arrangements  to  have  a  violinist 
named  Imbert  come  from  Lyons.  The  boy  received  two 
lessons  a  day,  and,  as  he  was  able  to  sing  at  sight,  and 
play  "  Drouet's  Complicated  Concertos,"  he  made  rapid 
progress. 

He  studied  by  himself  E/ameau's  treatise  on  harmony, 
but  could  not  comprehend  it,  though  he  burned  the 
midnight  oil,  until  suddenly,  by  a  kind  of  mystic  en- 
lightenment due  to  practice  in  Pleyel's  quartets,  the 
fundamental  principles  established  themselves  in  his 
mind.  Then  he  sat  down  and  wrote  a  six-part  pot- 
pourri on  Italian  themes,  and  a  quintet  for  flute, 
violin,  viola,  and  bass-viol.  Two  months  later  he  com- 
posed another  quintet,  which  was  so  difficult  that  none 


HECTOR  BERLIOZ.  457 

of  them  could  play  it.  All  of  these  pieces,  naturally 
enough,  were  in  the  minor,  and  breathed  the  most 
gloomy  melancholy.  They  were  inspired  by  hopeless 
love. 

"  I  burned  these  two  quintets,"  he  writes,  "  some  years 
after  I  composed  them ;  but,  strangely  enough,  when  at 
Paris,  long  after,  I  was  writing  my  first  orchestral  com- 
position, the  passage  approved  by  my  father  in  the  sec- 
ond of  these  essays,  came  into  my  head,  and  was 
adopted." 

Berlioz's  second  instructor  was  an  Alsatian  named 
Dorant,  a  man  far  more  clever  than  Imbert,  and  able  to 
play  the  guitar,  the  clarinet,  the  violin,  the  bass-viol, 
and  every  other  instrument  known  to  man. 

After  a  short  time  Dorant  went  to  Hector's  father  : 

"  I  cannot  give  your  son  any  more  guitar  lessons." 

"Why  not?  Has  he  failed  in  any  manner  toward 
you,  or  has  he  been  so  indolent  that  you  despair  of 
him  ?  " 

"  Nothing  of  the  sort ;  but,  absurd  as  it  may  seem,  he 
is  as  good  a  player  as  I  am." 

This  was  Berlioz's  first  diploma,  and  he  found  himself 
at  the  outset  of  his  career  (as  he  expresses  it),  "  master 
of  the  three  majestic  and  incomparable  instruments,  the 
flageolet,  flute,  and  guitar." 

Even  while  declaring  that  he  could  command  no  other 
instrument,  he  suddenly  recollects  the  drum.  He  could 
beat  the  drum.  This  was  his  chief  resemblance  to  Haydn. 
He  always  regretted  that  he  could  not  play  the  piano ; 
and  yet  this  very  lack  caused  him  to  rely  upon  himself 
entirely  when  composing. 

But  his  father  began  to  look  askance  at  his  musical 
enthusiasms,  and  his  very  pious  mother  —  did  he  never 


458  HECTOR   BERLIOZ. 

forgive  her  for  it  ?  —  saw  in  that  art  the  lurking  tempta- 
tions of  the  stage  and  all  other  evil. 

His  father  desired  to  see  him,  like  himself,  a  doctor. 
So  having  started  him  in  Latin,  Greek,  and  history, 
literature,  and  geography,  he  put  him  into  the  little  semi- 
nary of  La  Cote  near  his  home.  From  this,  Hector  grad- 
uated at  the  age  of  eighteen  with  a  fair  amount  of 
learning,  —  it  is  said  that  he  remembered  his  Latin  well 
enough  to  talk  in  it  with  a  famous  professor  at  Stuttgart, 
many  years  later,  and  his  memoirs  are  full  of  classical 
quotations,  —  and  not  indisposed  to  study  medicine. 

But  it  chanced  one  day  that  he  picked  up  the  Lives  of 
Gluck  and  Haydn,  and  shortly  after  a  piece  of  music- 
paper  ruled  with  twenty -four  lines  fell  into  his  hands  ; 
and  he,  who  had  never  seen  a  full  score  or  dreamed  of 
music  written  in  more  than  six  parts,  suddenly  woke  to 
a  consciousness  of  what  a  world  of  harmony  was  to  be 
reached  by  climbing  that  marvellous  ladder,  more  magical 
than  the  one  seen  by  Jacob  in  his  dreams. 

It  was  a  revelation  to  him ;  and  when  under  his  father's 
direction  he  studied  the  splendid  plates,  life  size,  in 
Monro's  treatise  on  the  human  skeleton,  his  mind  was 
rather  on  the  skeletons  of  symphonies,  and  only  the 
bribe  of  a  new  flute  that  his  father  offered,  and  the 
respect  and  fear  inspired  by  him,  made  him  yield  and 
give  up  what  he  calls  "  the  empyrean  for  the  most  mel- 
ancholy abiding  places  of  the  earth ;  the  immortal  angels 
of  poesy  and  love  and  their  inspired  songs,  for  the  dis- 
gusting attendants  of  the  dissecting-room,  hideous  corpses, 
cries  of  patients,  moans  and  death-rattle." 

Yet  he  did  yield,  and  in  company  with  a  cousin  who 
became  a  distinguished  physician,  he  read  medicine  with 
the  old  doctors  until  it  seemed  best  for  the  two  to  go  to 
Paris, 


HECTOR  BERLIOZ.  459 

This  was  in  1822.  When  he  first  went  to  the  dissect- 
ing-room of  the  hospital  of  La  Pitie,  the  horror  of  the 
sight  was  so  great  that  he  jumped  out  of  the  window  and 
ran  to  his  lodgings  as  fast  as  his  legs  would  carry  him. 

But  it  was  only  a  momentary  revolt.  The  next  day 
he  went  again  and  showed  himself  calm  and  even  more 
than  stoical.  He  studied  assiduously  under  famous  pro- 
fessors for  some  months,  till,  at  an  evil  hour  for  his 
father's  hopes,  he  went  to  the  opera  and  heard  Salieri's 
"  Daughters  of  Danaus,"  with  Spontini's  additions. 

Again  the  magic  spell  came  upon  him.  He  tried  hard, 
in  honor  of  his  promise  to  his  father,  to  struggle  against 
it.  The  next  week  he  heard  the  ballet  of  "Nina,"  in 
which  occurred  the  song  sung  years  before  by  the  young 
sisterhood  at  the  Ursuline  convent,  at  his  first  commu- 
nion, when  the  realm  of  music  was  opened  to  him. 

The  theme  was  by  the  famous  Dalayrac,  and  it  was 
played  on  the  English  horn. 

The  next  step  was  to  seek  the  library  of  the  conserva- 
tory, which  he  found  was  open  to  all,  and  there  he  buried 
himself  in  the  scores  of  Gluck,  his  dearest  admiration. 

Gluck's  opera  of  "  Iphigenie"  which  he  heard  early  in 
1822,  decided  his  career. 

Inspired  once  more  by  these  musical  treasures,  Berlioz, 
who  knew  so  little,  composed  a  cantata  with  orchestral 
accompaniment.  A  pupil  of  the  conservatory,  named 
Gerono,  who  had  frequently  found  him  at  the  library, 
offered  to  present  him  to  Professor  Lesueur,  who  has 
been  called  "the  true  inventor  of  program  music." 
Lesueur  looked  over  "  The  Arab  Horse,"  as  the  cantata 
was  called,  and  found  it  abounding  in  life  and  dramatic 
fire,  but  pronounced  it  so  full  of  faults  that  it  was  of  no 
use  even  to  point  them  out. 


460  HECTOR   BERLIOZ. 

Gerono  was  deputed  to  "  coach  "  Berlioz  in  Lesueur's 
methods,  and  he  did  it  so  effectively,  that  in  a  few  weeks 
the  ambitious  young  man  was  able  to  enter  Lesueur's 
classes. 

Afterwards  he  came  to  mourn  the  time  that  he  had 
wasted  in  studying  "  this  excellent  and  worthy  man's 
antediluvian  theories." 

Lesueur  became  his  earnest  friend,  and  took  him 
every  Sunday  to  hear  his  masses  and  his  little  "ora- 
torios" on  Biblical  and  Ossianic  episodes,  performed 
at  the  Tuileries.  Then  when  the  ceremony  was  over, 
and  King  Charles  X.  had  retired  to  the  sound  of  a 
barbarous  fanfare  on  a  big  drum  and  a  fife,  master 
would  take  pupil  on  long  walks,  confiding  in  him  all 
his  struggles,  his  ambitions,  his  disappointments,  his 
successes,  and  discussing  with  him  theories  and  philoso- 
phies. The  two  so  strangely  dissimilar  friends  were 
united  in  their  admiration  for  Gluck,  Vergil,  and  Na- 
poleon ! 

All  this  time  Berlioz  was  having  a  heated  discussion 
with  his  father,  in  regard  to  his  "  chimerical  notion  "  of 
abandoning  medicine  for  music.  And  when  a  mass, 
which  he  wrote  at  the  suggestion  of  the  chapelmaster 
of  Saint-Roch,  failed  lamentably  (not  through  his  fault 
so  much  as  that  of  the  performers),  his  parents  threat- 
ened to  cut  off  his  allowance  of  one  hundred  and  twenty 
francs  a  month,  and  finally  summoned  him  home. 

During  his  two  months'  stay  at  La  Cote,  he  almost 
talked  his  father  over  to  his  views,  and  presented 
Lesueur's  services  to  him  in  such  a  light,  that  Dr. 
Berlioz  sent  his  especial  thanks  and  regards  to  the 
professor. 

Berlioz  was  back  in  Paris  early  in  August,  1825,  but, 


HECTOR  BERLIOZ.  461 

instead  of  attending  to  his  medical  studies,  he  spent  his 
time  revising  and  copying  his  mass.  He  could  not  afford 
to  employ  a  professional  copyist. 

In  order  to  have  it  properly  represented,  he  needed 
twelve  hundred  francs,  and  he  had  applied  to  Chateau- 
briand for  a  loan,  which  was  curtly  refused.  But  a 
spendthrift  young  nobleman,  named  Augustin  de  Pons, 
whose  acquaintance  he  made  at  the  Opera,  proffered  it 
of  his  own  accord,  and  the  work  was  excellently  per- 
formed at  Saint-Koch. 

In  order  to  repay  the  loan,  Berlioz  moved  into  humble 
quarters,  gave  music  lessons,  —  flute,  guitar,  and  singing, 
at  twenty  sous  an  hour  —  saved  assiduously,  almost 
starved  himself,  and  had  succeeded  in  slowly  covering 
half  of  the  indebtedness  when  De  Pons  in  a  fit  of  impa- 
tience wrote  to  Dr.  Berlioz,  telling  him  the  situation. 

The  old  gentleman  paid  the  remaining  six  hundred 
francs,  and,  for  a  time,  deprived  his  son  of  his  stipend, 
hoping  to  bring  him  to  terms. 

But  a  new  revelation  had  come  to  Berlioz  on  hearing 
the  sadly  garbled  and  travestied  French  version  of  "  Der 
Freischiitz"  through  which,  though  it  was  so  "muti- 
lated, vulgarized,  tortured,  and  insulted,"  he  was  able, 
in  spite  of  his  prejudices,  to  see  the  grace,  poetry,  and 
romantic  coloring  given  to  orchestration  by  the  German 
composer. 

What  was  his  disappointment  when,  one  February 
day,  in  1826,  on  reaching  Lesueur's,  he  was  told :  "  I 
have  just  had  a  visit  from  Weber :  five  minutes  sooner, 
you  would  have  heard  him  play  whole  scenes  from  our 
French  scores." 

Again  that  day  he  missed  seeing  him  at  a  publisher's, 
and  in  the  evening  at  the  Op^ra.  Weber  was  on  his  way 
to  London,  where  he  died. 


462  HECTOR  BERLIOZ. 

Berlioz  this  year  determined  to  present  himself  as  a 
candidate  for  the  "  prize  of  Rome."  But,  unfortunately, 
he  was  only  a  private  pupil  of  Lesueur,  and  a  prelimi- 
nary examination  was  required,  in  order  to  get  rid  of 
the  weaker  ones,  and  he  was  "  screened  out." 

This  news  reached  his  father,  who  was  more  than  ever 
confirmed  in  his  opposition,  though  Lesueur  wrote  an 
urgent  letter  assuring  him  that  Hector  had  a  great 
future  before  him,  and  that  "music  streamed  from  all 
his  pores." 

So  Berlioz  went  home  to  try  his  powers  of  persuasion. 
It  was  a  painful  visit ;  after  several  days  of  icy  coolness 
his  father  relented,  but  his  mother  first  begged  him  on 
her  knees  to  renounce  his  plans,  and  then,  finding  him 
unyielding,  cursed  him,  —  or  so  at  least  he  relates  in 
his  memoir es. 

One  of  Berlioz's  first  acquaintances  in  Paris  was  a 
young  man  named  Humbert  Ferrand,  an  ardent  Roman 
Catholic,  a  zealous  believer  in  the  "legitimate  mon- 
archy," while  Berlioz  was  growing  more  and  more 
"liberal,"  both  as  regarded  politics  and  religion.  In 
spite  of  these  divergences,  a  warm  friendship  sprang  up 
between  the  two. 

It  was  about  the  time  of  the  Greek  revolution,  and 
Ferrand,  stirred,  like  Lord  Byron,  by  the  poetic  struggle, 
wrote  a  poem  or  heroic  scene  with  choruses.  Berlioz 
set  it  to  music,  but  no  letters  of  recommendation  suf- 
ficed to  get  it  publicly  performed. 

Then  Ferrand  composed  an  operatic  poem  entitled 
"Les  Francs-Juges,"  which  Berlioz,  full  of  enthusiasm, 
set  to  music. 

While  he  was  engaged  in  this  great  undertaking,  and 
dreaming  of  unheard-of  success,  he  was  definitely  en- 


HECTOR  BERLIOZ.  463 

rolled  in  the  Conservatoire,  and  diligently  carrying  on 
two  courses  at  once:  composition  under  Lesueur,  and 
counterpoint  and  fugue  (which  he  detested)  under 
Keicha,  a  friend  of  Beethoven's. 

He  gives  a  vivid  description  of  his  economies.  He 
had  taken  as  a  room-mate  a  young  student  of  pharmacy, 
a  townsman  of  his,  who  had  some  skill  in  cooking ;  and 
from  the  sixth  of  September,  1826,  till  the  twenty-second 
of  May  next,  they  feasted  one  day  on  raisins,  another  on 
bread  and  salt,  varied  occasionally  by  a  cutlet  or  pulse 
fried  in  lard,  or,  as  a  special  extravagance,  a  capon  cost- 
ing more  than  a  franc  and  a  half ;  so  that  their  expenses 
were  rigorously  kept  down  to  thirty  francs  a  month. 
Nevertheless,  a  piano  that  cost  one  hundred  and  ten 
francs  —  "  what  a  piano ! "  exclaims  Berlioz  —  decorated 
their  humble  rooms. 

They  were  young  and  well,  and  Berlioz  was  too  proud 
to  apply  to  his  parents  for  aid.  It  came  into  his  head  to 
find  an  engagement  as  flutist  in  some  American  theatre, 
at  New  York,  or  the  City  of  Mexico,  or  in  China. 

Then  one  day  he  heard  that  a  new  theatre  for  vaude- 
villes and  comic  opera  was  to  be  opened  opposite  the 
Bourse. 

He  went  there  and  applied  for  a  place  as  flutist  or 
chorus  singer:  all  the  places  were  already  taken.  He 
left  his  address,  and  a  few  days  later  was  given  an  en- 
gagement at  fifty  francs  a  month. 

He  kept  this  a  secret  even  from  his  friend  the  phar- 
macist, pretending  that  he  was  giving  lessons,  and  when 
he  took  his  place  in  the  chorus  he  concealed  his  identity 
by  a  false  nose  ! 

This  slavery  lasted  only  till  spring.  As  soon  as  he 
felt  free  to  quit  it,  he  began  to  renew  his  visits  to  the 


464  HECTOR  BERLIOZ. 

Opera,  always  taking  pains  to  give  a  careful  preliminary 
study  to  the  score  of  the  work  performed,  and  to  assure 
himself  of  the  scope  and  compass  of  various  instruments. 

He  was  still  under  the  influence  of  Gluck  and  Spon- 
tini,  but  when  the  new  trial  for  the  Prix  de  Rome 
was  instituted,  the  judges,  among  whom  were  Lesueur, 
Cherubini,  Paer,  Boieldieu,  pronounced  his  compositions 
unperformable.  Berlioz  insisted  that  it  was  because  the 
pianist,  whose  duty  it  was  to  represent  the  orchestration, 
was  incompetent ! 

Berlioz  never  forgave  them  for  their  rejection  of  his 
claims.  He  had  his  revenge  a  few  months  later  by  send- 
ing them  tickets  to  his  mass,  which  was  executed  at 
Saint-Eustache  on  Saint  Cecilia's  Day,  1827,  —  a  work,  as 
he  wrote  his  friend  Ferrand,  thirty  times  more  difficult 
than  his  lyric  scene  presented  for  the  prize.  It  went 
finely,  especially  one  tremendous  passage  executed  by 
six  trumpets,  four  horns,  three  trombones,  and  two 
ophicleides ! 

It  was  the  first  time  that  he  had  ever  directed  an 
orchestra;  and  the  excitement  of  conducting  his  own 
piece  affected  him  so  that  he  felt  faint  and  almost 
dropped  the  baton. 

This  year  was  memorable  in  Berlioz's  life :  two  new 
revelations  came  to  him,  —  two,  and  a  third,  which  was 
an  old  one  revived. 

Charles  Kemble  and  Miss  Harriet  Smithson  with  an 
English  company  came  to  the  Odeon,  and  revealed  Shak- 
spere  for  the  first  time  to  the  French  people.  Victor 
Hugo,  Dumas,  Vigny,  and  other  writers,  hailed  the  new 
phenomenon ;  the  name  of  Shakspere  henceforth  for  them 
was  as  it  were  the  watchword  of  romanticism.  Berlioz 
knew  scarcely  a  word  of  English,  but  the  new  ideas  came 


HECTOR  BERLIOZ.  465 

to  him  like  a  thunderbolt ;  "  Shakspere,"  he  says,  "  un- 
expectedly coming  upon  me,  struck  me  as  by  lightning ; 
its  flash,  opening  to  me  the  heaven  of  art  with  a  sublime 
crash,  illuminated  for  me  its  most  distant  profundities. 
I  recognized  the  true  grandeur,  the  true  beauty,  the  true 
truth,  of  the  drama.  I  saw  —  I  comprehended  —  I  felt 
that  I  was  a  living  being,  and  that  I  must  arise  and 
walk." 

Henceforth  Shakspere  and  Vergil  were  his  inseparable 
companions:  these  two,  Goethe,  Byron,  Scott,  Tom 
Moore,  Cooper,  Gluck,  and  Beethoven  made  his  pan- 
theon. He  worshipped  them  all  in  turn,  and  all  equally 
to  the  end.  Shakspere  and  Goethe  were  the  "  mute 
confidants  "  of  his  life.  He  kept  Vergil's  works  in  his 
pocket  wherever  he  went. 

Week  after  week  these  Shaksperian  representations 
were  given,  and  when  in  March,  1828,  Miss  Smithson 
had  a  benefit,  more  than  a  thousand  people  were  turned 
away.  The  theatre  was  turned  into  a  garden  of  flowers. 
Charles  X.  and  the  Duchess  de  Berri,  who  were  present, 
made  the  lovely  young  Irish  actress  magnificent  presents. 

Berlioz,  with  his  inflammable  heart,  found  it  in  vain 
to  resist  the  sudden  passion.  He  saw  her  in  "Romeo 
and  Juliet/'  and  "  Hamlet,"  but  with  fierce  pain  stayed 
away  from  "  Lear  "  and  all  the  other  performances. 

But  it  was  too  late.  He  had  become  the  prey  of  a 
Fury.  He  could  not  sleep,  he  could  not  work,  but  wan- 
dered wildly  through  the  streets  of  Paris.  It  is  said 
Liszt  and  Chopin  followed  him  all  one  night  across  the 
Plain  of  Saint-Ouen  until  at  last  he  fell,  worn  out  with 
fatigue,  and  slept  where  he  lay,  like  one  dead. 

It  is  a  common  story  that  Berlioz  exclaimed  on  seeing 
Miss  Smithson  in  "  Eomeo  and  Juliet,"  "  I  will  marry 


466  HECTOR  BERLIOZ. 

this  woman,  and  I  will  write  my  greatest  symphony  on 
this  drama."  Berlioz  denied  saying  such  a  thing.  But 
Hippeau  points  out  that  Jules  Janin  put  the  words  into 
Berlioz's  mouth  in  Les  Debats  of  Nov.  29,  1839,  at  the 
time  of  the  first  hearing  of  the  symphony,  and  Berlioz 
did  not  then  deny  "  the  soft  impeachment." 

Another  shock  came  to  rouse  him  from  this  moral 
anguish.  Beethoven  was  for  the  first  time  adequately 
presented  to  the  sceptical  Parisians.  In  March,  1828, 
the  "Heroic  Symphony"  was  performed  at  the  Conserva- 
tory concerts,  and  a  fortnight  later,  at  a  concert  in  Bee- 
thoven's memory,  only  that  master's  works  were  given. 

Berlioz  suddenly  awoke  from  what  he  himself  calls  "a 
sort  of  stupor  "  (abrutissemenf),  and  determined  that  the 
Ophelia  of  whom  he  had  dreamed  so  unprofitably  should 
be  made  to  hear  of  him. 

Accordingly  he  announced  a  concert  composed  entirely 
of  his  own  works  :  the  overture  to  "  Waverley,"  that  of 
"Les  Franc-Juges"  (the  opera  itself  was  shelved  forever), 
a  few  numbers  from  "  La  Scene  Grecque  "  and  the  "  Death 
of  Orpheus,"  which  had  been  declared,  by  the  Academy 
of  the  Fine  Arts,  impossible  of  execution.  (Berlioz  pro- 
posed to  have  that  fact  printed  on  the  program.)  The 
last  number,  however,  was  replaced  by  the  Resurrexit 
from  the  mass. 

It  took  place  on  the  twenty-sixth  of  May  at  the  Con- 
servatory, and  in  spite  of  some  serious  faults  of  execution, 
created  a  genuine  sensation.  The  applause  was  tremen- 
dous; congratulations  were  showered  upon  him;  the 
comments  of  the  press  were  generally  favorable. 

He  was  famous.  With  some  show  of  right  he  was 
called  "  the  Byron  of  music."  For,  did  not  Byron  wake 
one  morning  to  sudden  fame?  Still  his  "star,  wor- 


HECTOR  BERLIOZ.  467 

shipped  afar,"  —  she  whose  name  he  could  not  pronounce 
and  whose  language  he  could  not  understand,  —  ignored 
his  existence,  refused  even  to  receive  his  letters,  scorned 
him.  His  despair  was  almost  comic.  Sometimes  it  im- 
pelled him  to  compose  madly,  and  numberless  songs  and 
instrumental  pieces  flowed  from  his  pen.  Sometimes 
he  wrote  hyperbolical  letters  to  his  friend  Ferrand. 

Then  he  tried  for  the  third  time  for  the  Prix  de  Home, 
and  won  only  partial  success.  The  first  prize  was  decreed 
to  a  friend  of  his ;  the  second  prize  was  divided  between 
him  and  another  of  Lesueur's  pupils. 

His  most  important  composition  at  this  time  was 
eight  scenes  from  Goethe's  "  Faust,"  inspired  by  Gerard 
de  Nerval's  translation.  This  was  afterwards  elaborated 
into  "  The  Damnation  of  Faust."  While  he  was  at  work 
on  them  he  learned  that  Miss  Smithson  was  going  to 
Bordeaux.  During  her  absence  in  November,  1828,  he 
declared  that  he  no  longer  lived,  that  he  suffered  the 
impossible. 

Yet  his  sufferings  but  inspired  him  the  more :  an 
oratorio  for  two  solo  voices  and  organ  accompaniment,  a 
new  arrangement  of  "Les  Francs-Juges"  and  musical  set- 
tings to  Thomas  Moore's  "  Irish  Melodies,"  —  Miss 
Smithson,  be  it  remembered,  was  Irish  —  revealed  "  the 
intoxication  of  mingled  joy  and  sorrow  that  only  true 
love  knows." 

Not  one  grain  of  hope  consoled  him.  Miss  Smithson, 
about  to  leave  Paris  for  Holland,  and  learning  of  the 
furious  adoration  of  the  young  composer,  who  would 
storm  the  citadel  of  her  heart,  said,  "Nothing  is  more 
impossible." 

She  at  least  knew  of  his  existence ;  she  had  spoken 
his  name  !  Thus  ended  one  act  in  what  he  calls  the 
greatest  drama  of  his  life. 


468  HECTOR  BERLIOZ. 

Again  came  the  annual  competition  for  that  coveted 
prize.  Berlioz  refused  to  make  allowance  for  the  con- 
ventional prejudices  of  the  committee.  He  gave  free 
rein  to  his  imagination,  and  the  best  and  most  original 
passage  in  his  work  —  "  The  Death  of  Cleopatra  "  —  lost 
him  the  honor.  The  committee  decided  not  to  give  any 
first  prize,  and  to  divide  the  second.  Berlioz  was 
entirely  left  out ! 

He  spent  the  summer  in  Paris,  and  in  October  gave 
another  concert,  with  a  hundred  and  ten  musicians,  under 
the  direction  of  Habeneck.  The  program  included 
a  Beethoven  piano  concerto,  played  by  Hiller,  and  a 
number  of  his  own  compositions,  —  his  overture  to  the 
"  Francs-Jug es  "  and  "Waverley,"  his  sextet  of  Sylphes 
from  the  "  Faust,"  and  the  number  from  his  mass.  Ex- 
cept for  the  sextet,  which  was  badly  played,  the  concert 
was  a  tremendous  artistic  success.  He  was  loaded  with 
ovations,  and  it  brought  him  five  hundred  and  fifty 
francs  profit. 

But  he  had  borrowed  much  money,  first  for  the  con- 
cert and  secondly  for  having  his  "  dear  "  Irish  melodies 
engraved  and  published ;  and  his  earnings  from  teaching 
his  two  pupils  were  small.  His  prospects  were  not 
happy,  and  worse  than  all,  he  had  to  correct,  for  pay, 
the  proofs  of  Rossini's  "  William  Tell,"  —  Kossini  and  his 
everlasting  crescendo  being  his  pet  detestations. 

When  he  learned  of  the  immense  success  of  Miss 
Smithson  in  London,  he  was  rendered  almost  insane. 

"  She  is  still  in  London,"  he  wrote  Ferrand,  in  Febru- 
ary, 1830,  "  and  yet  I  imagine  that  I  feel  her  near  me ; 
all  my  recollections  awake  and  join  forces  to  tear  me  in 
pieces ;  I  hear  my  heart  beat,  and  its  pulsations  shake 
me  like  the  piston  strokes  of  a  steam  engine.  Each 


HECTOR  BERLIOZ.  469 

muscle  in  my  body  shudders  with  agony.  ...  In  vain ! 
.  .  .  horrible !  .  .  .  Oh,  unhappy  woman !  if  she  could 
for  one  instant  conceive  all  the  poetry,  all  the  infinitude 
of  my  love,  she  would  fly  into  my  arms,  though  she 
were  to  die  in  my  embrace !  "  And  to  express  the  depth 
and  height  of  this  fierce  and  tempestuous  passion,  he 
wrote  his  wonderful  " Symphonie Fantastique"  the  " Epi- 
sode from  the  Life  of  an  Artist." 

It  is  probable  that  Berlioz  was  growing  weary  of  this 
hopeless  love.  A  sudden  shock  cured  him  of  it  for  the 
time  being.  Some  officious  friend  repeated  a  scandalous 
libel  regarding  Miss  Smithson.  He  received  it  as  "  a 
frightful  truth."  He  disappeared  from  Paris  and  went 
wandering  through  the  fields,  half  dead  with  hunger  and 
weariness,  till  at  last  he  fell  fainting,  and  slept  like  a  dog. 

At  the  end  of  two  days  he  returned  to  his  friends, 
who  had  supposed  him  dead  and  had  sought  for  him  in 
the  morgue.  Then  after  a  few  days  more  of  gloomy 
silence  he  came  to  himself  again,  and  so  far  forgot  "  her, 
the  Juliet,  the  Ophelia  that  his  heart  called  to,"  that  he 
fell  no  less  desperately  in  love  with  a  charming  young 
pianist,  named  Marie-Felicite-Denise  Moke,  of  German 
and  Belgian  parentage.  She  was  known  as  "  Camille  " 
Moke,  and  afterwards  became  a  rival  of  Thalberg  and 
Liszt,  enjoying  a  European  reputation.  Hiller  had  lost 
his  heart  to  her,  and  asked  Berlioz  to  be  his  go-between, 
—  always  a  dangerous  experiment.  » 

Berlioz  supplanted  the  young  Hebrew  lover.  He 
dreamed  of  marrying  her.  Her  mother  objected,  and 
with  good  reason.  Berlioz  was  more  than  ever  stirred 
to  accomplish  great  deeds.  First,  he  would  have  his 
"  Symphonie  Fantastique  "  performed  with  a  scene  in  it 
which  should  show  the  world  the  perfidy  of  his  false  one 


470  HECTOR  BERLIOZ. 

and  wreak  his  vengeance  upon  her:  nay,  not  his  ven- 
geance; "I  do  not  wish  to  avenge  myself/7  he  writes; 
"  I  arn  sorry  for  her,  and  I  despise  her.  She  is  an 
ordinary  woman,  endowed  with  an  instinctive  genius  for 
expressing  such  torments  of  the  human  soul  as  she  has 
never  felt,  and  incapable  of  conceiving  an  immense  and 
noble  love  such  as  I  honored  her  with."  Pity  that  he 
did  not  cling  to  this  view.  It  would  have  saved  him 
much  suffering ! 

But  after  Berlioz  had  his  twenty-three  hundred  pages 
of  music  copied,  at  a  cost  of  400  francs,  and  had  under- 
gone one  rehearsal,  the  scheme  was  abandoned.  Next, 
came  the  trial  for  that  tantalizing  Prix  de  JZome,  and 
again  he  girded  himself  for  the  contest. 

And  he  won  it.  The  vote  was  unanimous  —  an  un- 
heard-of event,  he  writes  the  next  day,  intoxicated  not 
so  much  with  his  success  in  pulling  the  wool  over  the 
eyes  of  the  judges,  —  for  he  hastened  to  burn  the  piece 
that  won  their  approval,  —  as  with  the  thought  that  his 
"  Ariel"  as  he  called  Mile.  Moke,  would  soon  be  his. 

His  successful  cantata,  written  in  the  last  two  weeks 
of  July,  during  that  exciting  political  crisis  which  saw 
the  fall  of  a  monarchy,  gave  him  an  annual  pension  of 
three  thousand  francs  for  five  years,  and  in  December  he 
unwillingly  departed  for  Eome.  He  would  gladly  have 
stayed  in  Paris,  where  his  heart  was,  but  the  authorities 
to  whom  he  appealed  obliged  him  to  fulfil  the  conditions 
of  the  pension.  Before  he  went  he  gave  several  concerts 
with  great  success,  and  in  his  memoirs  he  makes  delight- 
ful fun  of  the  solemn  performance  of  the  prize  cantata 
which  utterly  failed  of  its  effect,  from  the  fact  that  the 
horn  forgot  to  play  at  the  climax,  and  all  the  other  wind 
instruments  likewise,  losing  their  cue,  were  silent.  It 


HECTOR  BERLIOZ.  471 

represented  the  burning  and  destruction  of  Sardanapa- 
lus'  palace.  What  a  crash  and  tumult  of  brass  and 
wood  would  be  expected  of  Berlioz :  and  all  that  was 
heard  was  the  twittering  of  the  strings  !  No  wonder  the 
public  went  away  mystified  and  inclined  to  think  that 
Berlioz  had  made  sport  of  them. 

His  last  concert  took  place  early  in  December,  and  it 
included,  among  other  pieces  of  his  composition,  "The 
Ball,"  "The  March  to  Execution,"  and  "The  Witches' 
Sabbath,"  from  his  " Symphonie  Fantastique."  "The 
Witches'  Sabbath"  was  his  revenge  on  "  that  wretched 
Smithson  girl,"  as  he  calls  her,  and  at  that  very  time 
she  was  once  more  in  Paris  playing  the  part  of  Fenella 
in  "  La  Muette  de  Portici"  for  the  first  and  only  time. 

But  she  knew  nothing  of  the  "  satanic  effect "  of  this 
scene  in  which  she  was  pilloried,  nor  did  Berlioz  care ; 
for  had  not  his  "  good  Ariel's  "  parents  at  last  consented 
to  their  marriage  after  he  should  have  been  a  year  in 
Italy  ?  and  was  she  not  his  angel,  his  genius,  his  thought, 
his  heart,  his  poetic  life  ? 

The  story  of  his  sojourn  in  Italy  reads  like  a  comedy. 

This  strange,  eccentric  creature,  with  his  fiery  eyes, 
his  shock  of  blond  hair,  and  his  eagle  nose,  was  received 
by  the  young  pensioners  of  France  with  shouts  and 
hurrahs  and  jests  of  every  sort,  as  he  dismounted  from 
the  diligence  one  February  evening,  just  at  supper- 
time. 

He,  like  the  rest,  became  an  habitue  of  the  dingy 
"  Cafe  Greco,"  and  one  of  his  first  acquaintances  was  the 
young  Mendelssohn,  who,  in  a  letter  to  his  mother, 
pictured  him  in  vivid  gall,  calling  him  a  genuine  carica- 
ture without  a  shadow  of  talent,  ambitious  to  create  a 
new  world,  full  of  immoderate  vanity,  desperately 


472  HECTOR  BERLIOZ. 

affected.     Yet  the  two  opposites  had  a  certain  attraction 
for  each  other. 

"He  is  a  fine  fellow,"  writes  Berlioz  ;  "his  talent  of  execution 
is  as  great  as  his  musical  genius  —  and  that,  indeed,  is  saying  much. 
All  that  I  have  heard  of  him  has  charmed  me.  I  firmly  be- 
lieve that  he  is  one  of  the  loftiest  musical  capabilities  of  our  day. 
He  has  been  my  cicerone.  Every  morning  I  have  been  to  his 
rooms  :  he  played  me  a  sonata  by  Beethoven  ;  we  sang  Gluck's 
1  Armide  ; '  then  he  took  me  to  see  the  famous  ruins,  which,  I 
confess,  had  a  very  slight  effect  upon  me.  Mendelssohn  is  one  of 
those  open  natures  which  are  so  rarely  seen  ;  he  has  a  firm  belief 
in  the  Lutheran  religion,  and  I  sometimes  greatly  scandalize  him 
by  laughing  at  the  Bible.  He  has  given  me  the  only  endurable 
.moments  that  I  have  had  during  my  stay  in  Rome." 

Insinuations  from  Paris  that  his  fair  one  was  not  true 
to  him  almost  drove  him  wild.  His  excessive  despair 
procured  from  his  associates  the  mock  title  "  Pere  la 
Joie"  "Father  Joy."  He  threatened  to  return  home. 
Mendelssohn  wagered  he  would  not  dare  to  do  so. 
Berlioz  having  secured  some  money  suddenly  left,  and 
an  excellent  dinner  was  eaten  at  Mendelssohn's  expense. 

At  Florence,  where  an  attack  of  sore  throat  detained 
him,  Berlioz  received  a  letter  from  Madame  Moke, 
accusing  him  of  having  brought  sorrow  into  her  family, 
and  announcing  the  marriage  of  her  daughter  to  Camille 
Pleyel. 

Then  sheer  madness  seized  upon  him.  He  conceived 
a  fearful  plot :  to  hasten  to  Paris,  to  kill  the  two  faith- 
less women  and  the  innocent  man,  and  then  blow  his 
own  brains  out ! 

He  procured  the  disguise  of  a  chambermaid ;  he  wrote 
his  last  will,  secured  a  passport,  and  set  forth  in  a 
private  carriage. 

But  in  changing  equipages  at  Pietra  Santa  he  lost  his 


HECTOR   BERLIOZ.  473 

disguise,  and  had  to  wait  at  Genoa  till  another  should 
be  made.  And  while  he  was  restlessly  roaming  about, 
he  accidentally  or  purposely  plunged  from  the  walls  into 
the  salt  brine  of  the  Mediterranean.  He  was  fished 
out  more  dead  than  alive,  "harpooned  like  a  salmon," 
laid  in  the  hot  sun  to  dry  and  revive,  and  was  thus  cured 
of  his  passion. 

The  "  terrible  hippopotamus  of  a  mother "  sent  back 
through  Hiller  (of  all  men  ! )  the  trinkets  that  he  had 
given  "  Camille,"  but  afterwards  he  had  his  revenge  — 
not  a  very  worthy  one ;  he  wrote  a  crazy  story  entitled 
"  Euphonia,"  in  which  he  introduced  all  the  characters 
under  very  transparent  anagrams.  And  when  Madame 
Pleyel  returned  to  Paris  crowned  with  laurels,  Berlioz 
gave,  in  "  Les  Debats,"  a  savage  criticism  of  her  playing. 

He  determined  to  live  for  his  two  sisters,  whose  death 
would  have  been  caused  by  his  own,  and  wrote  a  peni- 
tential letter  to  Horace  Vernet,  the  head  of  the  French 
Academy  at  Rome. 

Being  assured  that  his  name  was  not  stricken  from 
the  list,  he  spent  a  few  of  the  happiest  weeks  of  his  life 
near  Genoa,  wandering  among  the  orange  groves,  bath- 
ing in  the  warm  waves,  and  inspired  by  the  mountains 
and  the  sea  to  compose  his  wonderful  overture  to  "  King 
Lear."  Was  there  ever  such  a  queer  genius  born  ? 

During  his  leisurely  journey  back  to  Koine,  mostly 
on  foot,  he  began  to  compose  his  Lelio,  that  extravagant 
and  extraordinary  lyrical  monodrama  which  was  after- 
wards united  to  the  " Symphonie  Fantastique"  showing 
the  tortures  of  the  artist  attempting  suicide  and  then 
returning  to  life. 

Berlioz  was  frightfully  tired  of  his  sojourn  at  Rome  : 
he  considered  it  a  miserable  waste  of  time.  What  could 


474  HECTOR   BEKLIOZ. 

he  get  out  of  the  works  of  Palestrina  sung  by  the 
eighteen  male  sopranos  of  the  Sixtine  Chapel  —  merely 
interesting  vestiges  of  a  glorious  past  ?  But  the  lazy 
wanderings  around  "  the  Eternal  City,"  the  vagabond  life 
among  the  woods  and  crags  of  Tivoli  and  Subiaco,  were 
no  help  to  his  ambition.  He  wanted  energetic  life, 
struggle ;  he  wanted  a  chance  to  exercise  that  "  pro- 
digious aptitude  for  happiness  "  with  which  he  was  gifted, 
to  satisfy  his  "  incalculable  superabundance  of  sensibil- 
ity," to  stop  the  fearful  "evaporation  of  heart,  senses, 
brain,  nervous  fluid,"  which  tormented  him. 

Then  suddenly  he  began  once  more  to  compose  with 
fierce  activity ;  his  overture  to  "  Rob  Roy  "  and  a  num- 
ber of  other  pieces  were  finished,  and  tremendous  plans 
were  evolved,  among  them  that  of  a  colossal  oratorio  on 
"  The  Last  Day  of  the  World,"  with  several  different 
orchestras  and  groups  of  brass  instruments  placed  at  the 
four  points  of  the  compass. 

At  last  he  was  allowed  six  months'  leave  of  absence, 
and  started  for  Paris  by  way  of  his  home.  His  eldest 
sister  had  just  made  a  satisfactory  marriage,  and  his 
parents  were  ambitious  that  he  should  do  the  same. 
Indeed,  an  heiress  with  three  hundred  thousand  francs 
dowry  and  a  similar  amount  in  expectation,  was,  as  it 
were,  at  hand.  But  Berlioz  had  seen  the  graceful  daugh- 
ter of  the  Vernets  at  Rome,  and  his  fickle  heart  went 
out  to  her ;  her  also  he  had  called  his  "  fair  Ariel "  ! 
He  refused  to  entertain  his  father's  plan. 

After  tranquilly  working  and  reading  for  four  months 
at  La  Cote,  Berlioz  returned  to  Paris  and  arranged  for  a 
grand  concert  at  which  "  The  Episode  from  the  Life  of 
an  Artist "  and  "  Lelio  "  were  the  chief  features.  It  took 
place  early  in  December,  and  Miss  Smithson,  who  had 


HECTOR   BERLIOZ.  475 

returned  to  Paris,  with  the  intention  of  establishing  a 
permanent  English  theatre  there,  was  present,  in  a  box. 
She,  the  heroine  of  the  musical  drama!  It  may  be 
imagined  what  interest  it  gave  to  the  occasion.  She 
could  have  no  doubt  who  was  meant  by  the  scarcely  veiled 
allusions  in  the  spoken  text. 

She  allowed  Berlioz  to  come  to  see  her.  He  had  at 
least  once  thought  of  her  while  in  Italy.  On  his  one 
sea-voyage  from  Rome  to  Naples,  he  saw  a  black  crow 
flying  heavily  northward.  His  thought  followed  the 
bird  toward  England,  —  the  land  of  Shakspere  and 
Juliet!  He  became  more  her  slave  than  ever.  She 
accepted  his  love.  Her  family  and  his  fiercely  opposed 
the  match.  Then  followed  a  year  of  the  most  wretched 
torments.  Miss  Smithson,  whose  affairs  were  going  from 
bad  to  worse,  at  last  announced  an  afternoon  "  benefit." 
Just  before  it  began,  she  fell  and  broke  her  leg. 

BerMoz  here  found  his  opportunity.  He  took  tender 
care  of  her,  arranged  a  concert  at  which  Chopin  and 
Liszt  played,  thereby  managing  to  pay  some  of  her 
pressing  debts,  and  finally,  after  the  most  melodra- 
matic scenes,  —  in  one  of  which  he  tried  to  kill  himself 
with  opium  in  her  presence,  and  on  hearing  her  protes- 
tations of  despair  and  affection  bravely  swallowed  some 
ipecacuanha  for  an  emetic,  —  the  two  foolish  creatures, 
destined  so  palpably  to  misery,  were  married  at  the 
English  embassy  on  the  third  day  of  October,  1833,  and 
went  to  Vincennes  to  spend  their  honeymoon. 

When  they  returned  to  Paris  what  a  prospect  awaited 
them  !  The  bride  had  only  her  debts,  —  some  fourteen 
thousand  francs'  worth,  —  and  Berlioz  had  three  hun- 
dred francs  loaned  him  by  a  friend,  and  his  pension 
from  the  Institute  which  had  still  a  year  and  a  half  to 
run. 


476  HECTOR  BERLIOZ. 

Alas  !  Berlioz  had  married  a  falling  or  a  fallen  star. 
The  "delicious  being,"  as  he  called  her,  had  lost  her 
popularity  among  the  French  people.  She  tried  again 
and  again  to  win  it  back.  In  vain.  On  Berlioz  rested 
the  task  of  supporting  their  domestic  arrangements, 
which  were  made  more  trying  by  the  birth  of  his  son 
Louis,  "the  sweetest  and  loveliest  baby"  that  he  had 
ever  seen. 

He  gave  concerts,  he  composed,  and  above  all,  he 
wrote  musical  criticisms  which,  as  might  be  supposed, 
were  original  and  piquant.  His  connection  with  the 
Journal  des  Debats  began  early  in  1835,  and  lasted  for 
twenty  years.  He  was  regarded  as  one  of  the  most  bril- 
liant critics  that  ever  lived,  and  shares  with  Schumann 
the  glory  of  having  determined  many  of  the  canons  of 
art. 

His  fame  began  to  be  spread  through  Europe.  "  Les 
Francs-Jug  es"  was  given  with  success  in  Leipzig,  was 
praised  by  Schumann ;  though  Mendelssohn  declared 
that  the  mystic  element  was  "  a  progression  of  screech- 
ing harmonies,  unintelligible  to  all  but  the  March  cats," 
while  "  to  show  that  something  terrible  is  agitating  the 
composer's  fevered  brain,  an  apoplectic  stroke  on  the 
big  drum  shakes  into  shivers  the  efforts  of  the  whole 
orchestra  as  well  as  the  auditory  nerves  of  the  assembled 
audience." 

His  two  great  musical  works  at  this  period  were  his 
symphony  "  Harold  in  Italy,"  begun  as  a  viola  concerto 
for  Paganini ;  and  the  Requiem  or  Messe  des  Morts  (his 
favorite  composition),  composed  for  those  who  perished 
in  the  July  days,  but  performed  for  those  who  were 
slain  in  the  capture  of  Constantine. 

But  he  dreamed  of  greater  conquests :  he  burned  to 


HECTOR  BERLIOZ.  477 

write  an  opera,  and  chose  for  his  subject  certain  episodes 
in  the  romantic  life  of  Benvenuto  Cellini,  the  great 
Italian  silversmith,  "artist  and  brigand,  with  musket 
on  shoulder  and  guitar  on  his  back." 

It  was  performed  on  the  tenth  of  September,  1838. 
The  overture  had  a  tremendous  ovation,  but  all  the  rest 
was  received  with  hisses,  groans,  cat-calls,  and  every 
species  of  insult,  —  "  condemned  to  the  flames  before  it 
was  heard,"  said  a  writer  in  IS  Artiste.  It  was  played 
twice  more  with  even  less  receipts. 

Four  further  attempts  were  made  the  next  year  to 
give  it,  but  it  was  shelved  until,  thirteen  years  later, 
Franz  Liszt,  who  had  been  present  and  recognized  its 
latent  greatness,  brought  it  out  at  Weimar. 

The  failure  of  an  opera  was  the  most  cruel  blow  that 
could  have  befallen  him.  The  memory  of  it  followed 
him  all  his  life,  and  obscured  the  glory  that  he  received 
abroad. 

Berlioz,  suffering  with  bronchitis,  and  grieved  at  the 
"  brilliant  failure "  of  his  first  opera,  was  obliged  to 
raise  some  money  to  pay  the  debts  incurred.  He  there- 
fore gave  two  concerts.  The  first  scarcely  covered 
expenses. 

The  second,  which  occurred  on  the  sixteenth  of  De- 
cember, was  the  turning-point  of  his  career.  Paganini 
the  famous  violinist,  "  the  infernal  virtuoso,"  was  pres- 
ent, and  heard  "Harold  in  Italy"  for  the  first  time. 
He  forced  his  way  to  Berlioz,  surrounded  by  congratu- 
lating friends,  knelt  before  him  and  kissed  his  hand. 

The  next  day  he  wrote  him  a  note  in  Italian,  hailing 
him  as  the  heir  and  successor  of  Beethoven,  and  begging 
him  to  accept  twenty  thousand  francs  in  order  that  he 
might  live  for  music. 


478  HECTOR  BERLIOZ. 

Berlioz  replied,  saying  that  the  encouragement  of 
such  a  genius  touched  him  a  thousand  times  more  than 
the  royal  generosity  of  his  gift.  The  letters  were  pub- 
lished. Berlioz  dedicated  to  him  his  new  "  Romeo  and 
Juliet "  symphony,  written  in  seven  months  while  he 
"swam  vigorously  over  that  mighty  sea  of  poetry, 
kissed  by  the  wanton  breeze  of  fancy,  under  the  warm 
rays  of  that  sun  of  love  whereby  Shakspere  was  illumi- 
nated, and  feeling  able  to  reach  the  marvellous  isle 
where  the  temple  of  pure  art  rises  aloft." 

The  beauty  of  Paganini's  gift  is  somewhat  lessened 
by  the  supposition  that  it  was  only  a  clever  advertising 
dodge  suggested  by  a  wily  journalist  who  foresaw  that 
Paganini's  concerts  were  likely  to  fail  unless  some  great 
stroke  to  attract  public  attention  were  made.  Paganini 
was  famous  for  his  stinginess. 

This  year  Berlioz  was  granted  the  Cross  of  the  Legion 
of  Honor,  and  fragments  of  his  "  dramatic  symphony  " 
—  was  it  inspired  by  his  Juliet  ?  —  made  a  great  success. 
He  was  indeed  recognized  as  a  genius  by  his  native  land, 
and  in  1840  he  was  commissioned  to  write  his  "  Sym- 
phonie  funelre  et  triomphale "  in  honor  of  those  much- 
mourned  victims  of  the  July  days.  The  next  year  he 
wrote  an  orchestral  arrangement  of  Weber's  "  Invitation 
to  the  Dance,"  —  Glinka  also  performed  the  same  ser- 
vice, —  and  while  engaged  in  preparing  the  "  Freischutz  " 
in  its  correct  form  for  the  Opera,  was  greatly  rejoiced  at 
the  news  of  his  works  succeeding  abroad :  "  Les  Francs- 
Juges  "  at  Hamburg,  the  "  Requiem  "  at  St.  Petersburg. 

Berlioz  had  the  "  gentle  art  of  making  enemies." 
And  while  he  was  generally  misunderstood  and  mis- 
represented, even  while  he  held  a  sufficiently  prominent 
place  in  the  public  eye,  as  is  shown  by  the  multitude  of 


HECTOR  BERLIOZ.  479 

caricatures  which  stud  the  French  journals  throughout 
his  life,  he  was  exasperated  and  tormented  beyond 
endurance  by  domestic  unhappiness. 

His  wife,  who  was  considerably  older  than  he,  had  lost 
her  charm,  though  she  had  heroic  characteristics.  She 
was  a  failure  in  public.  She  proved  at  home  to  be  a  terma- 
gant, a  Xantippe.  She  was  too  fond  of  the  bottle,  and 
her  jealousy,  only  too  well  founded,  was  constantly 
goading  her  to  make  "  scenes."  Legouve,  in  his  Recol- 
lections, says  that  according  as  the  Smithson  thermom- 
eter went  up,  the  Berlioz  thermometer  went  down,  and 
when  her  love,  which  at  first  had  been  simply  cool  and 
complaisant,  grew  into  the  passionate  jealousy  of  a  tiger, 
he  was  already  tired  of  the  marriage  noose,  and  not  only 
dreamed  but  plotted  a  separation.  Yet  he  could  write 
that  "she  was  the  harp  that  found  its  place  in  all  my 
concerts,  my  joys,  my  sorrows ;  and  many  of  its  strings, 
alas  !  I  broke."  There  is  nothing  to  be  said  in  extenua- 
tion of  his  treatment  of  her.  It  was  cruel.  But  from 
the  time  that  he  deserted  her,  his  punishment  began ; 
one  of  the  saddest  stories  in  the  history  of  art. 

He  found  himself  at  a  stand-still  in  France.  Abroad 
there  were  tempting  vistas. 

In  September,  1842,  he  quietly  sent  off  his  luggage 
and  music,  and  slipped  away  to  Belgium,  leaving  his 
wife  a  note  of  farewell. 

Henceforth  he  became  a  nomad,  and  while  ever  yearn- 
ing for  Paris  and  a  genuine  Parisian  success,  he  had 
to  content  himself  with  the  bitter-sweet  of  increasing 
triumphs  abroad. 

His  first  grand  tour  lasted  about  half  a  year,  and 
included  only  Germany.  At  Leipzig  he  and  Mendels- 
sohn exchanged  batons. 


480  HECTOR  BEELIOZ. 

"Only  squaws  and  pale-faces  love  decorated  arms," 
wrote  Berlioz.  "Be  my  brother,  and  when  the  Great 
Spirit  shall  send  us  to  hunt  in  the  land  of  souls,  let  our 
warriors  hang  our  friendly  tomawack  on  the  gate  of 
the  lodge."  He  had  evidently  been  reading  Cooper. 

The  "  tomahawk "  presented  by  Mendelssohn  is  pre- 
served at  the  Conservatoire  in  Paris. 

Followed  journeys  to  Austria,  Bohemia,  and  Hungary, 
everywhere  meeting  with  ovations.  At  Prague  he  per- 
formed for  the  first  time  his  "Hungarian  March"  on 
the  famous  theme  of  Rakoczy,  beginning  pianissimo, 
contrary  to  all  traditions,  and  rising  to  a  climax  which 
carried  enthusiasm  to  its  height. 

During  this  journey  he  began  his  great  work,  "The 
Damnation  of  Faust."  Snatches  of  it  were  composed  at 
Budapest,  at  Prague,  at  Breslau ;  but  the  larger  part 
on  his  return  to  Paris,  almost  like  an  improvisation, 
now  in  a  cafe  (after  the  manner  of  Schubert),  now  while 
walking  in  the  garden  of  the  Tuileries. 

When  at  last  it  was  finished,  being  unable  to  obtain 
the  hall  of  the  Conservatoire,  he  hired  the  Opera 
Comique  for  sixteen  thousand  francs,  engaged  soloists, 
chorus  and  orchestra,  and  gave  the  work  on  the  sixth  of 
December,  1846. 

The  Parisian  public  stayed  away  ! 

The  three  or  four  hundred  enthusiastic  partisans  who 
made  the  echoes  ring  through  the  empty  theatre  could 
not  awaken  the  "  beau  public"  nor  even  the  second  per- 
formance helped  matters  or  brought  returns  for  the  ter- 
rific expenses.  Moreover,  the  hostile  critics  poured  out 
all  their  venom. 

Thus  originality  and  innovation  must  always  fight  its 
way.  And  generally  only  after  the  innovator  is  dead 
is  his  greatness  realized. 


HECTOR  BERLIOZ.  481 

For  Berlioz  the  recognition  of  his  genius  abroad  could 
not  atone  for  its  lack  at  home.  Even  Chopin,  who  had 
once  been  his  friend,  thought  that  such  music  justified 
any  man  in  breaking  all  acquaintance  with  him. 

He  once  took  up  a  pen,  bent  back  the  point,  and  let  it 
fly,  spattering  the  paper.  "That  is  the  way  Berlioz 
composes,"  said  he.  "  The  result  is  as  chance  wills  it." 

How  different  from  the  judgment  of  Glinka,  who 
wrote  home  to  Kussia  saying  (and  posterity  upholds 
him  in  it),  — 

"In  the  domain  of  fancy  no  one  has  such  colossal 
inventions,  and  his  combinations  have  besides  all  their 
other  merits  that  of  being  absolutely  novel.  Breadth  in 
the  ensemble,  abundance  in  details,  close  weaving  of  har- 
monies, powerful  and  hitherto  unheard  instrumentation, 
are  the  characteristics  of  Berlioz's  music." 

And  it  was  apparently  due  to  Glinka  that  "the  first 
composer  of  his  time  "  was  invited  to  go  to  Russia. 

He  had  to  borrow  money  to  enable  him  to  get  away. 
He  reached  Petersburg  in  February,  1847,  and  his  first 
concert,  carefully  exploited  by  his  partisans,  brought 
him  eighteen  thousand  francs  profit.  When  he  returned 
to  Paris  in  June,  there  was  talk  of  making  him  director 
of  the  Academic  de  Musique ;  but  there  being  some 
hitch  in  the  proceedings,  he  suddenly  broke  off  all  nego- 
tiations and  accepted  an  offer  to  go  to  the  Drury  Lane 
Theatre  in  London  as  director  of  the  Grand  Opera  on  a 
ten  years'  engagement. 

He  expected  great  things  of  this  opportunity,  but  it 
burst  like  a  bubble.  He  found  the  affairs  of  the  theatre 
in  a  wretched  state,  and  had  nothing  else  to  do  but  to 
do  what  his  fate  kept  him  continually  doing  all  his  life, 
"organize  concerts."  During  his  eight  months'  stay  in 


482  HECTOR  BERLIOZ. 

England  he  had  in  this  respect  considerable  success. 
He  declared  that  he  was  received  by  the  English  as 
though  he  were  "  a  national  talent." 

The  French  Revolution  of  1848  in  the  mean  time 
broke  out,  and  Berlioz  felt  that  he  was  an  exile :  "  The 
arts  are  dead  in  France  now,"  he  wrote,  "  and  music  in 
particular  begins  to  putrefy ;  may  it  be  buried  speedily." 

Nevertheless,  the  Republic  continued  him  in  his  one 
conceded  public  position  as  librarian  at  the  Conserva- 
tory, at  a  salary  of  about  fourteen  hundred  francs. 

Soon  after  his  return  to  Paris  his  father  died,  his 
deepest  regret  being  that  he  had  never  heard  any  of  the 
great  works  of  his  now  illustrious  son.  During  this 
year  he  was  engaged  in  composing  his  fascinating 
memoirs,  which  must  be  read  with  great  caution,  for  in 
them  his  imagination  flames  as  well  as  in  his  music. 

Then  about  the  beginning  of  1850  he  founded  a  Phil- 
harmonic Society  which  gave  a  concert  a  month.  At 
its  first  one  he  gave  a  portion  of  his  "  Faust."  It  was 
beginning  to  make  its  way.  The  year  before,  some  of 
the  scenes  had  been  sung  and  played  at  the  Conserva- 
tory, and  Meyerbeer  and  others  had  a  gold  medal  struck 
in  memory  of  its  first  performance. 

In  November,  Berlioz  had  his  society  perform  a 
chorus  of  shepherds,  a  pastoral  which  he  claimed  had 
been  written  by  a  certain  Pierre  Ducre  attached  to  the 
Sainte  Chapelle  in  1679,  and  discovered  by  him  in  an 
old  armory. 

It  was  a  charming  piece  of  mystification,  for  when 
many  of  Berlioz's  enemies  had  praised  it  to  the  skies, 
and  made  invidious  comparisons,  it  leaked  out  that  Berlioz 
himself  was  the  composer  of  it !  He  afterwards  added 
a  little  f ugued  overture,  a  piece  for  tenor  voice,  "  The 


HECTOR  BERLIOZ.  483 

Eepose  of  the  Holy  Family/7  and  other  numbers,  com- 
pleting "  The  Flight  into  Egypt." 

In  March  of  the  next  year  Berlioz  was  in  London 
again,  directing  the  concerts  of  the  "  New  Philharmonic 
Society/'  where  he  received  a  triumphal  ovation.  Yet 
his  "Benvenuto"  failed  there  as  completely  as  it  suc- 
ceeded the  same  year  at  Weimar  under  the  direction  of 
Liszt. 

In  March,  1854,  Berlioz's  wife,  who  had  been  long 
dying  of  paralysis,  passed  away.  Her  husband  had 
often  seen  her,  and  shown  her  proofs  of  his  continual 
affection.  Her  death  threw  him  into  despair,  made  all 
the  more  poignant  by  the  thought  of  his  failings  toward 
her.  He  shortly  after  married  the  dissolute  woman  who 
had  brought  misery  into  his  home  life.  Strangely  enough, 
however,  he  thus  obtained  a  mother-in-law  who  proved 
to  be  a  real  guardian  angel  to  him.  Her  only  fault  was 
that  she  spoke  Spanish,  and  Berlioz  had  no  gift  for 
languages. 

Berlioz  presented  himself  again  and  again  as  a  candi- 
date for  the  Institute.  But  the  Immortals  refused  to 
recognize  him.  Yet  how  many  crosses  and  medals  he 
possessed  attesting  his  membership  in  foreign  societies  ! 
Not  until  1856  was  he  elected  to  that  Institute  which, 
says  Jullien,  "  had  so  long  refused  him  as  a  pupil,  con- 
demned him  as  a  composer,  rejected  him  as  a  candidate." 

In  1851  Prince  Napoleon  proposed  to  Berlioz  to  give 
a  series  of  concerts  at  the  Palais  d'  Industrie  during  the 
Exhibition.  He  refused  to  run  that  risk,  but  on  the  fif- 
teenth of  November,  in  the  presence  of  the  emperor  and 
empress,  he  had  a  gigantic  concert  with  twelve  hundred 
musicians ;  it  included  the  benediction  of  the  poniards 
from  "  Les  Huguenots  "  (eighty  voices  singing  instead  of 


484  HECTOR  BERLIOZ. 

four  as  usual),  the  prayer  from  Rossini's  "  Moses  "  accom- 
panied by  eighty  harps,  Mozart's  Ave  Verum,  and  his 
own  "  March  of  the  Banners." 

The  next  day  the  concert  was  repeated,  and  brought 
receipts  of  seventy-five  thousand  francs  and  a  series  of 
caricatures,  some  of  which  were  very  amusing.  Berlioz 
was  fond  of  brass  instruments,  and  one  caricature  (of 
later  date)  represented  cattle  being  killed  at  the  abattoir 
by  means  of  his  scores ;  and  another  placed  a  cannon 
in  the  midst  of  his  orchestra.  Still  another  portrayed 
the  Greeks  running  from  the  walls  of  Troy  at  the  sound 
of  Berlioz's  brass. 

The  year  of  Berlioz's  election  to  the  Institute,  he 
published  a  new  edition  of  his  great  "  Treatise  on  In- 
strumentation "  with  an  additional  chapter  on  the  art  of 
conducting.  It  had  been  published  first  in  1844.  The 
next  year  he  began  to  suffer  from  neuralgia  of  the 
bowels,  the  agony  lasting  days  at  a  time,  and  prevent- 
ing him  from  any  work.  At  the  same  time  his  only  son 
Louis,  whom  he  devotedly  loved,  quitted  the  navy  to 
enter  the  merchant  marine,  and  Berlioz,  in  order  to  raise 
money  for  the  required  examination,  published  selections 
from  his  memoirs. 

The  last  ten  years  of  Berlioz's  life  were  sad  and 
pathetic. 

Wagner  came  to  Paris  and  gave  three  concerts  in  1859 
which  introduced  the  "  Music  of  the  Future  "  to  France. 
Berlioz  wrote  his  famous  musical  "  Credo  "  which  was  a 
declaration  of  war.  Probably  jealousy  was  at  the  bot- 
tom of  it,  for  those  outside  the  arena  recognized  that 
the  two  redoubtable  musicians  were  "  brother  enemies  " 
for  whose  creation  the  last  works  of  Beethoven  were 
responsible. 


HECTOR  BERLIOZ.  485 

Berlioz  worked  with  all  his  might  to  prejudice  the 
public  against  "  Tannhauser"  and  in  fact  it  fell  flat. 
The  public  at  that  time  were  hungry  for  classic  master- 
pieces, and  the  revival  of  Gluck's  works  under  Berlioz's 
direction  met  with  astonishing  success,  which  made  him 
think  that  the  music  of  the  future  was  routed  forever. 

In  1862  Berlioz's  second  wife  died  suddenly,  and  by 
a  strange  irony  of  fate,  the  two  women  who  had  caused 
each  other  such  cruel  tortures,  were  buried  in  one  com- 
mon grave.  Berlioz  did  not  marry  again ;  but  when  the 
"Star  of  the  Mountain,"  his  first  love,  was  already  a 
staid  grandmother,  a  white-haired  woman  of  seventy,  he 
saw  her  again,  and  with  all  the  ardor  of  a  boy,  offered 
himself  to  her  and  almost  persecuted  her  with  his 
importunities. 

Was  there  ever  such  a  strange  volcanic  creature  ?  All 
this  time  his  musical  productiveness  continued.  He 
composed  both  words  and  music  to  his  comic  opera, 
"  Beatrice  et  Benedict "  (taken  from  "  Much  Ado  About 
Nothing,"  and  planned  as  early  as  1833),  and  his  superb 
works  "The  Capture  of  Troy,"  and  "The  Trojans  at 
Carthage,"  but  an  evil  fate  pursued  him.  It  was  not 
until  ten  years  after  he  was  dead  that  any  one  of  his 
operas  was  performed  in  Paris  exactly  as  he  had 
demanded  that  it  should  be;  the  last  has  been  called 
"  a  final  and  magnificent  incarnation  of  the  lyric  tragedy 
illustrated  by  Gluck." 

For  it  must  be  remembered  that  in  spite  of  Berlioz's 
passion  for  descriptive  or  program  music,  he  was  wholly 
controlled  by  the  classic  masters :  Gluck  and  Spontini, 
Beethoven  and  Weber.  It  was  the  contradiction  of  his 
nature. 

The   comparative  failure  of  his  ,"  Troyens "   (it  was 


486  HECTOR  BERLIOZ. 

given  twenty-one  times  in  a  garbled  version  with  dimin- 
ishing receipts,  amounting  to  only  a  little  over  fifty 
thousand  francs)  was  made  all  the  more  trying  by  his 
failing  health.  Nevertheless,  it  enabled  him  to  resign 
his  position  of  critic,  which  had  been  a  continual  punish- 
ment for  twenty  years :  he  compared  it  to  a  cannon- 
ball  perpetually  chained  to  his  leg.  It  also  brought  him 
the  Cross  of  the  Legion  of  Honor. 

None  the  less  bitter  was  it  for  him  to  hear  of  the 
growing  vogue  of  the  Wagner  music ;  already  their 
names  began  to  be  coupled :  Wagner  and  Berlioz.  If  it 
could  only  have  been  Berlioz  and  Wagner !  It  seemed 
to  him  as  though  another  were  reaping  what  he  had 
sowed.  Nor  could  he  forgive  his  old  friend  Liszt  for 
his  Wagner  enthusiasm. 

Abroad,  his  fame  was  growing  more  and  more  assured. 
From  all  parts  of  Europe,  even  from  America,  came  the 
tidings  of  successful  performances  of  his  works.  In 
December,  1866,  he  went  to  Vienna,  where  his  popularity 
was  immense,  and  heard  his  "  Faust "  complete  for  the 
first  time  for  twelve  years.  The  ladies  wore  jewelry 
ornamented  with  his  portrait.  He  was  offered  the  posi- 
tion of  kapellmeister  at  the  Imperial  chapel,  but  though 
he  called  the  French  Hottentots  and  Chinese,  he  could 
not  forswear  Paris.  He  was  in  a  terrible  nervous  state, 
and  the  least  mistake  in  time  or  tune  threw  him  into  a 
passion.  He  flung  his  baton  at  the  head  of  the  man  who 
played  the  English  horn,  and  when  it  was  handed  back 
to  him,  he  cried,  "  Oh,  I  am  sick  unto  death." 

On  his  return  to  Paris  he  learned  of  the  death  of  his 
son  at  Havana,  of  yellow  fever.  On  hearing  the  news  he 
flung  himself  on  the  ground,  and  cried:  "It  was  for  thee 
to  live,  for  me  to  die."  The  young  captain  had  been  the 


HECTOR  BERLIOZ.  487 

cause  of  great  grief  and  anxiety  to  his  father,  owing  to 
his  irregular  habits,  but  he  loved  him  and  mourned  for 
him  as  only  a  Berlioz  could.  More  than  ever  his  wonder- 
ful face  came  to  remind  his  friends  of  a  wounded  eagle. 

One  more  great  honor  came  to  him.  Kubin stein  had 
just  resigned  from  the  management  of  the  conservatory 
at  St.  Petersburg,  and  the  Grand  Duchess  Helena  of 
Kussia  urged  Berlioz  to  take  the  direction  of  six  grand 
concerts  the  following  winter.  His  honorarium  would  be 
four  thousand  rubles  and  all  expenses  and  lodgings  in 
the  Imperial  Palace. 

At  the  same  time  William  Steinway  of  New  York 
offered  him  a  hundred  thousand  francs  to  come  to 
America,  and  insisted  that  he  should  sit  for  a  colossal 
bust  to  ornament  a  new  hall  that  he  was  building. 

Berlioz  reached  Petersburg  in  November,  1867.  He 
gave  the  six  great  concerts,  and  directed  one  at  Moscow, 
where  he  had  an  orchestra  of  500  musicians  and  an  audi- 
ence of  10,600  people.  One  of  his  dreams  at  last  real- 
ized !  No,  not  realized,  for  such  monster  concerts  must 
be  always  a  disappointment.  The  reality  falls  below 
the  ideal. 

On  his  return  from  Kussia,  fearfully  exhausted  by  his 
labors  and  the  ovations  given  him,  and  above  all  by  the 
climate,  he  went  to  Monaco.  One  March  day,  clamber- 
ing over  the  rocks,  he  fell  headlong,  and  lay  for  some 
time  insensible. 

Nevertheless,  he  was  at  last  enabled  to  reach  Paris. 
He  even  recovered  sufficiently  to  go  to  his  old  home  at 
Grenoble,  where  he  had  accepted  the  presidency  of  a 
great  meeting  of  choral  societies.  But  he  was  a  doomed 
man. 

He   lingered   still    six   months.     One   autumn   day  a 


488  HECTOR  BERLIOZ. 

friend  met  him  on  the  quai,  not  far  from  the  Institute ; 
he  pressed  his  hand  and  disappeared  in  the  mist,  whis- 
pering these  words :  — 

"  Oh,  the  life  of  man !  when  it  is  happy,  a  shadow  is 
sufficient  to  darken  it;  when  unhappy,  a  damp  sponge 
wipes  out  the  image  of  it,  and  all  is  forgotten." 

During  his  last  days  his  favorite  amusement  was  to 
feed  the  birds  that  nocked  around  his  window ;  he  also 
liked  to  visit  and  receive  visits  from  his  friends,  occa- 
sionally to  discuss  his  works  or  Shakspere  with  sudden 
energy. 

But  his  end  was  that  of  a  volcano  growing  extinct. 

One  of  his  last  efforts  was  to  vote  for  an  old  benefac- 
tor for  the  Institute.  At  last  paralysis  completely 
overcame  him.  He  died  on  Monday,  March  8,  1869. 

Then  began  the  reaction.  When  too  late,  France  rec- 
ognized him  as  her  greatest  composer.  His  music  be- 
came popular.  Statues  were  erected  to  him.  Indeed, 
the  stones  which  had  been  cast  at  him  came,  as  he  pre- 
dicted, to  build  the  pedestal  of  his  monument ! 


HOMAGE   TO    BERLIOZ. 
J.  Fantin-Latour. 


FRANZ  LISZT. 

(1811-1886.) 


OETHE,  in  a  mysterious  poem  which  might  almost 
^  have  suggested  to  Wagner  the  idea  of  "  Parsifal," 
speaks  of  a  genius  of  whose  birth  a  spirit  prophesied, 
and  over  whose  baptismal  feast  a  star  stood  blazing  in 
the  western  sky.1 

Such  a  genius  was  Franz  Liszt.  The  star  was  the 
comet  of  1811,  which,  on  the  night  of  October  21-22, 
seemed  to  the  superstitious  peasants  to  hover,  bright  and 
portentous,  over  the  dwelling  of  Adam  Liszt  in  the 
lonely  little  town  of  Raiding  in  far-off  Hungary. 

On  that  night  Franz  Liszt  was  born. 

The  name  of  Liszt  is  found  in  the  old  Hungarian 
nobility,  but  there  are  no  documents  to  prove  that  Franz 
Liszt  bore  relationship  to  the  Johann  Liszt  who  in  the 
sixteenth  century  was  Bishop  of  Kaab.  Perhaps  Franz 
Liszt's  leaning  to  the  churchly  order  is  sufficient  internal 
evidence  of  it. 

Bishop  Liszt's  descendants  were  wealthy.  Franz  Liszt's 
known  ancestry  were  poor.  His  great-grandfather  was  a 
subaltern  officer  of  hussars.  His  grandfather,  Adam,  was 

»  Wie  ihn  ein  Geist  der  Mutter  friih  vorhies, 
Und  wie  ein  Stern  bei  seiner  Taufefeier 
Sich  glanzender  am  Abendhimmel  wies. 

—  Die  Geheimnissc. 


490  FRANZ  LISZT. 

steward  to  the  Esterhazys,  and  the  father  of  twenty-six 
children  whom  poverty  scattered  for  the  most  part  into 
unknown  paths.  Three  made  names  for  themselves. 

The  oldest  son  of  this  patriarch,  also  named  Adam,  fol- 
lowed in  his  father's  footsteps,  and  in  time  became  a 
steward  to  Prince  Esterhazy. 

He  was  passionately  fond  of  music,  and  in  his  moments 
of  leisure  taught  himself  to  play  on  many  instruments. 
He  was  frequently  at  Eisenstadt,  where  the  great  Haydn 
took  an  interest  in  him.  He  was  frequently  called  upon 
to  play  as  a  substitute  or  additional  in  the  famous  band. 
Here,  too,  he  made  the  acquaintance  of  musical  visitors 
from  Vienna,  among  them  Cherubini  and  Nepomuk 
Hummel,  then  at  the  height  of  his  glory,  and  caught 
like  a  star  by  the  rich  Hungarian  magnate,  to  glitter 
in  his  crown. 

Few  suspected  what  a  bitter  pain  of  ambition  balked, 
lurked  in  the  heart  of  that  tall,  gaunt,  steadfast,  defiant- 
looking  young  man  who  was  so  frequently  seen  in  the 
gorgeously  frescoed  music-room  of  the  Esterhazy  palace. 

His  honesty  and  faithfulness  brought  a  reward  that 
was  a  punishment.  When  he  was  about  thirty  years  old, 
he  was  promoted  to  the  stewardship  of  the  estate  of 
Raiding,  and  thus  separated  from  the  musical  pleasures 
of  Eisenstadt. 

He  had  a  struggle  with  his  inclinations,  but  accepted 
it,  took  to  himself  a  wife,  named  Anna  Lager,  and  set  up 
his  penates  in  the  steward's  residence,  surrounded  by  the 
humble  huts  of  the  peasantry. 

His  wife  was  of  German  origin,  and  endowed  with  the 
characteristic  German  virtues;  attractive  in  face  and 
form,  with  calm,  regular  features,  lighted  by  dark  eyes ; 
simple  in  heart  and  manner,  true,  honest,  gentle,  gra- 
cious, womanly ;  a  model  housewife  ! 


FRANZ    LISZT. 
Painting-  by  Ary  Scheffer. 


FRANZ  LISZT.  491 

Franz,  or  Ferenz,  was  their  only  child ;  a  beautiful  boy, 
rather  tall  and  slender ;  as  he  grew  older,  graceful,  with 
delicate  lineaments,  mysterious  blue  eyes,  and  a  mass  of 
light  blond  hair  framing  his  face  like  a  picture. 

His  mother  declared  that  he  had  none  of  the  common, 
failings  of  children,  that  he  was  always  lively,  cheerful, 
loving,  and  "  obedient,  very  obedient." 

Liszt  long  years  afterward  wrote :  "  With  honor  and 
tender  love  I  thank  my  mother  for  her  constant  proofs 
of  goodness  and  affection.  In  my  youth  I  was  called  a 
good  son.  It  was  indeed  no  especial  credit  to  me,  for 
how  could  I  help  being  a  good  son  when  I  had  such  a 
faithful,  self-sacrificing  mother  ?  " 

While  his  father  was  devoted  to  music,  and  employed 
abundant  leisure  at  the  clavier,  the  mother,  taking  ad- 
vantage of  his  sensitive  and  excitable  nature,  fostered  in 
his  heart  a  genuine  passion  for  religion. 

These  impressions  struck  the  keynote  of  his  life. 

Again  and  again,  amid  all  the  turmoils  and  errors  of 
his  worldly  career,  came  the  intensest  yearning  for  the 
calmness  and  repose  of  the  Church ;  and  it  was  only  a 
logical  step  that  led  him  at  last  to  take  holy  orders,  and 
to  pass  from  life  not  so  much  in  the  character  of  a  crown- 
less  king  as  in  that  of  a  humble  Franciscan  friar. 

All  Liszt's  early  surroundings  fostered  his  poetic 
impulses,  —  the  quiet  but  picturesque  landscape ;  the 
horizon,  bounded  by  wooded  mountains  ;  the  dim,  mys- 
terious forest  stretching  away  ;  the  village  church  where, 
especially  on  grand  holidays,  the  gorgeous  ceremonials 
stirred  his  heart ;  the  dark,  swarthy  gypsies  swarming 
in  the  outskirts  of  the  village,  and  at  evening  practising 
their  free,  lawless  dances,  or  singing  their  plaintive 
songs. 


492  FRANZ  LISZT. 

As  a  rule,  genius  for  music  shows  itself  earlier  than 
any  other.  There  was  no  exception  in  the  case  of  Liszt. 
First  he  listened,  next  he  tried  to  imitate.  The  clavier 
acted  upon  him  like  a  loadstone.  His  father  tried  to 
put  him  off.  It  was  useless.  One  day  when  he  was  six 
years  old,  he  sang  correctly  a  theme  from  a  concerto  by 
Ferdinand  Hies,  that  he  had  only  once  heard.  His 
father  began  to  teach  him  according  to  the  best  of  his 
ability. 

Even  then  the  boy  had  the  ambition  to  be  a  man  like 
Beethoven,  whose  portrait  hung  upon  the  wall.  His 
progress  amazed,  but  his  zeal  alarmed,  his  parents,  who 
would  rather  have  had  him  play  with  his  comrades  out 
of  doors  than  spend  so  much  time  at  the  piano.  At 
the  same  time,  they  could  not  help  being  amused  to  see 
the  little  fellow  bending  over  to  strike  with  his  nose 
some  note  that  was  out  of  the  reach  of  his  diminutive 
hands.  Such  ingenuity  he  showed  in  conquering  diffi- 
culties !  He  also  tried  to  compose  even  before  he  could 
spell.  It  was  like  the  newly-hatched  swan  swimming 
before  it  could  walk. 

This  progress  was  interrupted  by  a  strange  sort  of  slow 
fever  that  came  upon  him.  He  grew  so  ill  that  his 
parents  despaired  of  saving  him.  Indeed,  the  village 
carpenter,  hearing  the  rumor  that  he  was  dead,  began  to 
make  his  coffin. 

But  he  got  well.  And  with  fresh  health  came  fresh 
impulse  to  music. 

Three  years  thus  passed,  his  general  education  not 
neglected.  The  village  priest  taught  him  reading,  writ- 
ing, and  arithmetic ;  but  he  never  learned  to  speak 
Hungarian,  —  that  alien  Asiatic  tongue  that  has  no 
kinship  to  the  speech  of  Europe.  But  he  must  have 


FRANZ  LISZT.  493 

come  later  to  know  the  meaning  of  those  wonderful  nep, 
or  popular  songs,  whose  odd,  broken  rhythms  he  so 
effectively  wrought  into  his  Hungarian  rhapsodies. 

Occasionally  Adam  Liszt  took  his  son  to  Eisenstadt, 
where  he  began  to  be  called  "  the  artist." 

A  report  of  his  powers  reached  a  blind  pianist,  Baron 
von  Braun,  who  was  about  to  give  a  concert  at  Oden- 
burg.  He  wanted  an  additional  attraction,  and  asked 
Adam  Liszt  to  let  Franz  play. 

When  the  time  came,  his  teeth  were  chattering  with 
fever ;  but  his  indomitable  will  carried  him  through. 
He  was  so  successful  that  it  was  decided  to  let  him  give 
a  concert  on  his  own  account.  This  also  succeeded. 

Then  his  father  took  him  to  Eisenstadt,  and  had  him 
at  the  castle  before  the  Prince.  Encouraged  by  the 
praises  showered  on  him,  he  arranged  for  a  concert  at 
Presburg.  Many  great  Hungarian  magnates  lived  in 
that  vicinity.  Prince  Esterhazy  himself  had  a  palace  in 
the  Blumenthal  suburb,  which  he  put  at  Liszt's  disposal, 
besides  giving  the  boy  a  magnificently  embroidered 
Hungarian  costume. 

The  concert  decided  his  future. 

Such  enthusiasm  as  only  the  warm-blooded  Magyars 
could  feel  was  evoked  by  his  playing.  The  ladies 
smothered  him  with  caresses.  The  men,  learning  that 
his  father  had  no  money,  raised  a  subscription,  six  of 
the  magnates  pledging  an  annual  sum  of  six  hundred 
Austrian  gulden  —  less  than  three  hundred  dollars  — 
for  six  years  for  his  musical  education.  This  certainly, 
small  though  it  was,  induced  Adam  Liszt,  against  the 
counsels  of  his  prudent  wife,  to  cut  loose  from  the 
Esterhazy  sheep.  His  first  choice  of  a  master  for  his 
son  was  Hummel  j  but  the  avaricious  artist,  who  had 


494  FRANZ  LISZT. 

become  kapellmeister  at  Weimar,  demanded  a  louis* 
d'or  for  each  lesson. 

At  Vienna,  Karl  Czerny,  seeing  the  boy's  talent,  gave 
him  lessons  during  a  year  and  a  half,  saying,  "  I  wish  no 
pay  from  the  little  Zizi."  The  boy  rebelled  at  the  dry 
technicalities  upon  which  Czerny  insisted.  Could  he 
not  read  and  perform  anything  at  sight?  But  his 
teacher  knew  the  necessity  of  a  solid  foundation,  and 
his  father  wisely  upheld  him  in  it,  suggesting  a  slightly 
more  elastic  method  of  reaching  the  result. 

Salieri  was  old,  and  weary  of  teaching ;  but  he,  too, 
could  not  resist  the  pleasure  of  instructing  the  marvel- 
lous boy. 

It  was  not  long  before  he  was  making  a  sensation  in 
the  musical  circles  of  Vienna;  that  is  to  say,  in  the 
circle  of  the  highest  aristocracy.  At  last  his  father 
felt  justified  in  bringing  him  out  in  concert.  This  took 
place  on  the  first  of  December,  1822.  The  critics  praised 
"the  feeling,  expression,  shading,"  ability  to  read  at 
sight,  and  genius  for  "free  fantasy,"  shown  by  the 
"musical  wonder-child,"  "the  little  Hercules,"  as  they 
called  him. 

In  April  following  he  gave  another  concert,  at  which 
Beethoven  was  present.  Liszt  saw  his  leonine  head  and 
felt  his  fiery  eyes  on  him ;  but  it  only  inspired  him  to 
excel.  When  he  was  done,  the  great  master  came  upon 
the  platform  and  kissed  him. 

Among  Beethoven's  works  is  a  piece  containing  thirty- 
three  variations  on  a  waltz  by  Diabelli.  It  was  published 
with  variations  by  fifty  Viennese  composers.  Liszt  also 
contributed,  and  his  number  is  said  to  hold  its  own  with 
the  rest.  That  is  not  saying  much,  however ;  and  the 
fact  is  chiefly  interesting  from  the  connection  which  it 


FEANZ  LISZT.  495 

makes  between  Liszt  and  Beethoven.  Czerny,  indeed, 
had  no  hesitation  in  comparing  the  boy  to  Beethoven 
as  he  was  in  his  boyhood ;  or  to  Mozart,  prototype  of  all 
musical  prodigies. 

From  Vienna,  Adam  Liszt  took  his  son  to  Paris,  and 
tried  to  place  him  in  the  famous  Conservatoire,  under  the 
surly  but  magnificent  Cherubini.  The  family  set  forth, 
stopping  at  all  the  principal  cities 1  on  the  way,  and 
everywhere  finding  a  welcome  for  "the  new  Mozart," 
and  praise  unlimited  for  all  those  qualities  which  the 
greatest  virtuosos  exhibit. 

Prince  Metternich  had  given  Liszt  a  letter  of  recom- 
mendation to  Cherubini ;  but  neither  this  nor  tears  and 
supplications  sufficed  to  move  the  crabbed  old  man  from 
the  rule  that  no  foreigner  could  enter  the  Conservatoire. 
Yet  he  himself  was  a  foreigner.  Liszt,  in  his  vivid 
description  of  the  fateful  interview,  says  the  decision 
was  a  thunderbolt,  and  years  afterward  the  wound  still 
bled. 

But  not  all  was  lost.  Paer  consented  to  teach  the 
boy.  Letters  of  introduction  from  their  Austrian  and 
Hungarian  friends  opened  the  doors  to  the  most  exclu- 
sive residences  of  Paris. 

"The  little  Litz,"  as  the  French  called  him,  became 
the  idol  of  the  salons.  Yet  he  was  still  as  fresh  and 
unspoiled  as  when  he  played  in  the  fields  of  Raiding. 
When  the  Duke  of  Orleans,  carried  away  by  his  genius, 

i  In  the  hall  of  the  Seven  Electors  at  Budapest,  on  May  Day,  1823,  he 
played  variations  by  Moscheles,  and,  as  usual,  improvised.  In  his  appeal  to 
the  "  High  gracious  nobility,  the  military,  and  the  honorable  public,''  he  said : 

"  I  am  a  Hungarian,  and  know  no  greater  good  fortune  than  to  be  able  to 
dedicate  the  first  fruits  of  my  education  and  culture  to  my  dear  fatherland, 
as  tne  first  offering  of  my  inmost  attachment  and  gratitude  before  my  depart- 
ure for  France  and  England." 


496  FRANZ  LISZT. 

offered  him  anything  that  his  heart  might  desire,  he 
asked  simply  for  a  little  toy  that  his  eye  happened  to 
fall  upon. 

Liszt's  first  public  concert  in  Paris  took  place  in  the 
Italian  Opera-house  on  the  eighth  of  March,  1824.  He 
was  assisted  by  the  orchestra  of  the  Opera ;  and  more 
complimentary  to  his  genius  than  the  plaudits  of  the 
audience  was  the  fact  that  the  musicians  were  so  carried 
away  by  his  playing  of  a  solo  passage  in  the  Hummel 
concerto  (which  he  played  by  heart),  that  they  forgot  to 
come  in  at  the  proper  place.  A  wag  said :  — 

"  Orpheus  touched  the  beasts  of  the  field  and  moved 
stones,  but  the  little  Litz  so  affected  the  orchestra  that 
they  became  dumb  ! " 

The  French  press  was  unanimous  in  its  praise  of  the 
boy's  perfection.  They  called  him  the  eighth  wonder 
of  the  world. 

Even  at  this  day  Liszt's  characteristic  generosity  and 
unselfishness  were  manifested.  He  was  always  giving, 
even  at  personal  inconvenience. 

One  day,  as  he  was  passing  along  the  street,  a  cross- 
ing-sweeper begged  a  sou.  Liszt  had  nothing  smaller 
than  a  five-franc  piece. 

"  Can  you  change  it  ?  " 

"No." 

"Then  go  and  get  it  changed,  quick." 

Liszt  took  the  boy's  broom  and  stood  there  waiting,  at 
first  perfectly  unconscious  of  the  absurdity  of  the  situa- 
tion. The  passers-by,  some  of  whom  recognized  him, 
stared  at  him  and  laughed,  but  he  did  not  care.  He 
took  good  care  of  the  broom  until  the  boy  returned  with 
his  change. 

It  must  not  be  supposed  that  the  sunny  sky  of  this 


FRANZ  LISZT.  497 

Parisian  success  was  absolutely  free  from  clouds. 
Liszt's  genius  awakened  jealousy.  Calumnious  reports 
were  circulated  about  him ;  even  threatening  letters  were 
written.  So,  with  a  feeling  of  relief,  Adam  Liszt  seized 
a  favorable  opportunity  to  go  to  London. 

He  also  made  a  strange  and  almost  inexplicable  change 
in  his  plans.  He  sent  his  wife  back  to  Austria.  He 
never  saw  her  again.  The  boy's  heart  was  almost 
broken  by  the  separation,  but  his  father  was  inexorable. 

His  first  public  concert  in  London  took  place  on  the 
twenty-first  of  June,  1824,  and  — ;  to  describe  Liszt's 
concerts,  we  need  only  use  one  formula,  and  as  that 
will  suffice  for  his  whole  career,  we  may  spare  ourselves 
its  monotonous  repetition. 

London  is  naturally  colder  and  more  formal  than 
Paris,  but  the  marvellous  boy  won  all  hearts.  It  is  said 
that  one  evening  he  played  at  a  soiree,  following  a  dis- 
tinguished pianist,  whose  performance  fell  flat.  Some  of 
the  ladies  present  tried  to  explain  the  greater  success  of 
Liszt  by  making  invidious  comparisons  between  the  pieces. 

Liszt  had  played  the  same  piece ! 

Yes,  the  boy  had  the  philosopher's  stone  of  genius. 
He  was  able  to  transmute  everything  that  he  touched 
into  gold.  One  of  his  admirers  said  that  oftentimes 
after  he  had  played  a  piece  of  little  intrinsic  worth  with 
such  fire  and  brilliance  that  it  seemed  great,  the  notes 
remaining  on  the  rack  were  like  a  heap  of  dead  ashes. 

While  Liszt  was  in  England  he  finished  the  composi- 
tion of  an  opera  entitled  "  Don  Sancho,  or  the  Castle  of 
Love,"  which,  on  his  return  to  France,  was  given  at  the 
Opera  on  the  twenty-fifth  of  October,  1825. 

It  was  received  with  great  applause ;  yet  significantly 
enough  it  was  shelved  after  three  performances.  The 


498  FRANZ  LISZT. 

work  itself  perished  when  the  Library  of  the  Royal 
Opera  was  burned,  nearly  fifty  years  later.  Indeed, 
most  of  Liszt's  youthful  compositions  disappeared. 
Only  two  were  ever  printed,  —  an  allegro  and  some 
studies.  Nothing  is  known  of  a  "  grand  overture  "  for 
orchestra  which  he  contributed  to  a  concert  in  Manches- 
ter that  same  year ;  or  a  sonata  of  his  own,  which  as  a 
joke  he  palmed  off  as  one  of  Beethoven's,  thus  deceiv- 
ing the  elect.  The  elect,  alas,  are  ever  being  deceived ! 

After  several  more  journeys  Liszt  returned  to  Paris 
and  underwent  a  thorough  course  of  counterpoint  under 
Reicha,  who  was  delighted  at  the  ease  with  which  he 
mastered  its  intricacies :  six  months  sufficed  for  him  to 
open  and  explore  this  realm  of  mysteries.  Then  fol- 
lowed a  new  season  of  journeying  with  his  father,  and 
for  the  third  time  he  went  to  London.  Only  in  London 
did  he  fail  of  fullest  appreciation. 

But  a  crisis  had  come  to  him.  As  he  grew  into  young 
manhood,  a  morbid  dislike  for  the  world  grew  upon  him, 
and  a  yearning  for  the  life  of  the  Church. 

He  begged  his  father  to  let  him  become  a  priest  and 
renounce  the  world. 

But  his  father,  who  had  endured  so  many  trials  for 
his  sake,  sternly  set  his  face  against  it.  "  Thy  calling 
is  music,"  he  said.  "  Love  God,  be  good  and  true,  and 
so  much  the  higher  things  wilt  thou  attain  in  thy  art." 

In  1860  Liszt  wrote :  — 

"  With  tears  and  humble  supplication  I  begged  to  be  allowed  to 
enter  the  seminary  at  Paris  ;  there  it  was  my  hope  to  live  the  life 
of  the  saints,  and  perhaps  even  to  die  the  death  of  the  martyrs." 

And  he  adds  that  though,  alas,  it  was  not  at  that  time 
to  be,  yet  in  spite  of  all  his  errors  and  entanglements, 


FEANZ  LISZT.  499 

for  which  he  felt  the  deepest  contrition,  the  divine 
Light  of  the  Cross  was  not  withdrawn  from  him. 

The  truth  of  the  matter  is  that  Liszt  was  a  man  of 
emotions.  No  one  like  him  spoke  to  the  emotions. 
His  whole  career  was  emotional ;  all  his  disciples  were 
emotional.  His  compositions,  in  which  the  intellectual 
musician  hears  nothing  but  incoherent  ravings,  are 
written  in  a  language  which  the  intellect  cannot  under- 
stand. It  is  therefore  not  an  uncommon  phenomenon 
to  see  pianists  outgrowing  their  Liszt  enthusiasms  and 
to  look  back  upon  their  "  Lisztomania  "  as  only  a  phase 
of  development,  of  which  they  are  not  ashamed,  but 
rather  proud.  In  hearing  and  criticising  the  works  of 
Liszt  this  must  not  be  forgotten. 

Amid  this  contest  of  will,  when  discords  had  arisen 
between  father  and  son,  the  former  was  taken  ill,  and 
died  in  August,  1827,  at  Boulogne-sur-mer. 

After  he  recovered  from  what  to  his  sensitive  nature 
was  a  terrible  shock,  he  wrote  his  mother  to  join  him ; 
he  sold  his  piano  in  order  to  pay  certain  small  debts,  and 
then  hastened  back  to  Paris,  where  he  and  his  mother 
took  a  modest  dwelling,  the  maintenance  of  their  estab- 
lishment falling  on  his  shoulders.  He  was  soon  able  to 
settle  upon  her  a  snug  fortune  of  100,000  francs  which 
she  enjoyed  so  long  as  she  lived. 

Among  his  pupils  was  the  beautiful  Caroline,  Countess 
de  Saint-Cricq,  daughter  of  the  Minister  of  the  Interior. 

Liszt  fell  in  love  with  her.  She  was  not  slow  to  re- 
turn it.  Her  mother  saw  the  pretty  romance  unfolding 
like  the  petals  of  a  flower,  and  was  wise  enough  and 
true  enough  to  approve. 

But  she  died,  and  the  Count  de  Saint-Cricq  compelled 
his  daughter  to  marry  the  man  of  his  choice. 


500  FRANZ  LISZT. 

The  bitter  disappointment  of  this  first  love  crushed, 
once  more  turned  Liszt  to  the  mysticism  of  the  Church. 

"A  maiden,"  he  wrote  ten  years  later,  "a  maiden  chaste  and 
pure  as  the  alabaster  of  holy  vessels  was  the  sacrifice  which  I  tear- 
fully offered  to  the  God  of  the  Christians.  Renunciation  of  all 
things  earthly  was  the  leaven,  the  only  word  of  that  day." 

He  avoided  all  society,  gave  himself  up  to  religious 
reading  and  meditation,  and  would  have  actually  taken 
orders  had  not  his  mother  persuaded  his  confessor  to 
discountenance  it. 

The  strain  upon  his  nervous  system,  of  this  exalted 
state  combined  with  the  unhealthy  life  he  had  been  lead- 
ing, —  sometimes  going  a  whole  day  without  food,  and 
staying  f aintness  by  wine,  —  late  hours,  and  all  sorts  of 
irregularities,  at  last  brought  on  him  a  severe  illness. 

For  a  second  time  the  report  of  his  death  was  circu- 
lated. Paris  papers  printed  obituaries  of  him,  and  his 
pictures,  with  the  dates  of  his  too  short  life,  were  dis- 
played in  the  shop  windows ! 

About  this  time  a  young  Russian  enthusiast  from 
Riga,  named  Wilhelm  von  Lenz,  came  to  Paris  intending 
to  take  piano  lessons  of  Kalkbrenner,  then  popular,  but 
now  forgotten.  Chance  brought  him  to  Liszt. 

"  Yes,  he  is  at  home,"  said  his  mother,  "  a  very  un- 
usual thing ;  my  Franz  is  almost  always  at  church,  and 
will  have  scarcely  anything  more  to  do  with  music." 

He  found  him  smoking  a  Turkish  pipe  as  he  lay  on  a 
sofa  surrounded  by  three  pianos  —  "a  thin,  pale-looking 
young  man,  with  infinitely  attractive  features." 

He  compared  his  smile  to  the  flashing  of  a  dagger  in 
the  sun.  Lenz  claims  to  have  won  Liszt's  good  graces 
by  introducing  to  him  the  pianoforte  works  of  Weber, 


FRANZ  LISZT.  501 

who  at  that  time  was  all  the  rage  in  Riga.  He  claims 
to  have  been  Liszt's  first  pupil,  and  in  his  little  book  on 
"the  great  pianoforte  virtuosos  of  our  day,"  calls  him 
"  the  past,  the  present,  and  the  future  of  the  piano." 
He  apotheosizes  him. 

The  July  Eevolution  of  1830  woke  Liszt  from  his  leth- 
argy. "  It  was  the  cannon  that  cured  him,"  his  mother 
said.  She  had  difficulty  to  keep  him  from  rushing  out 
and  fighting  at  the  barricades  for  the  cause  of  humanity 
and  popular  freedom.  He  planned  a  "Revolutionary 
Symphony,"  after  the  model  of  Beethoven's  "  Battle  of 
Vittoria,"  but  it  was  not  completed.  Even  the  sketch 
of  it  is  lost,  but  one  or  two  of  the  motives  are  employed 
in  other  compositions. 

With  returning  health  and  energy  came  a  tremendous 
zeal  for  knowledge.  His  general  education  had  been 
neglected.  He  now  made  it  good.  And  what  a  throng 
of  brilliant  young  minds  formed  the  circle  of  artists, 
poets,  philosophers,  historians,  novelists,  composers,  dur- 
ing that  Romantic  awakening ! 

The  phases  of  Liszt's  development  are  interesting. 
First  he  read  Chateaubriand,  and  began  to  doubt.  Then 
he  was  stirred  by  the  teachings  of  Saint-Simon  and  his 
followers,  but  he  never  joined  the  mystic  society  .which 
hoped  to  revolutionize  the  world.  They  helped  to  stimu- 
late his  genius,  but  the  extremes  to  which  the  members 
of  the  sect  were  carried  revolted  him.  Yet  he  would 
have  been  their  ideal  of  an  artist,  standing  as  a  priestly 
mediator  between  God  and  the  world. 

Still  further  stimulus  came  to  him  from  the  hearing  of 
Paganini,  who,  while  "  at  the  zenith  of  his  European 
celebrity,"  came  to  Paris  in  March,  1831.  The  demonic 
inspiration  of  his  playing  kindled  Liszt  to  emulation. 


502  FRANZ,  LISZT. 

Music  he  had  neglected.  He  again  took  up  his  prac- 
tice, and  worked  fiercely  at  it,  sometimes  exercising  his 
fingers  six  hours  a  day.  When  again  he  emerged  from 
his  hiding,  he  had  become  the  Paganini  of  the  pianoforte 
—  the  King  of  Virtuosos. 

Hitherto  Beethoven  had  been  Liszt's  idol.  He  had 
been  the  first  to  play  Beethoven's  concertos  in  public, 
when  the  Parisian  public  found  such  music  altogether 
too  high  for  them.  He  was  now  to  make  the  acquaint- 
ance of  Berlioz  and  Chopin,  both  of  whom  had  a  power- 
ful influence  over  him — an  influence  that  was  equally 
retro-active,  in  spite  of  the  unlikeness  of  their  characters 
and  natures. 

Berlioz,  in  his  battle  for  a  wider  scope  for  the  sym- 
phony, enlisted  Liszt's  sympathy  and  aid.  A  noble  and 
unbroken  friendship  united  them.  Liszt  transcribed  for 
the  piano  several  of  the  movements  of  Berlioz's  "  Sym- 
phonie  Fantastique"  and  they  were  among  the  earliest 
of  his  published  works. 

Between  Chopin  and  Liszt  there  was  at  first  warm 
friendship  ;  but  "  We  are  friends  —  we  have  been  com- 
rades," said  Chopin,  early  in  the  forties.  The  cause  of 
the  breach  in  their  friendship  is  very  curious  and  inter- 
esting, but  it  lies  in  a  chapter  in  Liszt's  life  over  which 
we  must  draw  a  veil. 

After  Chopin  was  dead,  Liszt  wrote l  a  prose  rhapsody 
on  his  genius  and  career,  which  is  a  classic,  even  if  its 
biographical  accuracy  is  far  from  being  ideal.  To  read 
it  is  to  penetrate  into  the  mysteries  of  genius. 

The  turmoil  of  new  ideas  that  found  vent,  especially 
in  Paris,  in  the  second  quarter  of  this  century,  bore  away 
many  great  minds,  as  a  freshet  in  the  spring  overflows 

i  Weimar,  1849. 


FRANZ  LISZT.  503 

high  banks  and  sweeps  off  bridges,  houses,  and  barns. 
Into  the  wells  of  calm  faith  flowed  turbid  doubts  ;  over 
the  walls  of  discretion  dashed  fierce  passions ;  across  the 
green  fields  of  conventionality  ran  riotous,  extravagant 
theories.  Never  was  such  intellectual  ferment  known. 

What  wonder  that  a  man  like  Liszt,  all  emotion,  re- 
sponded to  the  spirit  of  the  times  ? 

From  absolute  scepticism  he  was  indeed  saved  by  the 
influence  of  the  celebrated  Abbe  Lamennais,  whose  lib- 
eral and  democratic  ideas  came  into  conflict  with  those 
of  a  conservative  Church,  but  whose  truly  religious  and 
truly  cosmopolitan  philosophy  of  the  universe  was 
highly  stimulating. 

Liszt  visited  him  at  his  country-seat  in  Bretagne,  and 
under  the  inspiration  of  his  teachings  composed  his 
beautiful  "  Pensees  des  Marts  ;  "  he  called  him  his  "  pa- 
ternal friend  and  instructor."  For  him  Art  was  the 
divine  medium  between  God  and  the  world.  "  Art  is  for 
men  what  the  creative  power  is  for  God."  The  Beauti- 
ful must  be  the  immutable  object  of  art,  which,  like 
knowledge,  must  be  forever  progressing  toward  loftier 
heights.  There  is  one  law  for  the  True,  the  Good,  and 
the  Beautiful.  They  unite  in  the  divine  unity. 

Such  a  theory  is  in  the  highest  degree  ideal.  The  dan- 
ger lies,  that  under  the  plausible  name  of  the  Beautiful, 
one  may  follow  a  phantom  light,  a  will-o'-the-wisp,  that 
may  lead  one  into  the  miasmatic  swamps  of  Immorality. 

Love  is  beautiful.  But  because  it  is  beautiful,  there 
oftentimes  come  crises  when  'Love  himself  takes  part 
against  himself '  to  warn  men  off,  — 

"And  Duty  loved  of  Love 
O  this  world's  curse  —  beloved  but  hated,"  — » 

comes  like  Death  betwixt  two  souls. 


504  FRANZ  LISZT. 

Liszt  yielded  to  that  Love  that  conflicted  with  Duty. 
His  partisans,  and  oddly  enough  the  women  above  all, 
have  defended  him  in  the  irregularities  which  mar  his 
life,  affecting  to  judge  him  as  though  he  were  a  king 
whose  "  divine  right "  placed  him  above  morality. 

Judged  by  the  healthy  common  standards,  he,  like 
Berlioz,  for  many  years  lived  a  life  of  shocking  immor- 
ality. The  world  treated  him  leniently,  and  the  husband 
of  the  countess  who  bore  him  children  declared  that  he 
acted  like  a  gentleman  in  the  difficult  position  in  which 
he  was  placed  by  her  guilty  infatuation ;  still,  we  have 
no  right  to  mince  matters  or  defend  genius  for  its 
aberrations. 

In  other  respects  his  character  shines  bright  as  the 
sun.  Generous  to  a  degree  unexampled  in  the  history 
of  art,  self-sacrificing,  heroic,  his  career  simply  bristles 
with  beautiful,  unselfish  acts  which  it  would  take  a 
volume  adequately  to  describe. 

When  Liszt,  after  long  silence,  again  appeared  in  pub- 
lic, it  was  found  that  a  new  era  of  piano-playing  had 
come.  No  one  could  withstand  the  magic  of  it.  It  was 
said :  — 

"  His  soul  is  in  his  fingers,  his  soul  is  in  his  eyes: 
This  perfect  artist  seems  inspired  directly  from  the  skies."  l 

Hosts  of  clever  people  have  left  descriptions  in  prose 
and  verse  of  Liszt's  playing.  Nothing  like  it  was  ever 
known.  The  classic  Cramer  and  others  devoted  to  tra- 
ditions might  vainly  try  to  sneer,  or  shoot  impudent  epi- 
grams.2 Wherever  Liszt  appeared,  the  people  flocked  to 
hear  him. 

i  Ron  9.me  est  dans  ses  doigts,  son  ame  est  dans  ses  yeux : 

Cet  artiste  parfait  semble  inspire"  des  cieux. 

»  Cramer  shook  his  head  and  said :  "  De  mon  temps  on  jouait  fort  bien ; 
aujourd'hui  on  joue  bien  fort." 


FRANZ  LISZT.  505 

It  would  take  too  long  to  describe  all  his  journeys  or 
mention  all  his  concerts,  even  those  that  were  given  for 
philanthropic  purposes.  Much  that  is  interesting  may 
be  found  in  his  "Letters  from  a  Bachelor  in  Music," 
which  began  in  1835,  and  tell  of  his  doings  in  Switzer- 
land and  Italy.  Adolf  Pictet  has  devoted  a  whole 
book  to  a  mountain  tour  taken  by  Liszt,  the  Countess 
d'Agoult,  known  as  "  Daniel  Stern,"  "  George  Sand,"  and 
others,  making  a  jolly,  unconventional,  sun-browned 
party,  calling  themselves  "  the  Piffoels  Family,"  emit- 
ting witticisms  as  an  electrical  machine  emits  sparks. 
At  one  of  the  hotels  Liszt  inscribed  himself  as  a  "  musi- 
cien-philosophe,  born  on  Parnassus  on  his  way  from 
Doubt  to  the  Truth."  George  Sand  also  described  their 
experiences  in  her  "  Travellers'  Letters."  The  memory 
of  these  Swiss  days  Liszt  preserved  in  his  "Years  of 
Swiss  Pilgrimage." 

While  he  was  residing  in  Geneva,  he  heard  that  Sigis- 
mund  Thalberg  had  gone  to  Paris  and  been  hailed  as 
"  an  epoch-making  pianist."  Liszt  determined  to  meet 
his  rival ;  but  when  he  reached  Paris,  Thalberg  had  re- 
turned to  Vienna.  Liszt,  however,  gave  two  concerts, 
and  Berlioz  wrote  a  tremendous  article  in  the  Gazette 
Musicale,  praising  him  to  the  skies,  at  the  expense  of  the 
German,  and  predicting  that  "  all  things  were  to  be  ex- 
pected from  him  as  a  composer."  His  article  ended  with 
the  words :  "  He  is  the  pianist  of  the  future ;  to  him  be 
the  honor."  A  new  musical  war  broke  out  as  in  the 
time  of  Gluck.  But  where  is  Thalberg  now,  and  who 
plays  his  trivialities  ? 

The  next  year,  in  December  (1836),  Berlioz  gave  a 
great  concert,  and  Liszt  came  once  more  from  Switzer- 
land to  take  part  in  it.  Thalberg  was  present,  and  all 


506  FRANZ  LISZT. 

his  adherents.  When  the  young  man  with  his  "ivory 
profile  "  appeared  on  the  stage,  he  was  received  in  silence. 
All  the  greater  was  his  triumph,  because  it  was  wrung 
from  a  hostile  public.  It  was  during  this  winter  when 
he  gave  many  concerts  in  Paris,  that  Heine  wrote  his 
famous  description  of  his  improvisation  which  he  de- 
clared made  him  see  what  other  people  only  heard. 

But  the  war  with  Thalderg  was  not  over.  Liszt  wrote 
a  critical  review  of  two  of  the  German  pianist's  composi- 
tions, and  handled  them  without  gloves. 

Of  course  it  was  ascribed  to  motives  of  jealousy. 

Shortly  after,  Thalberg  himself  appeared  on  the  scene, 
and  abundant  opportunity  was  given  to  hear  and  com- 
pare the  two  virtuosos. 

Then  Fetis,  Berlioz's  bitter  enemy,  replied,  and  at  the 
end  of  his  article,  while  acknowledging  Liszt's  prodigious 
talent  and  incomparable  ability  in  conquering  difficulties, 
declared  that  no  new  musical  thought  informed  the 
marvel  of  his  playing,  giving  it  a  creative  and  original 
character :  — 

"  Thou  art  the  offshoot  of  a  school  that  is  drawing  to  an  end  and 
has  no  further  mission,  but  thou  art  not  the  man  of  a  new  school. 
Thalberg  is  the  man.  That  is  the  whole  difference  between  you." 

A  lady  who  heard  the  two  pianists  at  a  concert  given 
by  the  Princess  Belgiojoso,  expressed  the  difference 
more  wittily :  "  Thalberg,"  said  she,  "  is  the  first  pianist 
in  the  world." 

"And  Liszt?" 

"  Liszt !  Liszt  is  the  only  one  ! " 

The  question  as  to  Liszt's  genius  as  a  composer  is 
another  matter.  His  enthusiastic  acolytes  have  been 
known  to  predict  that  after  Schumann  and  Brahms  were 


FRANZ  LISZT.  507 

forgotten,  Liszt  would  still  live.  His  opponents,  —  and 
they  are  not  few  or  to  be  despised,  —  while  acknowledg- 
ing his  genius  as  an  interpreter  and  transcriber  of  other 
people's  ideas,  declare  that  his  music  is  like  sounding 
brass,  great  noise  covering  the  lack  of  great  ideas. 

Certainly  no  one  ever  equalled  him  in  the  beauty  of 
his  translations  of  opera  or  song  to  the  keyboard  of  the 
piano.  Schubert's  lovely  melodies  live  anew  in  his  fas- 
cinating arrangements  of  them,  a  round  hundred  in  all. 
And  those  wonderful  Magyar  songs  which  he  wove  into 
his  nineteen  Hungarian  rhapsodies  for  both  orchestra 
and  piano,  introduced  a  nation  to  the  knowledge  of  the 
world.  One  hundred  and  thirty  of  his  compositions  de- 
rive their  inspiration  from  the  Magyar  land. 

Liszt  was  a  most  voluminous  composer.  Over  twelve 
hundred  compositions  flowed  from  his  pen.  Of  these, 
six  hundred  and  forty-nine  were  original,  though  that 
number  includes  two  hundred  and  sixty -four  re-arranged 
for  other  instruments. 

He  was  himself  modest  in  regard  to  his  own  work. 
He  declared  that  he  had  no  intention  of  being  an  inno- 
vator and  iconoclast. 

"I  have  written,"  said  he,  "as  my  heart  dictated. 
Whether  my  things  will  prove  to  have  permanent  value, 
I  do  not  presume  to  predict ;  but  they  have  been  honor- 
ably intentioned." 

His  seventy  songs  with  piano  accompaniment,  though 
Liszt  himself  called  them  abstruse  and  hard  to  criticise, 
are  worthy  of  immortality. 

Indeed,  Liszt's  career  as  a  composer  seems  to  suggest 
the  thought  that  as  the  combinations  of  the  notes  in  our 
scale  are  necessarily  limited,  and  the  more  obvious  and 
spontaneous  melodies  and  chords  have  been  long  ago 


508  FRANZ  LISZT. 

exhausted  during  three  hundred  years  of  musical  activity 
with  thousands  of  composers  drawing  from  the  fountain, 
the  "tone  poet"  of  the  future  will  be  driven  to  avail 
himself  of  the  treasures  of  the  past,  frankly  confessing 
the  source.  Perhaps,  however,  the  human  ear  will  edu- 
cate itself  to  find  beauties  in  quarter  tones  and  eighth 
tones,  and  thus  inaugurate  a  new  era  of  tone-colors  and 
tone-pictures. 

After  a  three-months'  visit  at  Nohant,  George  Sand's 
country-place,  —  which  he  describes  in  a  poetico-pastoral 
letter  to  Pictet,  —  Liszt  started  once  more  on  his  travels. 
It  was  toward  the  end  of  July,  1837,  and  he  set  his  face 
toward  Italy.  He  spent  some  time  at  the  beautiful  Villa 
Malzi,  on  the  dreamy  shores  of  Lake  Como,  where  his 
reading  of  the  "  Divine  Comedy  "  inspired  his  strange, 
poetic  "  Dante  Fantasie,"  and,  where  on  Christmas,  1837, 
his  daughter  Cosima  was  born,  who  afterwards  became 
the  wife  successively  of  Hans  von  Billow  and  Eichard 
Wagner. 

At  Milan  he  gave  several  concerts  when  he  played  his 
own  compositions  mainly,  and,  by  his  improvisations, 
awoke  the  Italians  to  an  unprecedented  enthusiasm. 
Hitherto  they  had  cared  little  for  piano  music.  Liszt 
himself  commented  on  the  fact  that  since  John  Field 
had  played  in  Italy,  "no  Hummel,  no  Moscheles,  no 
Kalkbrenner,  no  Chopin,  had  appeared  on  that  side  of 
the  Alps." 

Liszt  enjoyed  the  memorials  of  the  past,  and  the  sculp- 
ture and  painting  inspired  him  as  nature  had  done  in 
Switzerland. 

Moreover,  he  met  Eossini  at  Milan.  Between  the  two 
sprang  up  a  warm  friendship  which  was  not  cooled  by 
Eossini  saying  frankly,  "You  have  the  making  of  a 


FRANZ  LISZT.  509 

great  composer,  a  great  writer,  a  great  philosopher  — 
and  yet  you  are  doing  nothing." 

Liszt  repaid  him  by  transcribing  a  dozen  of  Kossini's 
musical  soirees. 

In  Eome,  where  he  went  the  next  year,  he  gave  a  con- 
cert at  the  Palazzo  Poli,  then  occupied  by  Prince  G-al- 
itsin,  governor-general  of  Moscow.  His  audience  con- 
sisted wholly  of  titled  personages ;  and  for  the  first 
time  he  had  no  one  to  assist  him  —  an  innovation  never 
before  attempted.  Here  also  he  composed  his  first1 
song. 

To  Liszt,  Eome  was  the  consummation  of  all  Italy. 
Nature,  the  arts,  religion,  here  found  their  richest  mani- 
festations ;  and  when  in  1839  he  left  Italy  he  was  able  to 
write  that  he  was  a  different  man,  older,  more  mature, 
more  perfect  as  an  artist;  for,  said  he,  "I  have  been 
working  enormously." 

The  period  of  his  development  was  complete.  He 
had  now  to  choose  his  career.  And  after  much  delibera- 
tion he  decided  against  his  inclinations,  and  became  a 
virtuoso  rather  than  a  kapellmeister. 

At  the  same  time  he  found  it  necessary  to  separate 
from  the  Countess  d'Agoult,  the  mother  of  his  three 
children. 

No  wonder  that  it  was  said  of  him  that  "  his  nature 
consisted  of  uneven  proportions  of  demon  and  angel." 
And  so  long  as  he  lived,  silly  women,  dazzled  by  his 
genius  and  his  personality,  flew  into  the  blaze  of  his 
attraction  as  moths  singe  their  wings  in  the  fiaine  of  a 
torch. 

One  time  he  was  discovered  in  his  house  at  Budapest, 

1  The  exquisite  Angiolin  dal  biondo  crin  —  "  Angel  fair  with  golden 
hair." 


510  FRANZ  LISZT. 

seated  on  a  platform  surrounded  by  pianos,  and  in  full 
view  of  six  or  eight  ladies  trying  to  portray  his  clear- 
cut  features  and  long  gray  hair.  He  was  sound  asleep, 
wearied  with  homage. 

"  You  have  found  me,"  said  he  with  the  ready  wit  that 
never  failed  him,  "  in  the  attitude  of  St.  Sebastian ;  but 
the  arrows  this  time  are  paint-brushes." 

At  St.  Petersburg  ladies  of  the  high  nobility  met  him 
on  the  steps  of  his  hotel,  and  crowned  him  with  flowers. 
Four  celebrated  beauties  of  the  court  of  the  King  of 
Prussia  had  their  portraits  painted  representing  them  as 
Caryatides  supporting  his  bust.  Ladies  begged  and  pre- 
served as  inestimable  treasures  the  stumps  of  his  cigars. 

Was  it  strange  that  such  unbounded  worship  turned 
the  head  of  the  "  dear  sublime,"  as  Berlioz  called  him  ? 

Between  1839  and  1847  Liszt  gave  concerts  in  all  the 
countries  of  Europe.  The  blazing  comet  of  Liszt's 
birth-night  seemed  to  have  become  flesh  and  started 
wandering  through  the  world. 

Princely,  Zeus-like  in  his  generosity,  he  everywhere 
poured  the  golden  rain  that  his  wonder-working  hands 
compelled,  into  the  coffers  of  deserving  charities.  It  was 
he  who,  at  an  expense  of  fifty  thousand  marks  from  his 
own  means,  caused  the  monument  at  Bonn,  to  Beethoven, 
to  be  finished  and  erected.  This  was  but  one  of  his 
manifold  services  to  art. 

The  last  concert  that  Liszt  ever  gave  for  his  own 
benefit  was  in  1847.  From  that  time  forth  he  labored 
exclusively  for  others. 

Early  in  the  forties  he  engaged  to  direct  a  number  of 
concerts  at  Weimar  each  year.  Here,  in  1849,  he  settled 
as  conductor  of  the  Court  Theatre,  and  began  an  inter- 
esting battle  in  behalf  of  unrecognized  composers.  His 


FRANZ  LISZT.  511 

theory  was,  that  all  truth  and  genuine  merit  must  con- 
quer in  the  end,  though  the  powers  of  misrepresentation 
and  intrigue  may  delay  them.  His  ideal  was  lofty :  he 
could  say,  in  this  respect,  that  his  life's  highest  aim  was 
to  uphold  it.1 

Dingelstedt,  whom  Liszt  caused  to  be  appointed  gen- 
eral intendant  at  Weimar,  intrigued  against  him,  and 
was  successful  in  having  the  theatre  exploited  at  the 
expense  of  the  lyric  drama.  The  "  Orpheus  of  Weimar," 
as  Victor  Hugo  called  him,  resigned  his  official  position, 
and  retired  to  semi-private  life,  drawing  closer  and  closer 
to  the  Church,  spending  a  large  part  of  each  year  at 
Eome  in  constant  intercourse  with  Pope  Pius  IX.,  who 
called  him  "  my  Palestrina,"  and  with  the  great  digni- 
taries, especially  Cardinal  Hohenlohe,  at  whose  beautiful 
Villa  d'Este  he  always  found  "  peace,  sweet  hospitality, 
mild  air,  splendid  landscape,  delightful  walks,  good  food, 
good  wine,  books,  musicalien,  pianos  to  be  used  ad  libi- 
tum, and  a  delightful  temperature." 

In  Koine  itself  he  lived  either  at  the  Dominican  Mon- 
astery at  Monte  Mario,  or  at  San  Francisca  Komana,  near 
the  Forum.  He  took  charge  of  the  musical  performances 
which  the  art-loving  Pope  and  Cardinals  arranged. 

In  1858,  at  Budapest,  he  had  become  a  "  tertiary,"  or 
member  of  the  third  order  of  Franciscans :  Francis  of 
Assisi  was  his  patron  saint.  Even  before  this  he  wrote 
to  Richard  Wagner :  — 

"  Coine  back  to  the  Faith  :  it  gives  such  happiness  ;  it  is  the 
only,  the  true,  the  eternal.  However  bitterly  you  may  scorn  this 
feeling,  I  cannot  help  recognizing  in  it  the  way  of  salvation.  I 
cannot  help  yearning  for  it,  and  choosing  it." 

1  "  I  had  dreamed  of  a  new  art  period  for  Weimar,"  he  wrote  in  1860, 
"  like  that  of  Karl  August,  in  which  Wagner  and  I  should  have  been  the 
leaders,  as  formerly  Goethe  and  Schiller  were;  but  unfavorable  circumstances 
brought  these  dreams  to  naught." 


512  FRANZ  LISZT. 

In  the  last  weeks  of  his  life  he  scouted  the  idea  that 
his  appointment  of  abbe  was  due  to  external  circum- 
stances, but  wholly  to  the  requirements  of  his  heart; 
the  circle  of  his  life  completed  itself  in  the  yearnings 
for  the  rest  which  he  could  find  only  in  the  bosom  of 
Mother  Church. 

Cardinal  Hohenlohe,  in  1865,  invested  him  with  the 
honorary  title  of  abbe.  In  1879  he  submitted  to  the 
tonsure,  and  took  upon  himself  the  vows  of  the  four 
minor  orders.  He  was  appointed  honorary  canon ;  but 
these  church  dignities  did  not  make  him  a  priest.  He 
could  not  offer  mass,  and  he  was  at  liberty  at  any  time 
to  marry  had  he  chosen  so  to  do. 

But  Liszt's  life  was  not  confined  to  Rome  or  the 
Church.  It  was  what  he  called  a  three-branched  life,  — 
vie  trifurquee.  Weimar  was  still  a  favorite  resort,  his 
residence  being  either  on  the  Altenburg  at  the  palace  of 
the  Russian  Princess,  Carolyne  Sayn-Wittgenstein,  whose 
devoted  friendship  to  him  has  become  historical,  or 
(after  1869),  at  the  beautiful  Hofgartnerei  on  the  Ilm, 
which  was  redolent  with  memories  of  Goethe. 

In  1870  the  authorities  of  Hungary  made  him  presi- 
dent of  an  academy  of  music  which  did  not  yet  exist, 
and  gave  him  a  salary  of  four  thousand  gulden.  Ac- 
cordingly, each  year  saw  him  at  Budapest. 

The  adoration  of  the  Hungarians  for  their  famous 
countryman  amounted  to  frenzy. 

At  both  Weimar  and  Budapest  he  was  surrounded  by 
pupils,  but  he  refused  all  pecuniary  compensation.  A 
pupil  was  obliged  to  display  distinguished  talent  to  be 
admitted  to  his  instruction.  The  published  list  of  his 
pupils  gives  the  names  of  227  men  and  183  women,  — 
the  list  is  not  complete,  —  many  of  whom  have  won  a 


FRANZ  LISZT.  513 

wide  fame.  His  influence  on  the  musical  life  of  the 
present  generation  is  inestimable ;  nor  can  we  tell  what 
Wagner  would  have  done  without  his  superb  generosity, 
his  wise  tact,  and  his  infinite  patience. 

Liszt  was  founder  of  the  Weimar  Sangerfest,  and  was 
first  conductor  and  president  of  the  festivals  of  the  Uni- 
versal German  Musical  Union. 

On  the  twenty-second  of  May,  1884,  the  Union  cele- 
brated at  Weimar  its  twenty-third  anniversary.  The  next 
day,  at  the  Ducal  Theatre,  the  Muse  of  Poetry  and  Music 
and  the  Nymph  of  the  Ilm  came  upon  the  stage,  and  spoke 
a  prologue  written  by  Professor  Adolf  Stern,  and  then 
crowned  Liszt's  bust,  while  the  tone-poet  himself,  "  with 
his  Jupiter  head,"  so  wonted  to  clouds  of  incense, 
smiled  benignly.  This  ceremony  was  followed  by  Liszt's 
beautiful  «  Legend  of  St.  Elizabeth." 

The  last  time  that  Liszt  ever  directed  publicly  was  at 
Jena,  at  the  Singakademie,  on  the  twenty-sixth  of  June, 
1884.  His  last  year  was  full  of  enjoyments.  He 
made  a  triumphal  journey  through  Europe.  On  the 
sixteenth  of  January,  at  a  concert  in  Rome,  on  almost  the 
fiftieth  anniversary  of  his  first  appearance  there,  noth- 
ing but  his  works  was  performed.  At  the  Palazzo  Bacca, 
before  a  brilliant  assemblage,  he  played  for  the  last 
time  in  Borne.  He  chose  his  Thirteenth  E/hapsody,  and 
extended  it  to  nearly  double  its  length  by  a  marvellous 
improvisation. 

On  the  twenty-first  of  March  he  was  in  Paris,  almost 
coinciding  with  the  sixty-second  anniversary  of  his  first 
appearance  there.  Here  his  "  Graner  Fest-Messe"  which 
he  wrote  Wagner  "  was  rather  prayed  than  composed," 
was  given,  and  brought  receipts  of  42,000  francs. 

He  also  went  to  England,  after  an  absence  of  forty- 


514  FRANZ  LISZT. 

six  years;  and  if  there  had  been  any  remembrance  of 
former  coolness,  it  must  have  been  entirely  swallowed 
up  in  the  fire  of  enthusiasm  which  blazed  around  him. 
Even  the  London  cabbies,  who  had  never  heard  him 
touch  a  piano,  were  so  stirred  by  his  personal  magnetism, 
that  they  cheered  him  on  the  street. 

The  same  experience  he  had  in  St.  Petersburg.  In 
May  he  was  back.  On  the  seventeenth  of  May  he  was 
welcomed  home  to  Weimar  with  a  serenade  by  the  Liszt 
Union.  On  the  thirtieth  he  played  for  the  last  time 
there.  One  piece  was  a  study  that  he  had  not  performed 
since  he  was  a  boy.  Indeed,  he  had,  as  he  expressed  it, 
"a  terrible  memory."  One  one  occasion  Count  Giza 
Zichy,  a  young  Hungarian  pianist,  who,  having  but  one 
arm,  played  as  well  as  most  men  who  have  two,  had 
composed  a  Hungarian  fantasy.  He  played  it  over  to 
Liszt.  In  the  evening  Liszt,  having  caught  it  in  his 
memory,  played  it  before  a  numerous  audience.  He 
was  equally  talented  in  reading  the  most  labyrinthine 
scores  at  sight. 

Early  in  June  he  went  to  Halle  to  consult  with  an 
oculist  in  regard  to  his  eyes,  which  seemed  to  be  failing 
him.  An  operation  was  suggested,  but  not  performed. 
His  wonderfully  elastic  health  began  to  show  signs  of 
yielding.  He  apologized  to  friends  for  keeping  his  seat 
one  time,  saying,  "  They  are  putting  on  my  boots  for  the 
long  journey." 

The  twenty-fifth  anniversary  of  the  Musical  Union 
celebrated  Liszt's  seventy-fifth  year  by  giving  two  Liszt 
concerts  at  Sonderhausen.  At  the  second  his  "  Cristus  " 
was  performed.  He  was  up  every  day  at  five  o'clock  in 
the  morning. 

On  the   seventh  he  returned  to  Weimar  in  a  palace 


LISZT. 


FRANZ  LISZT.  515 

car  crowned  with  flowers.  He  was  in  the  best  of  spirits, 
and  played  his  favorite  game  of  whist  all  the  way.  On 
the  twenty-fifth  he  went  to  Jena,  and  heard  a  beautiful 
performance  of  Mendelssohn's  "  St.  Paul."  The  next 
day  he  gave  his  last  official  "  lesson "  in  the  Hof gart- 
nerei.  It  included  Schumann's  novelette  in  D-major,  a 
little  gem  dedicated  to  Liszt  himself.  On  the  first  of 
July  he  left  Weimar.  He  never  saw  the  town  again. 

At  Bayreuth  he  was  present  at  the  wedding  of  his 
granddaughter,  Daniela  von  Billow,  to  Dr.  Thode,  the 
author  of  a  beautiful  work  on  his  favorite  St.  Francis 
d'Assisi. 

On  Sunday,  July  fourth,  he  went  to  Luxemburg  to 
visit  the  famous  Hungarian  painter  Munkacsy  at  Schloss 
Colpach.  He  had  a  slight  cold,  and  there  increased  it. 
But  once  more  he  yielded  to  the  request  of  friends,  and 
played  for  the  last  time. 

On  his  return  to  Bayreuth  he  was  suffering  from  a  bad 
cough.  On  the  twenty-first  he  took  to  his  bed,  but  in 
spite  of  all  protests  insisted  on  visiting  the  Wagners. 
On  the  twenty-third  he  attended  the  first  "Parsifal" 
performance,  and  was  the  observed  of  all  observers.  On 
the  following  Saturday  he  played  his  last  game  of  whist. 
Though  warned  by  the  doctors,  he  insisted  on  attending 
the  performance  of  "  Tristan.'9  The  exposure  was  fatal. 
The  whole  town  was  filled  with  grief  to  know  of  Liszt's 
serious  illness.  He  died  on  Saturday,  the  thirty-first  of 
July,  1886.  Curiously  enough,  as  August  Gollerich 
pointed  out,  Wagner  had  written  to  him  thirty  years 
before :  — 

"Kemember  the  thirty-first  of  July:  adieu,  Mein  Franziskus! 
Thou  indefatigable,  farewell !  Thou  dear,  good  fortune  that  hast 
vanished.  If  only  thou  knewest  what  divine  memories  thou  hast 
left  behind  thee!" 


516  FRANZ  LISZT. 

The  inhabitants  of  Bayreuth  erected  in  his  memory  a 
splendid  chapel-form  mausoleum,  designed  by  Siegfried 
Wagner.  The  Duke  of  Weimar,  Karl  Alexander, 
founded  a  Liszt  Stiftung.  Maria  Hohenlohe-Schillings- 
furst,  sister  of  the  Cardinal,  who  so  loved  Liszt,  endowed 
it  with  70,000  marks  for  the  aid  of  talented  pianists 
and  composers.  It  was  dedicated  on  the  twenty-second 
of  October,  1887. 

The  residence  in  the  Hofgartnerei  is  now  a  museum, 
kept  forever  as  Liszt  left  it.  Here  is  the  piano  where 
he  composed,  his  writing-table,  and  the  tokens  of  honor 
which  were  heaped  upon  him,  —  countless  stars,  sixty- 
three  medals  and  orders,  golden  laurel  wreaths,  batons, 
snuff-boxes,  pipes,  the  sword  presented  by  the  Hunga- 
rians in  honor  of  his  re-instatement  into  the  nobility, 
diplomas  giving  him  the  freedom  of  many  cities,  and  a 
complete  collection  of  his  published  works.  Many  of  his 
manuscripts  are  still  in  the  hands  of  friends.  Pilgrims 
to  this  interesting  Mecca  of  Art  never  fail  to  be  amazed 
at  the  simplicity  which  surrounded  this  knight  of  artistic 
chivalry.  He  lived  as  he  died,  utterly  oblivious  of 
mercenary  considerations,  simple,  whole-souled,  ascetic. 


RICHARD   WAGNER. 

(1813-1883.) 


TN  the  year  1887  six  hundred  and  forty-one  perform- 
-L  ances  of  Wagner's  operas  were  given  in  forty-four 
towns  of  Germany.  In  1890  the  number  had  swelled 
to  nine  hundred  and  sixty-seven.  The  Wagner  Society 
founded  in  1883  had,  five  years  later,  two  hundred  and 
forty -four  branches,  and  six  thousand  members  ;  in  1890 
it  had  three  hundred  branches,  and  eight  thousand 
members. 

"  Only  a  comet  and  no  fixed  star  is  Kichard  Wagner," 
wrote  Flodoard  Geyer  twenty  years  ago.  But  how  is 
"the  great  train"  grown,  which  even  then  made  the 
metaphor  more  brilliant  in  the  eyes  of  the  critic  :  — 

"  Charlatan." 

"  Fanatic  of  unmelodiousness." 

"The  Heliogabalus  of  Harmony." 

"  The  Marat  of  music." 

"  The  murderer  of  melody." 

"  The  Musical  Munchausen." 

"The  Vandal  of  Art." 

Such  were  some  of  the  opprobrious  epithets  which 
hot-tempered  opponents  applied  to  Richard  Wagner, 
while  they  bent  and  twisted  the  malleable  German 
tongue  to  evolve  absurd  and  ridiculous  names  for  his 
music :  — 

517 


518  RICHARD    WAGNER. 

"All  indistinguishable  lyrico-epico-draniatic  gelatine." 

"  A  moral  delirium  tremens  (Katzenjammer)." 

11  Epidemic  Wagneropsy." 

"  Transcendental  nebulosity." 

"  Circus  comedy." 

"  Wild  chaos  of  tones." 

"A  caricature  of  music." 

"  A  chaos  of  combined  chord  effects." 

"A  spectacular  demonstration." 

"  Dissonance  music." 

"  Butchery  in  notes." 

There  is  a  whole  volume  —  "a  dictionary  of  incivili- 
ties "  —  containing  hundreds  of  rude,  sarcastic,  slander- 
ous expressions  used  by  the  critics  and  rivals  of  the 
master,  to  vent  their  scorn  and  hatred  upon  him. 

Reformers  have  ever  had  to  run  the  gantlet  of  ridi- 
cule, jealousy,  and  misunderstanding.  Human  nature 
remains  unchanged.  The  Greeks,  who  could  not  grasp 
the  idea  of  an  alien  civilization,  called  those  who  spoke 
another  tongue  barbaroi,  as  though  the  foreigners  were 
"  silly  sheep."  So  the  Russians  called  the  Germans 
"  dumb." 

And  when  a  genius  like  Beethoven,  or  Berlioz,  Liszt, 
or  Wagner,  comes  speaking  a  new  musical  language, 
instantly  the  conservatives  have  him  by  the  ears,  and, 
secure  in  their  own  conceit,  declare  that  the  new  is 
barbaric,  and  that  music  will  perish  with  the  old. 

Thus  does  history  teach  modesty,  but  men  are  loath 
to  learn. 

Wilhelm  Richard  Wagner  was  born  at  Leipzig,  in  the 
"House  of  the  Red  and  White  Lion,"  on  the  twenty- 
second  of  May,  1813. 

Significantly,   prophetically,  around  his   cradle   was 


RICHARD    WAGNER. 
Painting  from  life  by  F.  von  Lenbach. 


RICHARD   WAGNER.  519 

fought  the  terrible  "  Battle  of  the  Nations."  One  hun- 
dred and  twenty  thousand  Germans  and  Frenchmen  lay 
dead  or  dying  in  the  fields  around  the  city ;  and  the 
epidemic  fever  which  came  stalking  abroad  like  a  pesti- 
lence to  finish  the  grim  work  of  carnage,  left  the  boy 
fatherless  six  months  to  a  day  after  his  birth. 

The  family,  as  the  name  would  show,  was  of  popular 
and  not  aristocratic  origin ;  humble,  one  might  say,  if 
any  honest  work  were  ever  humble.  The  grandfather 
was  a  clerk  in  the  customs  service ;  the  father,  a  clerk 
in  the  police  service. 

Friedrieh  Wagner  had  received  a  good  education  and 
could  speak  French,  so  that  Marshal  Davoust  had 
employed  him  in  the  reorganization  of  the  police.  He 
had  a  passion  for  the  stage,  and  often  played  in  private 
theatricals.  This  talent  he  handed  down  to  his  daughter 
Kosalie,  who  won  fame  as  a  tragedienne ;  to  his  oldest 
son,  Albert,  an  actor  and  singer,  and  in  turn  the  father 
of  two  daughters,  both  of  whom  appeared  on  the 
lyric  stage. 

The  widow  Wagner,  after  two  years'  struggle  with 
penury  on  the  small  pension  granted  her,  married  one  of 
her  former  husband's  friends,  Ludwig  Geyer,  a  member 
of  the  Koyal  Company  of  Comedians  at  Dresden,  where 
she  went  to  live  with  her  seven  children. 

Geyer  was  a  painter,  as  well  as  an  actor  and  playwright. 
He  proposed  to  make  a  painter  of  his  step-son,  but 
Wagner  confesses  having  no  talent  for  drawing.  Geyer 
died  before  any  definite  plans  could  be  made.  On  the 
day  before  his  death,  he  asked  the  boy,  then  about  seven 
years  old,  to  play  over  two  small  pieces  which  he  had 
learned  from  "  Der  Freischutz." 

Wagner  remembered  hearing  him  say  in  a  feeble  voice 
to  his  mother,  "  What  if  he  has  a  srift  for  music  ?  " 


520  RICHARD    WAGNER. 

"  Early  the  next  morning,  after  he  was  dead,"  contin- 
ues Wagner  in  an  autobiographical  sketch,  "  our  mother 
came  into  the  nursery  and  said  something  to  each  one 
of  us  children ;  to  me  she  said,  '  He  hoped  that  some- 
thing worth  while  might  be  made  of  thee.'  And  I 
•remember  that  I  long  imagined  that  something  would 
be  made  of  me." 

Two  years  later  a  place  was  secured  for  him  in  the 
School  of  the  Cross  (Kreuzschule),  where  he  seems  to 
have  been  under  no  sort  of  discipline.  Both  at  school 
and  at  home  he  was  left  to  his  own  devices.  "  I  grew 
up,"  he  said,  "  unrestrained  by  authority,  and  with  no 
other  guides  than  life,  art,  and  myself." 

He  got  a  smattering  of  Greek,  Latin,  mythology,  and 
ancient  history.  Perhaps  more  than  a  smattering  of 
Greek,  for  even  while  he  was  in  the  third  form,  he  trans- 
lated twelve  books  of  the  Odyssey  into  verse.  He  was 
considered  apt  at  literary  studies,  and  when  a  school- 
mate died,  and  a  prize  was  offered  for  the  best  poem  on 
the  occasion,  he  won  it.  The  verses,  shorn  of  some 
of  their  bombastic  bathos,  were  printed.  He  dreamed  of 
being  a  poet,  and  composed  several  tragedies  in  the 
Greek  spirit.  He  began  to  study  English  so  as  to  read 
Shakspere  in  the  original,  but  after  he  had  translated 
Romeo's  monologue,  he  dropped  it. 

He  projected  a  great  Shaksperian  tragedy  —  a  stu- 
pendous compound  of  "Hamlet"  and  "King  Lear." 
"  The  plan  was  on  the  most  colossal  scale,"  he  wrote. 
Forty-two  persons  were  destroyed  one  after  the  other, 
before  the  end;  and  in  order  to  have  any  one  on  the 
stage,  he  was  obliged  to  resuscitate  the  majority,  and 
bring  them  in  as  ghosts. 

In  these  Dresden  days,  music  was  of  secondary  con- 


RICHARD   WAGNER.  521 

sideration.  His  Latin  tutor  gave  him  a  few  piano  les- 
sons, but  his  ambition  to  play  the  overture  to  "  Der 
Freischiitz  "  so  outstripped  his  willingness  to  acquire  a 
proper  fingering,  that  his  teacher  predicted  he  would 
come  to  nothing.  Strange  !  the  two  great  masters  of  the 
orchestra  —  Berlioz  and  Wagner  —  both  found  no  use  for 
the  piano.  Wagner  attributed  his  detestation  of  "  runs  " 
in  music  to  his  inability  to  play  a  passage  clearly. 

Weber  himself  was  then  living  in  Dresden,  engaged 
in  his  battle  for  German  art  against  Italian  music.  He 
probably  knew  "the  charming  and  intelligent  Madame 
Greyer,  whose  pleasant  manners  and  lively  character  had 
a  special  charm  for  artists."  Certainly  he  frequently 
passed  the  house,  and  the  young  Richard  always  rushed 
to  the  window  to  see  him. 

Though  he  was  only  thirteen  when  Weber  died,  he 
declared  that  from  that  master  he  received  his  first 
musical  impressions  :  "  His  melodies,"  says  he,  "  roused 
me  to  enthusiasm ;  his  character  and  nature  had  a  per- 
fect fascination  for  me ;  his  death  in  a  foreign  land  filled 
my  childish  heart  with  grief,," 

In  1827  Madame  Wagner-Geyer,  with  her  younger 
children,  returned  to  Leipzig,  where  her  daughter  Eosalie 
had  an  engagement  at  the  "  Stadttheater."  Eichard 
was  here  put  into  the  Nicholas  College,  but  in  a  lower 
class,  and  the  disappointment  so  embittered  him  that  he 
let  everything  go  except  the  ideal  of  his  portentous 
drama.  "I  was  idle  and  disorderly,"  he  says,  "but  my 
great  tragedy  held  its  place  in  my  heart." 

This  was  the  year  of  Beethoven's  death,  and  Wagner 
for  the  first  time  heard  one  of  his  symphonies.  The 
impression  it  made  upon  him  was  revolutionary.  "  One 
evening,"  says  the  hero  of  his  imaginary  "  Pilgrimage  to 


522  RICHARD    WAGNER. 

Beethoven/'  "  I  heard  a  symphony  of  his  ;  I  thereupon 
fell  ill  of  a  fever,  and  when  I  had  recovered  —  I  was  a 
musician." 

Fiction  that  is  history ! 

Not  long  after,  he  heard  Goethe's  "Egmont"  with 
Beethoven's  incidental  music.  Forsooth,  his  own  great 
drama  must  have  an  accompaniment  of  music ! 

One  cannot  make  Egyptian  bricks  without  straw.  So 
he  borrowed  a  method  of  thorough-bass,  and  plunged 
into  its  mysteries,  hoping  in  a  week's  time  to  be  fitted 
to  compose.  It  was  not  such  easy  swimming  as  he  had 
expected,  but  its  very  difficulties  stimulated  him,  and  he 
then  and  there  decided  on  his  profession. 

Meantime,  his  neglected  studies  were  calling  for  venge- 
ance. His  family  discovered  his  tragedy,  and  he  was 
brought  down  once  more  into  the  plane  of  real  life. 
Whatever  music  he  might  make  must  be  made  secretly, 
and  thus  surreptitiously  he  composed  a  sonata,  a  quartet, 
and  an  aria. 

His  family,  to  whom  he  at  last  confessed  these  secret 
amusements,  looked  upon  them  as  a  passing  fancj^,  but 
they  allowed  him  to  study  harmony  under  Gottfried 
Mtiller,  a  first-class  organist  and'  musician. 

Wagner  had  got  hold  of  Hoffmann's  "Fantastic 
Tales,"  and  was  given  over  to  mysticism  and  day-dreams. 
"  Thirds,"  "  fifths,"  and  other  chords  seemed  to  him  to 
take  incarnate  forms  with  which  he  conversed.  The 
practical  Mtiller  could  make  nothing  out  of  such  a  young 
visionary.  Many  prophets  begin  as  visionaries.  He 
shook  his  head  over  him.  He  was  the  type  of  the  anti- 
Wagnerites  to  the  present  day. 

Wagner,  undisturbed  by  fell  predictions,  by  the  re- 
proaches of  his  anxious  relatives,  set  to  work  to  write 


RICHARD   WAGNER.  523 

overtures.  He  carried  one  to  Dora,  conductor  of  the 
Eoyal  Theatre,  where  his  sister  was  playing  a  leading 
part.  It  was  accepted  and  played.  A  vivacious  drum- 
mer insisted  on  beating  a  fierce  fortissimo  every  four 
bars.  It  first  annoyed,  then  disgusted,  then  amused  the 
audience.  This  merriment  at  his  expense,  said  Wagner, 
wounded  him  deeply.  Yet  the  first  performance  of  a 
work  by  him  was  very  impressive  —  upon  himself. 

This  overture  —  the  climax  of  his  absurdities,  as  he 
calls  it  —  was  written  out  in  three  different  colored  inks 
—  the  strings  in  red,  the  wood-wind  in  green,  and  the 
brass  in  black. 

Curiously  enough  a  somewhat  similar  scheme  has  been 
recently  adopted  in  an  edition  of  Bach's  fugues. 

Came  the  July  Revolution  of  1830.  The  fever  in  the 
air,  one  need  not  doubt,  set  the  youthful  Wagner's  blood 
boiling.  He  became  a  fiery  republican.  He  could 
think  and  talk  of  nothing  but  politics,  he  even  began  an 
overture  which  dealt  with  a  political  theme. 

This  same  year  he  entered  the  University  of  Leipzig ; 
but  instead  of  making  the  most  of  his  opportunities,  he 
at  first,  as  he  confesses,  "  gave  himself  up  to  all  the  ex- 
cesses of  student  life,  but  with  such  recklessness  and 
zeal  that  they  soon  disgusted  him." 

He  had  chosen  the  faculty  of  philosophy  and  aesthetics 
with  a  view  to  their  aid  in  his  chosen  profession.  When 
he  came  to  his  senses  and  saw  that  he  must  begin  anew, 
he  had  the  wisdom  to  put  himself  in  the  hands  of  a 
really  capable  professor.  This  was  Theodor  Weinlig, 
cantor  of  the  St.  Thomas  School. 

Weinlig  inspired  him,  and,  as  it  were,  unconsciously 
led  him  into  right  paths  and  gave  him  a  thorough  train- 
ing in  the  essentials  of  his  art. 


524  RICHARD    WAGNER. 

In  less  than  six  months  Weinlig  told  him  that  he  had 
arrived  at  technical  independence.  "  You  will  probably 
never  wish  to  write  a  fugue,  but  the  fact  that  you  can 
write  one  will  make  all  composition  easy  to  you." 

Under  Weinlig's  instruction  he  wrote  an  overture 
which  was  played  at  one  of  the  Gewandhaus  concerts 
"with  encouraging  applause."  Beethoven  was  his 
model.  He  also  found  help  in  Mozart's  example,  and 
under  the  joint  influence  of  their  "clearness  and 
strength,"  composed  a  symphony  which  was  performed 
on  January  8,  1833,  at  a  Gewandhaus  concert.  Fifty 
years  later  this  "  superannuated  production  of  boyhood," 
as  he  called  it,  supposed  to  have  been  lost,  was  discovered 
in  an  old  valise  at  Dresden,  and  performed  in  different 
parts  of  the  world.  It  was  given  by  the  professors 
and  scholars  of  the  San  Marcello  Lyceum  at  Venice  on 
Christmas  Day,  1882,  in  honor  of  Cosirna  Wagner's 
birthday.  Wagner  declared  that  it  had  many  singular 
errors.  Mendelssohn  evidently  felt  the  same,  for  he  let 
it  not  only  lie  idle  but  disappear. 

At  this  time  Heinrich  Dorn,  who  afterwards  became  a 
thorn  in  the  flesh  to  Wagner  —  one  of  his  bitterest  foes 
—  declared  that  there  probably  never  lived  a  young 
composer  who  was  more  familiar  with  the  works  of 
Beethoven.  Yet  later  it  was  a  common  attack  upon  him 
to  assert  that  he  was  a  musical  ignoramus,  "  a  literary, 
poetical,  and  musical  humbug,"  "ignorant  par  excel- 
lence" "  an  impotent  quack." 

In  1832  Wagner  made  his  first  visit  to  Vienna,  but  the 
city  of  Mozart  and  Beethoven  was  given  over  to 
"  Zampa,"  and  Strauss  pot-pourris  of  "  Zampa,"  which 
were  his  pet  detestation. 

On  his  return  he  spent  some  time  in  Prague,  where  he 


RICHARD   WAGNER.  525 

made  the  acquaintance  of  Dionys  Weber,  the  director  of 
the  famous  Conservatory,  who  had  his  symphony  and 
other  of  his  compositions  played  at  the  Conservatory 
concerts. 

Wagner  then  began  a  tremendously  tragic  opera 
entitled  "  The  Wedding,"  which,  because  of  his  sister's 
disapproval,  he  destroyed  root  and  branch. 

Albert  Wagner  was  settled  at  Wiirzburg  as  manager 
of  the  theatre  there.  Richard  spent  the  year  1833  with 
him,  and  got  much  good  from  his  knowledge  of  acting 
and  singing.  He  there  composed  the  libretto  and  music 
to  an  opera  entitled  "The  Fairies."  Beethoven  and 
Weber  were  his  models,  but  at  that  time  the  Germans 
"were  crowded  from  their  own  stage  by  successful 
Frenchmen  and  Italians."  Pretty  promises  were  made, 
yet  Wagner  could  not  get  "  The  Fairies  "  mounted. 

The  next  year  he  heard  Madame  Schroder-Devrient  in 
Bellini's  "Romeo  and  Juliet."  The  fact  that  music 
which  seemed  to  him  so  "unutterably  insignificant" 
met  with  such  success,  led  him  to  study  the  causes  of  it. 
Material  beauty,  passion,  fire,  vivacity,  melody,  beck- 
oned to  him.  Germany  suddenly  dwindled  into  insig- 
nificance compared  with  a  whole  world.  Beethoven 
seemed  to  have  reached  human  limits,  beyond  which  no 
one  could  go. 

At  Toplitz,  in  Bohemia,  he  set  himself  to  compose  an 
opera  that  should  exhibit  the  sensuous  elements  of  the 
French  and  Italian  school. 

Thus  arose  the  " Liebesverbot"  ("Forbidden  Love"), 
the  libretto  imitated  from  "  Measure  for  Measure." 

Full  of  the  fresh  life  of  his  one  and  twenty  years, 
keyed  up  to  the  tense  spirit  of  the  time,  he  put  away 
seriousness  as  puritanical  hypocrisy,  and  breathed  into 
it  the  free  license  of  "young  Europe." 


526  EICHAED    WAGNER. 

He  had  accepted  the  position  as  director  of  music  at 
the  Magdeburg  theatre,  and  there  in  the  spring  of  1836 
he  had  it  performed  after  only  ten  days'  study.  As 
it  was  Holy  Week,  the  censor  obliged  him  to  take  a  new 
title:  "The  Novice  of  Palermo."  Thus  to  mount  an 
opera  is  like  launching  a  ship  whose  timbers  are  glued 
and  not  riveted.  It  is  sure  to  go  to  pieces. 

At  the  first  performance,  a  good  audience  was  present 
to  applaud  what  they  found  to  applaud.  At  the  second 
performance,  which  brought  the  season  to  a  close,  there 
were  only  three  in  the  audience.  Just  before  the  cur- 
tain rose,  the  prima  donna's  husband  attacked  the 
second  tenor  and  his  wife,  and  pounded  them  so  fero- 
ciously that  they  could  not  sing.  So  the  performance 
had  to  be  stopped  before  it  began,  and  the  Polish  Jew, 
who  was  probably  the  only  one  of  the  three  who  had 
paid  for  admission,  having  received  back  his  money, 
went  home  and  took  off  his  gala-day  costume ! 

Wagner  in  his  zeal  had  loaded  himself  with  debts, 
and,  in  the  hope  of  extinguishing  them,  tried  to  induce 
Bingelhardt  at  Leipzig  to  bring  out  the  new  opera; 
indeed,  said  he,  there  would  be  a  fine  chance  for  his 
daughter  to  make  her  appearance  in  a  very  sympathetic 
part!  The  director  was  more  canny  than  the  Magde- 
burg censor :  he  was  not  to  be  caught  by  putting  the  salt 
of  flattery  on  his  feathers  ! 

So  Wagner  took  it  to  Berlin,  with  like  result.  But 
here  he  saw  Spontini  conducting  "Fernando  Cortez," 
and  he  learned  a  lesson  in  regard  to  stage  effects  that  he 
did  not  forget.  He  left  Berlin  in  most  wretched  finan- 
cial circumstances,  and  clutched  at  a  straw  when  he 
accepted  the  position  of  musical  director  at  a  theatre  in 
Konigsberg  in  Prussia,  whither  his  betrothed,  Minna 


RICHABD   WAGNEE.  527 

Planer,  had  gone  from  Magdeburg,  as  "leading  lady." 
Her  he  married  in  November,  1836.  "  I  was  in  love," 
he  afterwards  wrote,  "and  I  persisted  in  getting  mar- 
ried, thus  involving  myself  and  another  in  unhappiness." 

Dorn  had  gone  to  Riga  as  cantor  and  director  of  reli- 
gious music.  Through  him  Wagner,  his  wife,  and  his 
sister-in-law  obtained  places  at  the  theatre ;  but  cares, 
debts,  and  all  sorts  of  annoyances,  followed  them. 

Bulwer's  novel,  "  Rienzi,"  which  he  read  at  Dresden, 
inspired  him  to  attempt  a  grand  opera  with  "The  Last 
of  the  Romans  "  as  its  hero.  His  ambition  designed  it 
for  the  grand  opera  in  Paris.  Hueffer  relates  that  he 
wrote  to  Scribe  proposing  to  him  to  translate  the 
libretto,  and  secure  its  acceptance.  It  was  another 
libretto  that  Wagner  offered  Scribe  while  he  was  at 
Konigsberg,  but  the  generous  proposal  met  with  no 
response ! 

His  Riga  contract  having  expired,  he  set  sail  for 
London  and  Paris,  with  his  wife,  his  big  Newfoundland 
dog,  and  the  two  completed  acts  of  "Rienzi." 

The  voyage  was  long,  boisterous,  and  terribly  fatigu- 
ing, abounding  in  mishaps.  Three  times  they  were 
caught  in  violent  storms,  and  once  had  to  put  into  a 
Norwegian  port.  The  sailors  told  him  the  story  of 
"The  Flying  Dutchman."  Senta  was  a  Norwegian 
maiden.  True  men  extract  their  costliest  triumphs 
from  their  severest  hardships.  The  howling  of  the 
storm  is  heard  in  the  music  of  the  opera  born  of  this 
voyage.  Such  works  are  written  in  life-blood,  and  are 
immortal. 

In  London,  Wagner  cared  only  for  the  city,  its  public 
buildings,  and  did  not  enter  a  theatre.  After  a  week's 
rest,  he  went  to  Boulogne,  where  he  made  Meyerbeer's 


628  RICHARD    WAGNER. 

acquaintance  and  showed  him  his  "  Bienzi."  Meyerbeer 
gave  him  letters  of  introduction  to  famous  theatrical 
managers  and  publishers.  Heine  has  left  on  record  a 
curious  remark :  "  Do  you  know,"  said  he,  "  what  puts 
me  on  my  guard  against  this  young  man  is  that  Meyer- 
beer recommends  him  !  " 

"Celebrity,"  remarks  Wagner,  in  his  autobiography, 
"  is  everything  in  Paris ;  at  once  the  fortune  and  the 
destruction  of  the  artist." 

If  by  celebrity  Wagner  meant  pecuniary  success,  he 
stood  in  no  danger  of  being  ruined.  Antenor  Jolly, 
director  of  the  Theatre  de  la  Renaissance,  influenced  by 
Meyerbeer's  representation,  indeed  went  so  far  as  to 
accept  the  "  Liebesverbot"  and  the  French  translation 
was  admirably  adapted  to  the  music ;  but  when  every 
thing  promised  well,  the  theatre  suddenly  went  into 
bankruptcy. 

He  had  wasted  his  labor,  and  overdrawn  his  account 
in  the  bank  of  hope. 

He  was  also  disappointed  about  having  his  overture 
to  "  Faust "  played.  It  was  rehearsed,  but  the  musicians 
called  it  a  long  enigma,  and  refused  to  touch  it.  Another, 
entitled  "  Polonia,"  he  offered  for  a  concert,  arranged  by 
a  Polish  princess.  This  overture  was  lost,  but  turned  up 
years  afterwards,  and  came  into  Wagner's  hands  in  1881. 
He  had  it  performed  in  Palermo  in  honor  of  his  wife's 
birthday. 

He  expected  to  mount  by  one  bound  into  the  temple 
of  fame.  He  found  confronting  him  on  every  side  the 
thorny  hedge  of  poverty,  the  misleading  lights  of 
intrigue,  the  fallacies  of  false  friends. 

He  was,  as  he  expressed  it,  in  a  state  of  inward 
revolt  against  the  artistic  life  of  Paris.  Yet  he  had 


EICRAED   WAGNER.  529 

many  pleasant  experiences  of  friendship.  Berlioz,  "in 
spite  of  his  repellant  nature,"  attracted  him  most  among 
the  musicians  whom  he  knew.  Berlioz  on  his  side 
found  Wagner  "  superb  in  his  ardor  and  warmth  of 
heart,"  and  confessed  that  even  his  violences  transported 
him.  Liszt  was  then  to  him  an  object  of  suspicion. 

While  he  was  thus  encompassed  with  difficulties  and 
bitter  poverty,  and  saw  absolutely  no  prospect  of  the 
Opera  opening  its  doors  to  him,  or  any  other  chance  of 
success,  Meyerbeer  suddenly  returned  to  Paris,  and 
offered  to  help  him.  The  plan  for  a  two  or  three  act 
opera  was  suggested;  and  Wagner,  who  had  developed 
his  idea  of  "  The  Flying  Dutchman "  by  the  assistance 
of  Heine,  suggested  it  to  Leon  Fillet. 

Then  Meyerbeer  again  left  Paris,  and  Pillet  wanted 
Wagner  to  part  with  the  libretto,  to  give  to  another 
composer  whom  he  had  promised  a  chance  at  the  grand 
opera ! 

About  this  time  he  was  commissioned  to  write  for 
the  Gazette  Musicale,  and  contributed,  besides  articles  on 
music  in  Germany,  two  novelettes,  —  "  The  Pilgrimage 
to  Beethoven,"  and  a  semi-humorous  pathetic  sketch 
entitled  "  The  End  of  a  German  Musician  in  Paris,"  in 
which  he  portrayed  vividly  enough  his  own  struggles 
with  poverty,  and  immortalized  his  dog !  In  order  to 
earn  a  scanty  living,  he  underwent  the  most  humiliating 
musical  drudgery,  "  making  arrangements  for  every 
imaginable  kind  of  instrument,  even  the  cornet-a-piston." 
He  applied  for  a  position  as  singer  in  a  small  theatre, 
but  had  worse  fortune  than  Berlioz  in  similar  circum- 
stances ;  the  conductor  who  examined  him  declared  that 
he  could  not  sing ! 

He  finished  his  "  Rienzi,"  and  despatched  it  to  Dres- 


530  RICHARD    WAGNER. 

den,  where  it  was  cordially  recommended  by  Meyerbeer. 
Then  he  was  induced  for  five  hundred  francs  to  give  up 
his  scheme  for  the  Opera;  and  having  nothing  more 
urgent  on  hand,  he  hired  a  piano,  and  set  to  work  on 
his  own  version  of  "The  Flying  Dutchman."  To  his 
delight  he  found  that  he  was  still  a  musician.  He 
fairly  shouted  for  joy,  and  everything  went  so  fluently 
that  the  whole  w"as  completed  in  seven  weeks. 

The  version  composed  for  the  Opera  by  Paul  Foucher 
was  given  in  November,  1842,  and  made  a  fiasco. 

In  these  days  he  was  cheered  by  the  splendid  per- 
formances of  Beethoven's  Choral  Symphony  at  the  Con- 
servatory, and  by  the  representations  of  Weber's  "  Frei- 
schutz"  conformed  by  Berlioz  to  the  requirements  of  the 
Opera,  which  insisted  on  a  ballet;  but  as  nearly  as 
possible  in  its  pristine  form. 

The  clouds  were  beginning  to  lift.  "  Rienzi "  was  ac- 
cepted for  Dresden ;  and  in  the  spring  of  1842  Wagner 
shook  off  the  dust  of  Paris,  and  with  bright  tears  in  his 
eyes,  for  the  first  time  saw  "the  Rhine,  the  German 
Rhine,  and  swore  eternal  fealty  to  his  fatherland." 

"  Rienzi "  was  given  for  the  first  time  on  October  20, 
1842.  It  showed  the  influences  of  the  Italian  school 
and  of  Meyerbeer,  but  had  passages  of  power  and 
promise.  It  was  produced  with  fine  scenic  effects,  and 
instantly  made  Wagner  famous.  It  gave  him  the  posi- 
tion of  kapellmeister  at  the  royal  opera,  and  an 
assured  position  with  a  salary  of  twelve  hundred  and 
fifty  dollars.  It  was  no  sinecure,  as  the  full  list  of  his 
labors  there  would  show.  He  brought  out  a  number  of 
great  operas  besides  his  own. 

"  The  Flying  Dutchman  "  —  Wagner's  transition  opera 
—  at  first  failed,  though  Schroder-Devrient's  creation  of 


E1CHARD   WAGNER.  531 

Senta  was  regarded  as  wonderful;  but  it  was  hailed  by 
Schumann  as  a  "  signal  of  hope "  that  German  art 
would  be  emancipated.  Spohr  called  it  "  a  masterpiece," 
and  had  it  performed  at  Cassel.  "  Indeed/'  said  Wagner, 
"  Spohr  was  the  only  German  kapellmeister  who  received 
me  warmly,  and  lovingly  cherished  my  labors  to  the 
best  of  his  ability,  and  in  all  circumstances  remained 
friendly  and  faithful." 

Yet  Schumann,  —  perhaps  from  unconf essed  jealousy, 
—  speaking  of  "  Rienzi,"  declared  that  Wagner  could  not 
write  or  imagine  four  consecutive  bars  that  are  melodi- 
ous, or  even  correct ! 

When  he  brought  out  "  Tannhauser  "  in  1845,  and  dis- 
played his  tendencies  more  fully,  Schumann  relented  a 
little :  he  wrote  to  Mendelssohn  "  that  it  contained  much 
that  was  deep  and  original."  But  with  this  began  that 
chorus  of  abuse  from  the  critics  that  has  not  yet  ceased. 
Auber,  hearing  it,  said,  "  It  is  Berlioz  without  melody." 
In  Paris  a  word  signifying  to  bore,  se  tannhauser,  was 
coined  from  it. 

When  the  Revolution  of  1848  broke  out,  Wagner,  — 
"  a  spirit  never  content,  and  always  devising  something 
new,"  —  who,  says  Liszt,  "was  a  born  reformer,  un- 
daunted by  blood  or  fire,"  took  an  active  part  in  it; 
and  when  the  insurrection  in  Dresden  was  crushed  by 
Prussian  bayonets,  he  made  his  escape.  At  first  he 
took  refuge  with  Liszt,  but  finding  that  a  reward  was 
offered  for  him  he  fled  to  Paris. 

In  the  printed  description  of  this  "  dangerous  politi- 
cal," he  is  described  as  of  medium  height,  with  brown 
hair,  open  brow,  gray-blue  eyes,  well-proportioned  nose 
and  mouth,  round  chin,  and  characterized  by  quick 
speech  and  gestures. 


532  RICHARD    WAGNER. 

The  next  year  Liszt  had  Wagner's  new  opera  "  Lohen- 
grin," just  finished  before  the  Revolution,  performed  at 
Weimar. 

Thus  began  Liszt's  unselfish  services  in  aid  of  the  poor 
exile.  Wagner  went  to  Zurich,  and  while  there,  find- 
ing it  hard  to  earn  a  living,  sometimes  asked  Liszt  for 
money.  Hence  has  arisen  the  charge  of  "  mad  ingrati- 
tude," the  "  cry  of  the  horse-leech  ! "  But  during  the 
ten  years  that  he  spent  in  Switzerland  he  wrote  Liszt 
over  three  hundred  letters,  and  only  twenty-seven  deal 
with  money  matters,  and  there  are  only  twelve  per- 
sonal appeals  for  help,  though  some  of  the  time  he 
was  lacking  firewood  and  bread.  This  "genial,  way- 
ward, but  most  human  master  mind,"  read  Liszt's  gener- 
ous nature  correctly ;  but  he  acknowledged  his  services. 
"  Like  Christ  on  the  cross,"  said  he,  "  Liszt  was  ready 
to  help  all  others  but  himself." 

He  borrowed  not  money  alone  from  Liszt.  In  1876 
at  Bayreuth,  during  a  rehearsal,  Wagner  seized  Liszt's 
arm,  and,  referring  to  Siegelind's  dream-words,  said, 
"  Papa,  here  comes  a  theme  that  I  got  from  you." 

"  Good,"  said  the  other,  "  at  least  some  one  will  hear 
it."  It  was  the  theme  at  the  beginning  of  Liszt's 
"  Faust  Symphony."  Nearly  a  dozen  such  borrowings 
have  been  pointed  out. 

In  1882,  at  a  banquet  after  the  performance  of  "  Par- 
sifal," Wagner  publicly  called  attention  to  the  influence 
of  that  "unique  and  exceptional  man"  on  his  whole 
career. 

"When  I  was  discredited,  banished,"  he  said,  "and 
repudiated  by  Germany,  Liszt  came  to  meet  me,  —  Liszt, 
who  had  in  the  bottom  of  his  soul  a  thorough  knowledge 
of  my  being  and  my  work.  He  said  to  me,  '  Artist,  I 
have  faith  in  you.' " 


RICHARD    WAGNER.  533 

Wagner  wrote  to  Liszt :  "  When  I  compose,  I  always 
think  of  thee,  and  of  thee  alone,  how  this  passage  and 
that  will  please  thee." 

During  Wagner's  years  of  exile  he  seized  his  pen,  and 
became  the  philosopher  of  music  and  art.  The  world 
was  forced  to  see  that  "  a  super-eminent  genius,"  as  Liszt 
called  him,  had  arisen,  —  "a  flashing  spirit  of  flame." 
They  could  not  see  at  that  time  that  "  he  was  destined 
to  wear  a  double  crown  of  fire  and  gold." 

Here  he  worked  out  his  revolutionary  theories,  which 
to  detail  here  would  occupy  too  long.  They  have  given 
rise  to  a  whole  library  of  books.  Never  was  revolution 
in  art  made  the  subject  of  a  more  bitter  warfare.  And 
Wagner  himself  led  the  van  in  his  bitterness  of  spirit. 
Liszt  even  said  :  "  His  genius  triumphed  in  spite  of  him, 
for  no  one  put  more  spoke  than  he  himself  in  his  own 
wheels." 

And  here  he  began  to  put  into  shape  the  splendid 
conception  of  the  Niebelungen  drama,  which  is  the  most 
colossal  structure  that  ever  entered  into  the  mind  of  man. 
Its  base  goes  back  before  history  began :  its  walls  em- 
brace humanity  :  its  pinnacles  tower  to  heaven.  Human 
nature  and  divine,  art  and  religion,  are  comprehended 
in  it. 

Such  is  the  conception.  There  may  be  room  for  legiti- 
mate divergences  of  opinion  as  to  its  creation.  Those 
who  yearn  for  the  tickling  melodies  of  Kossini,  who  are 
stirred  by  the  concerted  pieces  of  the  Italian  opera,  will 
find  only  cacophonies  in  Wagner's  weaving  of  leading 
motives,  and  see  only  a  wearisome  "goose-march"  in 
his  accompanied  recitatives. 

For  upwards  of  twenty  years  Wagner  was  occupied 
with  his  Tetralogy,  to  which,  as  usual,  he  wrote  the 


534  RICHARD   WAGNER. 

words,  —  "  bombastic  stuttering  of  alliteration "  one 
critic  called  them,  —  and  composed  the  music. 

His  labors  were  interrupted  by  frequent  journeys. 
In  1855  he  went  to  London  to  conduct  the  eight  concerts 
of  the  Philharmonic  Society.  He  had  already  delivered 
his  drastic  and  uncalled-for  attack  upon  the  Jew  in 
music ;  he  was  a  well-known  opponent  of  Mendelssohn, 
England's  idol :  he  took  no  pains  to  be  politic ;  conse- 
quently his  season  was  not  a  brilliant  success. 

After  his  return  to  Zurich,  there  was  some  talk  of  his 
coming  to  America.  The  Emperor  of  Brazil  was  one  of 
his  admirers,  and  he  was  offered  a  position  in  Bio 
Janeiro. 

In  September,  1859,  he  was  back  in  Paris,  where,  early 
the  next  year,  he  gave  three  concerts  of  his  own  music. 
They  did  not  pay  expenses. 

Then,  suddenly,  Berlioz  turned  on  his  old  friend  and 
colleague,  and  attacked  "the  music  of  the  future.'7  It 
was  the  beginning  of  still  a  new  war.  And  it  was  car- 
ried into  the  Opera  House,  when,  at  the  express  desire 
of  Prince  Metternich,  Napoleon  ordered  "  Tannhauser  " 
to  be  given  there. 

Wagner  himself  took  general  charge.  In  his  zeal  to 
have  the  words  properly  translated,  he  nearly  killed  the 
poor  poet,  Edmond  Roche ;  he  succeeded  in  arraying 
against  him  all  the  employees  of  the  theatre,  from  the 
director  to  the  salaried  claqueurs.  And  when  it  was 
given  for  the  first  time,  on  March  13,  1861,  a  more 
remarkable  fiasco  was  never  chronicled.  It  was  simply 
drowned  by  the  catcalls  of  the  Jockey  Club  ;  and  though 
the  two  following  representations  brought  increasing 
receipts,  even  up  to  ten  thousand  francs,  and  the  demand 
to  hear  it  was  immense,  it  was  withdrawn.,  Berlioz 


BICHARD   WAGNEE.  535 

wrote  his  son:  "The  press  is  unanimous  in  extermi- 
nating it.  As  for  me,  I  am  cruelly  avenged." 

Only  of  late  has  the  political  opposition  to  Wagner's 
music  begun  to  yield  to  more  generous  feelings. 

When  he  left  Paris  in  June,  1861,  though  burdened 
again  with  frightful  debts,  he  was  free  to  return  to  Ger- 
many. His  pardon  was  assured.  In  order  to  procure 
money,  he  made  a  concert  tour  through  Europe,  produ- 
cing chiefly  Beethoven's  symphonies,  and  selections  from 
his  own  works.  It  was  a  series  of  triumphs.  He  made 
in  Eussia  upwards  of  thirty-five  thousand  rubles,  which, 
on  his  return  to  Vienna,  he  wasted  in  foolish,  boyish 
extravagances,  such  as  always  marked  his  private  life. 
His  expenditures  for  royal  apparel  and  silken  tapestries, 
and  the  like,  were  so  great,  that,  after  the  failure  of  his 
hopes  to  be  made  kapellmeister  at  Dresden,  he  had  to 
flee  from  Vienna  and  his  creditors.  This  was  in  1863. 
The  next  year  fate  brought  to  the  throne  of  Bavaria  the 
visionary  Ludwig  II.,  a  youth  of  nineteen,  who  summed 
up  Wagner's  genius  by  calling  him  his  "  Word-tone-poet- 
Master."  The  King  gave  him  a  handsome  residence, 
and  a  pension,  and  planned  a  general  overturn  in  the 
musical  affairs  of  his  capital. 

At  his  desire  Wagner's  great  opera,  "Tristan  and 
Isolde,"  founded  on  a  Keltic  or  Welsh  legend,  was  per- 
formed under  Hans  von  Billow's  direction. 

Three  years  later,  in  1868,  his  comic  opera,  "The 
Meister  Singers,"  in  which  the  old  was  satirized  and  the 
new  proclaimed,  was  also  performed  in  Munich  with  most 
brilliant  success.  It  was  written  in  Switzerland,  after 
Wagner's  vain  effort  to  establish  a  new  singing-school  in 
Munich;  when  his  enemies,  who  circulated  the  most 
outrageous  libels  about  hiin,  even  declaring  that  he  had 


536  RICHARD    WAGNER. 

let  his  wife  starve  to  death,1  had  practically  driven  him 
from,  the  city.  The  King's  lavish  gifts  were  a  scandal 
in  the  community.  It  was  estimated  that  he  presented 
Wagner  with  at  least  two  hundred  and  fifty  thousand 
florins.  His  greatest  pleasure  was  to  dress  himself  in 
the  costumes  of  the  operas.  On  his  lake  at  Starnberg, 
twenty  years  later,  he  had  a  boat  like  "Lohengrin's," 
.drawn  by  mechanical  swans.  The  man  was  crazy ;  but 
his  craze  was  the  making  of  Wagner. 

Meantime  Wagner's  friends  determined  that  his  works 
should  be  heard  under  the  most  favorable  auspices.  In 
answer  to  his  famous  "Invitation"  they  rallied,  and 
raised  three  hundred  thousand  thalers  to  build  a  new 
and  ideal  theatre  in  the  little  Bavarian  town  of  Bay- 
reuth.  Here,  so  to  speak,  the  Muses  of  Painting  and 
Architecture,  of  Poetry  and  Music,  descended  to  crown 
their  wayward  but  genius-gifted  priest  in  his  Neo-Grecian 
amphitheatre.  It  was  immediately  after  the  Franco- 
Prussia  War  that  the  corner-stone  was  laid,  on  Wagner's 
birthday  in  1872. 

Beethoven's  Ninth  Symphony  and  Wagner's  "Kaiser- 
marsch  "  were  chosen  as  the  herald  music  of  the  occasion. 
More  than  two  thousand  musicians  and  singers  were 
present.  Wagner  had  come,  in  a  certain  sense,  to  stand 

1  Frau  Wagner,  who  publicly  protested  that  her  husband  had  allowed  her 
an  ample  income,  died  suddenly  of  heart-disease,  at  Dresden,  January  25, 18C6. 
The  relations  between  them  were  cordial  and  affectionate.  It  is  said  that 
"  she  always  treated  him  like  a  big  boy,  which  he  was ;  while  he  showed  her 
a  tenderness  at  once  filial  and  paternal."  On  August  25,  1870,  he  married 
Cosima  von  Billow,  Liszt's  daughter,  who  had  at  first  declined  to  meet  him, 
but  at  last  took  her  four  daughters  and  joined  him  at  Lucerne.  She  became 
a  Lutheran.  The  "  religious  consecration  "  took  place  in  1872,  in  the  pres- 
ence of  the  Abbe"  Liszt.  Von  Billow,  almost  heart-broken,  forgave  them  both, 
and  remained  faithful  to  the  "  Music  of  the  Future."  "  Women,"  said 
Wagner,  "  are  the  music  of  life."  He  might  have  added,  "  They  have  their 
discords." 


O    pq 


EICHARD   WAGNER.  537 

as  the  representative  of  the  German  nation.  And  yet 
never  were  the  attacks  upon  him  more  odious.  One  Jew 
doctor,  who  bore  the  name  of  Puschinann,  declared  that 
the  composer  was  a  raving  maniac  !  The  same  year 
Wagner  was  offered  one  hundred  thousand  dollars  to 
come  to  Chicago  and  direct  some  of  his  works.  He  was 
obliged  to  decline,  but  he  accepted  five  thousand  dollars 
for  a  march  to  be  performed  at  the  Centennial  Exhibition. 
It  was  generally  regarded  as  unworthy  of  his  genius. 

In  August,  1876,  the  Tetralogy  was  given  at  Bayreuth, 
before  an  audience  which  had  gathered  from  all  the 
world,  and  including  the  Emperor  and  Empress  of  Brazil 
and  other  crowned  heads.  The  Emperor  of  Germany 
heard  a  part  of  the  performance,  but  he  cared  little  for 
music,  and  took  his  departure,  a  slight  which  the  Grand 
Mogul  of  Bayreuth  could  not  forgive.  The  King  of 
Bavaria  at  first  insisted  on  hearing  the  rehearsals  abso- 
lutely alone,  but  the  music  sounded  so  ill  in  the  empty 
hall  that  he  allowed  an  audience  to  be  present,  and  thus 
twenty  thousand  marks  additional  were  gained. 

The  orchestra,  under  the  direction  of  Hans  Bichter 
and  a  magnificent  "ensemble"  of  interpreters,  showed 
what  "  the  Music  of  the  Future,"  as  it  had  at  first  been 
derisively  nicknamed  by  Ludwig  Bischoff,  really  was. 
All  the  decorations  of  the  stage,  the  dresses  of  the 
actors,  and  the  effects  of  light  and  shade,  were  prepared 
with  marvellous  success. 

The  success  seemed  almost  to  turn  Wagner's  head. 
In  answer  to  the  thunders  of  applause,  he  appeared  on 
the  stage  and  made  a  speech  which  was  a  model  of  bad 
taste.  He  repaired  the  bad  effects  of  it  at  a  great  sub- 
scription banquet  given  on  the  nineteenth,  at  his  own 
suggestion,  to  himself  and  the  great  artists  who  had 


538  RICHARD   WAGNER. 

brought  him  such  glory.  Here  he  explained  what  he 
meant  by  saying  that  at  last  Germany  was  to  have  an 
art.  The  next  day  a  reception  at  Wagner's  magnificent 
house,  called  "  Wahnf  ried  "  (because  "  here  my  illusions 
found  their  peace  "  ),  took  place,  and  again  there  was  a 
frenzy  of  enthusiasm.  Liszt  improvised  and  played  for 
over  an  hour. 

At  the  end  of  the  third  series  of  representations,  on 
the  thirtieth  of  August,  a  still  more  touching  ceremony 
took  place,  to  commemorate  which  Wagner  had  a  number 
medals  struck  off.  One  in  gold  was  presented  to  King 
Ludwig  II.,  through  whose  liberality  alone  the  scheme 
had  succeeded.  Kings  before  had  been  made  by  War- 
wicks:  this  was  a  unique  instance  of  a  king  already 
made,  being  decorated  by  a  subject !  A  memorial  stone, 
giving  the  name  of  the  principal  actors  in  letters  of 
gold,  was  also  erected.  It  simply  bore  above  the  in- 
scriptions the  words : 

DER  KING  DES  NIEBELUNGEN 
ERSTE  AUFPUHRUNG  IM  JAHRE  1876. 

Wagner's  name  nowhere  appeared.  It  was  unneces- 
sary! 

After  the  exertions  of  the  festival,  Wagner  went  to 
Italy,  and  there  received  an  ovation.  He  was  made  an 
honorary  member  of  the  St.  Cecilia,  and  at  Bologna  he 
was  present  at  a  fine  performance  of  his  "  Kienzi." 

When  he  returned  to  Bayreuth,  he  found  himself  con- 
fronted by  the  fact  that  the  great  success  of  the  festival 
had  resulted  in  a  deficit  of  over  one  hundred  and  twenty- 
five  thousand  marks  !  First  he  issued  an  appeal  to  the 
Wagner  Societies ;  then  he  decided  to  go  to  London 
with  Hans  Kichter,  and  give  a  series  of  concerts. 


RICHARD   WAGNER.  539 

They  took  place  in  May,  but  in  spite  of  the  immense 
interest  which  they  excited,  the  expenses  for  the  enor- 
mous orchestra  were  so  heavy  —  not  less  than  sixty  thou- 
sand pounds  —  that  they  brought  a  profit  of  only  about 
seven  hundred  pounds. 

Meantime,  at  intervals,  Wagner  was  working  on  his 
"  Parsifal "  —  the  solemn  drama  of  the  Holy  Grail  —  his 
last  work  —  his  musical  "  will."  It  was  finally  finished 
at  Palermo  in  January,  1882.  It  was  first  presented  at 
Bayreuth,  on  the  twenty-eighth  of  June,  and  was  fol- 
lowed by  sixteen  performances,  bringing  a  profit  of 
seventy-five  thousand  marks,  and  silencing  the  croakers 
who  had  predicted  failure.  It  guaranteed  the  future  of 
the  theatre,  which  had  been  closed  since  1876. 

Two  months  later  Wagner  and  his  family,  by  the 
advice  of  his  physician,  went  to  Italy  and  settled  in 
Venice  at  the  Palazzo  Vendramini.  He  was  troubled 
with  heart-disease  and  asthma.  On  Monday,  February 
13,  1883,  as  he  was  going  out  in  his  gondola,  he  gave 
way  to  a  fit  of  anger.  He  had  been  warned  to  avoid 
all  excitement.  The  warning  was  in  vain.  He  suddenly 
sprang  up  crying,  "I  feel  very  ill,"  and  fell.  When 
the  doctor  came,  he  was  dead  in  the  arms  of  his  wife, 
who  supposed  him  sleeping. 

The  city  of  Venice  proposed  to  have  a  state  funeral, 
but  his  widow,  who  was  inconsolable,  objected.  His 
remains,  escorted  by  various  delegates  of  Wagnerian 
societies,  were  taken  to  Bayreuth,  stopping  on  the  way 
at  Verona,  Botzen,  Innspruck,  and  Munich. 

After  a  solemn  and  magnificent  service,  Wagner  was 
laid  in  his  tomb,  before  which  his  faithful  dog  Kuss  was 
buried. 

Wagner  is  said  to  have  received  two   hundred   and 


540  EICHAED   WAGNER. 

forty  thousand  marks  as  copyright  for  "  Parsifal/'  and  if 
he  had  been  wise  in  saving  he  would  have  left  a  large 
fortune.  But  he  spent  lavishly,  foolishly,  on  personal 
adornments  and  delicate  furnishings.  He  died  poor. 

As  an  artist  Wagner  had  unequalled  genius.  As  a 
man,  though  generous,  temperate,  and  virtuous  to  an  un- 
usual degree,  he  also  had  extraordinary  faults  :  —  he  was 
egotistical  and  proud,  prone  to  fierce  enmities ;  he  went 
to  extremes  in  everything.  A  living  paradox  :  impatient, 
nervous,  irritable  ;  noble  and  petty ;  never  made  a  man 
more  friends  and  more  enemies.  He  was  worshipped 
and  hated.  Taken  all  in  all,  musically,  he  stands  as  the 
most  notable  figure  of  this  age. 


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