!■
I
MUSIC AND MORALS.
^^^^^SSN^NSS^^SKNN^i^^^cSNJiN^N^
— y
>iwy»»»«j!M«»<»««yw*»«>»«»
, ',!'
inn
1
ill
«* ' ■" '"
■—■—.■■
Ill
M*M*aNMtM*MtMt**MltMIMM4MMM*SMlfr
in i ii i ii»iiiium»»<imi>»iiMmiii
l«n«lll»
W—WWMtWWWW*— »l" III 1IIIMIIM MlBfl
■
«S5KxSK5<«S5wS\<k!Ss
-i ■! "i
■
HI
lit1
ills
ill*
• 1
".
M>|fe>W^WW!I^Wl^'>'ilM|f|,t'>>V(\)lfl
O Jjtloit 6 l any.
/
MUSIC AND MORALS.
* The tides of Music's golden sea,
Setting toward eternity."
MUSIC AND MORALS.
By the Rev. H. R. HAWEIS, M.A.
NEW YORK:
HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS,
FRANKLIN SQUARE.
Digitized by the Internet Archive
in 2012 with funding from
Brigham Young University-Idaho
http://archive.org/details/musicmorals01haweis
TO MY WIFE,
WHOSE PEN HAS SAVED ME SO MUCH LABOR,
AND TO WHOSE PENCIL I OWE
ALL THE ILLUSTRATIONS, FAC-SIMILES, AND DIAGRAMS IN THIS VOLUME,
E ©ctifcate
THESE STUDIES OF MY LEISURE HOURS.
CONTENTS.
iFirst Cook.
PHILOSOPHICAL.
MUSIC, EMOTION, AND MORALS.
Pago
1 . The Fount of Color 15
2. The Fount of Sound 1G
3. Nature and Art 16
4. Music and other Arts 19
5. Emotions and Objects 21
6. Abstract Emotion 24
7. Analysis of Emotion 28
8. Connection between Music and Emotion 31
9. Dull Music 33
10. Objections 34
1 1 . Connection between Music and "Words 35
12. Sound-Art and Color- Art 38
13. Music and the Age 41
1 4. Art and Morals 44
1 5. Morality defined 45
1G. Morality applied 48
1 7. Music and Morality 50
18. Emotion and Morals 53
1 9. The Composer 54
20. Rise of Music 55
21. Realism and Sentimentalism 56
22. German, Italian, and French Schools 58
23. The Executive Musician 61
24. Soloists 65
25. Orchestral Players 71
2G. Culture 77
27. Morality 79
28. Longevity 87
29. The Listener 87
30. Planes of Emotion 90
31. Shakspeare and Raphael 92
32. Italian and German Sentiment 94
33. Patriotic Songs 95
viii CONTENTS.
Page
34. Musical Perturbations 97
35. Memory 99
36. Musical Quotation 101
37. Women and Music 102
38. Dream-life 103
39. Sacred Music— The Oratorio 104
40. Congregational Singing 106
41 . Slow Church 107
42. Choir Reformation 1.08
43. Use of Anthems and Voluntaries 109
44. Need of Artistic Unity 110
Qctorib JBook.
BIOGRAPHICAL.
From Ambrose to Handel.
45. First and Second Periods 115
46. Third Period 118
47. Carissimi.— Italy 120
48. John Dunstable. — England 121
49. Lulli.— France 122
50. Purcell 123
51. Handel. — Germany 124
Handel.
52. His Portraits 125
53. Childhood 127
54. Early Manhood 129
55. Italy 131
56. England 135
57. Second Visit to England 136
58. Handel and his Friends 1 38
59. Operas 144
60. Reverses 145
61. More Trials 147
62. Contemporary Composers 151
63. Music in England , 155
64. Oratorios 1 58
65. Cabals 160
66. Handel at Oxford .162
67. More Operas and Cabals 162
68. A Funeral Anthem 165
69. Failure and Success 166
70. Saul and Israel in Egypt 168
CONTENTS.
IX
Page
71. Handel in Ireland 172
72. The Messiah 173
73. Samson and the occasional Oratorio 181
74. Judas Maccabasus 183
75. Joshua, Solomon, Susannah, Theodora 184
76. Handel at Peace 186
77. A Visit to Master Hardcastle 188
78. The last Act 191
Gluck.
79. Portrait of Gluck 194
80. Rise of Gluck, and State of Music in 1 714 195
81. Gluck and Haydn 197
82. Gluck's Style 198
83. The Opera a defective Form of Art 199
84. Rise of the German Opera 201
85. Gluck in Paris 202
86. Gluckists and Piccinists 204
87. Old Age and Death 206
88. Estimate of his Character 207
Haydn.
89. Likeness and Difference 209
90. Early Days 211
91. Metastasio and Porpora 213
92. Quartets 214
93. Tempests 215
94. Symphonies 216
95. Prince Esterhazy 217
96. Work and Wife 217
97. Mozart. 219
98. Haydn in England 220
99. The Creation and the Seasons 223
100. Characteristics 225
Schubert.
101. Schubert and Chopin 227
102. Precocious Talent 228
103. Early Compositions 230
104. His Eriends 232
1 05. His Appearance 234
106. Work and Romance 235
107. Beethoven 239
108. Last Days 241
1 09. His Compositions 241
A2
x CONTENTS.
Chopin. Page
110. Romantic and Classical School 249
111. First Years 251
1 12. His Manners 252
113. His Style 253
114. Paris 253
115. His Friends 254
116. Chopin and Madame Sand 257
117. England 259
1 1 8. Death 2G0
119. His Compositions 261
The Letters of Mozart.
120. Omissions explained 263
121. Vivid Letters 264
122. Paris, Vienna, and Love 266
123. Haydn 267
124. Activity and Death 268
The Letters of Beethoven.
125. Appearance 272
126. Childhood and only Loves 273
127. Deafness 275
128. Carl, the Young Rascal 276
129. His Generosity and Poverty 278
130. His Religion and his Art 279
131. Death 280
Mendelssohn.
132. Books about Mendelssohn 283
1 33. Characteristics 284
134. Temperament 286
135. Wife, Children, Death 287
136. Elijah.— Introduction 289
137. Entrance of the Prophet Elijah 289
138. Famine and Dearth 290
139. The Desert 292
140. The Sacrifice on Mount Carmel 293
141. The Storm on Mount Carmel— " Thanks be to God" 295
142. The Elijah and the Messiah \ 296
143. Exultation, and "Be not Afraid" 297
144. Jezebel 299
145. Elijah forsaken and comforted 300
146. Earthquake on Mount Horeb > . . 303
1 47. Elijah is taken up into Heaven 305
148. A Perfect Close 307
CONTENTS. Xi
&l)ir& Book.
INSTRUMENTAL.
Violins. Page
149. Introduction 313
150. Origin of the Violin 314
151 . Gasparo di Salo, Magini, and the Amatis 320
152. Stradiuarius 323
153. Violin-making 329
154. Conclusion 335
Piano-fortes.
155. Origin of the Piano-forte 337
15G. The Virginal 339
157. The Spinet 342
158. The Piano-forte 342
159. Sebastien Bach 343
160. Mozart and Clementi 344
161. Erard, Broadwood, Collard, Pleyel 346
Bells.
162. Towers and Belfries 348
163. Bell-hunting 354
164. Antiquity of Bells 355
1 65. Use of Bells 357
1 66. Bell-founding in Belgium 359
167. Belgium Bell-founders 364
1 68. Inscriptions 367
1 69. St. Paul's and Westminster Abbey 370
1 70. Big Ben 372
Carillons.
171. Our Belfries 378
1 72. Waste and Ruin 380
173. Remedies 382
174. Our Musical Country again 384
175. The Bells of Belgium 387
176. Bell Music 388
177. The Carillon 389
178. Carillonneurs 392
179. Matthias van den Gheyn 394
180. Van den Gheyn's Music 396
181. Van den Gheyn Redivivus 399
182. English Bell Works 402
183. Reform needed 405
xii CONTENTS.
JFourt!) Sock.
CRITICAL.
MUSIC IN ENGLAND.
Pag«
1 84. England not Musical 409
1 85. English Liberality 412
18G. Seed and Soil 413
187. Mendelssohn in England 414
188. Growing Taste for good Music 416
189. Mons. Jullien 417
190. His Followers 418
191 . Musical Progress „ 419
192. Conductors 420
193. The Opera 423
194. Music Halls and Negro Melodies 429
195. String Quartets 431
196. The Musical Amateur 435
197. People who Play the Piano 435
198. Concerted Chamber Music 440
199. The People who Sing 443
200. The Quartet Party 446
201. The Scratch Quartet 448
202. Orchestral Societies.. 450
203. Vocal Associations 452
204. Harp, Bagpipes, Cornemuse, and Hurdy-gurdy 454
205. The Organ-grinder 457
206. Bands 461
207. The Brass without the Band 463
208. The Band without the Brass 464
209. The String Band 464
210. The String Band dissolved 465
211. Miscellaneous Artists 467
212. Vocal Street Music 469
213. Ballad Singers, Male and Female 471
214. Blind Singers 471
215. Negro Melodists 472
Conclusion 475
Appendix » 477
Jfirst Book.
PHILOSOPHICAL.
MUSIC, EMOTION, AND MOEALS.
first Book.
MUSIC, EMOTION, AND MORALS.
i.
The sun smiting through crystal drops shakes its white
l. light into blue, and red, and yellow fire : and, as
The Fount to ' . .
of Color, the beads of fresh-fallen rain tremble in the wind,
we may watch the primary colors of the rainbow, com-
bined and recombined with wondrous alchemy into more
subtle flame of emerald, purple, and orange. A cloud pass-
es over the sky, and in a moment every tiny globe hangs
before us, scintillant still, but pale and colorless, with its
one quivering speck of crystalline light. Then we can see
with quiet eyes the metallic lustre upon the wide blue
wings of the Brazilian butterfly — the green dissolving into
glitter of rubies upon the breast of the humming-bird —
the long reaches of golden kingcups in June meadows, or
opal tints upon wet shells and blown foam. Have we not
looked into the great laboratories of light itself? Have
we not seen the essential colors in the very moment of
their evolution falling like shattered flame-flakes from the
sun? It is so strange to find them mingled bountifully
with all created things, and made fast in every conceiva-
ble tint upon plume of bird and petal of flower?
1Q MUSIC, EMOTION, AND MORALS.
The painter goes forth each clay into a new Eden, and
finds his palette already laid for him. He can not choose
but take the materials and follow the suggestions which
Nature so freely gives him. He, too, can combine and re-
combine; can distribute his hues in concord and discord
of color ; can associate them with definite images, or, mak-
ing them the vehicles of poetic emotion, paint " the sun-
shine of sunshine, and the gloom of gloom."
The wailing of the wind at night, the hum of insect life,
2. the nigh ting ale's note, the scream of the eagle, the
The Fount °„ ° _ ' . „ ., f '
of Sound, cries of animals, and, above all, the natural inflec-
tions of the human voice — such are the rough elements of
music, multitudinous, incoherent, and formless. Earth, and
sea, and air are full of these inarticulate voices; sound
floats upward from populous cities to the Cloudland, and
thunder rolls down its monotonous reply. Alone by the
sea we may listen and hear a distinct and different tone
each time the swelling wavelet breaks crisply at our feet ;
and when the wind with fitful and angry howl drives in-
land the foam of the breakers, the shriek of the retiring
surge upon the shingles will often run through several de-
scending semitones.
It would seem, then, that we have only to take the Col-
3. or and the Sound provided for us by Nature, and
Art. transform them at once through the arts of Paint-
ing and Music into the interpreters of human thought and
emotion. But, in reality, between music and painting
there is fixed a great gulf of difference. Nature gives man
the art of Painting, as it were, ready made. For him the
sun sets and rises, and the summer glows, and the woods
change so softly and slowly beneath his gaze, that he has
time to chronicle every tint before it has passed away.
NATURE AND ART. 17
All forms of beauty, from the supreme outline of the hu-
man body to the filmy speck of the minutest insect, are
constantly limning themselves upon the retina of his eye
until his sensitive brain is supplied with objects of en-
chanting loveliness, which he is at liberty to reproduce and
recombine at will. Nature not only provides the painter
with fair forms and rich colors, but she also teaches him
the magical art of selection and arangement. But what
has she done for the musician ? She has given him sound,
not music. Nowhere does there fall upon his ear, as he
walks through the wide world, such an arrangement of
consecutive sounds as can be called a musical subject, or
theme, or melody. Far less does he find any thing which
can be described as musical harmony. The thunder is not
affecting because it is melodic, but because it is loud and
elemental. The much-extolled note of the lark is only
pleasant because associated with the little warbler, the
" sightless song" in the depth of the blue sky ; for when
the lark's trill is so exactly imitated (as it can be with a
whistle in a tumbler full of water) that it deceives the
very birds themselves, it ceases to be in the least agreea-
ble, just as the sound of the wind, which can also be well
imitated by any one compressing his lips and moaning,
ceases under such circumstances to be in the least roman-
tic. The nightingale's song, when at its best, has the ad-
vantage of being a single and not unpleasantly loud whis-
tle. That, too, can be imitated so as to defy detection.
But once let the veil of night be withdrawn, and the hu-
man nightingale disclosed, and we shall probably all ad-
mit that his performance is dull, monotonous, and unmean-
ing. The cuckoo, who often sings a true third, and some-
times a sharp third or even a fourth, is the nearest ap-
proach to music in Nature ; but this tuneful fowl gets less
credit for his vocal powers than almost any other ; and
18 2IUSIC, EMOTION, AND MORALS.
while he is screamed at and hunted from hedge to hedge
by his own species as a very outlaw among birds, he is
voted but a coarse and vulgar songster by man. At any
rate, though some may admire his call as the herald note
of spring, yet when "cuckoo cuckoo" is blown, as boys
know how to blow, upon the hollow fists, no one except
the cuckoo cares to listen to the strain for its own sweet
sake. The cries of most large birds, such as the ostrich
and peacock, are intolerably disagreeable. Nor are the
voices of the animals, from the pig, the cat, and the don-
key downward, any better. We need not go so far as Mr.
Darwin's Gibbon monkey to find an animal that sings sev-
eral notes and occasionally hits an octave, for the same can
be said of the domestic cat ; but in neither case is there
such an arrangement of notes as can be called Melody, or
such a combination of notes as can be called Harmony.
Poets from time immemorial have tried to throw dust in
the eyes of mankind whenever they have touched upon
this subject, but it is high time the truth should be told.
The Harmonies of Nature are purely metaphorical. There
is no music in Nature, neither melody nor harmony. Mu-
sic is the creation of man. He does not reproduce in mu-
sic any combination of sounds he has ever heard or could
possibly hear in the natural world, as the painter transfers
to his canvas the forms and tints he sees around him.
No; the musician seizes the rough element of sound and
compels it to work his will, and having with infinite pains
subjugated and tamed it, he is rewarded by discovering
in it the most direct and perfect medium in all Nature for
the expression of his emotions.
The Painter's art lies upon the surface of the world ; its
secrets are whispered by the yellow cornfields spotted
with crimson fire, and the dappled purple of heather upon
the hills ; but the Musician's art lies beneath the surface.
MUSIC AND OTHER ARTS. 19
His rough material of Sound is like the dull diamond,
earth-incrusted and buried in deep mines ; it simply does
not exist as a brilliant and a thing of priceless beauty un-
til it has been refined and made luminous by deliberate
arrangement of glittering facets, set in splendor of chaste
gold.
And then — what then ? it will be asked ; what does all
4. this manipulation of sound end in ? what is the
Music and .
other Arts, value or dignity of this art 01 Music? We easily
recognize the foundation of other arts. The art of Sculp-
ture rests upon the fact that when man awakens to a sense
of the beauty, power, or even grotesqueness of form, he is
impelled by a creative instinct to reproduce, select, and
combine its various qualities — firstly, that he may perpet-
uate the forms of fleeting beauty that he sees around him ;
and secondly, that he may impart to the ideal conceptions
of his imagination an outward and concrete existence. We
are not ashamed to derive the keenest satisfaction from
the Niohe or the Antinous, for we see in these a perennial
and dignified expression of human grace and pathos. And
even when we turn to such painful and distorted figures as
the Laocoon, although we may call them " debased art"
according to our canons of taste, yet neither these nor any
other specimens, however corrupt or weak, can effect the
real dignity of sculpture itself. Similarly, the art of Paint-
ing rests upon a rational impulse to select and combine
colors chiefly in connection with intelligible forms and
subjects of definite interest; and although painting is less
definite in some respects, and less complete in others, than
sculpture, yet its range is wider, its material infinitely
more ductile, while its command of emotion through the
vehicle of color, and of ideas through variety of outline,
gives it an importance and dignity which it would be dif-
20 MUSIC, EMOTION, AND MORALS.
ficult to overestimate. Even such an art as Legerdemain
is capable of a satisfactory explanation ; for it is the out-
ward realization in one department, however narrow, of
certain excellent qualities of the eye and hand. A Phidian
sculpture, a picture by Titian, even a conjuring trick by
Professor Frikell, can be accounted for and justified in a
few words ; but when we come to a Symphony by Beetho-
ven, philosophy is dumb, or rides off upon a quibble about
the scientific structure of music or its technical qualities,
all true and interesting, no doubt, but still leaving un-
touched the great Art-problem of music — What is the ra-
tionale of its existence, and what the secret of its power
over the soul ?
Music, as distinguished from the various rude attempts
of the past, is only about four hundred years old. Modern
music, which is alone worthy of the name, is, in fact, the
youngest of the arts, and stands at present in a correspond-
ingly unfavorable position ; for while it has been brought
to the highest perfection, the secret of its power is almost
wholly unexplored ; and as long as this is the case, music
must continue to be ranked last among the fine arts. But
the day is at hand when the veil of the prophetess will be
lifted. Already in Germany, the land of thought, music
has been adopted as the national art — as painting was
once in Italy, and sculpture in Greece. Already the names
of Beethoven and Mozart are whispered through the civil-
ized world in the same breath with those of Phidias and
Michael Angelo ; and the time is probably not far distant
when music will stand revealed perchance as the mightiest
of the arts, and certainly as the one art peculiarly repre-
sentative of our modern world, with its intense life, com-
plex civilization, and feverish self-consciousness.
It has often been said that music is the lan^uasre of the
emotions ; but what there is in music to act upon emotion,
EMOTIONS AND OBJECTS, 21
or how it both expresses and excites it, sometimes com-
pelling the mind to clothe the awakened emotion with defi-
nite ideas — at others, dispensing with ideas altogether —
this has never yet been explained. With the cautiousness
and humility of one who feels himself upon untrodden
ground, I offer the following reflections as a contribution
to the much-neglected study of Musical Psychology.
II.
We can not do better than start with the popular asser-
5. tion that music is the language of the emotions.
Emotions . . . „
and objects. But before we attempt to show the points ol
contact between emotion and its art-medium, and before
we can understand how it is that music finds itself on the
same plane of action with the emotion, and so fitted to be-
come at one time their minister expressing them, at an-
other their master commanding them, it will be necessary
to form a clear and almost concrete conception of the emo-
tions themselves. Of course we can no more get to the
root of that aspect of life exhibited in emotion than we
can get to the root of life itself in man, or beast, or vegeta-
ble. Life is only known by the sensations and appearan-
ces which accompany it — by its proximate, and not its ul-
timate causes. Speaking physically, then, what happens
when a person is moved or excited ? A certain quicken-
ing of the blood as it rushes through the heart, or what we
call a hurried pulse, and a corresponding disarrangement
of molecules in the brain. If it were not for these, acting
through what we may call nerve-currents, we should not
be capable, constituted as we are at present, of experien-
cing any emotion at all. The nature of our emotions may
depend either upon the nature of external objects present-
ed to the senses, or upon internal and unexplained process-
es connected with what we call our thoughts. Now what
22 MUSIC, EMOTION, AND MORALS.
most people are alive to is the existence of emotions in
their more intense forms., Once in the course of the day,
or two or three times during the month, they have been
greatly moved or excited pleasurably or otherwise. But
what few people realize is that emotion is actually coex-
tensive with consciousness. Physically this is the case,
for there is no pause in the incessant disturbance and re-
arrangement of the cerebral molecules which are insepara-
bly connected with the phenomena of human conscious-
ness, and human consciousness itself is nothing but an un-
interrupted concatenation of emotions, most of them so
unimportant, so involved, and succeeding each other with
such intense rapidity that we take no note of them. Like
distant lights in a dark night, only those of a certain
brightness are visible to the naked eye. As a traveler in
a railway carriage sees the objects fly by him with a ra-
pidity which lessens the impression that each is calculated
to make by itself, but takes note of a cathedral or a regi-
ment of soldiers, so the multitudinous objects and events
that crowd upon us during the most uneventful day may
indeed affect us consciously, and produce a great variety
of feelings without once awakening the self-consciousness
of a strong emotion.
It may be a relief to the reader if we ask him to pause
at this stage of the proceedings, and analyze very roughly
a few of the emotions which in a very short space of time
he is in the habit of experiencing. It would require vol-
umes to analyze properly the emotional history of a single
hour, but the reality and continuity of such a history may
be briefly indicated.
On first awakening we may all have experienced at
times a puzzled kind of feeling. This is produced by the
conflict between the conditions of the waking and the
sleeping states. A feeling of doubt as to whether we are
EMOTIONS AND OBJECTS. 23
really going to be hanged, as we just now dreamed, is suc-
ceeded by a sense of relief, passing quickly into a sense of
humor, which in its turn is arrested by a sense of depres-
sion caused by the eye falling on a letter containing bad
news received on the previous night. Then follows a train
of speculation, resulting in an infinite series of little ela-
tions and depressions as we take a hopeful view of the
concern or otherwise. A knock at the door brings a wel-
come distraction, and we leap up with an energy which is
really the result of a complex state of feeling; that is to
say, emotion of relief at getting rid of a disagreeable sub-
ject ; emotion caused by a resolution to get dressed ; emo-
tion caused by anxiety to be in time for an engagement ;
emotion caused by a chilly feeling, which reminds us of a
fire down stairs, etc., etc. Upon opening the door and
seizing the hot-water jug, we experience a sudden depres-
sion on finding the water barely tepid ; but quick as
thought the elation of anger succeeds as we rush to the
bell-rope, which comes down beneath our too vigorous ef-
forts, and again supplies us with a complex emotion : emo-
tion of resentment against the servant, the cause of all the
mischief; ditto against the carpenter who put up the bell-
rope the day before ; ditto against ourselves for angry
haste ; reflex feeling of resolve to be more careful next
time ; prospective feeling of annoyance at having to pay
for putting up the rope again. It is, perhaps, needless to
continue the analysis of that internal life which consists of
such an infinite variety of important, trivial, and complex
feelings. But before we consider how music deals with
emotion, we must try and seize the fact that the history
of each hour does not only consist of outward incidents,
but that each one of these incidents and objects, as also
every thought which flits through the mind, has its own
accompanying emotion, or train of emotions, and that the
24 MUSIC, EMOTION, AND MORALS.
whole of human life forms one vast emotional fabric, begun
long before thought, and continued down to the feeblest
pulse of second childhood.
Hitherto we have considered emotion in connection with
e. definite images such as letters, bell-ropes, hot-water
Emotion, jugs ; but it is quite a mistake to suppose that defi-
nite images, or even thoughts, are indispensable to the ex-
istence of emotion. We may be tempted to think that
emotions derive all their importance and dignity from the
thoughts with which they happen to be associated. The
very reverse of this, however, is the case. Emotion is oil-
en weakened by association with thought, whereas thoughts
are always strengthened by emotion. Indeed, emotion is
the very breath and life-blood of thought, which without
it would remain but a pale and powerless shadow, incapa-
ble of asserting itself, or of exercising any kind of influ-
ence, good or bad. As the sun brings light and warmth
to the visible world, as without it the whole realm of
physical life would lie forlorn in one long midnight of cold
paralysis, even so the solar orb of our emotions kindles
each thought and endows each conception with fertile ac-
tivity. What power can any thought have without emo-
tion ? When a man is exhausted with hunger and fatigue,
you may pass through his mind the most striking thoughts
of Shakspeare, or the most thrilling images of Byron, but
they will be without effect, because of the absence of emo-
tional force in him. On the other hand, the commonest
object in nature, a wayside daisy,
"The meanest flower that blows,"
seen a thousand times without the smallest emotion, may
one day be seen with the poet's eye, and will suddenly be
found to contain thoughts
" Too deep for tears."
ABSTRACT EMOTION. 25
No doubt, granting a certain measure of sensibility, out
of a definite thought an emotion of some sort will arise ;
it is equally true that out of an indefinite emotion corre-
sponding thoughts will often arise. But there is this dif-
ference between Thought and Emotion — thought is dead
without emotion, whereas emotion has a life of its own en-
tirely independent of thought. Thoughts are but wander-
ing spirits that depend for their vitality upon the magnetic
currents of feeling.
The essential power of emotions over thoughts is recog-
nized in the most popular forms of language. The thought
of heaven as a Place is sufficiently powerless, however much
we may deck it out with apocalyptical splendors ; but we
speak of the State of the Blessed as of a certain emotional
condition of joy, and are perfectly satisfied to rest in that
definition as the profoundest of all realities, although we
may not be able to illustrate it by one definite thought or
associate it with any one distinct image. But further, when
viewed through the lenses of more abstract reflection, all
definite thoughts and distinct images are seen more clearly
still to be but the helps and crutches to something beyond
them — something which may hereafter become in its turn
definite and distinct, leading us on to yet another dim-
ness and yet another Revelation. Once raise a thought to
its highest power, and it not only is accompanied by the
strongest emotion, but, strange, to say, actually passes out
of the condition of a thought altogether into the condition
of an emotion, just as hard metal raised to a sufficient pow-
er of heat evaporates into the most subtle and attenuated
gases. The pious Roman Catholic kneeling before the cru-
cifix passes through successive emotional stages, from the
gross representation of a tortured human body to the ideal
form of a risen and glorified Savior, until at length to the
devotee, whose adoring eyes are still fixed upon the wood-
B
26 MUSIC, EMOTION, AND 210 HALS.
en crucifix, nothing remains but the emotion of a presence,
felt but not understood, in which he seems to live, and
move, and have his being. That is the moment, he will
tell you, of his highest life ; the seventh heaven has been
reached, more intensely real than any scene of earth ; but
it is wholly internal, a kingdom within, the fullness of life,
and yet, to the common senses impalpable, without form
and void. The same phenomena are presented to us by
every fine actor; we feel that his art culminates, not in
the rounded period, nor even in the loud roar and violent
gesticulation of excited passion, but in the breathless si-
lence of intense feeling, as he stands apart and allows the
impotency of exhausted symbols, the quivering lip and the
glazed eye, to express for him the crisis of inarticulate
emotion.
But, it will be urged, in each case we start from some-
thing definite ; in the latter we start from the incidents of
the play. That provides us with a key to the emotion.
Exactly so. But what I am maintaining is, not that emo-
tion does not accompany definite thought, but simply that
thought, in proportion to its intensity, has a tendency to
pass into a region of abstract emotion independent and
self-sufficing.
In the same way Poetry, which, as Mr. J. S. Mill ob-
serves, is nothing but " thought colored by strong emo-
tion, expressed in metre, and overheard," is constantly
composed of words which will hardly bear analysis, as
simple vehicles for the expression of definite thoughts, but
which may be justified as attempts to express the quicken-
ing of an idea, or the evaporation of thought in emotion.
Nothing is more common than to hear a person say, "A
truly exquisite poem ; but what on earth does it mean ?"
A search for definite thoughts may very likely be in vain.
What the poem really means is a certain succession or ar*
ABSTRA CT EMO TIOX. 2 7
rangement of feelings, in which emotion is every thing,
and the ideas only helps and crutches. This result is oft-
en obtained by what stupid people call extravagance of
language or confusion of imagery, and by what Mr. R. II.
Hutton has happily termed " the physical atmosphere of
words." J. M. W. Turner's vagueness and extravagance,
so much complained of by common folk, is another exam-
ple of the transformation of thoughts into emotion. Mr.
Ruskin has observed that Turner paints the sottls of pict-
ures. Even Turner's opponents will agree that in many
of his pictures most of the distinct images have evapora-
ted, while others perceive that these have only vanished to
make way for emotions of transcendent force and beauty.
It seems to us evident, then, that the tendency of emo-
tion in all its higher stages is to get rid of definite thoughts
and images — is it equally certain that it occupies an inde-
pendent region, and can start without them ? A very lit-
tle reflection will probably convince us that we may be in
a state of emotional depression, or otherwise — what we
call in good spirits or in bad spirits — without being able
to assign any definite reason, or to trace the mood in any
way to any one thought or combination of ideas. A
thought may, indeed, flash upon the depressed spirit, and
dissipate in an instant our depression — or the fit of depres-
sion may pass away of itself by mere force of reaction.
Sensitive temperaments are peculiarly liable to such " ups
and downs;" but we shall find, if we examine our experi-
ences, that although the emotional region is constantly
traversed by thoughts of every possible description, it has
a life of its own, and is distinct from them even as water
is distinct from the various reflections that float across its
surface.
28 MUSIC, EMOTION, AND MORALS.
So far we have merely attempted to show the connec-
7. tion which exists between Thoughts and Emo-
Analysis of . _
Emotion, tions ; and during the process we have amrmed
the independent existence of an emotional region, in which
there takes place a never-ceasing play and endless succes-
sion of emotions, simple and complex. But, in order to
show the ground of contact between music and emotion, it
will be necessary to put emotion itself into the crucible of
thought, and express its properties by symbols.
We shall then subject Sound, as manipulated by the art
of music, to the same kind of analysis ; and if we find that
Sound contains exactly the same properties as emotion, we
shall not only have established points of resemblance be-
tween the two, but we shall have actually reached the
common ground, or kind of border-land, upon which inter-
nal emotion becomes wedded to external sound, and real-
izes for itself that kind of concrete existence which it is
the proper function and glory of art to bestow upon hu-
man thought and feeling. If we now attempt to analyze
a simple emotion, we shall find that it invariably possesses
one or more of the following properties ; complex emo-
tions possess them all.
I. Elation and Depression. — When a man is suffering
from intense thirst in a sandy desert, the emotional fount
within him is at a low ebb, a ; but, on catching sight of a
pool of water not far off, he instantly becomes highly ela-
ted, and, forgetting his fatigue, he hastens forward upon a
new platform of feeling, b. On arriving at the water he
finds it too salt to drink, and his emotion, from the highest
elation, sinks at once to the deepest depression, c.
II. Velocity. — At this crisis our traveler sees a man
with a water-skin coming toward him, and his hopes in-
stantly rise, d ; and, running up to him, he relates how his
hopes have been suddenly raised, and as suddenly cast
ANALYSIS OF EMOTION.
29
Emotional Symbols.
I. Elation and Depression
(Fig.l.)
IT. Velocity
(Fig. 2.)
X
III. Intensity.
(Fig. 3.)
IV. Variety.
V. Form (see Fig. 5).
(Fig. 4.)
Emotional Diagram of the Man in the Desert.
(Fig. 5.)
Gratitude.
Content.
Sympathy.
A. Thirst.
B. Expectation.
C. Disappointment.
x. Mental repetition of A,B,C.
D. Satisfaction.
E. Complex feeling.
30 MUSIC, EMOTION, AND MORALS.
clown, at b and c respectively ; but long before his words
have expressed, or even begun to express his meaning, he
has, in a moment of time, ^ — x, in fact spontaneously, with
the utmost mental velocity, repassed through the emotions
of elation and depression, a, b, c, which may at first have
lasted some time, but are now traversed in one sudden
flash of reflex consciousness.
III. Intensity. — As he drinks the sparkling water, we
may safely affirm that his emotion increases in intensity
up to the point where his thirst becomes quenched, and
that every drop that he takes after that is accompanied by
less and less pungent or intense feeling.
IV. Variety. — Up to this time his emotion has been
comparatively simple ; but a suffering companion now ar-
rives, and as he hands to him the grateful cup, his emotion
becomes complex, that is to say, he experiences a variety
of emotions simultaneously. First, the emotion of content-
ment at having quenched his own thirst ; second, gratitude
to the man who supplied him with water — an emotion
probably in abeyance until he had quenched his thirst;
third, joy at seeing his friend participating in his own re-
lief.
V. Form. — If the reader will now glance over this sim-
ple narrative once more by the aid of the accompanying
diagrams, he will see that both the simple and the com-
plex emotions above described have what, for wTant of a
better term, we may call f*r??i; i. e., they succeed each
other in one order rather than another, and are at length
combined with a definite purpose in certain fixed propor-
tions.
Now although I have, in order to lighten the burden of
metaphysics, tacked on a story to the above emotional dia-
gram, I wish to remind the reader that it needs none, and
that it is capable of indicating the progression and the
MUSIC AND EMOTION. 31
qualities of emotion without the aid of a single definite
idea. It must also be observed that, although I have ex-
pressed by symbols the properties of emotion, simple and
complex, no art-medium of emotion has as yet been arrived
at ; nothing but barren symbols are before us, incapable
of awakening any feeling at all, however well they may
suffice to indicate its nature and properties. We have
now to discover some set of symbols capable of bringing
these emotional properties into direct communication with
sound, and Music will then emerge, like a new Venus from
a sea of confused murmur, and announce herself as the
royal Art-medium of Emotion.
The reader will perceive in a moment that musical nota-
8 tion is the symbolism required, for it is capa-
fwee"ieMuScbe" ^\e not on^J of indicating all the properties of
and Emotion. emotion, but of connecting these with every
variety and combination of sound. That every musical
note corresponds to a fixed sound may be called a self-
evident proposition. I hasten further to point out that
the art of music is an arrangement or manipulation of
sounds, which clearly reveals to us the fact that sound
possesses all the properties of emotion, and is, for this rea-
son, admirably calculated to provide it with its true and
universal language.
In order to realize this, we had better at once compare
our analysis of Emotion with the following brief analysis of
Sound, as it comes before us in the art of musical notation.
I. Elation and Depression. — The modern musical scale
consists of seven notes, or an octave of eight, with their
accompanying semi-tones. The human voice, or a violin,
will, in addition, express every gradation of sound between
each note ; thus from C to C, ascending or descending, we
can get any possible degree of Elation or Depression.
32 MUSIC, EMOTION, AND MORALS.
II. Velocity. — This property is expressed by the em-
ployment of notes indicating the durations of the different
sounds, e. g., minims, quavers, crotchets, etc. Also by terms
such as adagio, allegro, etc., which do not indicate any
change in the relative value of the notes, but raise or low-
er the Velocity of the whole movement.
III. Intensity. — Between ppp and fff lie the various
degrees of intensity which may be given to a single note.
Intensity can also be produced by accumulating a multi-
tude of notes simultaneously, either in unisons, octaves, or
concords, while the words crescendo and diminuendo, or
certain marks, denote the gradual increase or decrease of
Intensity.
IV. Variety. — We have only to think of the simplest
duet or trio to realize how perfectly music possesses this
powerful property of complex emotion ; and we have only
to glance at a score of Beethoven's or Spohr's to see how
almost any emotion, however complex, is susceptible of
musical expression.
V. Form. — Nothing is more common than to hear it
said that Mozart is a great master of form ; that Beetho-
ven's form is at times obscure, and so forth. Of course
what is meant is, that in the arrangement and develop-
ment of the musical phrases, there is a greater or less fit-
ness of proportion producing an effect of unity or inco-
herence, as the case may be. But the idea of musical form
can be made intelligible to any one who will take the
trouble to glance at so simp'e a melody as the "Blue Bells
of Scotland." That air consists of four phrases, each of
which is divided into an elation and depression. The first
two phrases are repeated; the third and fourth occur in
the middle ; and the first two phrases recur at the close.
We might express the form numerically in this way :
DULL MUSIC.
33
The Blue Bells of Scotland.
<\/\ A/\ \//\ A/\
1 2 12 3 4 ^ i ^
Thus music appears visibly to the eye to possess all the
essential properties of emotion. May we not therefore
say that the secret of its power consists in this, that it
alone is capable of giving to the simplest, the subtlest,
and the most complex emotions alike, that full and satis-
factory expression through sound which hitherto it has
been found impossible to give to many of them in any-
other way?
When alluding to the succession of emotions through
9 which we pass hour after hour, I called attention
Dull Music. ^-0 j. ke fact that most of them were so unimpor-
tant as hardly to be worth the name of emotion ; that yet,
so long as consciousness lasts, we must be in some emo-
tional state or other. This consideration may help us to
understand the nature of a good deal of dull music, which
is, in fact, the expression of what may be called neutral
emotion. Plow strange it seems to some people that com-
posers should think it worth while to Avrite down page
after page which is devoid of interest ! But if we lived
more in the composer's world, our wonder would cease.
We should soon feel with him that our neutral states
called for musical expression as well as the higher Inten-
sities and Velocities of Elation and Depression. Music
does not cover a little excited bit of life, but the whole of
life; and the mind, trained to the disciplined expression
of emotion in music, takes delight in long trains of quiet
emotion, conscientiously worked out by what some may
B2
34 MUSIC, EMOTION, AND MORALS.
call diffuse and dull music. There is a quantity of music
■ — of Schubert, for instance — which seems hardly written
for the public at all. It is the expression of unimportant
and uninteresting successions of emotion, whose only merit
consists in their being true to life; and until we have
learned to think of every moment of our lives as being a
fit subject for music, we shall never understand the Sound-
reveries of Tone Poets who were in the habit of regarding
the whole of their inner life as melodic and symphonic,
and setting vast portions of it to music, quite regardless
of what the world at large was likely to say or think
about it.
And here let me pause to say that I am perfectly aware
10 of the objections that may be urged against my
objections. anaiysis 0f emotion and music into five proper-
ties. I shall be told that my explanation is inadequate ;
that it is impossible to analyze a great many emotions at
all; that music is often in the same way incapable of be-
ing cut up into the above-named five properties. My an-
swer is, that it is only possible to indicate very roughly
by words and symbols the bare outlines and coarsest forms
of the general laws and properties of emotion. At the bot-
tom of some historical engraving containing the portraits
of a number of eminent personages we may have some-
times noticed a row of heads in outline sketched, without
color, shadow, or expression, yet docketed with the names
of the eminent personages above ; so we have sketched in
the bare outlines of emotion. They lie before us dumb
and passionless. They are no more than skeleton like-
nesses of what can not be given in mere black and white.
Bat it would be possible to show by diagrams much more
clearly the enormous detail and intricacy of musical phra-
seology covered in our diagram by one meagre line un
MUSIC AND WORDS. 35
and clown, and expressed in such words as elation and de-
pression; I might show that an elation can consist of any
length, and might contain within itself an infinite number
of subordinate elations and depressions, involving different
measures of velocity and intensity, and as complicated in
form and variety as those gossamer webs we meet with on
misty commons about sunrise. The eye gathers some no-
tion of the capacities of sound for the expression of the
most labyrinthine and complex emotion by looking at a
full orchestral score, or trying to follow the minute inflex-
ions made by the baton of a fine conductor. Such things
no words can convey. Language is given us to indicate
the existence of a vast number of truths which can only
be fully realized by other and more subtle modes of ex-
pression.
As emotion exists independently of Thought, so also
n does Music. But Music may be appropriate-
fwe«rCMusicbaud *J wedded to Thought. It is a mistake to
Words- suppose that the music itself always gains
by being associated with words, or definite ideas of any
sort. The words often gain a good deal, but the music is
just as good without them. I do not mean to deny that
images and thoughts are capable of exciting the deepest
emotions, but they are inadequate to express the emotions
they excite. Music is more adequate, and hence will often
seize an emotion that may have been excited by an image,
and partially expressed by words — will deepen its expres-
sion, and, by so doing, will excite a still deeper emotion.
That is how words gain by being set to music. But to set
words to music — as in Oratorio or Opera, or any kind of
song — is, in fact, to mix two arts together. On the whole,
a striking effect may be produced, but, in reality, it is at
the expense of the purity of each art. Poetry is a great
36 MUSIC, EMOTION, AND MORALS.
art ; so is music : but as a medium for emotion, eacli is
greater alone than in company, although various good ends
are obtained by linking the two together, providing that
the words are kept in subordination to the greater expres-
sion-medium of music. Even then they are apt to hinder
the development of the music. What an amount of feeble
recitative and incoherent choral writing do we not owe to
the clumsy endeavors of even good composers to wed mu-
sic to words ! How often is the poet hampered by the
composer, and the composer by the poet ! And yet when
we remember such operas as Don Giovanni, and such ora-
torios as the Elijah, and note how instinctively the com-
poser has treated the leading emotions, without being ham-
pered by the words and the sentences of the libretto, we
are bound to admit that the objections to the mixed art
may be to a great extent overcome, while its advantages
are obvious. Words, situations, and ideas are very useful
to the composer, and still more so to his audience ; for a
story, or the bare suggestion of some situation, provides a
good skeleton form, and serves to awaken trains of emo-
tion, which music is all-powerful to deepen ; and while the
words are being declaimed, the music has already passed
into depths of feeling beyond the control of words. Let
any one look at the four parts of a chorus, and see the
kind of subordinate use made of the words. After the first
glance no one thinks much about the words : they come
in more as incidents of vocalization than of thought, and
are piled up often without sense, and repeated by the dif-
ferent voices pele-mele. And yet the first sentence of such
choruses as aRex Tremende," in the Requiem, or "The
night is departing," in the Lobgesang, is an immense as-
sistance to the hearer, striking the key-note to the emo-
tions which music alone can fully express. On the other
hand, when we turn to the pure art, and inquire what good
MUSIC AND WORDS. 37
could any words do to a symphony of Beethoven, it must
be answered, less and less good just in proportion as the
symphony itself is musically appreciated. Even an opera
is largely independent of words, and depends for its suc-
cess, not upon the poetry of the libretto, or even the scen-
ery or the plot, but upon its emotional range — i. e., upon
the region which is dominated by the musical element.
Has the reader never witnessed with satisfaction a fine
opera, the words of which he could not understand, and
whose plot he was entirely unable to follow ? Has he nev-
er seen a musician, in estimating a new song, run through
it rapidly on the piano, and then turn back to the begin-
ning to see what the words were all about ? We may be
sure, long before he has read the words he will have esti-
mated the value of the song. The words were good to set
the composer's emotions a-going. They are interesting to
his audience exactly in proportion to its ignorance of, and
indifference to, music. Persons who know and care little
about music are always very particular about the words
of a song. They want to know what it all means — the
words will tell them, of course. They are naturally glad
to find something they can understand ; yet all the while
the open secret which they will never read lies in the mu-
sic, not the words. The title " Songs without Words,"
which Mendelssohn has given to his six books of musical
idylls, is full of delicate raillery, aimed good-humoredly
enough at the non- musical world. "A 'song without
words !' What an idea ! How can such a song be possi-
ble ?" cries one. " What more perfect song could be im-
agined ?" exclaims another. If we are to have words to
songs, let us subordinate the thought to the emotion. The
best words to music are those which contain the fewest
number of thoughts and the greatest number of emotions.
Such are the shorter poems of Goethe, of Heine, of Byron,
38 MUSIC, EMOTION, AND MORALS
and, as ?i consequence, it is notorious that Beethoven,
Schubert, Mendelssohn, and Schumann between them have,
with pardonable avidity, set to music almost all these pre-
cious lyrics.
The only possible rival to Sound as a vehicle for pure
12. emotion is Color, but up to the present time no
Sound-art and . .
Color-art. art has been invented which stands in exactly
the same relation to color as music does to sound. No
one who has ever attentively w^atched a sunset can fail to
have noticed that color, as well as sound, possesses all the
five qualities which belong to emotion : the passing of dark
tints into bright ones corresponds to Elation and Depres-
sion. The palpitations of light and mobility of hues give
Velocity, poorness or richness of the same color constitutes
its Intensity, the presence of more than one color gives Va-
riety, while Form is determined by the various degrees of
space occupied by the different colors. Yet there exists no
color-art as a language of pure emotion. The art of paint-
ing has hitherto always been dependent upon definite ideas,
faces, cliffs, clouds, incidents. Present by the engraver's
art a Sir Joshua Reynolds, or even a Turner, and although
the spectator has no notion of the coloring of the original,
he gets some notion of the work because the color was an
accessory — most important, no doubt, but still an accessory
— not an essential of the artist's thought. But to present
a symphony without sound, or without the notes or sym-
bols which, through the eye, convey to the ear sound, is
impossible, because sound, heard or conceived, is not the
accessory, but the essential, of the composer's work. The
composer's art makes sound into a language of pure emo-
tion. The painter's art uses color only as the accessory of
emotion. No method has yet been discovered of arrange
ing color by itself for the eye, as the musician's art ar-
SOUND- ART AND COL OR- ART. 39
ranges sound for the ear. "We have no color pictures de-
pending solely upon color as we have symphonies depend-
ing solely upon sound. In Turner's works we find the
nearest approach ; but even he, by the necessary limitation
of his art, is without the property of velocity. The canvas
does not change to the eye — all that is, is presented simul-
taneously as in one complex chord, and thus the charm of
velocity, which is so great a property in emotion, and
which might belong to a color-art, is denied to the painter.
Color now stands in the same kind of relation to the paint-
er's art as Sound among the Greeks did to the art of the
gymnast. But just as we speak of the classic age as a time
long before the era of real music, so by-and-by posterity
may allude to the present age as an age before the color-
art was known — an age in which color had not yet been
developed into a language of pure emotion, but simply
used as an accessory to drawing, as music was once to
bodily exercise and rhythmic recitation. And here I will
express my conviction that a Color-art exactly analogous
to the Sound-art of music is possible, and is among the
arts which have to be traversed in the future, as Sculpture,
Architecture, Painting, and Music have been in the past.
Nor do I see why it should not equal any of these in the
splendor of its results and variety of its applications. Had
we but a system of color-notation which would as intensely
and instantaneously connect itself with every possible tint,
and possess the power of combining colors before the mind's
eye, as a page of music combines sounds through the eye
to the mind's ear — had we but instruments, or some ap-
propriate art-mechanism for rendering such color-notation
into real waves of color before the bodily eye, we should
then have actually realized a new art, the extent and gran-
deur of whose developments it is simply impossible to es-
timate. The reader, whose eye is passionately responsive
40 MUSIC, EMOTION, AND MORALS.
to color, may gain some faint anticipation of the Color-art
of the future if he will try to recall the kind of impression
made upon him by the exquisite tints painted upon the
dark curtain of the night at a display of fireworks. I se-
lect fireworks as an illustration in preference to the most
gorgeous sunset, because I am not speaking of Nature, but
Art — that is to say, something into the composition of
which the mind of man has entered, and whose very mean-
ing depends upon its bearing the evidences of human de-
signs; and I select pyrotechny, instead of painting of any
kind, because in it we get the important emotional prop-
erty of velocity, necessarily absent from fixed coloring.
At such a display as I have mentioned, we are, in fact,
present at the most astonishing revelations of Light and
Color. The effects produced are indeed often associated
with vulgar patterns, loud noises, and the most coarse and
stupid contrasts. Sometimes the combinations are felici-
tous for a moment, and by the merest chance ; but usual-
ly they are chaotic, inherent, discordant, and supportable
only owing to the splendor of the materials employed. But
what a majestic Symphony might not be played with such
orchestral blazes of incomparable hues ! what delicate mel-
odies composed of single floating lights, changing and melt-
ing from one slow intensity to another through the dark,
until some tender dawn of opal from below might perchance
receive the last fluttering pulse of ruby light, and prepare
the eye for some new passage of exquisite color ! Why
should we not go down to the Palace of the People, and
assist at a real Color-prelude or Symphony, as we now go
down to hear a work by Mozart or Mendelssohn ? But the
Color-art must first be constituted, its symbols and phrase-
ology discovered, its instruments invented, and its com-
posers born. Up to that time, music will have no rival as
an Art-medium of emotion.
MUSIC AND THE AGE. 41
in.
Modern Music is the last great legacy which Rome has
13. left to the world. It is also remarkable as a dis-
Musicaud . ..... ~. . .
the Age. tmct product oi modern civilization. Christianity
ended by producing that peculiar passion for self-analysis,
that rage for the anatomy of emotion, and that reverence
for the individual soul which was almost entirely, unknown
to the ancient world. The life of the Greek was exceed-
ingly simple and objective. His art represented the phys-
ical beauty in which he delighted ; but the faces of his
statues were usually without emotion. His poetry was
the expression of strong rather than subtle feeling. He
delighted in dramas with but few characters and with
hardly any plot. He could have but little need of music
to express his emotions, for they could be adequately ren-
dered by sculpture and recitation. Ancient Rome, in its
best times, had no sympathy with any kind of art ; to con-
quer and to make laws for the conquered was her peculiar
mission. Still less than Greece could she stand in need of
a special language for her emotions, which were of a sim-
ple, austere, and practical character, and found in the daily
duties of the citizen-life a sufficient outlet of expression.
Christianity, by dwelling especially upon the sanctity of
the individual life, deepened the channels of natural feel-
ing, and unfolded capacities of emotion which strove in
vain for any articulate expression.* But Christianity had
to pass through several stages before she met with Modern
Music. The active missionary spirit had first to subside
and be replaced by the otiose and contemplative mood be-
fore the need of any elaborate Art-medium of expression
could make itself felt in Christendom. Unrest is fatal to
Art. It was in the peaceful seclusion of monastic life that
* See Second Book. — I. Introduction to Modern Music.
42 MUSIC, EMOTION, AND MORALS.
a new tonal system and a sound method of instruction first
arose. From being intensely objective and practical, the
genius of Christianity became intensely meditative, and in-
trospective, and mystical. The Roman monks may thus
be said to have created modern music. The devotee, re-
lieved from poverty and delivered from persecution, had
time to examine what was going on within him, to chroni-
cle the different emotional atmospheres of his ecstasy, to
note the elations and depressions of the religious life, the
velocity of its aspirations, the intensity of its enthusiasms,
the complex struggle forever raging between the spirit and
the flesh, and the ever-changing proportions and forms as-
sumed by one and the other. Out of these experiences at
length arose the desire for art-expression. Gothic archi-
tecture supplied one form, and the Italian schools of paint-
ing another ; but already the key-note of a more perfect
emotional language had been struck, which was destined
to supply an unparalleled mode of utterance both for the
Church and the World. Such a language would be valua-
ble exactly in proportion to the complexity of thought and
feeling to be expressed and the desire for its expression.
The fusion of the Church and the World at the time of the
Reformation was at once the type and the starting-point
of all those mixed and powerful influences which charac-
terize what we call Modern Civilization, and it is remarka-
ble that the sceptre of music should have passed from fall-
en Rome to free Germany just at the time when Rome
showed herself most incompetent to understand and cope
with the rising Spirit of the New Age, which Germany may
almost be said to have created.
If we were now asked roughly to define what we mean
by the Spirit of the Age, we should say the genius of the
nineteenth century is analytic. There is hardly any thing
on earth which Goethe — the very incarnation of modern
MUSIC AND THE AGE. 43
culture— lias not done something toward analyzing. Sci-
entific research has taken complete possession of the unex-
plored regions of the physical world. Kant and Hegel
have endeavored to define the limits of the pure reason.
Swedenborg strove to give law and system to the most
abnormal states of human consciousness. There is not an
aspect of nature, or complication of character, or contrast
of thought and feeling, which has not been delineated by
modern novelists and painted by modern artists, while the
national poets of Europe, whether we think of Goethe,
Heine, Lamartine, De Musset, or our own living poets —
Tennyson and Browning — have all shown the strongest
disposition to probe and explore the hidden mysteries of
thought and feeling, to arrange and rearrange the insoluble
problems of life, which never seemed so insoluble as now,
to present facts with all their by-play, to trace emotion
through all its intricate windings, and describe the varia-
tions of the soul's temperature from its most fiery heats
down to its most glacial intensities.
If I were asked to select two poems most characteristic
of the emotional tendencies of this age, I should select the
" In Memoriam" and the " Ring and the Book ;" for in
both these works the introspective tendency and the rest-
less endeavor to present, with minute fidelity, an immense
crowd of feelings with something like a symphonic unity
of effect, culminate. Art, literature, and science are all re-
dundant with the same analytical and emotional tenden-
cies. Is it wonderful that such an age should be the very
age in which music, at once an analytical Science and a
pure Art-medium of Emotion, has, with a rapidity like that
of sculpture in Greece or painting in Italy, suddenly reach-
ed its highest perfection ? Music is pre-eminently the art
of the nineteenth century, because it is in a supreme man-
ner responsive to the emotional wants, the mixed aspira-
tions, and the passionate self-consciousness of The Age.
44 MUSIC, EMOTION, AND 3I0RALS.
IV.
But if Music stands in such definite and important rela-
14. tions to The Age, it becomes highly desirable to
Art and ° ' . & ?
Morals, know whether Music has any definite connection
with Morality, and, if so, what that connection really is.
Of course this question is part of a much wider subject,
viz., The general connection between Art and Morals. We
must often have heard people anxiously inquiring, " Must
good art be moral ? may it be un-moral ?" Or perhaps the
problem is more often stated thus: "Is the object of Art
to produce Pleasure or to promote Morality?" To this
general question the best answer is, "Art should do both."
But before we can discuss the subject at all, another ques-
tion has to be answered, namely, What is the origin of
Art? Without attempting any exhaustive research, we
may remind the reader that all The Arts arise out of a
certain instinct, which impels man to make an appeal to
the senses by expressing his thoughts and emotions in
some external form. When his thoughts and emotions hap-
pen to be worthily directed toward great subjects, his Art
will have dignity; when, in addition to being happily and
wisely selected, what he aims at is represented with fidel-
ity and skill, his Art will have aesthetic worth ; and when
its general tendency is good, his Art may be called moral.
It is quite clear from this that Morality is a quality which
Art may or may not possess ; it does not, except in a very
secondary sense, belong to its constitution. The Morality
depends upon the Artist, not upon the Art. If a man is a
good man, the tendency of his work will probably be mor-
al; and if a bad man, it will most likely be the reverse;
but you may have a work of Art at one and the same time
aesthetically good and morally bad. Provided there be
intelligent selection, fidelity, and skill, although the sub-
AET AND MORALS. 45
ject be presented in a manner disastrous to morals, the
Art will be in a sense good. Even then we may say that
its goodness depends upon the moral qualities of patience,
industry, and truthfulness ; but we can not call it moral
Art, because these qualities have been used without regard
to, or in defiance of, Morality. Those who are content to
value art merely for its power of representing the imagina-
tions of a man's heart through the senses are perfectly en-
titled to say that Art need not aim at promoting morals ;
that it is in its nature an un-moral thing, and of course it
is so in the same sense in which a drug given one day as
a poison and another day as a medicine is in itself perfect-
ly un-moral. The morality lies in the administration, and
comes from a quality which belongs, not to the drug, but
to the agent who administers it. In like manner, the mor-
ality of an artist's work depends upon the good intention
of the artist, as displayed in the general effect which the
expression of his thoughts and emotions is calculated to
produce. Thus, while it is a great mistake to confuse the
nature and constitution of Art with its effects and possi-
ble tendencies by asking such inconsequent questions as
whether it is meant to produce Pleasure or to promote
Morality, it seems to us a still graver mistake to ignore
the fact that the region of Art has every where points of
contact with the region of Morals, and that its dignity and
helpfulness to man depend not only upon a propitious se-
lection and happy execution, but also upon the manifest
aims and objects of the work itself.
But what do we mean by the Region of Morals ? When
15. a man is placed at the equator, and told to travel
Morality r , , . ^ . ' . , .
defined, north or south, his first question will be, which is
the north pole and which is the south pole ? and, unless he
makes up his mind on this preliminary question, he can
4 6 MUSIC, AMOTION AND MO HALS.
not tell whether his steps are leading him right or wrong.
And before we begin to speculate about the good and evil
tendencies of art, we must, in like manner, be able to point
to the poles of Good and Evil themselves. Of course peo-
ple will dispute endlessly about the application of princi-
ples, just as people may select different roads to get to the
north and south, but the poles and their general where-
abouts must be assumed before any kind of certain progress
can be made.
I must here ask the reader to give his assent to some
general principles. I must induce him to admit, for in-
stance, that moral health consists in a certain activity com-
bined with the relative subordination of all his faculties —
in a self-control not checking development, but assisting
it ; enabling him at once to prevent any disastrous vio-
lence through the rebellion of the senses, while giving fair
play to these too often pampered menials. And, above all,
I must ask him to condemn as immoral the deliberate cul-
tivation of unbalanced emotions merely for the sake of pro-
ducing pleasure. Our rough scheme of morals, or our gen-
eral idea of right and wrong, will moreover insist upon the
healthful activity of each individual according to his special
gifts and capacities, directed in such a way as to respect
and promote the healthful activity of society in general.
This may be thought a sufficiently vague statement of
morals, but it is quite definite enough for our present pur-
pose, and will be found to cover most cases in point. I
will venture to call special attention to the assertion that
moral health is consistent with development according to
special gifts and capacities. It will not do to make moral
health consist only in the equal development of all a man's
faculties; he may be fitted to excel in some one direction;
we must admit the principle of specialty in Human Na-
ture, and, if a man be born to excel in eloquence, we must,
MORALITY DEFINED. 47
if necessary, let him off his arithmetic ; or it he is to be a
good engineer^ we must excuse him his arts and literature,
if needful Will that be healthy development ? Well, it
may be on the whole, considering the limits and imperfec-
tions of our present state, the best kind of development of
which he is capable ; for it is morally more healthful to ar-
rive at perfection in one department than to enjoy a puny
mediocrity, or even an inferior excellence in several, and
Nature herself guides us to this conclusion by signally en-
dowing men with special faculties. For this reason, our
notion of moral health should include a special develop-
ment of the individual according to his gifts. But as man
is not a unit, but a member of society, his activity has to
be judged not only with a reference to himself, but also
with reference to his fellows; and here the word healthful
supplies us with a key-note, for what is really morally
healthful for the individual will be found, as a general rule,
healthful to society at large. The man, for instance, whose
art is chiefly devoted to the delineation of love under its
most self-indulgent and least ennobling aspects must be
called an immoral artist, not because he paints the soft
side of love, which is legitimately entitled to have a soft
side to it, but because he dwells exclusively and obtrusive-
ly, for the mere sake of producing pleasure, upon that side
of love which, when unrestrained and exaggerated, is of
all others most calculated to injure the moral health, both
of the individual and of society at large. No doubt every
thing may be represented in art, and when once a subject
has been chosen, nothing is gained by a timorous holding
back of any thing which adds to its power as a faithful
representation of the artist's conception. But the morali-
ty of the work must depend upon the way in which the
conception, as presented, is calculated to affect the moral
health of society. Now, in attempting to judge the ethv
48 MUSIC, EMOTION, AND MORALS.
cal value of a work of art, we must, as I have said, have a
general notion of what we mean by good and evil ; then
we shall have to look at the work itself, not with reference
merely to the actual good and evil expressed by it, but to
the proportions in which the two are mixed, and, above
all, to the kind of sympathy with which they are intended
to be viewed.
In some of the Gothic cathedrals we may have noticed
16. strange figures hiding in nooks and corners, or ob-
Morality , , . . .
applied, trusively claiming attention as water-spouts. Some
of them are revolting enough, but they are not to be sev-
ered from their connection with the whole building. That
is the work of art; these are but the details, and only some
of the details. How many statues are there in all those
niches ? — let us say a thousand. You shall find seventy
pure Virgins praying in long robes, and forty Monks, and
Apostles, and Bishops, and Angels in choirs, and Archan-
gels standing high and alone upon lofty facade, and pinna-
cle, and tower ; and round the corner of the roof shall be
two devils prowling, or a hideous-looking villain in great
pain, or (as in Chester Cathedral) there may be a propor-
tion— a very small proportion — of obscene figures, hard,
and true, and pitiless. " What scandalous subjects for
church decoration !" some may exclaim ; yet the whole im-
pression produced is a profoundly moral one. The sculp-
tor has given you the life he saw ; but he has given it from
a really high stand-point, and all is moral, because all is in
healthy proportion. There is degradation, but there is also
divine beauty ; there is passionate and despairing sin, but
there is also calmness and victory; there are devils, but
they are infinitely outnumbered by angels; there lurks the
blur of human depravity, but as we pass out beneath
groups of long-robed saints in prayer, the thought of sin
MORALITY APPLIED. 49
fades out before a dream of divine purity and peace. We
can see what the artist loved and what he taught ; that is
the right test, and we may take any man's work as a whole,
and apply that test fearlessly. If we would know whether
a work of art is moral or not, let us ask such questions as
these : Does the artist show that his sympathies lie with
an unwholesome preponderance of horrible, degraded, or
of simply pleasurable, as distinct from healthy, emotions ?
Is he for whipping the jaded senses to their work, or mere-
ly for rejoicing in the highest activity of their healthful ex-
ercise ? Does he love what is good while acknowledging
the existence of evil, or does he delight in what is evil, and
merely introduce what is good for the vicious sake of
trampling upon it.
How differently may the same subject involving human
sin be treated ! Given, for instance, the history of a crime ;
one man will represent a bad action as so pleasurable and
attractive as to make us forget its criminality, while anoth-
er, without flinching from descriptive fidelity, will mix his
proportions of good and evil, and distribute his sympathies
in such a manner as to deprive us of all satisfaction in con.
templating the wrong, and inspire us with a wholesome
horror of the crime involved. I need only refer to the ca-
tastrophe in Lord Lytton's " Alice, or the Mysteries," and
in George Eliot's "Adam Bede," as illustrations of the pro-
foundly immoral and moral treatment of the same subject.
The morbid taste which French and Belgian painters ex-
hibit for scenes of bloodshed and murder is another in-
stance of the way in which art becomes immoral by stimu-
lating an unwholesome appetite for horrors. Tintoret's
" Plague of Milan" is horrible enough, but there is this dif-
ference between that picture and such a picture as the two
decapitated corpses of Counts Egmont and Horn, by Louis
Gallait — the Italian masterpiece reflects the profound irm
C
50 MUSIC, EMOTION, AND MORALS.
pression made upon a people suffering from a great na-
tional calamity, while the other is simply a disgusting sop
cast forth to a demoralized and bloodthirsty Parisian pop-
ulace.
The best art is like Shakspeare's art, and Titian's art,
always true to the great, glad aboriginal instincts of our
nature, severely faithful to its foibles, never representing
disease in the guise of health, never rejoicing in the exer-
cise of morbid fancy, many-sided without being unbal-
anced, tender without weakness, and forcible without ever
losing the fine sense of proportion. Nothing can be falser
than to suppose that morality is served by representing
facts other than they are ; no emasculated picture of life
can be moral : it may be meaningless, and it is sure to be
false. No; we must stand upon the holy hill with hands
uplifted like those of Moses, and see the battle of Good
against Evil with a deep and inexhaustible sympathy for
righteousness, and a sense of triumph and victory in our
hearts. The highest service that art can accomplish for
man is to become at once the voice of his nobler aspira-
tions and the steady disciplinarian of his emotions, and it
is with this mission, rather than with any aesthetic perfec-
tion, that we are at present concerned.
I proceed to ask how Music, which I have shown to be
the special Art-medium of Emotion, is capable, in common
with all the other arts, of exercising by itself moral and
immoral functions.
V.
When music becomes a mixed art — that is to say, when
„ V- , it is wedded to words, and associated with definite
Music and , 7
Morality, ideas — when it is made the accompaniment of
scenes which in themselves are calculated to work power-
fully for good or evil upon the emotions — then it is as easy
MUSIC AND MORALITY. 51
to see how music is a moral or an immoral agent as it is
to decide upon the tendency of a picture or a poem. The
song is patriotic, or languishing, or comic, and in each case
the music is used, not as a primary agent to originate, but
as a powerful secondary agent to deepen and intensify the
emotion already awakened by the words of the song or
the operatic situation. But how can a piece of music, like
a picture, be in itself moral, immoral, sublime or degraded,
trivial or dignified ? Must it not entirely depend for such
qualities as these upon the definite thoughts and images
with which it happens to be associated ? I will answer
this question by reminding the reader of another. Does
emotion itself always need definite thoughts and images
before it can become healthful or harmful — in other words,
moral or immoral ? I have endeavored, Book First, II., 6,
7, to show that there was a region of abstract emotion
in human nature constantly indeed traversed by definite
thoughts, but not dependent upon them for its existence ;
that this region of emotion consisted of infinite varieties
of mental temperature ; that upon these temperatures or
atmospheres of the soul depended the degree, and often
the kind of actions of which at different moments we were
capable, and that, quite apart from definite ideas, the emo-
tional region might be dull, apathetic, eager, brooding, se-
vere, resolute, impulsive, etc., but that each one of these
states might exist and pass without culminating in any
kind of action, or being clothed with any appropriate set
of ideas. But if this much be granted, who will deny that
the experience of such Soul-atmospheres must leave a defi-
nite impress upon the character ? For example, the expe-
rience of sustained languor without an effort at acquiring
a more vigorous impulse will be deleterious ; excitement
passing into calmness — vague fear or discomfort giving
place to deep and satisfied feelings of peace or a sense of
52 MUSIC, EMOTION, AND MORALS.
exhaustion, followed by recreation and revival of power —
such will be beneficial, productive, on the whole, of a hope-
ful and encouraging temper of mind; and it is just as pos-
sible to classify these various atmospheric states of mind
as wholesome or the reverse, as it is to classify the various
appropriate thoughts and images to which they may be
attached. Of course, in a thousand instances they are
actually so attached; for as thought is always seeking
emotion, so is emotion always seeking thought, and the
atmospheres of the soul may be said to be constantly pen-
etrated by crowds of appropriate thoughts, which take
their peculiar coloring and intensity only upon entering
the magic precincts of emotion. But if, as we have main-
tained, music has the power of actually creating and ma-
nipulating these mental atmospheres, what vast capacities
for good or evil must music possess ! For what troops of
pleasurable, stimulating, or enervating ideas and fancies is
good dance-music responsible, by providing all these with
the emotional atmospheres which invite their presence,
and by intensifying the situation ! The strains of martial
music as a military band passes by are capable of rousing
something like a spirited and energetic emotion, for a mo-
ment at least, in the breast of the tamest auditor, and the
Bible itself pays a tribute to the emotional eifect and pow-
er of changing the soul's atmosphere possessed by even
such a primitive instrument as David's harp — " When the
evil spirit from God was upon Saul, then David took an
harp, and played with his hand. So Saul was refreshed,
and was well, and the evil spirit departed from him" (1
Sam., xvi., 23). Poor George III., in his fits of melancholy
madness, was deeply sensible of the power of music to cre-
ate atmospheres of peace, and restore something like har-
mony to the "sweet bells" of the spirit "jangled out of
tune." I have no doubt whatever that the acknowledged
EMOTION AND MORALS. 53
influence of music over the insane might be far more ex-
tensively used — indeed, if applied judiciously to a disor-
ganized mind, it might be as powerful an agent as galvan-
ism in restoring healthy and pleasurable activity to the
emotional regions. Who can deny, then, if such a mysteri-
ous command as this is possessed by music over the realm
of abstract emotion, that music itself must be held responsi-
ble for the manner in which it deals with that realm, and
the kind of succession, proportion, and degrees of the vari-
ous emotional atmospheres it has the power of generating?
I pause for a moment to meet the objection often
is. brought against the exercise of emotion apart
Emotion . . .
and Morals, from action. Every thing, it may be said, music
included, which excites an emotion not destined to cul-
minate in action, has a weakening and enervating effect
upon character. This is true when an emotion is roused
which has for its object the performance of a duty. We
may derive pleasure from a glowing appeal to help the
suffering — we may listen with excitement to the details
of the suffering we are called upon to alleviate ; yet, if we
do no more, the emotion will indeed have enervated us.
But to be affected by a drama, a novel, or poem, which
points to no immediate duty of action in us, need not ener-
vate— it may be a healthy exercise or discipline of emo-
tion ; we may be the better for it, we may be the more
likely to act rightly when the opportunity occurs for hav-
ing felt rightly when there was no immediate call for ac-
tion. We ought not to be afraid of our emotions because
they may not be instantly called upon to inspire action.
Depend upon it, a man is better for his formless aspira-
tions after good, and the more powerful and disciplined
the emotions become through constant exercise, the better
it will be for us. It is better to feel sometimes without
54 MUSIC, EMOTION, AND MOliALS.
action, than to act often without feeling. The unpardon-
able sin is to allow feeling to supersede action when the
time for action as the fruit of feeling has arrived. This is
the barren sin of Sentimentalism.
In considering practically the Good and Evil of music
as it comes before us in its highly-developed modern form,
we shall naturally have to refer to the three classes of
people most concerned — the Composee, the Executive
Musician, the Listener.
VI.
The Composer lives in a world apart, into which only
19 those who have the golden key are admitted.
The composer. T}ie gol(jen key js not ttie gense 0f hearing,
but what is called an "Ear for Music." Even then half
the treasures of the composer's world may be as dead let-
ters to the vulgar or untrained, just as a village school-
boy who can read fluently might roam, with an un appre-
ciative gape, through the library of the British Museum.
The composer's world is the world of emotion, full of deli-
cate elations and depressions, which, like the hum of mi-
nute insects, hardly arrest the uncultivated ear — full of
melodious thunder, and rolling waters, and the voice of
the south wind — without charm for the many who pass
by. Full of intensity, like the incessant blaze of Eastern
lightning — full of volocity, like the trailing fire of the fall-
ing stars — full of variety, like woodlands smitten by the
breath of autumn, or the waste of many colors changing
and iridescent upon a sunset sea. The emotions which
such images are calculated to arouse in the hearts of those
who are prepared to entertain them, the composer, who
has studied well the secrets of his art, can excite through
the medium of sound alone ; formless emotions are his
friends. Intimately do the spirits of the air, called into
RISE OF MUSIC. 55
existence by the pulsing vibrations of melody and har-
mony, converse with him. They are the familiars that he
can send forth speeding to all hearts with messages too
subtle for words — sometimes sparkling with irresistible
mirth, at others wild with terror and despair, or filled with
the sweet whispers of imperishable consolation. All this,
and far more than any words can utter, was to be done,
and has been done for man, by music ; but not suddenly,
or at once and altogether, as the first rude attempts, still
extant and familiar to most of us in the shape of Grego-
rian chants, live to attest.
As the early violin-makers, by long lives of solitary toil
20 and intense thought, slowly discovered the per-
Rise of Music. fect \[nes an(j exquisite proportions which make
the violins of Stradiuarius the wonder of the world; as the
various schools of painting in Italy brought to light, one
by one, those elements of form, color, and chiaroscuro
which are found united, with incomparable richness and
grace, in the master-pieces of Raphael, Tintoret, and Titian,
so did the great maestros of the sixteenth century begin
to arrange the rudiments of musical sound in combinations,
not merely correct according to the narrow code of melo-
dy and harmony suggested by a few leading properties of
vibration and the natural divisions of the scale, but in
studied and sympathetic relations adapted to the ever-
changing, complex, and subtle emotions of the heart.
About the time that Italian painting reached its acme of
splendor, the dawn of modern music — that form of art
which was destined to succeed painting, as painting had
succeeded architecture — had already begun. Palestrina,
to whom we owe modern melody, and whose harmonies
enchanted even Mozart and Mendelssohn when they first
heard them in the Pope's chapel at Rome, was born in
56 MUSIC, EMOTION, AND MORALS.
1524, nine years after the death of Raphael. In two hun-
dred and fifty years from that date, the delights of melo-
dy, the depths and resources of harmony, had been ex-
plored. The powers of the human voice, the capacities of
stringed instruments, every important variety of wind in-
strument, the modern organ, and the piano-forte, had been
discovered. Music could no longer be called a terra incog-
nita. When Mozart died, all its great mines, as far as we
can see, had at least been opened. We are not aware that
any important instrument has been invented since his day,
or that any new form of musical composition has made its
appearance. Innumerable improvements in the instru-
mental department have been introduced, and doubtless
the forms of Symphony, Cantata, Opera, and Cabinet mu-
sic, bequeathed to us by the great masters of the eight-
eenth century, have been strangely elaborated by Beetho-
ven, Mendelssohn, and Schumann, and are even now un-
dergoing startling modifications in the hands of Wagner
and his disciples. It is not for us to say in what direction
the rich veins of ore will be found still further to extend,
or what undiscovered gems may yet lie in the rivers, or be
imbedded in the mountain ranges of the musical cosmos.
But we may safely affirm that for all purposes of inquiry
into the rationale or into the moral properties of music, we
are at this moment as much in possession of the full and
sufficient facts as we ever shall be, and therefore we see no
reason why inquiries to which every other Art has been
fully and satisfactorily subjected should be any longer de-
ferred in the case of Music.
The difference between "tweedledum and twcedlcdee"
21. has always been a subject of profound mystery
scntimcuui- to the unmusical world; but the musical world
18m' is undoubtedly right in feeling strongly upon
REALISM AND SENTIMENT ALISM. 5*7
the subject, though unhappily often wrong when trying
to give its reasons. It is quite impossible for any one,
who has thoughtfully and sympathetically studied the dif-
ferent schools of music, not to feel that one style and con-
ception of the art is nobler than another. That certain
methods of using musical sound are affected, or extrava-
gant, or fatiguing, or incoherent, while others are digni-
fied, natural, or really pathetic, arranging and expressing
the emotions in a true order, representing no vamped-up
passion, but passion as it is, with its elations, depressions,
intensities, velocities, varieties, and infinitely fine inflexions
of form. Between the spirit of the musical Sentimentalist
and the musical Realist there is eternal war. The contest
may rage under different captains. At one time it is the
mighty Gluck who opposes the ballad-mongering Piccini ;
at another it is the giant Handel versus the melodramatic
Bononcini ; or it is Mozart against all France and Italy ;
or Beethoven against Rossini ; or Wagner against the
world. In each case the points at issue are, or are sup-
posed by the belligerents to be, substantially the same.
False emotion, or abused emotion, or frivolous emotion
versus true feeling, disciplined feeling, or sublime feeling.
Musicians perhaps can not always explain how music is
capable of the above radical distinctions — granted. I am
concerned just now with this remarkable fact — the distinc-
tion exists in their minds. They arrange the German, the
Italian, French, and the Franco-German schools in a cer-
tain order of musical merit and importance; there is a fair
general agreement about what this order should be ; and,
perhaps without knowing why, an enlightened musician
would no more compare Rossini to Beethoven, or Gounod
to Mozart, than a literary critic would speak of Thomas
Moore in the same breath with Shakspeare, or place Bouci-
cault by the side of Schiller.
C 2
58 MUSIC, EMOTION, AND MORALS.
The reason of the superiority of the modern German
22# school from Gluck to Schumann over the
ianrDand French French and Italian we believe to be a real
Schools. an(j substantial one, although, owing to the
extraordinary nature of the connection between sound and
emotion, it is far more easy to feel than to explain the dis-
tinction between a noble and an ignoble school of music.
This difference, however, we believe consists entirely in
the view taken of the emotions, and the order and spirit
in which they are evoked and manipulated by the compo-
ser's magical art. Toward the close of the seventeenth
century, in Italy, music began to feel its great powers as
an emotional medium. The great musical works were then
nearly all of a sacred character, and devoted to the service
of the Roman Catholic churches. The art was still firmly
held in the trammels of strict fugue and severe counter-
point ; the solemn and startling process of musical discov-
ery was nevertheless in rapid progress. The composers
seemed a little overawed by the novel effects they were
daily producing, and the still powerful devotion to the
Catholic religion hallowed their emotions, and gave to
their Masses a seventy and purity quite unknown to the
Italian music of the nineteenth century. We can not now
stop to inquire whether it was the rapid decline of the Pa-
pal Power, and consequently of the Roman Catholic faith,
which caused the degradation of Italian music, or whether,
when sound came to be understood as a most subtle and
ravishing minister to pleasure, the temptation to use it
simply as the slave of the senses proved too great for a po-
litically-degraded people, whose religion had become half
an indolent superstition and half a still more indolent skep-
ticism ; certain it is that about the time of Giambattista
Jesi (Pergolesi), who died in 1736, the high culture of mu-
sic passed from Italy to Germany, which latter country
GERMAN, ITALIAN, AND FRENCH SCHOOLS. 59
was destined presently to see the rise and astonishing
progress of Symphony and modern Oratorio, while Italy
devoted itself henceforth to that brilliant bathos of art
known as the " Italian Opera."
We can not deny to Italy the gift of sweet and enchant-
ing melody. Rossini has also shown himself a master of
the very limited effects of harmony which it suited his
purpose to cultivate. Then why is not Rossini as good as
Beethoven ? Absurd as the question sounds to a musician,
it is not an unreasonable one when coming from the gen-
eral public, and the only answer we can find is this. Not
to mention the enormous resources in the study and culti-
vation of harmony which the Italians, from want of incli-
nation or ability, neglect, the German music is higher than
the Italian, because it is a truer expression, and a more
disciplined expression, of the emotions. To follow a move-
ment of Beethoven is, in the first place, a bracing exercise
of the intellect. The emotions evoked, while assuming a
double degree of importance by association with the ana-
lytic faculty, do not become enervated, because in the mas-
terful grip of the great composer we are conducted through
a cycle of naturally progressive feeling, which always ends
by leaving the mind recreated, balanced, and ennobled by
the exercise. In Beethoven all is restrained, nothing mor-
bid which is not almost instantly corrected, nothing luxu-
rious which is not finally raised into the clear atmosphere
of wholesome and brisk activity, or some corrective mood
of peaceful self-mastery, or even playfulness. And the
emotions thus roused are not the vamped-up feelings of a
jaded appetite, or the false, inconsequent spasms of the
sentimentalist. They are such as we have experienced in
high moods or passionately sad ones, or in the night, in
summer-time, or by the sea ; at all events, they are unfold-
ed before us, not with the want of perspective, or violent
CO MUSIC, EMOTION, AND MORALS.
frenzy of a bad dream, but with true gradations in natural
succession, and tempered with all the middle tints that go
to make up the truth of life. Hence the different nature
of the emotional exercise gone through in listening to typ-
ical German and typical Italian music. The Italian makes
us sentimentalize, the German makes us feel. The senti-
ment of the one gives the emotional conception of artifi-
cial suffering or joy, the natural feeling of the other gives
us the emotional conception which belongs to real suffer-
ing or joy. The one is stagey — smells of the oil and the
rouge-pot — the other is real, earnest, natural, and repro-
duces with irresistible force the deepest emotional expe-
riences of our lives. It is not good to be constantly dis-
solved in a state of love-melancholy, full of the languor of
passion without its real spirit — but that is what Italian
music aims at. Again, the violent crises of emotion should
come in their right places — like spots of primary color
with wastes of gray between them. There are no middle
tints in Italian music ; the listeners are subjected to shock
after shock of emotion — half a dozen smashing surprises,
and twenty or thirty spasms and languors in each scene,
until at last Ave become like children who thrust their
hands again and again into water charged with electric-
ity, just on purpose to feel the thrill and the relapse. But
that is not healthy emotion— it does not recreate the feel-
ings ; it kindles artificial feelings, and makes reality taste-
less.
Now, whenever feeling is not disciplined, it becomes
weak, diseased, and unnatural. It is because German mu-
sic takes emotion fairly in hand, disciplines it, expresses its
depressions in order to remove them, renders with terrible
accuracy even its insanity and incoherence in order to give
relief through such expression, and restores calm, flinches
not from the tender and the passionate, stoops to pity, and
GERMAN, ITALIAN, AND FRENCH SCHOOLS. 61
becomes a very angel in sorrow ; it is because German
music has probed the humanities and sounded the depths
of our nature — taught us how to bring the emotional re-
gion not only into the highest activity, but also under the
highest control — that we place German music in the first
rank, and allow no names to stand before Gluck, Bach,
Handel, Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven, Schubert, Spohr, Men-
delssohn, and Schumann.
It would not be difficult to show in great detail the es-
sentially voluptuous character of Italian music, the essen-
tially frivolous and sentimental character of French music,
and the essentially moral, many-sided, and philosophical
character of German music ; but I hasten to pass on to the
Executive Musician, merely qualifying the above remarks
with this general caution : Let not the reader suppose that
in the schools of music that take rank after the German
School, there is nothing worthy and beautiful to be found.
Rossini, and even Verdi, are manifestly full of extraordi-
nary merit ; the veteran Auber was a real musical giant ;
and M. Gounod is surely a very remarkable genius. Nor
must we forget that before the rise of German music there
were in England such composers as Tallis, Gibbons, and
Purcell. What I have said above on the three national
Schools of European music applies to the general tenden-
cies of each as a School, and is not intended to condemn in
the productions of individual composers much that is, and
that deserves xo be, the admiration of the civilized world.
vn.
What possible moral influence can an Executive Mu-
23. sician either receive or distribute through his
The Executive . .
Musician. Art ? First let us inquire what he is with ref-
erence to his Art. The Player, like the Composer, is pass-
ive. The one is possessed by the inspirations of his own
62 MUSIC, EMOTION, AND MORALS.
genius, the other by the inspirations of a genius not his
own. The Player, like the Composer, is active. The one
exerts himself to put his conceptions into a communicable
form ; the other charges himself with the office of convey-
ing them, through that form, to the world. The compos-
ing and executive faculties are quite distinct. A great
composer is often an ineffective player, while many a lead-
ing player, with all the requisite knowledge and study, is in-
capable of composing good music. The same is true of the
Drama. The great actors are seldom great dramatists;
neither Garrick nor any of the Keans or Kembles have
been famous authors. The great dramatic authors, in their
turn, have usually been but mediocre before the foot-lights.
Shakspeare himself, if we may trust tradition, was not more
than respectable in his great parts. The originative fac-
ulty is usually considered more heaven-born, as it is cer-
tainly far more rare than the executive gift. Few women
have hitherto possessed the first, numbers have attained
the highest rank in the second. We have had peerless
actresses, but no female dramatists of mark. Music has an
unlimited number of notable sirens and lady instrumental-
ists, but not one original female composer has yet made her
appearance. The ladies of the period, even in England, no
doubt write drawing-room ballads, and their friends sing
them ; but the typical English ballad — we do not speak of
really fine old tunes, or the good work of Mr. Sullivan, and
a few other true English musicians — can hardly be called
a musical composition, even when warbled in bad English
by a Patti. But, however high we may place the com-
poser (and if we regard him as the recreator and disciplina-
rian of the emotions we shall place him very high), the
person who stands between the composer and the audience
has a vast and direct power of which we are bound to give
some account.
THE EXECUTIVE MUSICIAN. 63
And here I notice the double function of music as an ex-
ecutive art ; not only is it a means of revealing a certain
order or succession of emotion in the composer's mind, but
it provides each player with a powerful medium of self-
revelation. There are many different ways of playing the
same piece of music ; the conscientious player will no doubt
begin by carefully studying the movement, noting any p's
or fs, etc., which the composer may have vouchsafed to
give us as hints of his meaning ; and having tried to mas-
ter the emotional unity of the piece, he will then*— bearing
a few prominent p>s andjf's in his mind — trust to a certain
infection of impulse to carry him through its execution.
But as the music develops beneath his fingers, what oppor-
tunities there are for the expression of his own individuali-
ty ; what little refinements, what subtle points, what im-
perceptible artifices for riveting choice turns in the compo-
sition upon the ear of the listener ! The great composers
seem to cast off all egotism when they lay down their
pens. They are the generous and sympathetic friends of
those who interpret them ; they will give them all reason-
able license. " The music," each master seems to say, " is
yours and mine; if you would discover and share my im-
pulse through it, I would also discover and share yours in
it. I will bring the gem and you shall bring the light, and
together we will set before the world the raptures and
mysteries of sound, wrought through the golden art of
music into immortal Tone Poems."
But, although music is given to the player as a sort of
private property, the player must no doubt respect the
general outline and balance of emotion discoverable upon
a careful study of his sonata or solo; but he was intended
to interpret its detail for himself, to express through the
unalterable elations and depressions involved in the struc-
ture of the music the various and subtle degrees of inten-
(34 MUSIC, EMOTION, AND MORALS.
sity of which he may be at the time capable. He may
give inflexions of his own, delicate treatments in different
measures of velocity, often unperceived by the many, but
none the less of infinite importance and meaning to the in-
telligent hearer.
In different hands, the same piece will sound quite dif-
ferently. Then music has no fixed significance of its own,
and is merely the plaything of caprice, and the vague and
doubtful echo of emotion ? Not so. Every piece of music
worthy of the name has a fixed progression and complete-
ness of emotion, but within its outlines it also possesses an
elastic quality and a power of expressional variety which
helps it to combine and cling about each new executant as
though made for him alone. The player thus discovers in
his music not only the emotional scheme and conception
of the composer, but also congenial elements, which he ap-
propriates after his own fashion, and which constitute that
striking bond of momentary sympathy which exists so
strangely between fine singers or soloists and their audi-
ences. But may I here observe, that substantially there
is far less difference than is generally supposed between
the " readings" of eminent players. Between M. Charles
Halle's and Madame Schumann's readings of the Moonlight
Sonata, for instance (and we select these eminent artists as
the opposite poles of the musical temperament), there is the
same kind of difference as we might notice between Miss
Glyn's and Mrs. Kemble's readings of a scene in Shakspeare,
or between Mr. Phelps's and M. Fechter's impersonations
of Hamlet. Difference of minute inflexions and variety of
inflexions — difference of degrees in the intensity or veloci-
ty of the emotion traversed ; but substantially each would
be found to preserve the same general appreciation of the
way in which the different sections are intended to march.
Here and there a dispute would arise ; but, in fact, the good
TEE EXECUTIVE MUSICIAN. (35
reader or actor does exactly what the performer ought to
do. In the first place, he carefully studies the meaning of
his author ; and, in the second, he allows his own individ-
uality free play, in flowing period and subtle rendering
within the elastic limits always characteristic of a highly
emotional work of art. The best executive musician, then,
is he who has thoroughly mastered his composer's thought,
and who, in expressing that thought to others, allows his
own individuality to pierce freely, as every man must do
who has not only learned by rote, but really assimilated
what he comes forward to reproduce. To the above defi-
nition of what an executant should be, every other descrip-
tion of what executants are can be easily referred. Exec-
utants are of six kinds :
1. Those who study the composer, and also express them-
selves.
2. Those who express themselves without regard to the
composer.
3. Those who express the composer without regard to
themselves.
4. Those who caricature both.
5. Those who express other people's views of the com-
position.
6. The dullards, who express nothing.
It would be very tempting to dilate upon these six class-
es. We can only at present afford to enumerate them, and
pass on.
The life of a successful singer or an illustrious instru-
24, mentalist is full of peril — peril to virtue, peril to
Soloists. art^ per-j tQ socjety . aiK] thjs js not owing at all to
the exigencies of the executive gift in itself, but entirely
owing to the conditions imposed upon the artist from with-
out. There need be nothing in the life-work of a great
(3(3 MUSIC, E3WTI0N, AND MORALS.
Prima-donna to demoralize any more than in the life-work
of any other gifted and industrious woman. There are
great operas which are calculated to ennoble while they
delight ; there are songs which stir within us the finest
impulses ; there are characters to be impersonated on the
operatic stage which not only do not shock decency, but
tend to promote the highest and most generous sentiment.
There are many others of an un-moral description, perfect-
ly harmless, and calculated to produce the utmost enjoy-
ment. Given a right selection of songs — given a course
of operas dealing, if you will, with a certain amount of
crime and a fair instalment of horrors, but so constructed
as to be effective in result without beinsr immoral in tend-
ency (and the greatest works of Shakspeare and Beetho-
ven satisfy both these conditions) ; given to the singer
good remuneration, and, above all, sufficient repose ; given
some choice of congenial subjects; given a sphere of whole-
some activity, and, lastly, given a recognized and an hon-
orable social position, and all special peril to personal vir-
tue immediately ceases. It is nonsense to say that a cer-
tain physical exhaustion which must accompany any high-
ly-sustained effort of mind or body is especially deleteri-
ous in the case of a musician. Exertion need not produce
disease. People were intended to exert themselves. Does
the Parliamentary orator speak for four hours without fa-
tigue ? Does the medical man see one hundred patients
in the course of the morning without severe mental ten-
sion ? Does a judge deliver his charges without a similar
effort ? Does the author compose without highly-wrought
and sustained attention, practiced advisedly, and without
necessary injury to his brain, or stomach, or moral equilib-
rium ? Let us settle it in our minds, there is nothing de-
moralizing in deliberately, and for a definite art purpose,
putting one's self or others through the experience of a
SOLOISTS. 67
highly-strung series of emotions. It is even a good and
healthy function of art to raise our feelings at times to
their highest pitch of intensity. It is part of a right sys-
tem of discipline, calculated to bring the emotions into
high condition and healthy activity, and to keep them in a
good state of repair. The body is intended and fitted to
bear at times an extreme tension of its muscles. The pro-
fessional athlete knows this, and when he is rubbed down
and rolled up in his hot blanket after violent exercise, he
is not alarmed at feeling himself going off into a profound
sleep through sheer exhaustion, for he knows that such
systematic exertion and exhaustion must be undergone in
order to raise his physique to its highest state of health
and power. Well, the laws which regulate the life and
health of the emotions are exactly similar, and these laws
prescribe steady exercise, rest, recreation, and sometimes
extreme tension. In itself, we repeat, the habitual exer-
cise and discipline of the emotions, as, for example, in mu-
sic or acting, is not the ruin of, but the very condition of,
moral health. It is the kind of strain imposed upon our
musical artists, not by their art, but by the struggle for
existence, and by the thoughtless, extravagant, indolent,
and often immoral demands of a public that has little mu-
sical education, and that little bad, which hurries nine
tenths of all our gifted executants to a premature grave.
The cantatrice should be allowed to unfold her aspirations
in noble music ; but she has the misfortune to have half an
octave more than other singers, and so bad and flimsy
songs must be chosen, or noble songs must be spoiled, for
the sake of an upper C, E, or G. The public go mad, not
about the superb trio in William Tell (for example), but
for the one bar in which the tenor has to come out with a
high chest-note. Can any thing be more sadly indicative
of the low musical feeling of the British public than the
68 MUSIC, EMOTION, AND MORALS.
way in which Mademoiselle Carlotta Patti was run after
for her head-notes, and Herr Wachtel for his chest-notes?
These excessive calisthenic and gymnastic explosions are
the degradation of taste and the ruin of many an incom-
parable voice. Again : has a musician no private taste,
no feeling, no love for good music ? Possibly he may
have ; but what is he to do ? Composers pay him to sing
their trash ; publishers bribe even good composers to write
the kind of stuff the public have been fooled into applaud-
ing. That is one, and not the only, chronic complaint
from which Music in England is suffering at present.
There are hundreds of magnificent songs of Schubert, of
Beethoven, and Schumann; but these composers, who had
but few bank-notes to spare during their lifetime, have un-
fortunately left no money to pay singers after their death.
The public do not hear numbers of the best songs that ex-
ist. One or two perhaps emerge. " Adelaide" forever !
and what other song by Beethoven does a certain eminent
Tenor habitually sing ? And what songs does he general-
ly sing, and why ? There are a good many first-rate En-
glish ballads. Thanks to the enterprise of a few bold and
conscientious singers, we occasionally hear some of them.
But are the English ballads most commonly sung at con-
certs selected for their merit ? Why are they sung ? The
truth had better be told ; they are sung because they are
paid for, and they are clapped and puffed by people who
ought to know better; and who do know better, but who
are paid to pocket their conscience, and applaud what they
know to be meaningless trash. How are singers to fulfill
the first simple duty they owe to their art, and sing good
music, when there is a conspiracy to make them stoop to
the humiliation of their noble gifts, or starve ? Once more :
there is the peril of overwrought powers. When the mind,
through excessive artistic excitement," like a jarred pend-
SOLOISTS. 69
ulum, retains only its motion, not its power," then absolute
repose is wanted. All may have been within the bounds
of healthful though intense excitation ; it is not that we
complain of — not the excitement of singing and playing,
but the want of rest which follows it. After (let us say)
an opera of M.Wagner, where the screeching has been in-
tense, and the crises almost constant for some hours, the
Prima-donna must have rest ; no stormy rehearsal next
morning, no fatiguing opera the next night. One or two
great sustained efforts during the week are sufficient. But
let any one glance at the programme which a favorite
singer is expected to carry out day and night, at opera
and concert, during the season. No flesh and blood can
stand such an ordeal. Chronic exhaustion begins to set
in ; and exhaustion is not met by rest, but by stimulants
— it must be so ; and then more exhaustion is met by more
stimulants, and what becomes of healthy emotional activ-
ity and emotional discipline? Mind and body are un-
hinged. The artist's health suffers, the artist's voice suf-
fers, and probably becomes extinct in a few years. Hence
we can not blame popular singers for asking enormous
sums so long as they have a note left in their voices. It
is the public that makes them abuse their priceless gifts
for gold. It is the public who are content to demand the
sacrifice of fresh, girlish constitutions, and the shattering
of the young, manly frames, and the general wreck of
mind, and sometimes of morals, through overfatigue and
overexcitement, and unhealthy conditions of activity.
But, be it observed, the perils above alluded to, and oth-
ers which can not here be discussed in detail, are not in-
separable from the vocation of a public singer or solo in-
strumentalist. The vocation is simply honorable ; it might
and ought to be always noble in its use and exercise. How
many esteemed and high-minded musicians are there who
70 MUSIC, EMOTION, AND MORALS.
resist the perils which I have mentioned? Thank God
there are many, and we trust every year there will be
more and more as Music in England becomes more and
more appreciated. Let music be recognized here as in
Germany, as a thing of Reason and a thing of Morals as
well as a thing of Beauty and Emotion, and the public will
cease to look upon musicians as mere purveyors of Pleas-
ure. We should not encourage singers to wear themselves
out ; should not clamor for incessant encores, which utter-
ly ruin the balance of a sustained work of art; and we
should remember that the gifted persons who delight us
are made of flesh and blood like ourselves ; that they have
human hearts, and passions, and trials, and are often ex-
posed, when very young and at a great disadvantage, to
temptations not easily resisted even under favorable cir-
cumstances. And those who love music should make al-
lowance for those who devote themselves to music, and
not tempt them to make money by the degradation of art
to the ruin of their own moral sense and the destruction
of the public taste.
I honor the musical profession ; but I declare that musi-
cal taste in England is degraded and kept low by jealousy
and time-serving, and that musical criticism is so gagged,
and prejudiced, and corrupt, that those whose business it
is to see that right principles prevail seem too often led by
their interest rather than their duty. When it comes to
judging a new composer, the truth is not told, or only half
told ; when a new player is allowed to appear, his success
depends, not upon his merits, but upon his friends ; and
while it is, of course, impossible entirely to quell first-class
merit, second-class merit is constantly ignored, and many
sound English musicians are often compelled to stand aside
and see their places taken by young quacks or foreigners
inferior to~themselves. No one wishes to deny the su-
ORCHESTRAL PL A YERS. 7 1
preme merit of artists like M. Joachim or Madame Schu-
mann, and none but the interested or the envious can
grudge them their distinguished popularity; but in En-
gland, when a foreigner and an English artist are of equal
merit, the English artist ought to receive at least an equal
share of support from the public and the press. But he
never does ; and why ? because the employers of musical
talent in this country pander to the appetite for every
thing that is foreign ; because they keep down the devel-
opment of English talent in order to gain an easy reputa-
tion in accordance with established prejudices by constant-
ly bringing over players and singers from abroad whose
chief merits seem to consist in long hair and a very im-
perfect acquaintance with the English language. It is dif-
ficult for a musician, especially an English musician, in En-
gland to be at once true to his own interests and to the in-
terests of his art ; it is difficult for him to be true to his
conscience in the exercise of his profession ; but he may
receive some small comfort from the reflection that this
last difficulty, at least, is one which he shares with every
man in every profession, and that, at all events, it is not a
difficulty inherent in his art, neither is it altogether insur-
mountable.
I am not writing a dissertation upon "Music in En-
25. Hand " and although I have allowed myself in
Orchestral ° . , ., , , 1 ■
Players, this place to take a sidelong glance at that impor-
tant subject, I am not bound here to discuss English mu-
sicians in particular, whether composers or players. Much
might be said about musical taste in the provinces ; our
system of piano-forte instruction, which is, in fact, that
branch of the musical profession to which a large majority
of our musicians owe their incomes; our organist, and our
orchestral players, and choral singers. To follow out such
72 MUSIC, EMOTION, AND MORALS.
a programme in detail would lead me beyond my present
limits. I am dealing simply with the general moral tend-
encies of executive art; and as that divides itself natural-
ly into solo playing and cabinet playing, such as the play-
ing of quartet music, and orchestral playing, or the per-
formance of full instrumental scores, a few words upon the
Morals of the Orchestra may not be out of place. As I
shall elsewhere speak of cabinet music, and as from the
quasi-solo position of cabinet players a good deal which
has been said about solo players applies to them, I shall
not here dwell upon them, but pass at once to the Orches-
tral Player.
The orchestral player, if he knows his business, will deny
himself the luxury of expressing too much of himself, yet
is he not therefore a machine. Through the medium of the
conductor, whose inspiration trickles to him by a kind of
magnetism from that electric wand, he, too, realizes the
music in its double capacity of expressing the composer's
thought and the conductor's private reading or expression
of that thought. But the Conductor is now in the place
of the Soloist: his instrument is the orchestra, but that in-
strument is not a machine. You may imagine, if you
please, a number of instruments worked by machinery ;
they may play a movement accurately with all its^>'s and
f's, but that will not be an orchestral rendering of the
work. It will be like the grinding of a barrel-organ, and
that is all — no life, no emotion, no mind. Catgut, wooden
tubes, hammering of calf-skins, and fatal explosion of bra-
zen serpents, all this you shall accomplish with cunning
mechanism, more than this you shall not. Therefore the
mind, and the heart, and the skill of a man shall be re-
quired in every member of an orchestra. To the eye of an
uninitiated spectator, that uniform drawing up and down
of bows all in the same direction and all at once — that si-
ORCHESTRAL PLAYERS. 73
niultaneous blare of horns, trumpets, and flute-notes sound-
ed instantly at the call of the magic wand, may seem like
human mechanism, but it is not — it is Sympathy. The in-
dividuality of each player may indeed be merged in a larger
and more comprehensive unity of thought and feeling, but
it is a unity with which he is in electric accord, and to
which he brings spontaneously the faculties of personal ap-
preciation and individual skill.
Let no one say that orchestral work is beneath the dig-
nity of a good musical artist. The very delays and vexa-
tions of rehearsal often unfold new turns and critical points
in a great work which might otherwise pass unnoticed.
The position and use of the other instruments is better
realized by one who is playing in the orchestra than by any
one else. The fact of the drums being close behind you
will sometimes rivet your attention, unpleasantly, perhaps,
upon the way in which but two notes are made to pro-
duce the illusive but beautiful effect of several repeating
the leading subject, as in the opening movement of Men-
delssohn's Lobgesang. The tenor close beside you forces
a phrase upon your ear, the ghost of which, or a fragment
of which, may be just suggested again by a distant flute a
line or two farther on. You can not miss the author's in-
tention. Of course it is not impossible, but it is not easy
for any one who has not played a violin or some other
prominent instrument in such words as Beethoven's C
minor, or Pastoral Symphony, and played it often, to real-
ize the reasons why certain passages are given to the ten-
ors rather than to the violoncellos; why some notes are
re-enforced by the double-bass while some are left to the
violoncellos; why the rhythmic beat of the drum is broken
here or completed there. A great deal, no doubt, can be
done by reading a full score without an orchestra. Some
kind, and a very good kind, of appreciation may be formed
D
74 MUSIC, EMOTION, AND MORALS.
of an orchestral work from a piano-forte score, especially
if it be arranged for four hands. For perfect enjoyment
again, let a person study his score at home, and then, tak-
ing his seat in a favorable position, not too near the or-
chestra, with his score marked for reference at certain
points rather than for steady perusal, let him concentrate
his mind upon the emotional development of the work
with a full and foregone appreciation of its intellectual
form. But still, if you really want to discover the techni-
cal mysteries of the orchestration, you must get inside and
look more closely at the astonishing works ; nay, you must
become one of the works ; you must take an instrument,
and plod away in the orchestra yourself. When you have
tried that, you will begin to understand why so few people
succeed in writing well for an orchestra. How easy it is
to mistake a tenor for a 'cello effect, or to give a phrase to
the clarionet wThen the texture or consistency of the har-
mony wrould be best consulted by the thinner, sweeter, but
equally incisive oboe.
There is, therefore, in the orchestra incessant work for
the player's mind; and as he is also greatly privileged
in constantly assisting in the production of masterpieces,
what opportunities for the culture and discipline of the
emotional regions of the soul are his ! When he opens
his part of the "Italian Symphony," or plunges into the
"Fidelio," what a magnificent panorama of emotion opens
out before him ! But it is no unreal spectacle. Like Ulys-
ses, who was a part of all he saw, he is a part of all he
hears; shall not something of the spirit and power of the
great composers, with whose works he is constantly iden-
tifying himself, pass into him as the reward of his enthusi-
asm, his docility, and his self-immolation?
It may be said that we are taking an ideal view of or-
chestral playing. No doubt we are dealing with the es-
ORCHESTRAL PLAYERS. 75
sence of the thing itself — not as it is, but as it should be.
Practically as it is, the vocation of the orchestral player
has many drawbacks. The weary repetition of what he
knows for the sake of other players who do not know their
parts, the constant thwarting of the gifted players by the
stolid ones, and the tension of long and harrowing rehear-
sals under conductors who do not know their own minds,
or who can not impart what they do know to the players,
or who are so irritable, cantankerous, and, at the same
time, so vexatiously exacting as to destroy every particle
of pleasure or sympathy with their work in the breasts of
the executants at the very moment when these qualities
are most indispensable to the execution of the music. Then
there is the cheerless musical wear and tear of regular or-
chestral life. The pantomine music, not in moderation and
once in a way, but every night all through a protracted
season ; for we are afraid to say how long the pantomine
goes on after the departure of that inveterate bore, Old
Father Christmas.
Then really excellent players are occasionally subjected
to the demoniac influences of that rhythmic purgatory
known as the Quadrille Band ; or the humbler violinists
are to be met with, accompanied by a harp and cornet-a-
piston, making what is commonly understood to be music
for the dancers in "marble halls," or any where else, it
matters little enough to them. Shall we blame them if
they look upon such work as mere mechanical grind — as
the omnibus-horse looks upon his journey to the city and
home again — a performance inevitable, indeed, but highly
objectionable, and not to be borne save for the sake of the
feed at the end? Then we must not forget the low sala-
ries of many orchestral players, the small prospect of a
slow rise, and the still smaller chance of ever becoming
leaders in any orchestra worth leading. Or, again, the
76 MUSIC, EMOTION, AND MORALS.
weariness and disgust of your efficient men at seeing them-
selves kept out of their right places by old, incompetent
players.
On the Continent wise provisions are made, and retiring
pensions provided by government, or there are special so-
cieties for superannuated musicians. Every man in the or-
chestra knows that he will have to retire when his hand
begins to lose its cunning ; in his old age he is honorably
supported, as he deserves to be, and his place is filled up
by an efficient substitute, Art does not suffer, the public
does not suffer, the interests of music are not jobbed, and
no one is the worse. But in England the government
treats music with a supercilious smile, and with the most
undisguised stinginess ; as who should say, " A fig for your
bands and Bear-gardens !" And the prime minister would
as soon think of granting pensions to superannuated musi-
cians as of giving an annual banquet in Westminster Hall
to the industrious fraternity of the metropolitan organ-
grinders.
It is quite impossible to say at what age a man gets
past his work, but the conductor of every orchestra knows
very well who it is that mars the whole ; and it is quite
notorious that whatever inferiority there is in our leading
orchestras in comparison with leading Continental orches-
tras is chiefly owing to the fact that a conductor in En-
gland can not very easily get rid of men who have grown
infirm in their places, and who would have retired long
ago from any foreign orchestra as a matter of course.
It would be foolish to underrate the value of veteran
experience and steadiness, but it must be remembered that
the muscles will stiffen, and the ear and eye will grow dull,
and that many a man whose brain is still active may be-
come, through mere want of flexibility and feebleness of
nerve, unfit for efficient work in the orchestra. We repeat
CULTURE. 77
emphatically, it is impossible, with so many still splendid
old players before the public, to say when age means in-
firmity ; and when we think of the prodigies of military
valor, forensic ability, literary and artistic power which we
have witnessed within the last few years ; when we recol-
lect that Lord Brougham, Lord Lyndhurst, and Lord Pal-
merston have but lately passed away ; that Thomas Carlyle
is still with us ; that M. Victor Hugo but lately published
one of the most stirring and eloquent apostrophes to Lib-
erty ; that Sir E. Landseer continues to paint his best pic-
tures ; that M. Auber still composed operas in extreme old
age; that General Garibaldi is still ready (1871) to draw
the sword ; that even the Pope feels equal to an (Ecumen-
ical Council ; and that the aged monarch of Prussia, in
company with the still more aged Yon Moltke, has just
been leading his troops to victory against what all Europe
supposed to be the greatest military nation in the world —
when we remember a few of such facts, it is not too much
to say that the nineteenth century is emphatically the tri-
umphant Era of Old Age.
That musicians are commonly devoid of culture is an as-
2G sertion only half true. The culture of ideas they
Culture. may or may not possess — the culture of emotion
the true musician has in a degree incomparably greater
than the self-satisfied flaneurs, who talk the common slang
about culture, can believe or understand. On the other
hand, there are classes of musicians, as there are classes of
lawyers, and classes of painters. There are pettifoggers,
for whom no job is too dishonorable, and there are law
lords and incorruptible judges of the realm ; there are sign-
board manufacturers, and servile tricksters, and copyists,
who may call themselves painters, and there are Wattses
and Holman Hunts ; and so there are drunken fiddlers and
78 MUSIC, EMOTION, AND MORALS.
Joachims, low ballad-writers and Mendelssohns. Still, ic
must be admitted that an ordinary musician is likely to be
less cultured in the common acceptation of the term than
a good painter, and probably, as a rale, the executive mu-
sicians, as a class of thoughtful and well-read men, rank be-
low the Artist-world ; and for this reason : They have not
so much time for reading and thinking. A piano -forte
teacher gives lessons all day long; an orchestral player
must practice incessantly ; so must the solo player. It may
be replied, so must the artist paint incessantly. True ; but
practicing on an instrument to keep the fingers well " in,"
or to master difficult passages, is almost entirely mechan-
ical, and painting is not.
The practice of musical mechanism is not intellectual —
it does not nourish the brain or feed the heart ; it does not-
even leave the mind at liberty to think — it chokes every
thing but its own development, and that is mere physical
development. But as the painter works on, every stroke
of the brush is not only a mechanical action, but a thought
or an emotion; and there is no reason why the emotions
he experiences should not clothe themselves with definite
trains of definite ideas — they are nearly certain to do so —
he will think when he paints alone; he can also converse
while painting ; all his manual labor is inseparably con-
nected with intellectual, imaginative, or emotional process-
es. The musician's strict exercise, which, after all, takes
up a great deal of his time, admits of very little intellect,
imagination, or emotion. It requires industry, perception,
and nerve ; in short, because it is more mechanical, it is
therefore less refining and elevating. And this is the worst
that can be said concerning the Intellectual effects of his
essential training upon the Executive Musician.
MORALITY. 79
Of course, good people who think music and the drama
2T necessarily wicked must be respected, but can not
Morality. ^e reasone(j with. However, it is hardly fair not
to recognize in society an undercurrent of belief to the
effect that executive musicians are less distinguished for
morality than their neighbors. The belief may not be quite
unfounded, but it is, nevertheless, most unfair. Inspect
closely any class of persons, and attention to morals will
not appear to be one of its strong points. But some class-
es fail more publicly than others. The executive musician
is always before the world, and, as a consequence, his pri-
vate life is more frequently and rudely handled than other
people's. Yet it can not be denied that he has fewer out-
ward inducements to be moral, and more temptations to
be the reverse, than falls to the lot of men in other pro-
fessions. One of his disadvantages consists in the compar-
ative indifference of the public to his morals. There have
been cases in England of great solo players excluded from
public engagements owing to a momentary sentiment of
indignant virtue on the part of the Public, and received
back to favor only a few months after some more than usu-
ally glaring violation of morals. Others have left this mor-
al country hurriedly, and under a cloud, and been raptur-
ously welcomed back to London in the following season.
So long as the virtuoso plays well, the Public seems will-
ing to condone his offenses more easily than those of any
other professional man, and for this obvious reason — it feels
no direct interest in his morality. An intemperate doctor
may poison you, a dishonest lawyer may cheat you ; but a
musician may be both intemperate and dishonest, and yet
may play superbly, which means that, apart from morality,
he may have a fine perception of the functions of musical
sound, and a delicate executive gift in expressing the subtle
atmospheres of the soul.
80 MUSIC, EMOTION, AND MORALS.
That intemperance will end by impairing his powers —
that, even while occasionally stimulating them to high
achievements, it will destroy the fine balance and natural
healthy force of the emotions themselves — this can hardly
be doubted ; and, indeed, within the last few years we have
seen lamentable cases in point. That dishonesty will make
the musician sadly indifferent to the interests of art when
opposed to his own, that he will be unscrupulous in the use
of his gifts, and unconscientious in music as in other things,
this we might fairly expect, and it is, unhappily, a matter
of daily notoriety ; but the Public, who hears what he can
do, does not much trouble itself with what he might do ;
and it is just this apathy which destroys one very common
incentive to external morality by removing the pressure
put upon a man from without to lead a respectable life.
What is here said of the male portion of the musical com-
munity is equally true of the female portion. As a rule,
women have been far more valued by society for their per-
sonal virtue than for their gifts ; and as an eminent writer
has observed, society condones in men certain offenses
which it deems almost unpardonable in women, because it
values men, and needs them for their intellectual, imagina-
tive, or administrative powers quite independently of their
morals; but when women come before the world as pos-
sessed of gifts which cause them to be valued apart from
their virtue, like the sterner sex, society shows a disj^osi-
tion to extend to them the same weak indulgence it gives
so freely and so selfishly to men.
Again, the unhealthy conditions of work alluded to
above oppose special and often very great obstacles to
virtue ; but to say that executive musical art has a tend-
ency to demoralize, or that, taking every thing into con-
sideration, executive musicians as a class are worse than
other people, is either the assertion of one who knows
MORALITY. 81
nothing at all about them or their art, or who, knowing
them, is guilty of pronouncing a cruel and unjust libel
upon both. Together with a sprinkling of very distin-
guished vocalists and instrumentalists from other coun-
tries, a large number of very low-class foreigners, with
foreign habits and very foreign morals, have unhappily
taken up their abode in England. They announce them-
selves as professors of music, and it is to be feared that
people of limited information and intelligence are in the
habit of sometimes visiting the irregularities of these un-
welcome strangers upon the whole of the musical profes-
sion. In defense of music in general, and to the honor of
English musicians in particular, be it said, that whoever
will think of the most prominent English singers and play-
ers now before the public will have to recall the names of
a number of distinguished men and women who have led
laborious and honorable lives, and who are justly entitled
to the esteem and affection of an ever-widening circle of
friends.
But if we turn for a moment from the world of Execu-
tants to the world of Composers, one fact must strike us
— that not only were the great composers, as a rule, not
addicted to the excesses which some would have us believe
almost inseparable from a musical temperament, but they
appear to have been singularly free from them. Without
asserting that every portion of a man's work is always a
true index of his character^ it is, nevertheless, noteworthy
that so many great composers have been men whose emo-
tions were so severely disciplined, and whose lives were so
well regulated, that they stand out as examples not only
of steady and indefatigable workers, but also of high-
minded moral and even religious men. Nor is it true that
the constant emotional excitement of a composer's life is
calculated to impair his health and bring him to an early
D2
82 MUSIC, EMOTION, AND MORALS.
grave. His profession, rightly exercised, does not lead to
the unbalanced excitement of sensuous emotions, which is
certainly highly prejudicial to both moral and physical
health, but to the orderly education and discipline of emo-
tion, which is a very different thing. This consideration
may help to explain not only the settled principle and
moral impulse, but also the longevity of so many great
composers. The early Italian masters became great chief-
ly through their sacred music ; and while it must not be
supposed that the fact of composing for the Church makes
a man holy, we can not deny to these men, as a class, a
great deal of exalted and often mystical religious fervor.
Unhappily, this quality does not seem to be inconsistent
with an occasional laxity of morals which can not be too
much deplored ; but, in judging the men, we must think of
the age in which they lived, the temptations to which they
were exposed, and the loose state of morals which in Italy,
Germany, and France seems at certain epochs to have
been all but universal. We shall then see that the com-
posers were no worse than their neighbors, and we shall
be surprised to find how often they actually rose superior
to the moral level of their age and country.
Alessandro Scarlatti, who was born in Sicily in 1649,
was one of the most industrious composers that ever lived.
He discharged for many years the functions of Royal
Chapel Master at Naples ; but his chief claim to the es-
teem and affections of the Neapolitans consisted in his
gratuitous and indefatigable labors as music-master in a
large charity school known under the name of " Jesus
Christ's Poor of Loretto." He was universally respected.
Mabcello, born at Venice, 1686, underwent what some
persons would call a regular conversion. As he was hear-
ing mass in the Church of the Holy Apostles, the pavement
gave way, and let him through into the vault beneath.
MORALITY. 83
This sudden meeting with the Dead seems to have made a
lasting impression upon him, and he is said to have aban-
doned from that time forth his somewhat free habits for a
more strict style of living. His greatest works are the
"Psalmi" and "Laudi Spirituali ;" and his monument at
the Church of S. Joseph at Brescia, subscribed to by all
the poets and musicians of the age, bears the inscription,
" Benedicto Marcello, patricio Veneto, piissimo philologo."
The gentle Lalande, born in 1657, was much respected
by the dissolute courtiers of Louis XIV. He was natu-
rally of a religious temperament, nor does he seem to have
been spoiled by the corruption of the Parisian court. He
was twice married, and had two beautiful daughters, both
of whom died ; and one of the few pious sentiments re-
corded of the Grand Monarque, who had just lost his own
son, the Dauphin, was addressed to the bereaved composer :
"You have lost two daughters full of merit; /have lost
Monseigneur." Then, pointing to the sky, the king added,
"Lalande, we must learn submission to the will of God."
Gluck, born in 1714, was the most severe and conscien-
tious of men in his own vocation. He first conceived the
germs of those ideas which under Mozart were destined to
blossom into the classical school of German opera. Not-
Avithstanding his immense popularity, he made few friends,
but those few respected him. Incessant labor at length
shattered his naturally robust constitution, and in his de-
clining years he was unfortunately somewhat addicted to
drinking ; yet no one remembering what Paris was in the
time of the Gluckists and Piccinists, Marmontel, D'Alem-
bert, and Marie Antoinette, can deny that Gluck, in his
best days, gave a good example to the dissolute capital of
moderation and self-respect.
Of dear old Sebastian Bach, born at Eisenach, 1685, let
us merely say that he was a good husband, father, and
84 MUSIC, EMOTION, AND MORALS.
friend ; in the words of his friend Kittell, " he was an ex-
cellent man."
Handel, born in 1685, need not found his claim to relig-
ion on the number and sublimity of his sacred composi-
tions alone. He lived so lono- among*- us that we know he
was a good man. He was brought up as a Lutheran Prot-
estant, and in an age of bitter sectarianism has often been
charged with lukewarmness for refusing to define accurate-
ly his religious opinions, and still more for refusing to ex-
communicate Roman Catholics, Jews, Turks, infidels, and
heretics; but his honor was unblemished, his personal pu-
rity (a matter in the eyes of the religious world apparently
of less consequence than theological opinions) was always
absolutely unquestioned, and his genuine piety is fully at-
tested by his affectionate biographer Hawkins.
Haydn, born in 1*732, was naturally of a most happy and
equable disposition. For many years he bore with great
patience and fortitude the society of a most uncongenial
wife ; and although in the decline of life, after a friendly
separation had been effected, and a liberal allowance set-
tled upon the partner of his sorrows, his relations with a
certain Mademoiselle Boselli are said to have been more
than Platonic, this accusation has never been proved, and
certainly no words would be less fit to describe his hab-
its of life at any time than " excess" or " intemperance."
Whatever may have been his weaknesses, it is certain that
Papa Haydn to the end retained a lively sense of religion,
and it is interesting and characteristic of this great and
simple man to know that he never began writing without
inscribing his compositions with the words "In nomine
Domini," and that whenever he found it difficult to com-
pose he would resort to his rosary in prayer, a practice
which he declared was always accompanied with the hap-
piest results. He was a man without ambition and with-
MORALITY. 85
out jealousy, simply devoted to his art, quite uncovetous,
and, until comparatively late in life, equally unconscious
of his own immense merit and widespread fame.
Cherubtnt, born at Florence in 1760, for many years
commanded the respect and admiration of the French pub-
lic by his steady and conscientious labors at the Conserva-
toire at Paris.
Spohr, born at Brunswick, 1784> and Meyerbeer, born
at Berlin, 1794, were both distinguished for their abste-
mious and laborious lives. The name of neither is associ-
ated with excesses of any kind : both were personally re-
spected and beloved by a large circle of friends.
Mozart, born in 1756, at Salzbourg, was a man of the
most singularly well-balanced character. His natural dispo-
sitions seemed all good, his affectional instincts all healthy,
and his religious life earnest and practical. The following
passage out of one of his letters to his father, in 1782, will
give a better idea of the man's rare simplicity and relig-
ious feeling than pages of eulogy :
" Previous to our marriage we had for some time past attended mass
together, as well as confessed and taken the Holy Communion, and I
found that I never prayed so fervently nor confessed so piously as by her
side, and she felt the same. In short, we are made for each other ; and
God, who orders all things, will not forsake us."
Beethoven, born at Bonn, 1770, was equally great in
his intellect and his aifections. How deep and tender was
that noble heart, those know who have read his letters to
his abandoned nephew whom he commits so earnestly to
" God's holy keeping." There is no stain upon his life.
His integrity was spotless ; his purity unblemished ; his
generosity boundless ; his affections deep and lasting ; his
piety simple and sincere. "To-day happens to be Sun-
day," he writes to a friend in the most unaffected way, " so
I will quote you something out of the Bible : ' See that ye
8G MUSIC, EMOTION, AND MORALS.
love one another.'" Beethoven was not only severely
moral and deeply religious, hut he has this further elaim
to the admiration and respect of the musical world, that
his ideal of art was the highest, and that he was true to
his ideal — utterly and disinterestedly true to the end.
Of Mendelssohn, born at Hamburg in 1809, it is diffi-
cult even yet to speak without emotion. Many are still
alive who knew him and loved him. That keen, piercing
intellect, flashing with the summer lightning of sensibility
and wit ; that full, generous heart ; that great and child-
like simplicity of manners ; that sweet humanity, and ab-
solute devotion to all that wTas true and noble, coupled
with an instinctive shrinking from all that was mean ; that
fierce scorn of a lie; that strong hatred of hypocrisy ; that
gentle, unassuming goodness — all this, and more than this,
they knew who knew Mendelssohn. Those volumes of
priceless letters, and that life of him which some day must
be written, will make him beloved and honored forever by
generations yet unborn. Like Beethoven, he had the high-
est conception of the dignity of art and the moral respon-
sibility of the artist. In this age of mercenary musical
manufacture and art degradation, Mendelssohn towers
above his contemporaries like a moral light-house in the
midst of a dark and troubled sea. His light always shone
strong and pure. The winds of heaven were about his
head, and the " Still Small Voice" was in his heart. In
a lying generation he was true, and in an adulterous gen-
eration he was pure, and not popularity nor gain could
tempt him to sully the pages of his spotless inspiration
with one meretricious eifect or one impure association.
Of Robert le Diable he writes : "In this opera a young girl
divests herself of her cfarments and sin^s a sons: to the
effect that next day at this time she will be married. All
this produces effect, but I have no music for such things.
LONGEVITY. 87
I consider it ignoble. So, if the present epoch exacts this
style and considers it indispensable, then I will write ora-
torios." These are the words of the greatest master of
musical form since Mozart, and also of the most popular
composer who ever lived. We commend them to the at-
tention of the artistic and musical circles in England.
The notion that the pursuit of music, owing to its excit-
28j ing character, is prejudicial to health and longev-
Longevity. j^ gathers small weight from facts. Great com-
posers, as a rule, have been remarkably healthy and long-
lived. Scarlatti was 76 when he died ; Lalande, 76 ; Pal-
estrina, 70 ; Handel, 74 ; Bach, 65 ; Marcello, 53 ; Gluck, 73 ;
Piccini, 72 ; Haydn, 77; Paisiello, 76 ; Cherubim, 82 ; Beet-
hoven, 55 ; Spohr, 75 ; Meyerbeer, 70 ; Rossini, 78 ; and
Monsieur Auber still composed, and was in the enjoyment
of excellent health, at the advanced age of 88. On the
other hand, Purcell died at the early age of 37 ; Pergolesi
at 27 ; Mozart at 35 ; Bellini at 33 ; Schubert at 31 ; Men-
delssohn at 38 ; Chopin at 39.
We fear that, from causes already referred to, the health
and longevity of executive musicians as a class might bear
a somewhat less satisfactory scrutiny; but we must again
repeat that such a result would be owing, not to tenden-
cies inherent in the executive art itself, so much as to the
unfair and sometimes pitiless conditions which have been
too often imposed by society upon the Executive Musician.
VIII.
Like the sound of bells at night, breaking the silence
CD ' O
29> only to lead the spirit into deeper peace ; like a
The Listener. ]cat]en C\0U([ at morn, rising in gray twilight to
hang as a golden mist before the furnace of the sun; like
the dull, deep pain of one who sits in an empty room,
88 MUSIC, EMOTION, AND MORALS.
watching the shadows of the firelight, full of memories ;
like the plaint of souls that are wasted with sighing ; like
paeans of exalted praise ; like sudden songs from the open
gates of Paradise — so is Music.
Like one who stands in the midst of a hot and terrible
battle, drunk with the fiery smoke, and hearing the roar
of cannon in a trance ; like one who sees the thick fog
creep along the shore, and gathers his cloak about him as
the dank wind strikes a thin rain upon his face ; like one
who finds himself in a long cathedral aisle, and hears the
pealing organ, and sees a kneeling crowd smitten with
fringes of colored light ; like one who from a precipice leaps
out upon the warm midsummer air toward the peaceful
valleys below, and, feeling himself buoyed up with wings
that suddenly fail him, wakens in great despair from his
wild dream, so is he who can listen and understand.
No such scenes need be actually present to the Listen-
ee; yet the emotions which might accompany them mu-
sic enables him to realize. To him belongs a threefold
privilege. He hears the composer's conception, he feels
the player's or conductor's individuality, and he brings to
both the peculiar temperature, or what I may call the har-
monic level of his own soul. Ask him to describe his feel-
ings, and he will seek some such imagery as I have used
above. And there can be no great objection to this so
long as such an expression of feeling passes for what it is
worth, and no more. No music — except imitative music
(which is rather noise than music), or music acting through
association — has in itself power to suggest scenes to the
mind's eye. When we seek to explain our musical emo-
tions we look about for images calculated to excite similar
emotions, and strive to convey through these images to
others the effect produced by music upon ourselves. The
method is, no doubt, sufficiently clumsy and inadequate,
THE LISTENER. 89
but it helps to make clear some things in connection with
our musical impressions which might otherwise puzzle us.
Perhaps the great puzzle of all is why, if music has any
meaning, different people suppose different things to be
shadowed forth by the same piece. The answer is, be-
cause Music expresses Emotion. Now, as I have shown,
the same emotion may take very different forms, or ex-
press itself by very different images, according to circum-
stances.
When the fire-irons are thrown down, a sleeper may
start from his slumbers under the impression that he is in
Strasbourg during the late siege, and that a shell has just
burst into his room ; or that he finds himself up in the
Westminster belfry when Big Ben strikes the hour; or
that a great rock has rolled from a precipitous cliff into
the sea, threatening to crush him; or the dreamer will
raise his hand in fright to ward off an impending blow
which seems to descend upon his skull. Here, then, are a
number of distinct images which might be connected with
the same emotion. If, then, in sleep, the Emotional Region
is so ready to assimilate appropriate ideas, no wonder if it
retain this property when the mind is in full and wakeful
activity. Mr. Grewgious's emotions afford a fine example
of this. One and the same energetic feeling finds vent in
two separate and equally forcible ideas in fcJv* following
remarkable passage :
" * I will ! ' Cried Mr. Grewgious. < Damn him !
' Confound his politics.
Frustrate his knavish tricks.
On thee his hopes to fix —
Damn him again.'
After this most extraordinary outburst, Mr. Grewgious, quite beside him-
self, plunged about the room to all appearance undecided whether he was
in a Jit of loyal enthusiasm or combative denunciation ,"—(1'' Edwin Drood,"
p. 15G.)
90 MUSIC, E3I0TI0N, AND MORALS.
Emotion aroused by music, in like manner, clothes itself
in different draperies of ideas. Six different people, hear-
ing the same piece of music, will give you six different ac-
counts of it. Yet between all their explanations there will
be a certain kind of emotional congruity, quite enough to
persuade us that they have been under a fixed influence
and the same influence. But here we are constrained to
push this question well home. Is music, after all, in any
sense a fixed influence ? Is it really expressive of the same
emotion to different people ? Yes, music is the same, but
people are not. People think and feel on different planes
of thought and feelinsr.
There are different Planes of Emotion. If your charac-
30. ter is base, the plane of your emotion will be low.
Planes of ' r . /
Emotion. It your character is noble, the plane ot your emo-
tion will be high. Every emotion is capable of being ex-
pressed in both planes. For example, what is craven fear
in a low plane becomes a reverent awe when expressed in
a high plane. Mean and gnawing spite in a low plane be-
comes an emotion of bitter and just vengeance in a high
one, and low desire is raised to the power of pure and
burning love. The question for the listener then is, What
are his planes of thought and feeling — in other words, what
is the character of his musical mediumship? Music will
give him whatever he is capable of receiving. The same
strain will kindle the same emotion with its elations, de-
pressions, velocities, intensities, etc., in the plane of awe
and in the plane of fear. The mind habitually at home in
meanness and spite will yield its emotions in that plane to
combinations of music which, to a nobler spirit, suggest
the higher longings for a retributive justice. He whose
ideas of Love are merely sensual will travel contentedly
along a correspondingly groveling plane of emotion, while
PLANES OF EMOTION. 91
the very same music will kindle in another the noble self-
abandonment of a lofty and purifying Passion.
This surely explains how very easy it is to put different
words to the same song. Handel constantly used up mel-
odies which had done duty as love-songs in operas, and
made them the vehicles for religious aspiration and prayer.
The supplicating love-song, " Cara sposa amante cara," in
JZinaldo, raised from the plane of a lover's adoration to the
high level of devotional longing, becomes the sacred air,
"Hear my crying." The exalting strain of earth, "To the
triumph of our fury," is raised to the high plane of a devo-
tional paean in "Praise ye Jehovah, which dwelleth in
Zion." We wish, for the honor of music and for the honor
of Handel, it could be said that he was always equally con-
scientious in choosing words of higher or lower congruity
to the feeling of the music ; but, like so many great com-
posers, he seems to have been often indifferent to his words,
under the conviction that the music was all-powerful to
convey the right emotional expression, whatever the words
might say to the contrary. But the difficulties with which
composers have to deal in setting several verses to the
same piece of melody are often very great, and if we at-
tempt, like Wagner, to make every bar — almost every note
— correspond to a word, we may almost say that such dif-
ficulties can only be surmounted by the sacrifice of melody
and the destruction of musical form. We must be content
if the words selected help to set the mind going in a cer-
tain plane of emotion. We may then hope to find them
true enough in the main, although quite unreasonable
when pressed in detail.
Poor Weber, in his famous " Mermaid" song in Oberon^
has the first verse thus :
" Softly sighs the voice of evening,
Stealing through yon willow groves."
92 MUSIC, EMOTION, AND MORALS.
And in the next lie has to set the same exquisitely peace'
ful melody to the words —
" Oh, what terrors fill my bosom !
Where, my Rudolph, dost thou roam?"
But the two verses, taken as a whole, are quite near enough
to the general emotion expressed by their music, for the
last two lines of the first verse are,
"While the stars, like guardian spirits,
Set their nightly watch above,"
and the last two lines of the second verse, which begins
with the highly perturbed sentiment above quoted, stand
thus:
"Oh, may Heaven's protection shelter
Him my heart must ever love!"
Of course, in speaking of high and low planes of emotion,
I have here assumed what I have tried to establish in this
First Book, II., 6 : that Emotions, although traversed by
Ideas, are not merely states of sensation produced by one
idea, or any number of ideas, but enjoy an independent ex-
istence and a special character of their own, which give
them a moral dignity, and enable them to place them-
selves at the disposal of ideas congenial to their various
planes.
But I think at this point an objector may fairly say,
31. After all, then, music does not determine what
and Raphael, you call the Plane of our Emotions — has noth-
ing to do with either a high or low plane of Love, for in-
stance— but merely lends itself to each individual, and is
willing to express the force, feebleness, or complexity of his
emotions in any plane in which they may happen to lie at
the time. No doubt the moral effect of music largely de-
pends upon the moral state of the listener; but so does the
moral effect of painting, and every thing else. Show me
SHAESPEARE AND RAPHAEL. 93
what a man is, and I will show you the kind of influences
he is likely to assimilate. I will show how what to others
shall be harmless, shall to him be as poison ; how he will
select from what he sees and hears every thing that is con-
genial to his disposition, and leave the rest ; in this sense
all the arts will give him back the reflection of himself —
he will " see himself in all he sees ; it does not, therefore,
follow that there will be nothing else to see. A work of
art may really be calculated to create a very high level of
emotion, yet a man may be so base that, owing to a refu-
sal on his part to see, or a willful distortion of what he sees,
or a wanton selection of only such suggestions as coincide
with what is base in him, the work of art may produce
nothing but an emotion worked out on the level of his own
baseness. To the pure all things are pure ; but the vicious
will find in the most guileless innocence only one more in-
centive to vice. The noblest themes may also be approach-
ed through licentious avenues. But what should we say
of a man who read through Shakspeare and selected only
the coarse passages for his meditation, viewing all the oth-
ers as in some way connected with them, but existing only
for their sakes? We should say not Shakspeare is a low
teacher, but the man who receives such an impression from
Shakspeare is a low man. What should we say of one who
accepted the " Fornarina" of the Barberini as the true type
of Raphael's art, and viewed all his Madonnas from that
ignoble stand-point ? We should say, of course, the man's
own mind was to blame for the deplorable nature of his
impressions. There was that in the art of Raphael, there
is that in the teaching of Shakspeare, which is not only ca-
pable of, but infinitely more conducive to a high than to a
low state of feeling. And we do not hesitate to say ex-
actly the same of music. It is, more than any other art,
ready to mould itself about our emotions; but it is unde-
94 MUSIC, EMOTION, AND MORALS.
niable that music, however we may wrest it to express our
own levels of feelings, has its own proper and distinct lev-
els, which it should be our business to discover and appro-
priate, if we wish to understand or rightly estimate a com-
poser's work. And this is so true, that at times the music
itself opposes the greatest obstacles to any attempts on
our part to twist it into accordance with our private levels
of feeling.
The modern Italian music is so imbued wTith the lan-
32. guid sentimentalism in which that nation has
Germaifsen- until lately been sunk, that, however vigorous
timeut. we may feei? we gr0w insensibly languid and
sentimental in either hearing or singing it. On the other
hand, you can not sentimentalize Beethoven's music ; you
can not make it a vehicle for permanently morbid trains of
emotion. When it deals with the emotions of Love, for in-
stance, it deals with them on the high planes of pure and
strong passion. Beethoven is the " true and tender North."
Italy is the "fierce and fickle South." The Italians know
this, and that is why the Italians dislike Beethoven. They
can not make his music express emotion down to their lev-
el, and so they do not sing him or play him. Nothing is
more ludicrous than to hear a fashionable Italian pianist
attempt a sonata of Beethoven. Exaggerated pathos has
to be pumped into the quiet phrases, hectic explosions must
be let off where nothing but a grave forte is required, and
the repose of the whole is broken up by an uneasy effer-
vescence which shows that the player is like a fish on shore
— excited and bewildered, but quite out of his element.
The emotional plane of Italy is one thing, and that of
Germany is another. Your clown may put on the monk's
cowl, but he forgets to wipe off the paint, and by-and-by,
in spite of his costume, he will grin and throw his somer-
ITALIAN AND GERMAN SENTIMENT. 95
sault as usual. Let any one who doubts that music is real-
ly capable of pitching a high plane for the emotions to
work in, recall Beethoven's love -song "Adelaide." No
modern Italian master could have written that song. No
one can suppose the melody to be expressive of languid
sentimentality. We are thrilled ; we are not dissolved,
we are moved, yet without losing our self-control ; and we
are too much in earnest to be the mere sport of our emo-
tions. They sweep with flame and thunder through the
soul, leaving its atmosphere purified and sweetened by the
storm. Let us now think of any popular Italian love-song,
e.g., "Si fossi un Angelo del Paradiso non potere vivere di
te diviso." Most of our readers may have heard this song
by Marras, and it is a very typical one. The emotions are
all upon a low plane. The kind of man who could so ex-
press his love is an artificial sentimentalist ; his feeling is
at once exaggerated and extravagant, but not deep ; and
we have a shrewd idea that the whole thing is poured out
by a sham lover, in the presence of a person of a doubtful
character, by the light of an artificial moon. Without do-
ins; absolute violence to the obvious intention of Beetho-
ven, you can not sentimentalize "Adelaide," whereas it is
impossible to do any thing else with such a song as "Si
fossi un Angelo." If the reader admits the justice of the
above remarks, he can hardly refuse to believe that music
not only expresses the various qualities of emotion, but has
also the power — subject, no doubt, to perturbing influences
— of determining the level of emotion, or what may be
termed the moral atmosphere of feeling.
And now it is a very noteworthy thing, as bearing upon
33. the life of a Nation, that whatever the spirit which
Patriotic .' l
Songs, pervades its music happens to be — whether that
spirit be languid and erotic, as in Italy ; or frivolous, grace-
90 MUSIC, EMOTION, AND MORALS.
fill, noisy, and, at times, blustering, as in France — the mu-
sic of patriotic tunes and national anthems is invariably
earnest and dignified. The tune known as Garibaldi's
Hymn, which raged like a fever throughout Italy during
the Revolution, is so fresh, and buoyant, and manly in its
cheerful vigor and determination, that it fails to suggest a
single characteristic of modern Italian music, save only
that exemplary one of clear and facile melody. The time
for Love-languor is past ; the sun of Liberty has dawned,
the breeze is on the mountain, the bugle sounds the reveille,
and the youth of Italy, active, alert, hopeful, and confident,
march cheerfully to the deliverance of their beautiful but
enslaved country. In the Marseillaise there is an almost
sombre severity, wholly unlike the frivolous superficial
grace and sentimental pathos of the ordinary French school.
The men who sing it are not playing at war, like fools, nor
are they mere children, delighting in its outward pomp and
circumstance. They trudge on, footsore and weary, know-
ing all the horror and the pain that is in store for them,
and still willing to conquer and to die. That is the spirit
of the Marseillaise; and in it, as in Garibaldi's Hymn, the
seriousness of the crisis has called forth the finest qualities
of both the French and Italian characters, and banished for
a time what is languishing in the one and frivolous in the
other. I need hardly allude here to the English, Austrian,
and Russian hymns, or to our own national anthem, as
there has never been any question about the musical merit,
dignity, and earnestness of these.
Philosophers have often been at a loss to explain the se-
cret of the strange power which patriotic tunes seem to
exercise over the people, and especially over the armies
of nations. Historians have been contented simply to re-
cord the fact; but the mystery is at an end if we are will-
ing to attribute to music the power which I have claimed
MUSICAL PERTUMBATIONS. 97
for it, of pitching high the plane of the emotions, and driv-
ing them home with the most efficacious and incomparable
energy.
The laws which regulate the effect of music upon the
34. listener are subject to many strange perturba-
Musical Per- . ** . / or
turbations. tions. Unless we admit this to be the case, and
try and detect the operation of certain irregular influences,
we shall be at a loss to understand why, if music really
has its own planes as well as progressions of emotion, gay
music should make us sad, and solemn music should some-
times provoke a smile. Musical perturbations are some-
times due to the singer, player, or conductor — sometimes
to the listener. Madame Lind-Goldschmidt had, or let us
rather say has, the power of perturbing a trivial melody
of any kind almost to any extent. A magical prolongation
of single notes here and there, until the vulgarity of the
rhythm be broken — a pause, a little appogiatura, even a
smile — and the original melody, such as we may know it
to be, is changed and sublimated into the high expression
of a high individuality. Ernst, certainly the most roman-
tic player we have had since Paganini, possessed the same
marvelous quality of perturbing almost every thing he
played until it became absolutely nothing but a melodic
expression of his own wild mood. Those who remember
the way in which he was wont to play one of his great
solos on Hungarian airs, with orchestral accompaniments,
will remember the profound meditation, almost coma, into
which he seemed to fall in the middle of one of those
slow and measured melodies — losing the sense of time and
rhythm — allowing, as it were, his own soul to float out
upon the waves of melody, which swelled and shook with
sensitive thrills, holding the audience breathless, until, in
the utter stillness cf the room, it was impossible to tell
E
98 MUSIC, EMOTION, AND MORALS.
when the notes actually ceased to vibrate. Such players
as he must be classed under the head of "those who ex-
press themselves through the music," just as such players
as Joachim belong emphatically to the class of those who
invariably express the composer's thought, not their own.
It is hardly necessary to allude to the manner of any liv-
ing conductors to establish the fact that immense powers
of perturbation are in the hands of orchestral conductors.
We had no idea that Mendelssohn's Hymn of Praise could
be made to sound positively trivial until it was our misfor-
tune to hear it under the auspices of a thoroughly senti-
mental and incompetent conductor.
But the perturbations in the natural effect of the music
which come from the listener are even more numerous and
perplexing. They proceed chiefly from association and
memory. If one is by the death-bed of a friend, and a
band passes in the street playing a cheerful tune, that tune
will sound even more sadly than a really mournful air,
which might serve at once to express and to relieve the
deep heaviness of the heart. An unhappy girl, out of her
mind for the loss of her lover, singing a merry song to
herself in a madhouse, will make the joyous melody sound
sad enough — sad as the raptures of an imprisoned skylark
hanging caged in the London streets. On the other hand,
a grave tune may, in like manner, be fairly perturbed out
of all sobriety ; and, as we have shown it is possible to
pass from gay to grave in the lunatic asylum, so we may
pass from grave to gay, in spite of our best intentions,
upon hearing some well-known psalm-tune intoned through
the nose by an ancient schoolmaster in a country church,
where the service resembles nothing so much as a pitched
battle between the clergyman and the clerk in the pres-
ence of a silent congregation, and where the said school-
master is, for some unintelligible reason, occasionally per-
MEMORY. 99
mitted to interrupt the duel with an extraordinary succes-
sion of sounds supposed to represent the 119th Psalm. In
this case, however grave the melody may really be in it-
self, it will be undeniably perturbed by an unfortunate as-
sociation of ideas at the moment wThen it reaches the ears
of the judicious hearer.
The strangest phenomena of all connected with musical
35 perturbation are to be found in alliance with mem-
Memory. ory . j^ musjca| sound is only one of many me-
diums which connect us vividly with the past. Scents
have a remarkable power of recalling past scenes. Who
has not got memories connected with otto of roses or the
perfume of violets ? The peculiar combination of odors to
be met with only in a steam-boat cabin will recall to some
many a disastrous passage across the British Channel. To
a Londoner, the smell of a tan-yard or tallow manufactory
will certainly be associated with those lines of railway run-
ning out of London over the roofs of serried houses over-
looking certain odorous yards — instantly he may remem-
ber his holding his nose, or seizing the window-strap to
pull up the window of the railway carriage. The odor of
tar calls up many a watering-place in summer : we are on
the pier in an instant, with some little child, perchance now
grown up or dead ; the fishing-smack lies alongside lazily,
smoke issuing from a pot at the stern ; a sailor sits with
a pipe in his mouth, throwing vegetable parings into the
black kettle for the nondescript midday meal ; the hot sea
beneath a blazing sun lies almost stagnant, waiting for the
turn of the tide; the white cliffs glimmer along the coast
- — and all this flashes for a moment before the mind's eye
as we chance to pass over a piece of asphalt pavement
newly laid down, and smelling faintly of pitch.
The sight of a faded flower pressed in a book brings
100 MUSIC, EMOTION, AND MORALS.
back, with a little shock of feeling, the hand that gathered
it, or the distant hills upon which it once bloomed years
ago. The touch of satin or velvet, or fine hair, is also ca-
pable of reviving the recollections of scenes, and places,
and persons. But for freshness, and suddenness, and pow-
er over memory, all the senses must yield to the sense of
hearing. Memory is the great perturber of musical mean-
ing. When memory is concerned, music is no longer it-
self; it ceases to have any proper plane of feeling ; it sur-
renders itself wholly, with all its rights, to memory, to be
the patient, stern, and terrible exponent of that recording
angel. What is it ? Only a few trivial bars of an old
piano-forte piece — "Murmures du Rhone," or "Pluie des
Perles." The drawing-room window is open, the children
are playing on the lawn, the warm morning air is charged
with the scent of lilac blossom. Then the ring at the bell,
the confusion in the hall, the girl at the piano stops, the
door opens, and one is lifted in dying or dead. Years,
years ago ! but passing through the streets, a bar or two
of the " Murmures du Rhone" brings the whole scene up
before the girl, now no longer a girl, but a middle-aged
woman, looking back to one fatal summer morning. The
enthusiastic old men, who invariably turned up in force
whenever poor Madame Grisi was advertised to sing in her
last days, seemed always deeply affected. Yet it could
hardly be at what they actually heard — no, the few notes
recalled the most superb soprano of the age in her best
days ; recalled, also, the scenes of youth forever faded out,
and the lights of youth quenched in the gray mists of the
dull declining years. It was worth any money to hear
even the hollow echo of a voice wThich had power to bring
back, if only for a moment, the " tender grace of a day that
was dead."
MUSICAL QUOTATION. 101
Composers, by re-treating, quoting, or paraphrasing well-
36. known airs and harmonic sequences, misrht have
MuSical J u * A • 4-'
Quotation, made much more use ol memory and association
than they have. Schumann has shown us what might be
done in this way by the amazing effect produced in his
song "The Two Grenadiers," by the introduction of the
" Marseillaise." The words of this wonderful little song
of Heinrich Heine's are intended, like the music, to express
that peculiar type of character in the French army called
into existence by the genius of the first Napoleon.
The disastrous campaign in Russia is over. The great
Emperor has been taken captive. Two French grenadiers,
wearied, dispirited, one of them suffering from a deadly
wound, approach the German frontier. The same desolate
feeling has taken possession of both, and the veterans are
moved to tears as they think over the humiliation of
France, and the defeat of their Emperor, who is dearer to
them than life itself. Then up speaks the wounded war-
rior to his companion. "Friend, when I am dead, bury me
in my native France, with my cross of honor on my breast,
and my musket in my hand, and lay my good sword by
my side." Up to this point the melody has been in the
minor key. A slow, dreary, and dirge-like stave ; but as
the old soldier declares his belief that he will rise once
more and fight when he hears the Emperor walk over his
grave amid the tramp of horsemen and the roar of cannon,
the minor breaks into a truly ghostly form of the " Mar-
seillaise." It rolls forth in the major key, but is not car-
ried through, and is brought to an abrupt close with five
solemn bars of chords in adagio, upon which the smoke of
the battle seems to sweep into the distance as the vision
of the phantom host fides out upon the wide plain, with
its lonely green mounds and mouldering wooden crosses.
102 MUSIC, EMOTION, AND MORALS.
The emotional force in women is usually stronger, and
37. always more delicate, than in men. Their consti-
Women . J , '
and Music, tutions are like those fine violins which vibrate to
the lightest touch. Women are the great listeners, not
only to eloquence, but also to music. The wind has swept
many an iEolian lyre, but never such a sensitive harp as
a woman's soul. In listening to music, her face is often
lighted up with tenderness, with mirth, or with the simple
expansiveness of intense pleasure. Her attitude changes
unconsciously with the truest, because the most natural,
dramatic feeling. At times she is shaken and melts into
tears, as the flowers stand and shake when the wTind blows
upon them and the drops of rain fall off. The woman's
temperament is naturally artistic, not in a creative, but in
a receptive sense. A woman seldom writes good music,
never great music ; and, strange to say, many of the best
singers have been incapable of giving even a good musical
reading to the songs in which they have been most famous.
It was rumored that Madame Grisi had to be taught all
her songs, and became great by her wonderful power of
appropriating suggestions of pathos and expression which
she was incapable of originating herself. Madame Mali-
bran had a great dash of original genius, and seldom sang
a song twice in the same way. Most women reflect with
astonishing ease, and it has often been remarked that they
have more perception than thought, more passion than
judgment, more generosity than justice, and more religious
sentiment than moral taste.
Many a woman, though capable of so much, is frequent-
ly called upon in the best years of her life to do but little,
but at all times society imposes upon her a strict reticence
as to her real feelings. What is she to do with the weary
hours, with the days full of the intolerable sunshine, and
the nights full of the pitiless stars? Her village duties or
DREAM-LIFE. 103
town visits are done. Perchance neither have any attrac«
tions for her. She has read till her head aches ; but all the
reading leads to nothing. She has worked till her fingers
ache ; but what is the work good for when it is done ? To
set women to do the things which some people suppose are
the only things fit for them to do, is often like setting the
steam-hammer to knock pins into a board. The skillful
and ingenious operation leaves them dissatisfied or listless,
or makes them, by a kind of reaction, frivolous, wicked, and
exaggerated caricatures of what God intended them to be.
Some outlet is wanted. Control is good, but at a certain
point control becomes something very much like paralysis.
The steam-hammer, as it contemplates the everlasting pin's
head, can not help feeling that if some day, when the steam
was on, it might give one good smashing blow, it would
feel all the better for it. To women — and how many thou-
sands are there in our placid modern drawing-rooms ! —
who feel like this, music comes with a power of relief and
a gentle grace of ministration little short of supernatural.
That girl who sings to herself her favorite songs of Schu-
38 bert, Mendelssohn, or Schumann, sings more than
Dream-life. a song . ft js her own plaint of suffering floating
away on the wings of melody. That poor lonely little sor-
rower, hardly more than a child, who sits dreaming at her
piano, while her fingers, caressing the deliciously cool ivory
keys, glide through a weird nocturno of Chopin, is playing
no mere study or set piece. Ah ! what heavy burden seems
lifted up, and borne away in the dusk ? Her eyes are half
closed — her heart is far away ; she dreams a dream as the
long, yellow light fades in the west, and the wet vine-leaves
tremble outside to the nestling birds ; the angel of music
has come down ; she has poured into his ear the tale which
she will confide to no one else, and the " restless, unsatisfied
104 MUSIC, EMOTION, AM) MO HALS.
longing" lias passed; for one sweet moment the cup of life
seems full — she raises it to her trembling lips. What if it
is only a dream — a dream of comfort sent by music ? Who
will say she is not the better for it ? She has been taken
away from the commonplaceness and dullness of life — from
the old books in the study, and the familiar faces in the
school-room, and the people in the streets ; she has been
alone with herself, but not fretting or brooding — alone
with herself and the minstrel spirit. Blessed recreation,
that brings back freshness to the tired life and buoyancy
to the heavy heart ! Happy rain of tears and stormy wind
of sighs sweeping the sky clear, and showing once more
the deep blue heaven of the soul beyond ! Let no one say
that the moral effects of music are small or insignificant.
That domestic and long-suffering instrument, the cottage
piano, has probably done more to sweeten existence, and
bring peace and happiness to families in general, and to
young women in particular, than all the homilies on the
domestic virtues ever yet penned.
IX.
The social effects of music would be a very interesting
39. subject of discussion, but thev lie a little out-
Sacred Music. - .
The oratario. side the purpose of our present article. In writ-
ing on a subject so extremely fertile as music, it is almost
impossible not to diverge at times into pleasant by-ways
and unexplored paths. I have now only space for a few
remarks on the moral effects of sacred music upon the list-
ener. Those who attend the performances of the Sacred
Harmonic Society at Exeter Hall, and the other great mu-
sical festivals in England, need not be told that almost all
the greatest composers have found, in the sacred cantata
or oratorio, a form of art capable of expressing the noblest
progressions of the religious sentiment in the highest planes
SACRED MUSIC— THE OliATOltlO. 105
of emotion. Those who have been familiar with the Bible
from childhood are apt to grow insensible to the majestic
beauty of its style, to the frequently inspired level of its
ideas, and the subtle charm of its diction. Some day they
may chance suddenly to read a passage of it in French or
German, and the simple novelty of form will wonderfully
arrest their attention and kindle their emotion. But this
is nothing compared with the effect which is produced by
arranging the magnificent episodes of Scripture in a dra-
matic— not operatic — form, and translating their emotional
significance into the universal language of music. In the
oratorio, unlike the opera, there is nothing absurd or outre.
The fact of Elijah standing before us in a well-trimmed
mustache and clean kid gloves does not in the least shock
our sense of propriety, because no impersonation is attempt-
ed. The singers are there, not to personate character, but
to help us to realize the force and procession of certain emo-
tions through which the characters in the sacred drama are
supposed to pass. By doing this, and no more, we attempt
the possible, and succeed. A good deal depends upon the
libretto. Mendelssohn was himself ever a loving and rev-
erent student of the Bible. He selected and arranged in
great measure the words of his own oratorios ; and so ad-
mirably has he entered into the spirit of his work, that it
is difficult to listen to the Elijah or St. Paul, with the words
before us, without each time receiving some new impres-
sion of the depth and sublimity of those characters, whose
figures at this distance of time stand out prominently
among all the prophets of the Old and New Testaments.
I have written so much elsewhere upon oratorios, that I
willingly, without further preamble, pass on to congrega-
tional singing.
E 2
106 MUSIC, EMOTION, AND MORALS.
Iii all times men and women have shown a strong dis-
40. position to express their praises and lamenta-
Congregatiou- *
ai Singing. tions by what for some better term may be
called a kind of howling or wailing. This method may
not be thought very musical or hymn-like. Nevertheless,
all such vocal expressions are actual attempts to utter
deep feeling through appropriate channels of sound. When
properly disciplined and elaborated, that mode of utter-
ance becomes devotional and congregational singing. The
Lollards, who, according to some, took their name from
lullen, " to sing," found in hymn tunes and chants a great
medium for expressing the rush of a new religious life
upon their spirits, and within the last hundred years the
Methodist hymns have served a like purpose. No doubt,
upon entering a chapel where the congregation were sing-
ing, heart and soul, some easily-learned and well-known
hymn, the hearer was liable to be caught by the devotion-
al impetuosity thus expressed through musical sound ; and,
indeed, no greater bond of worship could be devised than
hymn tunes suited to the capacities and tastes of the peo-
ple. Mr. Henry Ward Beecher, in his own peculiar vein,
has lately preached a very eloquent sermon to his congre-
gation upon this subject, and we need make no apology
for presenting our readers with the following extract to
the point :
" Singing is that natural method by which thoughts are reduced to feel-
ing, more easily, more surely, and more universally than by any other.
You are conscious when you go to an earnest meeting, for instance, that,
while hymns are being sung and you listen to them, your heart is, as it
were, loosened, and there comes out of those hymns to you a realization
of the truth such as you never had before. There is a pleading element,
there is a sense of humiliation of heart, there is a poignant realization of
sin and its guiltiness, there is a yearning for a brighter life in a hymn
which you do not find in your closet ; and, in singing, you come into sym-
pathy with the truth as you perhaps never do under the preaching of a
SLOW CHURCH. 107
discourse, There is a provision made in singing for the development of
almost every phase of Christian experience. Singing has also a wonder-
ful effect upon those feelings which we wish to restrain. All are not alike
susceptible, but all are susceptible to some extent. I speak with emphasis
on this point, because I am peculiarly sensitive to singing, and because I
owe so much to it. How many times have I come into the church on
Sunday morning jaded and somewhat desponding, saddened at any rate,
and before the organ voluntary was completed, undergone a change as
great as though I had been taken out of January and been plumped down
in the middle of May, with spring blossoms on every hand ! How many,
many times have I been lifted out of a depressed state of mind into a
cheerful mood by the singing before I began to preach! How often, in
looking forward to the Friday-night meeting, has my prevailing thought
been, not of what I was going to say, but of the hymns that would be
sung ! My prayer-meeting consists largely of the singing of hymns which
are full of prayings, and my predominant thought in connection with our
Friday-night gatherings is, 'Oh, that sweet, joyful singing!'"
As faith in the great evangelical movement cooled, the
41 hearty congregational singing also began to die
Slow Church, down in the Church of England, and in fashion-
able chapels the voices of the people were represented by
a few careless professional ladies and gentlemen, who show-
ed themselves off to considerable advantage in a private
box, situated in the west gallery, in front of the organ.
There the ladies were wont to fan themselves and flirt dur-
ing the prayers, and there the gentlemen " made up" their
" little books," or sat yawning through the sermon. The
congregation being mostly asleep, and the clergyman also
somewhat comatose, it seemed for some time unlikely that
the above odious performance would give way to any
thing a shade less irreverent, when lo ! the great High-
Church movement in a very few years pulled the wheezy
organs out of their dingy nooks, and swept half the old
musical boxes in the land from our churches, concert sing-
ers and all.
108 MUSIC, EMOTION, AND MORALS.
Then arose the age of white surplices, and new hymn
42. tunes, and decent versicles and anthems. In short,
ormation. a cathedral service soon became fashionable all
over England, not in High-churches only, but even in Low
and Broad churches. Whatever we may think of their
doctrines, the High-Church party have stood up for the
aesthetic element in devotion, and by introducing a respect-
able amount of ritual, with good music, they have shown
us how it was possible to be emotional without being vul-
gar. The charge brought against the High-Church sing-
ing is that it is uncongregational, and this is held to be a
fatal objection, especially to anthems. The objection is
only one more proof of how much the English people have
still to learn concerning the real functions of music. There
is a grace of hearing as well as a grace of singing ; there
is a passive as well as an active side of worship. In every
congregation there must be some who can not join even in
the simplest tune. Some are too old, some have no voices,
others have no ear for music ; but it would be a great mis-
take to suppose that all who are thus reduced to the state
of listeners get nothing at all out of the singing. If we
take note of old and devout worshipers as some familiar
hymn is being sung, Ave shall see their faces lighten up and
their heads move in unconscious sympathy, and we shall
know that, although their lips are silent, they are singing
in the spirit. One day, noticing a very poor and aged
woman in tears during the service, I spoke to her at the
close, and inquired the cause of her grief. " Oh, sir," she
replied, " that blessed, blessed song in the middle of the
prayers !" She could say no more ; but she was alluding
to an anthem by Professor Sterndale Bennett — " O Lord,
thou hast searched me out."
The function of anthems is no doubt quite different from
that of psalms or hymns. It is greatly to be wished that
USE OF ANTHEMS AND VOLUNTARIES. 109
the congregation would never attempt to join in the an-
them— not even in the chorus, strong as the temptation
may sometimes be. Above all, let not people with musi-
cal ears sing fancy parts to their own edification and the
great distress of their fellow-worshipers. The strength of
the congregation during the anthem is emphatically to sit,
or, at all events, to stand, still. They need lose nothing
by their silence, for, rightly understood, it may be quite as
blessed a thing to allow music to flow into the soul as to
pour forth actively songs of praise. This is hardly a pop-
ular view of the subject. In every church where an an-
them is sung, the majority of the congregation seems to
belong to one of two classes — those who look upon the an-
them as an unwarrantable interloper, and those who re-
gard it simply in the light of a show-off for the choir.
Need we observe that neither of these two views is the
correct one ?
The worshiper has for some time been engaged in the
43 service of active prayer and praise, when there
theemsf and" comes " m choirs and places where they sing" a
voluntaries. pauge? and "Here followeth the anthem." The
active phase of devotion is exchanged for the passive at
the moment when the powers of congregational attention
begin to fail, and physical energy is waxing a little faint.
The emotions which we have just been connecting in pray-
er with solemn, perhaps even harrowing, thoughts — the
feelings we have been laboring to express with a certain
strained and fatiguing mental effort — in short, all burden-
some activity, is suddenly suspended, and the spirit, raised
into the atmosphere of devotion, remains passive, in order
that it may be recruited, by having its weight of feeling
lifted up and its emotion expressed for it, through music in
harmony with its inner consciousness. It is as though a
HO M I r8K ', EMOTION, AND MORA L s.
traveler grown weary in a winter's walk were suddenly to
be lifted up and borne along upon wings without word or
action of his own, what time the land grew warm with sun-
light, the air scented with flowers and full of angel voices.
When the times of refreshing are past he finds himself
again upon the earth ; but all his fatigue has vanished,
and he is now able to go on his journey with renewed life,
and " compassed about with songs of rejoicing." When
the hearing of voluntaries and anthems is thus regarded as
part of the needful solace and recreation of the religious
life, we shall, no doubt, find music much more widely and
intelligently used in our churches than it is at present.
Musically speaking, there is as yet in the Reformed
44. churches nothing approaching the grandeur of
tistic Unity, the great Roman Catholic Masses, where we have
a mind like that of Mozart or Beethoven steadily working-
out, in strains of incomparable depth and pathos, a great
connected series of thoughts, embodying all the varied
phases of religious emotion. Indeed, the notion that a re-
ligious service may be wrought out with the force and
majesty of a great work of art, having its various parts
welded into a powerful and satisfactory unity by the agen-
cy of music, is a conception which has evidently not yet
reached this isle of the Protestant Gentiles. Yet no relig-
ious service can with impunity violate, in however small a
degree, the great laws of beauty, fitness, and order which
are involved in the conception of a Mass ; nor is it impos-
sible, without making the music incessant throughout the
service, to arrange our own liturgy in such an order, and
so to incorporate the musical element as to sustain the at-
tention of the congregation, and produce a unity of effect
far greater than is at present at all usual. In some High-
churches we find a glimmering: of what a musical service
NEED OF ARTISTIC UNITY. \ \ \
might and ought to be ; but, what with unbending medi-
evalism and rigid ecclesiastical prejudices, we must not
hope for any thing like a good type of congregational
service from that quarter. On the other hand, any thing
more disjointed and slovenly than the ordinary brown-
colored sort of Church service still prevalent in most coun-
try churches and London chapels can hardly be conceived.
Have people no ears — do they not care what is piped and
what is harped — is their attention never exhausted — have
they no idea of the strain which the human mind is con-
structed to bear — that they can listen for an hour to a na-
sal droning of the prayers, interlarded here with a chant,
the very memory of which makes one yawn, and there
with some hymn tune, sung at a pace compared to which
adagio might be called fast ? There is a hopeless want of
decision and energy in the ordinary conduct of our Church
prayers. We do not want rapidity so much as a definite
conception of the emotional fabric of the whole ; and here
is the point where music might come to our assistance, by
defining the pauses and divisions which the life and inter-
est of the whole service demands. Every orator, every
singer, every soloist, and every conductor will readily un-
derstand what I mean. He who arranges a religious serv-
ice, if he wishes it to secure the attention and minister to
the edification of the people, should place himself some-
what in the position of an orchestral conductor ; it is his
business to arrange every detail of the proceedings. The
exact moment at which the opening hymn is sung, the
general impulse and feeling of the hymn, should be im-
pressed upon the choir ; the organist should enter into the
spirit of the music, and understand its place and function
in the service ; he should be always on the watch ; there
should be no unin tentional delays in giving out the hymns
— no unsettled pauses before the hymn is commenced;
112 MUSIC, EMOTION, AND MORALS.
the hymns, responses, canticles, anthems, and voluntaries
should succeed one another in such a succession and style
as to relieve one another, each fitting into its place at the
nick of time, never dragging, never jolting, not balking the
attention, or executed in so aimless a manner as to allow
the congregation to grow listless. But to accomplish all
this, or a tithe of it, there must be true art feeling, and
true religious feeling, and true musical taste ; and although
we are inclined to admit that the English are on the whole
a Religious People, we arrive at the sad conviction that,
however improving and improvable, the English are not,
as a nation, an artistic people, and the English are not a
Musical People,
END OV THE FIRST BOOK.
Second Book.
BIOGRAPHICAL.
HANDEL, GLUCK, HAYDN, SCIIUBEKT,
CHOPIN, MOZAKT, BEETHOVEN,
AND MENDELSSOHN.
Saonti Book.
FROM
AMBROSE TO HANDEL.
i.
We sometimes hear music called the universal language.
45. That will be true some day. Civilized music
First aud Sec- . . . _ . _
ond Periods, must ultimate! jr triumph over every other kind
of music, because it is based upon natural principles dis-
covered once and forever, and capable of being universally
applied and understood. But at present to speak of mu-
sic, ancient and modern, savage and scientific, as a univer-
sal language, is only true in a limited sense. There is
probably no nation upon earth so devoid of tonal sensibil-
ity as to be quite callous to the attraction, or even fascina-
tion, of sounds produced artificially with a view to excite
or to relieve emotion. If we like to call any such medley
of sounds music, of course we are at liberty to do so. The
rudest howl of the savage as he dances round his bonfire,
in the pages of " Robinson Crusoe" or elsewhere, the wild-
est monody of the Eastern donkey-driver, or the most ex-
asperating scrape of a Japanese fiddle, is essentially a kind
of music.
1 1 G INTR 01) UCTION TO MODERN MUSIC.
Sound, as an emotional vehicle, is universal — in the same
way that speech is universal. But if we mean by univer-
sal that every kind of music possesses the property of be-
ing every where equally intelligible, that is simply not the
case. The Indian who sits down to yell for two hours and
beat the tom-tom may possibly soothe the savage mind,
but he drives the European mad. Mr. Hullah, to whose
excellent lectures we are indebted for much of the follow-
ing essay, tells us of an Arabian artist whose conception
of the scale on his eoud, or lute, was not only different
from ours, but who refused to tolerate the order of tones
and semitones adopted in our major and minor. The mu-
sic of the savage is not as our music, neither do we de-
light in the music of the past — by which I mean the mu-
sic of the ancients and the music of the Middle Ages. The
monuments, the paintings, the literature of the past are
still eloquent. We still admire Westminster Abbey, Notre
Dame de Chartres, or the frescoes at Padua. We are still
warmed by the rough geniality of Chaucer, and the lines
of Petrarch and Dante are woven like golden threads into
the fabric of our conversation and literature ; but when
we are asked to sit down with these worthies and hear a
little music, we can not pretend to be very anxious to do
so : there might have been a certain charm about the wild
inspirations of the Trouvlres, but not sufficient to atone for
the want of form and the fixed tonality of modern melo-
dy; while at church the monks would treat you to a kind
of harmony, consisting of one bourdon in the bass, and a
few consecutive fifths and octaves to relieve the ear ! So
bad must have been these effects, that many writers have
maintained that the art of reading the old music is lost,
and that sharps, flats, and rhythm were really used long
before they were indicated in the notation.
Nor is the music of the Old World more satisfactory-
FIRST AND SECOND PERIODS. 117
We may, indeed, trace music from India to Egypt, from
Egypt to Judaea, from Judaea to Greece ; but the pre-Gre-
cian period is utterly barren, and the Grecian period, with
its better-understood octave and monotone notation, is
dullness itself. The attempts of the Old World, B.C., in-
genious and complicated as some of them were, may be
safely dismissed as clumsy and unsuccessful ; they are not
worth the study that has been bestowed upon them. Mr.
Hullah reckons the First Period of music from 370 A.D. to
1400. Until about the year TOO A.D. people did not even
stumble in the right direction, and not until 1400 was that
glorious vista opened up, at whose distant extremity sat
the crowned genius of Modern Music presiding over the
immortal tone-poetry of the sixteenth, seventeenth, eight-
eenth, and nineteenth centuries. However, it would be un-
fair, even in the most cursory sketch, not to notice the
attempts made by St. Ambrose of Milan (elected 374) to
adapt a few of the Greek scales for the use of the Church.
Much of his work was afterward undone by the stupidity
of his followers, until Gregory the Great (elected 590) re-
vived what could be found of the Ambrosian system, add-
ed four new scales, and issued an antiphonary, or author-
ized book of ecclesiastical music.
The monk Hucbald, of St. Armand, diocese of Tournay,
who died in 932, has collected and systematized the best
music current in his day. The harmony then admired
must have resembled the mixture-stop of our organs play-
ed alone. Guido of Arezzo (1020) and Franco of Cologne
(about 1200 — some writers place him much earlier) are the
only other names worth mentioning at this early period.
The labors of the first culminated in the rise of descant,
i. e., the combination of sounds of unequal length, or " mu-
sic in which two or more sounds succeed each other while
one equal to them in length was sustained" (Ilullah) ; the
118 IXTIiOD UCTION TO MODEltX M USIC.
labors of Franco may be connected with a better system
of musical notation, the introduction of sharps and flats,
and the cantus mensurabills, or division of music into bars.
Both were voluminous authors ; to the first, Guido, un-
doubtedly belongs the honor of popularizing the study of
music by the invention of a simple method of instruction.
In his day there were very few organs, and a great dearth
of other instruments. Thus the music -master had the
greatest difficulty in directing the voice and forming the
musical ear ; and, indeed, apart from his immediate pres-
ence, little practice or progress could be made by the pu-
pil. Guido used a simple instrument, called a monochord,
which had letters written on a finger-board corresponding
to definite notes ; the said notes being produced by shift-
ing a movable bridge up and down the letters, just as the
finger is shifted up and down the frets of a guitar. No
doubt, also, Guido taught all that was then known of the
art, and formulated a great deal which he is erroneously
supposed to have invented.
The Second Period (1400-1600) is marked toward its
close by a definite system of " tonality," or arrangement
of the scale. The name of Josquin des Pres may be con-
nected with its rise and progress, while France and Bel-
gium divide between them the honors of its early develop-
ment. About the end of the sixteenth century the Gallo-
Belgian was completely absorbed into the Italian school,
and as Josquin des Pres is the foundation, so Palestrina is
the crown of the Second Period.
The Third Period (1600-1750), or the transition, bridges
46. over the great gulf between the second and fourth
Third .
Period, periods, or between the ancient and the modern
music.
The Third, or Transition Period, begins with the close of
THIRD PERIOD. \ \ 9
the sixteenth century. The old tonality was the great ob-
stacle to all progress. A scale of notes arranged on a sim-
ple and uniform system was the remedy. The old masters
would begin a scale any where in the series, without writ-
ing flats or sharps to make the semitones fall in the same
places, whatever the key or mode. The change from such
a system to our simple major and minor, with its uniform
arrangement of accidentals, was immense.
=3= This, and the consequent discovery of the
perfect cadence, made the radical differ-
ea — EfsEE ence between the old and the new music.
I No man is responsible for these startling
innovations, but most of them are attributed to Monte-
verde (15 70). At all events, it is certain that about this
time the world s^ot very tired of the old forms. And no
wonder ; for a scientific movement in music was worked
out like an equation in algebra, and was necessarily devoid
of either life or expression. The wild strains of the wan-
dering minstrels, on the other hand, were full of feeling,
but had no consistency or method. In short, as Mr. Hul-
lah well expressed it, " the scholastic music had no art, the
popular music no science."
The glory of the Transition Period is the marriage of
Art with Science. Science, grim and ecclesiastical, peep-
ed forth from his severe cloister and beheld the wild and
beautiful creature singing her roundelays, captivating the
hearts of the people, who followed her in crowds — detain-
ed by princes to sing the story of crusades and the tri-
umphs of love — all the while knowing nothing and caring
nothing for the modes " authentic" and "plagal" but strik-
ing the harp or bandoline to the wild and irregular rhythm
of fancy or passion ; and Science, greatly shocked, with-
drew itself from so frivolous a spectacle, just as the monks
of the day lived apart from a bad world. But presently
1 2 0 INTR OB UCTION TO MODERN MUSIC.
the grave face looked out once more, opened a window —
a door — stepped forth and mingled with the crowd, just as
the preaching friars came forth, until the line between the
secular and the religious began slowly to fade. The stern
heart of Science was smitten by the enchantress, popular
Art, and conceived the daring plan of wooing and winning
her for himself. It was a long process ; it took nearly two
hundred and fifty years. Science was so dull and preju-
diced ; Art was so impatient, and wild, and careless. But
the first advances of Science were favored by that won-
drous spring-tide which followed the winter of the Middle
Ages — the Renaissance. Emerging from the cold cell into
the warm air and sunlight of a new world, Science relaxed,
cast his theories to the winds, sighed for natural Art, and
raved incoherently about the "musical declamation of the
Greeks." Here, then, was the first point of sympathy.
Wild enthusiasm and impatience of forms was, for one mo-
ment, common to Science and Art, and that was the mo-
ment of their betrothal. Immediately afterward, with Ca-
rissimi, Science recovered the lost equilibrium, but Art was
captivated by the strong spirit, and the perfect marriage
was now only a matter of time.
Carissimi (born 1585, died 1672) was the very type of
47. The Transition. He might have seen Palestrina,
Carissimi.
—Italy. and he lived to hear Corelli. 1 he germs of every
style of music known since arose during his long and
eventful lifetime. He witnessed the bloom and gradual
decay of the madrigal in England and Germany ; the birth
and adolescence of the musical drama in France, under
Lulli ; the invention of the oratorio in the oratory of San
Philippo Neri, at Rome ; and, lastly, the rise and progress
of instrumental music as an independent branch of the art.
About 1659 Francisco Pistocchi established his great school
JOHN D UNSTABLE.— ENGLAND. \ 2 1
of Italian singing at Bologna. "Before this," says an old
writer, '• they used to howl like wolves." He was follow-
ed, twenty years later, by Scarlatti, at Naples, and this im-
provement in vocal operatic music made corresponding de-
mands upon the orchestra. Between 1650 and 1750 flour-
ished the schools of the great violin makers near Cremona,
the Amatis, the Guarnerii, and Stradiuarius, and with them
rose at once the dignity and importance of instrumental
music. Overtures, sonatas, quartets began to be written
in vast quantities, and the way was thus rapidly paved for
the later developments of the modern symphony. Ger-
many, meanwhile, though far from original, had not been
idle. Deriving her inspiration copiously from Italy, she
became, during the seventeenth century, the land of or-
gans and organists, and at the beginning of the eighteenth
showed signs of independent thought, and began to encour-
age native effort in such men as Zachau and Reiser.
But we must now glance for a moment at the place
48. which England holds in the rise and progress
JohnDansta- ° ^ &
bie.— England, ofmusic. The gloomy period of the old tonali-
ty, i. e., before 1600, is relieved in this country by the lus-
tre of one great name — John Dunstable. His fame was
prodigious, and yet his own age could hardly have under-
stood him. He had misgivings about the prevalent sys-
tem of timeless music, strange anticipations of coming har-
monies, and he is even said to have invented counterpoint.
But toward the close of the Second Period (1500-1600)
was born a real English school — a school, no doubt, which
took largely from others, and, owing perhaps to our insu-
lar position, gave little in return, but a school which could
boast of Tallis, Farrant, Byrd, and Bevin in church music ;
Morley,Ward,Wilbye, and Weelkes in the madrigal; Bull
equally great as an executant and a composer ; Dowland,
F
1 2 2 ^2!S OP UCTION TO MODERN MUSIC.
the friend of Shakspeare, in the part-song; and, last in the
catalogue, but first in every style of composition, Orlando
Gibbons. Then comes a blank. The old traditions were
fairly used up; and the echoes of the new music, with
which France and Italy were ringing, had not yet reached
us. The civil wars seemed to paralyze our musical inven-
tion and extinguish our enthusiasm. In Germany, during
the Thirty Years' War, organs and organists abounded,
and composers were busy absorbing all the new influences.
In England, under similar circumstances, music got old and
dull; few composed and played, and fewer cared to listen.
In 1660, Pelham Humphrey, a chorister boy in the roy-
49. al choir of his majesty Charles II., went to Paris.
France. There he fell in with the new opera school of Lulli.
He immediately placed himself under the great French
composer ; and the result was, that Master Humphrey re-
turned in a few years " an absolute Monsieur, disparaging
every thing and every body's skill but his own." — {PepyJs
Diary.) The astonished gentlemen of the king's baud
then got their first peep into the new world. Humphrey
told them that, besides playing old rubbish, they could
keep neither time nor tune; and as for the king's musical
director, he promised to "give him a lift out of his place,
for that he (Master Humphrey) and the king understood
each other, and were mighty thick." In truth, " that brisk
and airy prince" was charmed with the new style: and
Pepys describes him nodding his royal head, and beating
time in chapel with the greatest zest.
The songs of Lulli, founded on Carissimi, and the an-
thems of Humphrey, founded on Lulli, must indeed, as Mr.
Hullah observes, have come upon English ears like a rev-
elation, and startled the lovers of Gibbons, Lawes, and
Jenkins, as much as Mozart's "Idomeneo" surprised the
operatic world, or Beethoven's " Eroica" the lovers of the
FURCELL. 123
older symphonies. Humphrey died in 1674, at the early
age of twenty-seven ; but his direct influence may be traced
in Wise, Blow, and Henry Purcell.
Purcell, born 1658, is distinguished by some of those rare
50 qualities peculiar to genius of the highest order.
Purcell. jje sympathized with and drank deeply into the
spirit of his age, but was not, like Humphrey, absorbed
by it. His music stands, as it were, nicely balanced be-
tween the past and the future. He felt his relations to
the one by sympathy, and to the other by a kind of almost
prophetic intuition. In his day, " that grave and solemn
manner of music by Byrd, Tallis, etc.," was in sad disre-
pute ; the king liked cheerful airs he could hum and beat
time to. Purcell satisfied him fully ; and yet we can not
listen to his music without being struck sometimes by a
certain old flow of rhythm and harmony, which we feel
could only have been derived from a deep study of the
schools of Henry VIII. and Elizabeth. As in reading Ten-
nyson we are sometimes affected with a strange sense of
George Herbert and Milton, so in listening to Purcell there
steals over us a memory of the olden time, like a kindly
ghost that rises and floats by with a sweet and solemn
smile,
It is a pity that Purcell should have stooped occasional-
ly to musical imitation. The passion for expressing words
in notes, founded, as we believe, on a puerile and mistaken
view of the sphere and legitimate functions of music, reach-
es the ridiculous in him. For instance, he has to set the
words, " They that go down to the sea in ships," and pro-
ceeds to perform that operation musically by taking the
bass down a couple of octaves, and leaving him drowned
at the lower D. The same unhappy bass is soon after
" carried up to heaven" on a high dotted crotchet. Other
composers have been fond of similar devices. Handel's
124 INTROD UCTION TO MODERN MUSIC.
"plagues" arc full of them ; Haydn's "Creation" rejoices
in " a long and sinuous worm" of the earth, earthy ; the il-
lusion of Beethoven's " Pastoral" vanishes with the ap-
pearance of a real cuckoo ; and even Mendelssohn must
disturb with what can hardly be any thing but a live don-
key the enchantment of "A Midsummer Night's Dream!"
But with all abatements, the music of Purcell, which after
two hundred years has still the power to charm, bears a
signal witness to the force and originality of his genius.
Purcell died in his thirty-eighth year, 1696.
Handel came to England in 1710. The year 1706 is the
51. turning-point in his musical history. In that year
Germauy. he visited Naples, and met Scarlatti, Porpora, and
Corelli. It was to him a period of rapid assimilation.
With one stride he reached the front rank, and felt that
henceforth no musician alive could teach him any thing.
He died in 1759, aged seventy-eight. There can be no
doubt that Handel, by his single might, greatly advanced
music in all its branches; but his action is far more re-
markable on vocal than on instrumental music. Modern
instrumental music is simply the most extraordinary art-
development which the world has ever seen. It can only
be compared to the perfection reached so suddenly, after a
certain point, by the Greek drama. But the stride from
Corelli to Beethoven was too great even for the giant
Handel, and yet the men who completed that stride were
Handel's contemporaries. Handel was forty-seven when
Haydn was born, and Mozart was in his third year when
Handel died. Musically, how many centuries does Han-
del seem to us behind modern music ! yet we can all but
join hands with him; and the musical enthusiast is filled
with a certain awe when he thinks that men are still alive
(1871) who may have listened to Mozart, and conversed
with the venerable Haydn.
HANDEL.
Born 1C85, Died 1757.
e^l'/trffretle/etffftJm ffid
}
(j -foftf^t^
II.
It may sound like an anachronism to call Handel a con.
52 temporary, and yet he seems so constantly pres-
His Portraits. ent w^h ns that at times we can hardly believe
that he has passed away. We are surrounded by his effi-
gies ; no living face is more familiar — no modern minstrel
more beloved than he who has now lain quietly in the great
Abbey for some one hundred and ten years.
A few hours after death the sculptor Roubiliac took
a cast of his face: that dead face made alive again, and
wrought into imperishable marble, is indeed the very face
of Handel. There, towering above his tomb, towering, too,
above the passing generations of men, he seems to accept
12G HANDEL.
their homage benignly, like a god, while he himself stands
rapt from the " fickle and the frail," and " moulded in co-
lossal calm."
The frequenters of Exeter Hall are familiar with another
figure of him clothed in a long robe, with the legs crossed,
and holding a lyre in his hand. A marble bust of the same
date (1738) is at the Foundling Hospital. The head is
shaven, and crowned with a sort of turban cap; the face is
irascible and highly characteristic. Casts of this bust have
been multiplied through the land, and can be easily ob-
tained.
The original of what is perhaps the best known of all
(1758) is in the queen's private apartments at Windsor.
The little china bust sold at all music-shops is a fair copy ;
on either side of the face falls down a voluminous wig
elaborately wrought. The sculptor seems to have felt he
could no more dare to treat that wig lightly than some
other persons whom we shall have to refer to by-and-by.
There are more than fifty known pictures of Handel, and
the best of them happens to be also the best known. It is
by T. Hudson, signed "1756 A," at Gopsall, the seat of his
remarkable friend, Charles Jennens. Handel is seated in
full gorgeous costume of the period, with sword, shot-silk
breeches, and coat gorge de pigeon, embroidered with gold.
The face is noble in its repose ; a touch of kindly benevo-
lence plays about the finely-shaped mouth ; every trace of
angry emotion seems to have died out; yet the lines of
age that are somewhat marked do not rob the countenance
of its strength. The <n*eat master wears the mellow dis:-
nity of years without weakness or austerity.
In that wonderful collection of pictures lately exhibited
at the South Kensington Museum, the often-recurring face
and figure of Handel — young, middle-aged, and old — life-
size, full figure, head and shoulders, standing up, and sit-
CHILDHOOD. 127
ting down — filled us with the sense of one who had left a
deep and yet bewildering impression upon his own age.
The portraits were not only different in look, but even in
features. The same face has been subjected to the minute
photographic treatment of Denner, and the robust handling
of Wolfand, who makes the composer fat, rosy, and in ex-
cellent condition. There are few collectors of prints who
have not a lithograph, wood-cut, or line engraving of him.
He is exposed in every second-hand print-shop, still hangs
on the walls of many old nook-and-corner houses in Lon-
don, or lies buried in unnumbered portfolios throughout
England.
With such memories fresh in our minds, and with the
melodious thunders of the great Festival constantly ring-
ing in our ears, let us attempt to trace once more the his-
tory of Handel's life, and hang another wreath upon the
monument of his imperishable fame.
Handel or Handel (George Frederick) was born at Halle,
53 on the Saale, in the duchy of Magdeburg, Lower
Childhood. gaxony# The date on his tomb in Westminster
Abbey is a mistake (Feb. 23, 1684); his real birthday is
Feb. 23, 1685. Germany was not then the great musical
country which it has since become, and was chiefly en-
gaged in cultivating at second-hand the flowers of Italian
music, which grew pale enough beneath those alien skies.
The Italian maestro might be looked upon with some re-
spect, but the native artist was not yet considered a proph-
et in his own country. Even eighty years later Mozart
and Haydn were treated like lackeys. " Music," remarked
Handel's father, about a hundred and seventy years ago,
" is an elegant art and fine amusement, but as an occupa-
tion it hath little dignity, having for its object nothing
better than mere entertainment and pleasure."
128 UANDEL.
ISTo wonder the boy Handel, who, from his earliest child-
hood, seems to have been passionately fond of sweet
sounds, encountered opposition and disappointment in his
early musical endeavors. He was to go to no concerts,
not even to a public school, for fear he should learn the
gamut. He must be taught Latin at home, and become a
good doctor, like his father, and leave the divine art to
Italian fiddlers and French mountebanks. But up in a lit-
tle garret the child of seven years, perhaps with the con-
nivance of his nurse or his mother, had hidden a dumb
spinet — even at night the faint tinkling could not be heard
down below — and in stolen hours, without assistance of
any kind, we are told the boy taught himself to play.
By-and-by Father Handel has a mind to visit another
son in the service of the Duke of Saxe-Weissenfels, and lit-
tle George runs after the carriage, and begs so hard to go,
that at last he is taken to the ducal palace. But he soon
turns out to be an enfant terrible to his poor old father.
He is caught playing the chapel organ, and is brought up
before the duke, trembling more, no doubt, at his father
than at the duke, who has heard him, and now pats him
on the back with " bravo !" Then, turning to his enraged
and afflicted parent, he tells him that his son is a genius,
and must not be snubbed any more. The boy's fear is now
exchanged for the wildest delight, and the father's rage is
quickly followed by astonishment. Handel would often tell
the story in after years ; and he never forgot the duke, the
kindest, because the earliest of his benefactors.
From this moment fortune seemed to smile upon him,
and his early career exhibits a combination of circumstan-
ces wonderfully favorable to the orderly development of
his genius. Severe training, patronage, and encourage-
ment, ardent friendship, the constant society of the first
composers, wholesome rivalry, and regular orchestral prac-
EARL Y MANHO OB. V2 9
tice, all seem to be suddenly poured upon him out of For-
tune's great Horn of Plenty. As the favorite pupil of the
great Halle organist, Zachau, he analyzes at the outset very
nearly the whole existing mass of German and Italian mu-
sic, and is set to write a cantata or motett once a week.
At last the good Zachau has not the conscience to put
him through any more fugues ; tells him with kindly pride
that he already knows more than his master, and advises
him to go to Berlin, and study the opera school, under the
auspices of the Elector of Brandenburg. Attilio Ariosti
and Bononcini were then the favorite composers. The first
received Handel with open arms ; but the second scowled
at him from the beginning, and determining to put the
conceited boy's powers to the test, composed an elaborate
piece, which he challenged him to play at sight. Handel
played it off like any other piece, and from that hour Bo-
noncini, who had a bad disposition, but excellent brains,
treated the boy with the hatred of a rival, but with the
respect due to an equal.
Dr. Handel's failing health brought George Frederick
54. back to Halle. In 1697 the old man died, leaving
Early ....
Manhood, his family ill provided for, and young Handel was
thus driven into a course of immediate, though somewhat
dry industry. He descended into the ranks, and became
a kind of occasional second violin at the Hamburg Opera-
house. As he played little, and badly, the band soon be-
gan to sneer at an artist who could hardly earn his salt ;
but one day the harpsichordist (the principal person in the
orchestra) being absent, Handel, then about nineteen, laid
his fiddle aside, sat down in the maestro's place, and fin-
ished by conducting the rehearsal with such ability, that
the whole orchestra broke into loud applause. About this
time Handel received an offer of marriage. He might be
F 2
130 HAND EL.
organist of Lubeck if he would take the daughter of the
retiring organist along with the organ. He went down
with his friend Mattheson, and Mattheson appears to have
been offered the same terms. Something, however, did not
suit — whether it was the organ, or the daughter, or the
salary, we are not told ; but both the young men returned
in single blessedness to Hamburg.
Handel was never married ; and perhaps he felt it would
be neither wise nor generous to accept as a gift what he
had not asked for and did not want. The rivals in unre-
quited affection were also rivals in music : both Matthe-
son and Handel composed operas for the Hamburg Opera.
They had not come to blows over love, but what love
could not do, music did, and the two, who had probably
laughed heartily together at the maid of Lubeck, found
themselves soon after with drawn swords in front of the
theatre, surrounded by a circle of friends and admirers.
They fought, as young men will fight in Germany to this
day, for the merest trifles. Mattheson's rapier struck Han-
del on the bosom, but the point shivered on a great brass
button ; a distinguished councilor of the town then step-
ped in, and gravely declaring that the claims of honor were
satisfied, called on the combatants to desist, and " on the
30th of the same month," writes Mattheson, " I had the
pleasure of having Handel to dine with me, and we were
better friends than ever."
The mind of genius in its early stages is habitually
gloomy, and dark tales of crime and sorrow often possess
irresistible attractions for the happiest and most innocent
of men. Shakspeare early painted the tragedy of Lucrece
and the death of Adonis ; Schiller first made his mark
with "The Robbers;" Goethe with the "Sorrows ofWer-
ther ;" Schubert, when a mere boy, wrote the " Parricide"
and a " Corpse Fantasia." We shall, therefore, not be sur-
ITALY. 131
prised to learn that Handel's first opera, Almira, turns on
the misfortunes of a dethroned queen ; while his second,
Nero, is, as the prospectus briefly explains, intended to
show how " Love" is " obtained by Blood and Murder."
Handel, not content with manufacturing Italian operas
55 in Germany, had, in common with every other musi-
Italy* cian of that day, a strong desire to visit Italy itself,
the great seat of musical learning. With singular inde-
pendence, he refused the offers of Prince Gaston de' Medici
to send him, but by working hard with his pupils he soon
got together money enough to go at his own expense. In
the month of July, 1706, being twenty-one years old, he
first entered Florence.
In that beautiful city, where the flowers seem to come
so early and linger so late, the German musician staid,
under the auspices of the Grand-duke, until Christmas.
Equal to Venice as a great centre of art revival in Italy,
with its strange octagonal dome, its matchless Giotto cam-
panile of black and white marble, its bronze doors, its du-
cal palazzo, and rich memories of Giovanni, or Angelico da
Fiesole — second only to Rome in its passion for the revival
of learning, and second to no city in poetic fame — Flor-
ence was, indeed, a fit residence for the re-creator of all
music. Remembering the vivid impression which the first
aspect of Italy left upon the minds of Mozart and Mendels-
sohn, we can not but regret that Handel's life at Florence
is a simple blank to us. He composed the opera of Rode-
rigo, for which he obtained one hundred sequins, and left
for Venice, where he came in for the thick of the Carnival.
Here, too, we would fain know what impression the city in
the sea made upon him. The marble palaces, not yet ruin-
ed by the hand of decay — the facades, the domes, and the
porticoes, still retaining a certain splendor long after the
132 HANDEL.
bloom of the Renaissance had passed away — the shrines
decorated with the spiritual heads of Bellini — the stairca-
ses and ceilings plastered all over by Tintoret — the cool
plash of the oars in the still lagunes — the sound of a guitar
at night in the dark water-streets — the sights and sounds,
and, above all, the silences peculiar to Venice, must have
exerted a powerful influence over a mind upon which noth-
ing was thrown away.
Whatever effect Venice had upon Handel, it is certain
that Handel took Venice by storm. " II caro Sassone,"
the dear Saxon, came upon a formidable rival in the per-
son of Domenico Scarlatti, the first harpsichord player in
Italy, and the two met frequently in the brilliant saloons
of the Venetian aristocracy. One night during the Carni-
val, Handel, being masked, seated himself at the harpsi-
chord and began playing. The Masques took little notice
until Scarlatti, entering, arrested their attention. The
great Italian was soon struck as his ear caught the sound
of the harpsichord, and, making his way across the room,
he shouted, " It is either the devil or the Saxon !" It was
not the devil ; and let it be written for the learning of all
other Saxons and Italians, that Handel and Scarlatti were
ever afterward honorable rivals and fast friends. In a lat-
er contest at Rome the superiority of Handel on the harp-
sichord was thought doubtful, but he remained the unchal-
lenged monarch of the organ. Handel always spoke of
Scarlatti with admiration ; and Scarlatti, whenever he was
complimented on his own playing, used to pronounce Han-
del's name, and cross himself.
To satisfy the Venetian public, Handel composed in three
weeks the opera of Agrippina, which made furor even in
that emporium of connoisseurs, and gained for its compos-
er the above-mentioned title, " II caro Sassone." Having
seen summer in Florence, and the Carnival in Venice, it
ITALY. 133
was natural that he should hurry on to be in time for the
great Easter celebrations in the Eternal City.
Rome in those days was still a power, and, though shorn
of much strength, she remained the greatest ecclesiastical
force in Europe. Let us hope that the Pope's retinue was
not quite so shabby as it is now, and that the cardinals'
dingy old coaches were gilded and painted a little more
frequently. Probably they were ; for, although the Pope
himself was comparatively poor, some of the cardinals had
managed to amass enormous wealth. Cardinal Ottoboni,
Handel's great friend at Rome, was something of a plural-
ist, and lived above all sumptuary laws. He advanced to
the purple a mere stripling of twenty-two, and he died
forty years later the possessor of five abbeys in Venice,
and three more in France (which last were alone worth
56,000 livres). He was Dean of the Sacred College, Bishop
of Velletri and Ostia, Protector of France, Archpriest of
St. John Lateran, besides being an official of the Inquisi-
tion. Unlike some of his compeers, he was not a mere vo-
luptuary, but was the friend of the people. He kept for
them hospitals, surgeries, was princely in the distribution
of alms, patronized men of science and art, and entertained
the public with comedies, operas, puppet-shows, oratorios,
and academics.
Under the auspices of such a man, Handel composed the
operas of Amadir/i, Silla, and TZoderigo, in 1715; and the
oratorios of the Resurrection and the Triumph of Time.
This last was composed in honor of the great cardinal him-
self, whose band-master was no other than Corelli, who
gave an orchestral performance in his house once a week.
At this early period of his composition, Handel began
insensibly to part company with the old Italian traditions,
although not until he had abandoned entirely the false
forms of opera was it possible for him to carry out the
134 HANDEL.
changes in choral and orchestral music with which his name
is forever associated. In the Triumph of Tune the dead
level of melody and recitative is definitely abandoned, and
we find there, in addition to the usual chorus at the end, a
striking innovation in the shaj^e of two long vocal quartets.
The MS. of the Resurrection contains an unusual number
of wind instruments, although it may be doubted, for this
very reason, whether it was ever performed in Italy with
the full orchestra.
Bidding adieu to the pomps and splendors of Rome,
Handel now went southward, and chose the Bay of Naples
for his second summer in Italy ; and no doubt among the
vine-clad hills that rise above that delightful city he en-
countered the scenes, and came upon the types of rugged
men, gentle swains, and Neapolitan women, which provided
him with the mise en scene and dramatis personam of Aci,
Galatea e Polifemo (1708).
This Italian serenata differs from the English cantata of
Acts and Galatea, although, when the latter was brought
out in 1732, it contained several Italian airs, among them
the popular " Non sempre no crudele," which, although
quite distinct from " O, ruddier than the cherry," is excel-
lent rough singing for a basso giant. While in this roman-
tic and pastoral vein, he composed a number of songs on
the model of the French canzonets, which became fashion-
able all over Europe. Then touching, as it were, cautious-
ly the fringes of Catholicism, he composed a few sacred
pieces for the Mass ; but this kind of thing was never much
to his taste. Handel brought from the land of the Refor-
mation all the instincts of a stern Lutheran. He seems to
have revolted from shams of all kinds. No wonder, then,
if he found it impossible to clothe with a religious senti-
ment dogmas which his common sense repudiated, and
which his section of the Church denounced. PaRsing back
ENGLAND. 135
slowly through Rome, Florence, Venice, there seemed to
him less and less inducement to linger any where. The
composer of Halle was made of sterner stuff than the maes-
tros of Italy, and probably began to be dimly conscious of
the fact that his methods of work and his mission were es-
sentially different from theirs.
In the autumn of 1709 he arrived in Hanover, and it wras
56 at the court of George of Brunswick (afterward
England. King of England) that he fell in with certain En-
glish noblemen, who invited him over to see them. Al-
though he was retained in the service of the Elector at a
salary of £300 a year, he obtained leave from that liberal
prince to visit England ; and after once more greeting his
old master Zachau, and embracing his aged mother at
Halle, he prepared to cross that untried and treacherous
ocean on which poor Papa Haydn (who was to be born only
twenty-three years afterward) was destined to be so terri-
bly tossed about before he arrived here on a similar mis-
sion. Both found London mad for Italian music; but,
while Haydn w7as able, through the advance of taste, to im-
pose his own style in the symphony, Handel, less fortunate,
had to fall in with the prevalent taste, and toil through
many years of Italian opera-manufacturing before he could
gain a hearing for his real creations in oratorio music.
What the public adored was opera " after the Italian
model" — what they tolerated was " English singing be-
tween the acts by Doggett ;" and Handel proved fully equal
to the occasion. His first opera, Rinaldo, was brought out
at a theatre which stood on the site of the present Hay-
market. It proved an immense success. Nearly the whole
of it was arranged for the harpsichord, and thrummed in-
cessantly throughout the kingdom. The march was adopt-
ed by the band of the Life Guards, and died hard about
13G HANDEL.
the beginning of this century. It has since been revived
in the gardens at the Crystal Palace. One air has at least
survived, and by virtue of a certain undefined quality, in-
herent only in the highest works of art, seems to have de-
fied with success the developments of modern music and
the changes of taste. Like Stradella's divine " I miei Sos-
piri," like Gluck's " Che faro," Handel's " Lascia che io pi-
anga" is still listened to with profound interest and genuine
emotion. Handel considered it one of his best airs. Walsh
published the whole opera, and is said to have made a profit
of £1500 out of the sale. When Handel, who, it was said
(apparently without much foundation), had been but shab-
bily paid, was told of this, he accosted the publisher in the
following characteristic manner: "My friend, next time
you shall compose the opera, and I will sell it." It is prob-
able that Walsh, who published many of Handel's works
in after years, took the hint.
But the Elector's Chapel -master could no longer be
5T. spared. He returned to Hanover in about six
Second Visit
to England, months, and settled down to compose all sorts
of trifles for the court dilettanti. After the stir and ex-
citement of London, that dull and pompous little court
must have been terribly monotonous. Chapel-master Han-
del soon escaped back to England, and in 1712 he brought
out an ode for Queen Anne's birthday. In 1713, to cele-
brate the peace of Utrecht, appeared two more works, that
must always be listened to with interest — the famous Te
Deum and Jubilate. They were played then with a full
band and organ, and not a little startled people who were
unaccustomed to hear sacred music with such an accom-
paniment. The queen granted the composer a pension of
£200 a year, and he seems to have immediately forgotten
all about Elector George and his stupid court. But the
SECOND VISIT TO ENGLAND. 137
day of reckoning was not far off, and the truant Chapel-
master soon found himself in an awkward position. When
good Queen Anne died, Elector George took possession of
the empty throne as George I. of England, and Handel was
forbidden to appear before his old patron, who was natu-
rally very angry with him.
But the atmosphere of London was charged with Han-
del. People sang him in the streets, and he came floating
in at the windows; the band played him in the Palace
Yard ; his name filled the opera-house, and was inscribed
on numberless music-books, programmes, and newspapers
— nay, at last, the first violinist of the day insisted on hav-
ing Handel into the king's antechamber to accompany
some sonatas. It was obvious that terms must be made
with so irrepressible a person. One day, as the king went
down the river in his state barge, a boat came after him
playing new and delightful " water music." But one man
could have written such music, and the king knew it ; he
called for Handel, who could now have no temptation to
run away, and sealed his pardon with a new pension of
£200 a year. The day on which the king and Handel
were reconciled was a day of feasting and joy. Houses on
both sides of the river were brilliantly illuminated. As
they came back, numbers of boats, filled with spectators,
put off to meet the royal barge, and cannons continued to
fire salutes until after nightfall.
The "water music" may be said to be steadily written
down to the requirements of the age. The author seems
to say to himself all the way through, "Let us be popular,
or we are nothing." Within the stiff periods, which seem-
ed so charming and so spontaneous to our forefathers, and
which are so tedious to us, there is, no doubt, a considera-
ble play of fancy ; and had there been more originality, the
music would doubtless have had a less immediate success.
138 HANDEL.
Soon after, the opera of Amadigi made its appearance,
and with it came that infallible symptom of dramatic de-
cline— minute attention to stage fittings and gorgeous
scenery; and we fear it must be confessed that these ac-
cessories, and not Handel's music, began to be relied on for
success. Melancholy stress is laid on the "new clothes,
and scenes, and novel variety of dancing;" and among
other things, attention was called "particularly to the
fountain," which, like the " pump" property belonging to
another illustrious company of players, was real, and had
to be lugged in on all occasions. The music certainly at-
tempted some novel effects, and in the accompaniment to
one cavatina, the experiment first tried in the Resurrection
in Rome, 1708, of making the violins all play in octaves,
was repeated in London, 1715.
Handel at this time moved in good society. Rival fac-
es, tions had not yet been organized to crush him.
Handel and _,_,,. , ,
his Friends. Lord Burlington wTas glad to have him at his
mansion, which was then considered out of town. When
the king twitted this nobleman good-humoredly for living
out at what we may call the St. John's Wood of the pe-
riod, his lordship replied that he liked his " house in the
middle of the fields," for he was fond of solitude, and was
placed where none could build near. The beadle of the
Burlington Arcade, much like a superannuated relic of his
lordship's household, had not then come into existence.
For years the noisy stream of life has flowed along Picca-
dilly, close past the portico of the^once secluded "house
in the fields."
It is strange now to think of the people with whom
Handel must daily have rubbed elbows, without knowing
that their names and his would in a century be famous.
Yonder heavy, ragged-looking youth, standing at the cor-
HANDEL AND HIS FRIENDS. 139
ner of Regent Street, with a slight and rather more re-
fined-looking companion, is the obscure Samuel Johnson,
quite unknown to fame. He is walking with Richard
Savage. As Signor Handel, " the composer of Italian mu-
sic," passes by, Savage becomes excited, and nudges his
friend, who takes only a languid interest in the foreigner.
Johnson did not care for music ; of many noises he consid-
ered it the least disagreeable.
Towards Charing Cross comes, in shovel hat and cassock,
the renowned ecclesiastic Dean Swift. He has just nodded
patronizingly to Bononcini in the Strand, and suddenly
meets Handel, who cuts him dead. Nothing disconcerted,
the dean moves on, muttering his famous epigram :
" Some say that Signor Bononcini,
Compared to Handel, is a ninny ;
While others vow that to him Handel
Is hardly fit to hold a candle.
Strange that such difference should be
'Twixt tweedledum and tweedledee."
As Handel enters the "Turk's Head" at the corner of
Regent Street, a noble coach and four drives up. It is the
Duke of Chandos, who is inquiring for Mr. Pope. Present-
ly a deformed little man, in an iron-gray suit, and with a
face as keen as a razor, hobbles out, makes a low bow to
the burly Handel, who, helping him into the chariot, gets
in after him, and they drive off together to Cannons, the
duke's mansion at Edgware. There they meet Mr. Addi-
son, the poet Gay, and the witty Arbuthnot, who have
been asked to luncheon. The last number of the Spectator
lies on the table, and a brisk discussion soon arises be-
tween Pope and Addison concerning the merits of the Ital-
ian opera, in which Pope would have the better if he only
knew a little more about music, and could keep his temper.
Arbuthnot sides with Pope in favor of Mr. Handel's operas;
140 HANDEL.
the cluke endeavors to keep the peace. Handel probably
uses his favorite exclamation, "Vat de tevil I care!" and
consumes the recherche wines and rare viands with undi-
minished gusto.
The magnificent, or the Grand-duke, as he was called,
had built himself a palace for £230,000. He had a private
chapel, and appointed Handel organist in the room of the
celebrated Dr. Pepusch, who retired with excellent grace
before one manifestly his superior. On week-days the duke
and duchess entertained all the wits and grandees in town,
and on Sundays the Edgware Road was thronged with the
gay equipages of those who went to worship at the ducal
chapel and hear Mr. Handel play on the organ.
The Edgware Road was a pleasant country drive, but
parts of it were so solitary that highwaymen were much
to be feared. The duke was himself attacked on one oc-
casion ; and those who could afford it never traveled so
far out of town without armed retainers. Cannons was
the pride of the neighborhood, and the duke — of whom
Pope wTrote,
"Thus gracious Chandos is beloved at sight" —
was as popular as he was wealthy. But his name is made
still more illustrious by the Chandos anthems. They were
all written at Cannons between 1718 and 1720, and num-
ber in all eleven overtures, thirty-two solos, six duets, a
trio, quartet, and forty-seven choruses. Some of the above
are real masterpieces ; but, with the exception of " The
waves of the sea rage horribly," and " Who is God but the
Lord ?" few of them are ever heard now. And yet these
anthems were most significant in the variety of the cho-
ruses and in the range of the accompaniments; and it was
then, no doubt, that Handel was feeling his way toward
the great and immortal sphere of his oratorio music. In-
HANDEL AND HIS FEIENDS. 141
deed, his first oratorio of Esther was composed at Cannons,
as also the English version of Acis and Galatea.
But what has become of the noble duke and his man-
sion ? The little chapel, now Whitchurch, at Edgware,
alone survives. Handel's organ is still there ; and Mr. Ju-
lius Plummer, of honorable memory, fixed this plate upon
it in 1750:
HANDEL WAS ORGANIST OF THIS CHURCH
FROM MDCCXVIII. TO MDCCXXI.,
AND COMPOSED THE ORATORIO OF ESTHER
ON THIS ORGAN.
The castle has been pulled down, and the plow has pre-
pared the site for cultivation. In the prophetic words of
Pope,
"Another age has seen the golden ear
Embrown the slope and nod on the parterre ;
Deep harvests bury all his pride has plann'd,
And laughing Ceres reassumes the land."
But Handel had other associates, and we must now visit
Thomas Britton, the coal-heaver of Clerkenwell Green. As
he stands at the door of his stable, with his dustman's hat
on, a coarse blouse, and a kerchief tied round his neck like
a rope, who should drive up but the beautiful Duchess of
Queensberry — not to order coals, forsooth, but to visit Mr.
Britton. Laying down his pipe, he receives her like one
accustomed to mix with "the quality," and pushing open
a rickety wooden door, discloses a narrow staircase. This
leads up to a long, low room, built over the stable. As
the lovely duchess trips laughingly up the stairs after her
strange host, sounds of a chamber organ and stringed in-
struments reach them, and as they enter the imperfectly-
lighted apartment, they perceive that Mr. Handel is at the
organ, helping the others to tune up.
142 HANDEL.
There is Mr. Banister, the first Englishman who distin-
guished himself on the violin : he gave concerts of his own
at Whitefriars, near the Temple back gate, fitted up a room
over the " George Tavern" with seats and tables — charge,
"one shilling admission and call for what you please;"
but he was always glad to play gratis for his friend the
coal-heaver, in whose den he met with the last musical
novelties and the best society in town. Then there is Sir
Roger l'Estrange, gentleman, in close converse with the
excise officer, Henry Needier; and Robe, a justice of the
peace, is telling the last bit of scandal about Madame Cuz-
zoni to John Hughes, who wrote the " Siege of Damascus,"
a poem which his friends considered equal to Dryden, and
superior to Mr. Pope. And there is Mr. Woolaston, the
painter, who, when Britton has sat down with his viol de
gamba, and got to work on a trio of Hasse or a sarabund
by Galuppi, will take out his pencil and make a rough
sketch of him, to be afterward worked into one of his fa-
mous pictures (for he painted two portraits of his singular
friend).
Anions other friends that are crowding into the lon£
room to listen to a particularly favorite trio of Corelli's, or
to hear Mr. Handel play his original piece called the "Har-
monious Blacksmith" — that favorite 7norceau from the
"Suites de pieces pour le Clavecin," which, like Stephen
Heller's " Nuits Blanches," or " Wanderstunden," was soon
reprinted in France, Switzerland, Holland, and Germany —
among other distinguished guests we notice Henry Sy-
monds, Abiel Wichello, and Obadiah Shuttleworth. The
little form of Pope is probably not far from the fair Queens-
berry, or her Grace of Chandos ; and later in the evening,
the celebrated Dr. Pepusch will look in with that wag Col-
ley Cibber, whose jokes he will in vain endeavor to pre-
vent from exploding in the middle of some favorite ga-
votte by Bononcini.
HANDEL AND HIS FRIENDS. i 43
But the gentleman with a full, good-natured face, the
carefully-powdered wig, the maroon-colored coat, who en-
ters on tiptoe, is evidently of importance in the present
circle. Britton motions him to a seat, and Handel makes
room for him close to the organ. It is Mr. Charles Jen-
nens, the amateur poet, who wrote many of Handel's libret-
tos for him, and arranged the words for the Messiah. He
lived in Great Ormond Street, in such magnificence that
the neighbors called him " Soliman the Magnificent." Later
in life he had a controversy with Samuel Johnson about
Shakspeare, but the world, which has since learned to love
the dear doctor, has forgotten the magnate of Great Or-
mond Street ; and even at that time it was commonly al-
lowed that the dictionary-maker had the best of the argu-
ment.
It is hard to leave that goodly company of wits, poets,
musicians, and philosophers when we have once drawn
aside the curtain and taken a peep at their faces. We fol-
low them about from one great dingy house to another —
some of their houses are still standing. They have deep
wainscoted walls, and narrow windows and back yards,
with perhaps a superannuated fig-tree, and a classic foun-
tain dripping over some Cupid with a large sham cockle-
shell. All is dreary enough and changed — the place is
probably a hospital or an attorney's chambers now — but
the old tenants come back to us in imagination as we stand
at the door or sit down in the dining-room. While the
vision lasts we long to have more details ; but scene after
scene rises only to vanish too rapidly from the mind's eye.
We have hardly time to master the trains and puffs, the
frills and the patches of the ladies; to note the set of the
nodding wigs, the glitter of color in plush and satin, the
clinking swords of the cavaliers, the rumble of the heavy
coaches and four, the shouts of the link-boys and torch-
144 UANDEL.
bearers, the swearing of the tall footmen who wait outside
in the ill-lighted streets writh those snug sedan chairs : they
are there, but only, like Mr. Pepper's ghosts, behind glass ;
the voices sound hollow and distant, the magic light is
flashed upon them for a moment, presently it fades out,
and they are gone.
In 1720, Handel, being at the time the organist at Can-
59 nons, was engaged by a society of noblemen, includ-
operas. jng yg @race of Chandos, to compose operas for the
Royal Academy of Music at the Haymarket, and the Post-
boy soon afterward announces " the most celebrated opera
Badamistus, by Mr. Handell." Of this opera, " Ombra
Cara," w7hich Handel considered one of the finest airs he
had ever written, may still be occasionally heard. The
work was fairly successful, and was followed, in 1721, by
Muzio Sccevola, to which we shall return presently.
In 1721 Floridante also appeared. It was this opera
which called forth the remark from Dr. Burney, " I am
convinced that his slow airs are as much superior to those
of his contemporaries as the others are in spirit and
science." Otto, which appeared in 1723, was generally
considered the flower of his dramatic works. Like Mo-
zart's Don Juan, Weber's Freischutz, Rossini's Tell, Mey-
erbeer's Propliete, and Gounod's Faust, it was a work com-
posed of one long string of gems, and each air became in
its turn a favorite throughout the land. Pepusch, who
could never quite forget that he had been the best organ-
ist in England before the arrival of Handel, remarked of
"Affani del pensier," "That great bear was certainly in-
spired when he wrote that song." The celebrated Ma-
dame Cuzzoni came out in it. On the second night the
tickets rose to four guineas each, and the Cuzzoni was paid
£2000 for the season.
OPERAS. 145
In the same year Flamo and Giulio Cesare were pro-
duced. The first is celebrated for the " Doni Pace" (the
first scenic quintet ever composed). The second is forever
associated with poor George IIL It was revived in 178V
in order to attract him to the theatre to hear some of Han-
del's music, of which he was passionately fond. "Da
Tempesta" and "Alma del gran Pompeo" are still much
esteemed by connoisseurs. In 1725 Rodelinda was re-
ceived with enthusiasm ; the public going so far as to
adopt in society the costume worn by the favorite prima
donna.
Between 1726 and 1727 appeared Scipio, Siroe, and Ptol-
emy, of which little can now be said. The principal airs
were popular at the time, and published in the favorite
form of harpsichord pieces, in which some of them are still
extant ; and many more have been worked up by subse-
quent composers until their phrases have passed into mod-
ern music, and now live over again unrecognized in the
works of many a contemporary composer, and, perhaps,
suspected least of all by the composer himself. We re-
member our astonishment at discovering M. Jullien's once
celebrated " Bridal Waltz" in a trio of Corelli ; it is noto-
rious that " Where the Bee Sucks," by Dr. Arne, is taken
from a movement in Rinaldo ; and we doubt not that a
farther study of the old masters would bring to light simi-
lar cases. Thus the soil of music is ever growing rich
with the dead leaves of the past, and what appears to us
the new life in forest and glade is, after all, but the old life
under a new form.
But a change was at hand. In 1720 this Royal Acade-
co my of noblemen had subscribed £50,000 to get up
Reverses. the Italian opera, and they had engaged Mr. Han-
del to compose. The first operas, as we have seen, made
G
146 HANDEL.
furor ; the singers were the finest in the world, the audi-
ence of the very grandest description. Opera after opera
rolled from Mr. Handel's facile pen. But, as time went on,
sinister rumors got afloat. It was said the funds were not
coming in. It is quite certain they were going out. In two
years the committee of management had spent £15.000;
the wits and critics were beginning to abuse Mr. Handel,
and laugh at his supporters. The appeals for money be-
came urgent. The libretto to Ptolemy even announces
that they were " in the last extremity." Some of his warm
supporters began to cool ; either they could not or would
not pay. Threats at last caused an open breach. Many
forsook the Opera-house ; the rest got up a ball to pay the
expenses, and invitations were issued to improper charac-
ters. The proceedings were declared by legal authority
to be "an offense to his majesty's virtuous subjects;" the
opera itself "a nursery of lewdness, extravagance, and im-
morality." It ended by the whole thing being put a stop
to by order of the king ; and poor Handel, who had noth-
ing to do with the ball, and never got the money, found
himself defiled without having touched the pitch. To
make matters worse, an opposition house started up. The
Beggars' Opera, with music by Dr. Pepusch, who stole
some of it from Handel, was brought out at the Lincoln's
Inn Fields Theatre, and the fickle public, suffering under
a surfeit of Julius Ccesar, Cyrus, and all the Ptolemies,
went off in crowds to enjoy a little low life with the bur-
glar Macheath and Polly. Rich was the name of the man-
ager, and Gay that of the poet ; and the people who night-
ly greeted the smiling manager, and called loudly for the
needy poet, remarked that the Beggars'1 Opera had made
Gay rich and Rich gay.
Handel, who either could not or would not see that a
change had taken place in the public taste, gathered up
MORE TRIALS. 147
the remnant of his fortune, and, making arrangements with
Heidegger, proprietor of the Haymarket, prepared to make
another serious attack on the musical world in the charac-
ter of an operatic composer. He made up his various quar-
rels with the singers and managers, got together his scat-
tered orchestra, and finally went off in person to Italy for
re-enforcements. His energy wTas undiminished ; he was
in his finest musical vein, and prepared to pour forth opera
after opera upon a public whose ears and eyes seemed
closed.
In 1729 Lothario was produced. Parthenope followed
in 1731. Both fell flat. The wonderful voice of Senesino
carried Porus through fifteen representations in 1731, then
JRinaldo was revived with " new cloathes," but the public
had heard the music and did not care for the "cloathes;"
and when JEtius appeared in the following year, they
grumbled at the old clothes, and did not care for the new
music. A faint flicker of interest was shown in Sosarme,
produced in the same year, but the audience steadily drop-
ped off; and Orlando (1733), although the scenery was ad-
mitted to be " extraordinary fine and magnificent," died
without a struggle in an empty house.
True originality has usually the same battle to fight
61 with conventional tastes, stupidity, or ignorance.
More trials. The Duke of Wellington, in the Peninsula, con-
tending for his own measures with a distant government;
Nelson disobeying orders at Copenhagen ; Jenner trying
to persuade people to be vaccinated ; or the Liberal poli-
ticians of our own age laboring for years to pass Liberal
measures, are only instances in other spheres of action of
what is constantly going on in the world of Art.
It would be interesting to inquire in such cases how far
circumstances control men and their measures, and how far
/
148 1IANBEL.
men and their measures were influenced by circumstances.
In some cases we seem to have very nearly a balance of
power. Handel's operatic career is a case in point. It
would be curious to study how far the very music and in-
strumentation were dictated to him at times by the tyran-
ny, necessity, or solicitation of circumstance. One of the
airs allotted to Polifemo was certainly written for an ex-
ceptional voice, for it contains a range of two octaves and
five notes. Semiramis, Caius Fabricius, and Arbaces, play-
ed in 1734, are simply pasticcio operas, composed of all
sorts of airs, in which each singer has the opportunity of
singing his bravura songs. Some of them are Italian, oth-
ers German, and these fragmentary songs are all strung to-
gether by a recitative, which is the only new part of the
opera. It would not be difficult to find curious hints and
suggestions in the writings of other composers which point
to a similar pressure or peculiarity of circumstance. The
soprano part of Mozart's Flauto 3fagico, especially the
great aria with the staccato passages, was written for a
special voice.
The only reason why Schubert did not write more sym-
phonies was the difficulty of getting them played. It has
been remarked in the notices in the Crystal Palace Satur-
day programmes that Beethoven's relations with the in-
struments of his orchestras, and especially with the horn,
are often suggestive. In the B flat symphony there is only
one flute instead of two. Of Mozart's G minor symphony
there are two versions, one with clarionets and one with-
out. It is well known that the opening to William Tell
overture was written for a celebrated violoncello at Vi-
enna, while there can be little doubt that Handel wrote
many of his finest airs for particular voices.
But it is refreshing to learn that the voices had occa-
sionally to bend to the genius of the composer or the im-
MORE TRIALS. 149
perious will of the man. When Carestini, the celebrated
evirato, sent back the air "Verdi Prati," Handel was furi-
ous, and, rushing into the trembling Italian's house, shook
the music in his face with, " You tog ! don't I know better
as yourself vat you shall sing ? If you vill not sing all de
song vat I give you, I vill not pay you ein stiver !" Care-
stini afterward found that Handel was right. " Verdi Pra-
ti" was one of his grands succ&s. When, in a similar spirit
of ill-timed revolt, the famous Cuzzoni declined to sing
" Falsa Immagine" at the rehearsal, Handel, who had been
waxing hot at sundry signs of insubordination, exploded at
last. He flew at the wTretched woman, and, seizing her
arm, shook her like a rat. "Ah ! I always knew you were
a fery tevii," he cried ; " and I shall now let you know that
I am Beelzebub, de prince of de tevils !" and, dragging her
to the open window, was just on the point of pitching her
into the street, when, in every sense of the word, she re-
canted. Although Handel sometimes gained his point in
this way, yet his violence occasionally laid him open to the
ridicule and contempt of small minds.
Persons have been known to appreciate that indescriba-
ble mixture of sound produced by the preparatory tuning
of an orchestra with the organ even more than the per-
formance itself. Handel was not of this opinion. After
he was once at his desk, woe betide the belated fiddle that
scraped a fifth, or the inexperienced flute that attempted
the least " tootle." Some of us may have witnessed the
despair of a professional conductor at the endless and insa-
tiable tuning of an amateur orchestra. Others may have
watched the calm distraction of an accompanyist at having
to play through "Vaga Luna" to some one not more than
half a semitone flat. Others may have seen the expression
on the master's face when in some pause the drum comes
in with a confident, but perfectly uncalled-for " rataplan ;"
150 II AND EL.
but tiiese incidents are trivial compared with the scene
which it is now our painful duty to describe.
It was a grand night at the Opera. The Prince of Wales
had arrived in good time, remembering how Handel had
been annoyed sometimes at his coming in late. The in-
struments, supposed to be in perfect tune, were lying
ready, and the performers entered. Alas ! a wag had
crept in before them, and put every one of the stringed in-
struments out of tune. Handel enters ; and now all the
bows are raised together, and at the given beat they all
start off con spirito. The effect must have been as if ev-
ery one of the performers had been musically tumbling
down stairs. The unhappy maestro rushes wildly from
his place, kicks to pieces the first double bass that opposes
him, and, seizing a kettle-drum, throws it violently at the
leader of the band. The effort sends his full-bottomed wig
flying, but he does not heed it ; and, rushing bareheaded to
the foot-lights, he stands for a few moments amid the roars
of the house, snorting with rage, and choked with passion.
The prince, although highly amused, soon thought this
kind of entertainment had lasted long enough, and, going
down in person, he besought Handel to be calm, and with
much difficulty prevailed on him to resume his wig and his
opera.
Like Burleigh's nod, Handel's wig seems to have been a
sure guide to Handel's temper. " When things went well
at the oratorio," writes Burney, " it had a certain nod or
vibration which manifested his pleasure and satisfaction.
Without it, nice observers were certain that he wras out of
humor." The ominous sign always appeared if, when
Handel was conducting the Prince of Wales's concerts,
any of the ladies-in-waiting talked instead of listening.
" Hush ! hush !" the princess would say ; " don't you see
Handel is in a passion ?"
CONTEMPORARY COMPOSERS. 151
But it must be added that Handel, who knew his own
hastiness, was often willing to apologize ; and on one oc-
casion, after roundly scolding Burney, then a mere lad, for
what turned out to be an error of Smith, the copyist, he in-
stantly made the amende honorable. " I peg your pardon ;
I am a very odd tog ; Meister Schmidt is to plame."
Handel paid his singers what in those days were consid-
ered enormous prices. Senesino and Carestini had each
£1200 for the season; and on one occasion, as we have
seen, the Cuzzoni got £2000. Toward the close of what
may be called his operatic period, most of the singers, and
almost all the nobles, forsook Handel, and supported the
greatest singer of the age, Farinelli, at the rival house in
Lincoln's Inn Fields. But, before we proceed further, we
will give the reader a glance at some of the composers
with whom Handel came into immediate contact, and with
whose genius, effrontery, or cabals he was forced to con-
tend.
To Gluck I have devoted a separate notice. He cross-
ed Handel's path late, and was but slightly connected with
him.
Of Domenico Scaelatti, who died 1757, we shall not
62. say much more here. He was the real creator
Contemporary • i -i i * /» i
Composers. of the advanced harpsichord school of the pe-
riod, as much as Mendelssohn was of the advanced piano-
forte school of the present day. But his range, like that
of Chopin, was limited, and he wrote little besides harpsi-
chord music. Those who care to examine some of his al-
legros in ^ time will be surprised to find the prototypes
of many of the tarantelles written in such profusion for the
modern piano-forte. His father, the celebrated Alessandro
Scarlatti, was the greater of the two. He wrote a hun-
dred and fifteen operas, besides an immense mass of sacred
music.
152 UANDEL.
Of all Handel's rivals Bononcini was certainly the most
formidable. He came to England about 1*720, with Arios-
ti, a composer of merit. When something or other in the
tone and spirit of Handel's music (not then recognized as
the high peculiar tone of the German school) made people
feel that he was quite different from the beloved Italians,
factions began to form themselves, and the Handelists,
backed by the Prince of Wales, ranged themselves against
the Bononcinists, supported by the Duke of Marlborough
and most of the nobility. A whole chorus of popular
writers rehearsed the sublime merits of the Italian school,
while Pope, Arbuthnot, and a few others stood by Handel.
Exactly the same drama repeated itself with a different
raise en scene, and other actors, about thirty years later.
Paris was then the seat of war : Gluck was the German
hero, supported by Marie Antoinette ; Piccini fought for
Italy, under the meretricious banners of the Du Barry ;
l'Abbe Arnault plied his dignified pen for Gluck, while
Marmontel answered with daring and unscrupulous sar-
casm for Piccini. Even before the open breach the paral-
lel holds good; for as Gluck and Piccini were each en-
gaged to compose an opera (Iphigenia) on the same sub-
ject, so Bononcini, Ariosti, and Handel were associated to-
gether in the composition of Muzio Scczvola / and, more-
over, as Gluck was clearly victorious, so was Handel.
Here, however, the parallel ceases. Gluck left Paris in
possession of the Italian opera ; Bononcini, to our honor
be it said, left London in possession of German oratorio.
Between two giants like Handel and Bononcini, poor
Ariosti seems to have been crushed to pieces. Originally
he had been a Dominican monk. His temperament was
gentle ; he loved music, and wrote compositions much ad-
mired in his own country; but he should never have met
cither the Achilles or Hector of his day. His feeble light,
CONTEMPORARY COMPOSERS. 153
that would have illumined a smaller sphere with a mild
and gentle lustre, paled at once before the mighty sun of
Handel, and the continuous blaze of Bononcini's fireworks.
His Act oiMuzio Sccevola (1721) was voted the worst — a
decision in whicli he fully acquiesced. In 1730 it was not
worth while to compose any more; his place was filled;
the public would hardly listen to his performances on the
viol de gamba — an instrument which he himself had intro-
duced into England in 1716. A humble-minded and inof-
fensive man, as graceful as a woman, and nearly as timid,
he lapsed into silence and poverty, and died neglected, but
not before he had been forgotten.
The career in England of the brilliant, but arrogant Bo-
noncini, came to a fitting end in 1733. A certain madrigal
of his was discovered to be note for note the composition
of a Signor Lotti in Italy. Lotti was communicated with
by the Royal Academy of Music. The matter was made
public, and Bononcini, not caring to plead guilty, left the
country, never to return, amid the jubilations of the Han-
delists. The defeated maestro traveled through Europe,
still pouring out from his astonishingly facile brain things
new and old, and at last fell into the hands of an impostor,
who professed to have discovered the philosopher's stone.
He died soon afterward in obscurity and solitude, having
outlived his popularity and lost his character.
Not the least of Handel's rivals was Porpora, or, as
Handel used to call him, " old Borbora." Without the ro-
mantic fire of Bononcini, the grace of Ariosti, or the orig-
inality of Handel, he represented the high and dry Italian
school. He was a great singing-master, a learned contra-
puntist, famous throughout Italy. He was invited over in
1733 by the Italian faction in London, under the patronage
of Marlborough and Lord Cooper. His opera of Ariadne
was brought out at Lincoln's Inn Fields, and was a great
G2
154 HANDEL.
success. Rut when, later on, he had the audacity to oppose
to Handel's oratorios his own David, his failure was con-
spicuous, and he was candid enough to admit his great ri-
val's superiority in sacred music. He thought no one's
operas equal to his own. He wrote fifty of them ; and had
the distinguished honor, when an old man, of teaching
young Haydn, who, in return, cleaned his boots and pow-
dered his wig for him.
Among other Italians who were as thorns in Handel's
side we may mention Hasse, a man of real genius, whose
chamber music is still esteemed by amateurs. Arrigoni
came over with Porpora, and helped to supply the Italian
programmes at Lincoln's Inn Fields Theatre.
We must not forget to mention one or two other celeb-
rities— Dr. Pepusch, the Prussian, and Dr. Greene, the
Englishman. Pepusch held the first place in England be-
fore the arrival of Handel, and made a distinct sphere for
himself even when Handel and the Italian composers were
in their glory. His Beggars' Opera killed every thing at
the time, and still keeps possession of the stage. Pepusch
may be said to have understood the merits of the English
ballad. They are not considerable ; but, whenever the pub-
lic taste gets jaded with Italian sirup or German solids,
English ballads have ever been found useful as a kind of
fillip. Pepusch was a learned, but not a very original com-
poser, and his skill in arranging and adapting, especially
the popular songs of the day, was greater than his skill in
creating. He had the sense to bow before Handel, and the
grace to subscribe to his works.
Dr. Boyce, Dr. Arne, and Dr. Greene were all com-
posers of the day : no lover of cathedral music is ignorant
of their names ; and many of Boyce's anthems have become
regular items in the week's services. Boyce was incom-
parably the greatest, Arne was more graceful than power-
CONTEMPORARY COMPOSERS. 155
ful, while the name of Greene is usually more respected
than loved by the frequenters of choral services. His re-
lations with Handel and Bononcini are hardly creditable
to him. He seems to have flattered each in turn. He up-
held Bononcini in the great madrigal controversy, and ap-
pears to have wearied Handel by his repeated visits. The
great Saxon easily saw through the flatteries of a man who
was in reality an ambitious rival, and joked about him, not
always in the best taste. When he was told that Greene
was giving concerts at the " Devil Tavern," near Temple
Bar, " Ah !" he exclaimed, " mein poor friend Toctor Greene
— so he is gone to de Tevil !"
On one occasion we are told that Greene had left a new
solo anthem of his with Handel, who good-naturedly asked
him to breakfast the next morning. The great German
was most affable, and discoursed on every possible subject,
but all Greene's attempts to lead the conversation round
to the anthem proved futile. At last, growing desperate,
he interrupted his host's flowing talk with,
"But my anthem, sir — how do you like my anthem?"
" Oh, your anthem ? Veil, sir, I did tink it wanted air."
" Wanted air, sir ?"
" Yes, sare — air — so I did hang it out of de vindow !"
It must be noticed how entirely English music was
C3. swamped by German and Italian masters. It is an
Music in * J
England, unwelcome fact to many, but it must not be over-
looked. Much offense has been taken at the phrase, " The
English are not a musical people." That phrase, interpret-
ed to mean " the English do not care for music," or " they
can not be got to like good music," or " they do not make
good executive artists," is certainly untrue, and we should
never use it in any of the above senses ; but if a musical
nation means a nation with a musical tradition and school
156 HANDEL.
of its own — a nation not only in possession of old popular
melodies, whose origin it is always difficult and sometimes
impossible to trace, but also possessing a development of
the musical art distinct in character from that of all other
nations, and subject to the inspiration of national genius —
then we fear that England can scarcely yet be said to have
established her claim to be called a musical nation. It is
hardly possible not to see that the facts of history bear out
the assertion. As the religion of England was Roman up
to the time of Henry VIII., Church music in England, that
came along with Rome's ecclesiastical system, drew its
chief inspiration from Italy. In so far as there was a pop-
ular movement running side by side with the ecclesiastical,
it is still more easy to trace that popular movement to the
Trouveres and Troubadours of Provence, who wandered all
over Europe, and whose very names betray their foreign
origin. If, however, we admit that Tallis, and Farrant, and
Byrd founded an English school, and that Morley, Ward,
and Weelkes, in their madrigals (observe, the very word
madrigal is an Italian one), and Orlando Gibbons, contin-
ued the good work, it remains to be explained why Hum-
phrey deliberately chose the French school in the reign of
Charles II. — a school of music which was enthusiastically
received in England — and why Purcell (died 1695), origin-
al, prolific, and, above all, eclectic, had no followers at all.
The fact is, the so-called English school had not life enough
to survive the paralysis of the Civil Wars, nor memory
enough to continue its own tradition ; and France and Italy
alternately or jointly contended for the honor of carrying
off the musical prizes in England, until Germany, like a
very David, arose and slew both the lion and the bear.
We do not observe, then, from looking back, that En-
gland has had a great musical past ; what we do see is a
constant taking root, and springing up, and withering, a
MUSIC IN ENGLAND. 1 5 7
certain appetite, succeeded by nausea and repose. With
the growing passion for good — in other words, for whole-
some food, this state of things may perhaps cease. Once,
we know, she wras distinguished among the nations for her
commercial apathy. That apathy has passed away. There
wTas a time before even Germany had developed her mu-
sical genius. Italy and France were long the leading com-
posers of the world. That time has passed away, and En-
gland herself may even now be about to rise and claim a
position among musical nations. Meanwhile, let us be just
to the patrons of music in England. It is the fashion to
say that native talent was crushed by the Hanoverian
Georges, who showed favor only to German musicians.
But this is not the case. On the contrary, native talent
was for long protected in England. Italian music was not
preferred to English until the two met in a fair fight, and
Italy won. Nor was Germany installed supreme until she
had beaten Italian opera out of the field with German ora-
torio.
For many years great efforts were made to encourage
English talent. As late as George II.'s reign only an En-
glishman could hold the place of king's organist. Almost
every English composer of any note was a Doctor of Mu-
sic, and installed in some place of honor and emolument.
The cathedral choirs were superintended by Englishmen ;
nor was there any effort made to suppress the ballads they
wrote, or to keep their operas off the stage. The Beggars'
Opera was full of English songs, and Pepusch, who, al-
though a Prussian, was a naturalized English subject, col-
lected and arranged large quantities of them. But En-
gland originated nothing, or next to nothing. Pistochi in-
vented tlie singing-school; the Amatis, Stradiuarius, and
his followers, lay at the foundation of modern instrumental
music. It is to Italy again we have to turn for the opera;
158 HANDEL.
while Handel gave us the highest form of the oratorio, and
Haydn may be fairly said to have created the symphony.
But to return to Handel. We left him playing Orlando
C4 to empty houses in 1733. But an event had al-
oratonos. reac]y occurred which was destined ultimately to
turn the tide in his favor, and which struck the key-note
of his immortality. We know that the MS. of Sir Walter
Scott's " Waverley" was laid aside for many years ; so was
the MS. of Handel's first oratorio, Esther. It was com-
posed as early as 1720 for the Duke of Chandos at Can-
nons. Eleven years afterward (1731), Bernard Gates, Roy-
al Chapel-master of St. James's, got it up in private with
his choir. Its fame soon spread, and a society called the
Philharmonic, as also the Academy of Music, produced it
©n a larger scale under the direction of Gates. Handel
seems to have thoroughly revised it himself, and in 1732
we read that "Hester, an English oratorio, was performed
six times, and very full."
To us it is tolerably clear that there was something in
the form as well as in the subjects of oratorio music espe-
cially appropriate to the genius of Handel; and yet such
were the force of habit and the tyranny of fashion that it
was not until 1741 — twenty-one years after the composi-
tion of Esther — that Handel definitely, upon repeated fail-
ures, abandoned the composition of Italian operas.
Without seeing these works represented, it may be diffi-
cult to decide why they failed. One thing is certain, that
the better the music, the less did it suit the operatic tastes
of the age. The most popular parts were the most puerile.
Compare the silly, but celebrated march in Rinaldo (1711)
with the splendid, but little known march in Scipio (1726).
perhaps the singers did not follow the development of his
genius, and got tired of him as he marched on with colos-
ORATORIOS. 159
sal strides toward the music of the future. We know that
Cuzzoni and Carestini both refused to sing some of his
finest airs. Perhaps the public grew tired of the singers.
At all events, Farinelli, the greatest of them, left England
in 1737 rather than sing to an audience of five-and-thirty
pounds. But the best reason is indicated by Colley Cib-
ber, and explains why Italian opera could never satisfy
the requirements of the great German composer, or be any
thing more than an artificial luxury with the English peo-
ple : " The truth is, that this kind of entertainment is en-
tirely sensual."
As Handel's instincts ripened his intellect also devel-
oped. Perhaps he may have felt that dramatic action and
musical emotion were two things that ought not to be
mixed up together by making actors sing; and assuredly
in the cantata and oratorio he attained a more satisfactory
and philosophical form by presenting a drama to the mind
clothed with musical emotion, but not confounded with
dramatic action. Incidents can be acted, and incidents
can be described in song, but incidents can not be sung
except in the way of description, simply because music
does not express acts, but the emotions which underlie ac-
tion. Probably Handel did not explain his reasons for
abandoning Italian opera thus ; but the fact that his ope-
ras are forgotten, while Acis and Galatea and the Messiah
remain, shows that in these last he had hit upon a form
sufficiently philosophical to outlive all the operas of the
day, and one which they did not possess.
From 1732 to 1740 he presents the familiar spectacle of
a man of genius struggling with the tendencies of his age
— half sailing, half drifting, but gaining strength with ev-
ery passage of conflict. In those twelve memorable years
he composed sixteen operas and five oratorios. After 1740
he composed no operas, and from 1741 to 1751 he com-
100 HANDEL.
posed eleven oratorios, beginning with the Messiah and
ending with Jephtha. The success of the long-neglected
Esther induced Handel to compose Deborah in 1733, and
the success of Deborah awoke all the dogs that had gone
to sleep during the failure of his operas and the decline of
his popularity.
" The rise and progress of Mr. Handel," writes one paper,
" are too well known for me to relate. Let it suffice to
say that he has grown so insolent upon the sudden and
undeserved increase of both, that he thinks that nothing
ought to oppose his imperious and extravagant will." We
are then treated to a description of " the thing called an
oratorio," and informed that " the fairest breasts were fired
with indignation against this new imposition."
The Italian faction opposed him with close and serried
65 ranks, and all the malcontents, from whatever cause,
Cabals, deserted from Handel's camp and joined Bononcini.
It does not appear that opposition improved a tempera-
ment naturally hot, and there can be little doubt that as
Handel went on in life he lost friends and' made enemies.
He quarreled wTith the celebrated Senesino, who, of course,
joined his rival; and many of the nobles, who were accus-
tomed to treat musicians like servants, and even to cane
them, were so taken aback at the great German's haughty
and overbearing demeanor, that they decided in favor of
the astute and servile Italian, who lived in Lady Godol-
phin's house in the enjoyment of a large pension.
No slander was spared. Handel was a swindler, he was
a false friend, a glutton, a drunkard, a raving idiot, a pro-
fane fellow, to whom not even Holy Writ was sacred. The
very idea of setting Deborah to music scandalized deeply
the Pietists, who applauded loudly the operas of Bononcini
and the canzonets of Arrigoni.
CABALS ICi
Rolli satirized him, and Goupy caricatured him : his per-
son was voted ridiculous, and his innovations monstrous.
People complained of the loud effects produced by his new
brass instruments, his heavy choruses, and his numberless
violins. We are accustomed to think of Handel's orches-
tra as poor ; but, in fact, with the exception of the clario-
net, cornet-a-piston, and ophicleide, it comprised all the in-
struments now used, and several extinct ones besides — i. c,
violetta marina, Theorbo lute, etc. He also wrote for ser-
pents, although few could then play them ; and we are told
of a bassoon sixteen feet high, which only one man could
play : this was called a grand double bassoon (contrafa-
gotto), and was made by Mr. Stanesby, the Distin of the
period.
Under these circumstances, we are not surprised to find
Bold Briareus with a hundred hands abused and laughed
at. Fielding, in " Tom Jones," has the following amusing
hit at the taste of the period. " It was Mr. Western's cus-
tom every afternoon, as soon as he was drunk, to hear his
daughter play on the harpsichord ; for he was a great lover
of music, and, perhaps, had he lived in town, might have
passed for a connoisseur, for he always excepted against
the finest compositions of Mr. Handel." Even his friends
complained that he "tore their ears to pieces;" and one
writes, " I expected his house to be blown down with his
artificial wind; at another time the sea overflowed its
banks and swallowed us up. But, beyond every thing, his
thunder was most intolerable ; I shall never get the horrid
rumbling out of my head."
So much had it become the fashion to criticise the new
effects, that some years later Mr. Sheridan makes one of his
characters let off a pistol simply to shock the audience,
and makes him say in a stage whisper to the gallery, " This
hint, gentlemen, I took from Handel."
1G2 HANDEL.
In 1733, Esther and Deborah, together with Floridante
66. (1723) and Orlando (1732), were the chief attrac-
Haiidelat \ ' TX , '1 _
Oxford, tions at the Haymarket. On July 5th of that year
we find " one Handell, a foreigner (who, they say, was born
at Hanover), was desired to come to Oxford to perform in
music." The same writer goes on to say " that Handel,
with his lowsy crew, a great number of foreign fiddlers,
had a performance for his own benefit in the theatre.
1ST.B. — His book (not worth id) he sells for Is." The
grave Dons seemed rather perplexed at the whole per-
formance. " This," says one, " is an innovation," but every
one paid their 55., and went to " try how a little fiddling
would sit upon them ;" and so great was the crush to get
in, that, " notwithstanding the barbarous and inhuman
combination of such a parcel of unconscionable scamps, he
disposed of most of his tickets."
Before "Handel and his lowsy crew" left Oxford, the
victory was won. Athalie was received " with vast ap-
plause by an audience of 3700 persons." Some of his Uni-
versity admirers, who appear to have thought then, as
now, that any University honor was of priceless value,
urged Handel to accept the degree of Doctor of Music, for
which he would, of course, have to pay a small fee. We
can understand the good Dons opening their eyes at his
characteristic reply : "Vat te tevil I trow my money away
for dat vich the blockhead vish ? I no vant !"
When Handel opened the Haymarket in the autumn of
67. the same year (1733), he did so as manager on
More Operas J \ /> »
aud Cabals, his own account. His recent successes seem to
have inspired him with confidence, and he was slow to be-
lieve that the public had done with his Italian operas.
He made great efforts to write in a popular style. The
Ariadne (1733) was avowedly written to outbid the Ital-
MORE OPERAS AND CABALS. 163
ian composers, and regain the favor of the faithless nobles.
He plied them alternately with quality and quantity, and
in the following year produced several patchwork operas,
into which many favorite Italian airs were introduced to
please either the singers or the public. Then comes an al-
legorical poem in Festa (1734). After which we have a
relapse into instrumental music, e. g., the Hautboy con-
certos (1734), which are more like symphonies than con-
certos; and, above all, the famous " six fugues or volunta-
ries" (1735) — a species of composition in which Handel
must own his superior in Sebastien Bach. Then we have
a ballet written for a French danseuse newly arrived.
Gods in the clouds and out of the clouds were to appear —
Jupiter with plenty of thunder, and actually " two Cu-
pids." What could be more attractive? The Cupids and
the danseuse had to be lugged into the Ariodante (1735) ;
after which, in the same year, was composed and produced
Alcina, which contained thirty-two airs, one duet, and no
less than four little choruses. Then comes, as it were, a
sudden revulsion of feeling. Opera is once more abandon-
ed, and Athaliah, with parts of Esther and Deborah, is ad-
vertised.
But, notwithstanding all his efforts, the Italian opposi-
tion at Lincoln's Inn Theatre grew stronger every day.
Almost all the good singers had joined Porpora, Arrigoni,
and Bononcini. Farinelli, whom the fashionable world
raved about ; Cuzzoni, whose very dresses were copied by
the court ladies ; Senesino, whose departure for Italy cast
a gloom over the London season ; Montagnana, considered
by some the most finished artist that Italy ever produced
— all sung at the opposition house against Bold Briareus,
in order to crush him entirely. The nobles sent for the
celebrated Hasse ; but the great man, with becoming mod-
esty, exclaimed, " Oh ! then Handel is dead ?" and on being
101- HANDEL.
told he was yet alive, refused indignantly to go over in op-
position to one so much his superior. It is strange to no-
tice how, partly by the progress of his genius, and partly
by the force of circumstances, Handel was being drifted
out of Italian opera at the very moment when he tried to
tighten his grasp on it.
The free introduction of choral and instrumental music
into opera offended the singers and retarded the action of
the drama in the eyes of the audience. Yet it was by
these unpopular characteristics that the public mind was
being trained to understand a species of composition which,
from the first, seems to have proved attractive under the
form of the cantata and the oratorio.
It was in 1736 that Carestini, the only great Italian
singer who had stood by Handel, left for Italy, and with
his departure all further operas at the Haymarket became
impossible. It was in that year also that Handel, once
more left to follow the bent of his own genius, revived Acts
and Esther, and composed the music to Alexander's Feast.
However, in April, 1736, the Italian singer Conti was got
over, and another Italian opera was tried — Atalanta.
The piece was in honor of the Prince of Wales, on the
occasion of his marriage with a princess of Saxe-Gotha;
and was followed, in the same month, by a light wedding
anthem, written down to their royal highnesses' taste.
But the flicker of popularity which attended these two
works came too late to restore the fortunes of a lost game,
and although Handel stood out stoutly to the last, he must
have been aware of the impending ruin. In 1737 Arminius
appeared. Burney says, " It had few captivating airs."
At any rate, it failed. Justin (1738) followed; and al-
though it is acknowledged to be one of Handel's most
agreeable compositions, it had but five representations.
The master was getting worn and depressed with exertion,
A FUNERAL ANTHEM. 165
disappointment, and failure. The public seemed tired of
every thing. The Italian singers had not only deserted the
Haymarket, but were again beginning to leave the country.
In eight years Handel had dissipated a fortune of £10,000
on Italian opera, and on the fall of Berenice he was forced
to suspend payment, and closed the theatre.
The rival house lasted but a few months longer. Its
pride and success had been, after all, the pride of party
spirit and the vamped-up success of a clique, and when
Handel gave in, the game seemed hardly worth the candle
— the candle having cost the Duchess of Marlborough and
her friends as nearly as possible £12,000.
In April, 1737, the daily papers announced that Mr. Ham
68. del, who had been indisposed with rheumatism,
A Funeral . _ _ . , . . _
Anthem, was recovering. In October we read in the Daily
Post that Mr. Handel, " the composer of Italian music, was
hourly expected from Aix, greatly recovered in health."
All sorts of rumors had been afloat. Handel had left the
country, some said mad — others dying — all knew in debt.
But the iron frame with the iron will lasted out. Handel
did not return from Aix-la-Chapelle, like Mozart from Ba-
den, towrite his own Requiem, but some one's else.
Queen Caroline's failing health had long been the talk
of town, and it was commonly said that anxiety and wea-
riness of spirit were rapidly hastening her to the grave.
When the last hour had struck, Handel was called in to
make music for the king's sorrow, and the Funeral Anthem
was performed in Henry VII.'s chapel in the presence of an
immense concourse of people. The whole of this magnifi-
cent anthem was afterward introduced into the oratorio of
Saul as an elegy on the death of Saul and Jonathan, and
the whole of it is, on second thoughts, crossed out in the
MS. of that oratorio.
166 HANDEL.
With an inexplicable tenacity of purpose, Handel in-
go. stantly resumed the composition of opera music
Failure and . " _ . * . . x
Success. whicli had only just now ruined him, and lrara-
mondo was immediately produced with La Francesina and
the famous Cafarelli Duca di Santi Dorato, who thought
himself the greatest singer in the world, and wrote out-
side his chateau in Italy," Amphion Thebas, Ego Domum."
Faramondo failed. On the 25th of February, 1728, came
Alexander JSeverus, a pasticcio of favorite airs — that failed.
Two months afterward, Jferxes, with a comic man in it,
failed. The work does not flow easily in spite of the com-
edy, and the scored and blotted MS. attests to this day the
agitations of a mind ill at ease and fevered with anxiety.
In fact, the house was empty — the band grumbled — the
singers were not paid — and somewhere about March of the
same year one Signor Strada threatened to arrest Handel
for debt. At this crisis his friends induced him to give a
great benefit concert, which brought him in — some said —
£1500, and which enabled him to pay many of his debts.
In his adversity he was not without consolations. His
creditors believed in his sterling integrity, and were, as a
rule, very patient with him. The king paid him well for
his work, and at a time when the nobles forsook him, his
royal patron went steadily to all the oratorios. George
H. taught the youthful Prince of Wales, afterward George
III., to love his music. Southey tells us that Handel ask-
ed the boy, then quite a child, who was listening very ear-
nestly to his playing, if he liked the music, and when the
little prince expressed his delight, " A good boy ! a good
boy !" cried Handel ; " you shall protect my fame when I
am dead." Little did the young prince know how much
he would require in later years all the solaces that can be
derived from art and light literature to soothe him in the
lucid intervals of his lonely aberration. Sir Walter Scott's
FAIL URE AND SUCCESS. 107
novels and Handel's music proved the chief resources of
his old age.
There were many besides the king who never for a mo-
ment despaired of Handel ; among them were Gay, Arbuth-
not, Hughes, Colley Cibber, Pope, Fielding Hogarth, and
Smollett. These were the men who kept their fingers on
the pulse of the age : they gauged Handel accurately, and
they were not wrong. At a time when others jeered at
his oratorios, these men wrote them up ; when the tide of
fine society ebbed, and left Handel high and dry on the
boards of a deserted theatre, they occupied the pit ; when
he gave his benefit concert they bought the tickets, and
when his operas failed they immediately subscribed and
had them engraved.
And it is curious to notice how true the really popular
instinct was to Handel. It was the nobles, not the people,
who refused to hear his oratorios and complained of his
instrumentation ; but when for a time he was forced to
abandon opera, and to devote himself to oratorio and cab-
inet music, the tide of adverse fortune received an instant
check. His attention being drawn off opera, he poured
forth organ concertos and pieces for stringed instruments,
which rapidly spread through the kingdom. About this
time he seems to have grown very popular as a player,
and whenever an oratorio was performed he gave what
were called " entertainments" on the organ. It was soon
found that Mr. Handel's music was good bait for the holi-
day makers of the period as well as for the men of genius.
The proprietor of Vauxhall was so impressed with Han-
del's usefulness in bringing grist to his mill, that he had
his music constantly played there, and erected a statue to
the great man at his own expense. The manager of the
Marylebone Gardens also set up a band and played the
people in with similar effect. Handel himself was some-
168 HAND Eh.
times to be seen there with a friend. " Come, Mr. Foun-
tayne," said lie one day, " let us sit down and listen to this
piece; I want to know your opinion of it." The old cler-
gyman (for such he was) sat down and listened for a time,
and at last turning round impatiently, said, " It's not worth
listening to ; it's very poor stuff." " You are right, Mr.
Fountayne," said Handel, " it is very poor stuff: I thought
so when I finished it !"
The year 1739 was one of prodigious activity. The or-
70. atorio of Saul was produced and repeated five
Saul and Is- r . . r
raei in Egypt, times. The overture is not entirely unknown
by the public of to-day, and is full of grace and delicacy.
The chorus " a Carillons," " Welcome, welcome, mighty
King," should be more frequently heard. The parts of Jon-
athan and David, are full of tender pathos, and the scene
between the king and the witch of Endor is all the more
dramatic for not being coupled with action. To this day
no dirge is complete without the "Dead March," which is
especially important, from a musical point of view, as be-
ing one of the few intensely sad and solemn symphonies
written in a major key. In the same year Alexander's
Feast was twice played ; an early oratorio, II Trionfo del
Tempo, was revived ; and last and most notable fact of all,
the Israel in Egypt was composed in the incredibly short
space of twenty-seven days. The Israel in Egypt hardly
survived three representations. It was certainly the least
popular oratorio yet produced. Said was preferred to it,
and about this time Signor Piantanida, the great fiddler,
arriving from Italy, was preferred to both. The Israel was
produced but nine times in Handel's lifetime. Each time
it had to be cooked — sometimes by cutting out choruses
and putting in airs, at others by leaving out both. No
book of extracts from it was published, and the score re-
mained unedited in 1759, the year of Handel's death.
SA TIL AND ISRAEL IN EG TPT. 169
With the exception of a brief and disastrous return to
Italian opera in 1740, Imeneo arid Deidamia, Handel now
definitely renounced the stage which had witnessed the
triumph of his youthful powers and the failure of his ma-
ture genius. He was now fifty-five years old, and had en-
tered, after many a long and weary contest, upon his last
and greatest creative period. His genius culminates in
the Israel / elsewhere he has produced longer recitatives
and more pathetic arias, nowhere has he written finer tenor
songs than " The Enemy saith," or finer duets than " The
Lord is a man of war ;" and there is not in the history of
music an example of choruses piled up like so many Ossas
on Pelions in such majestic strength, and hurled in open
defiance at a public whose ears were itching for Italian
love-lays and English ballads.
In these twenty-eight colossal choruses we perceive at
once a reaction against and a triumph over the tastes of
the age. The wonder is, not that the Israel was unpopu-
lar, but that it should have been tolerated ; but Handel,
while he appears to have been for years driven by the pub-
lic, had been, in reality, driving them. His earliest orato-
rio, II Trionfo del Tempo, had but two choruses — into his
operas more and more were introduced, with disastrous
consequences — but when, at the zenith of his strength, he
produced a work which consisted almost entirely of these
unpopular peculiarities, the public treated him with re-
spect, and actually sat out three performances in one sea-
son !
But the choruses themselves were not without a popular
fibre, and probably they were saved by the very qualities
which are now least esteemed. The notion that music
should be imitative (except in a very secondary sense) is
rapidly losing ground. The function of music is to kindle
emotion, not to raise images. No doubt images, when
H
1 /o HANDEL.
raised, have the power of kindling emotions, but music can
do it without them, and better than they can. When, then,
music seeks first to raise an image in the mind, that through
the image emotion may be kindled, it is abdicating its
proper authority in committing its own special business to
an inferior agent. However, since no one wishes to rewrite
the " Hailstone Chorus," we may admit that a skillful com-
promise between images and emotions may be made by
music. But then it becomes more than ever necessary to
ask how far music may suggest images without injury to
its own peculiar function as an emotional agent. And the
answer seems to be this : laying aside the whole subject
of association and memory in music, we may say that the
effect of music as the language of the emotions is in pro-
portion to the unimpeded beauty of its expression. There-
fore no tempting imitation must impede that expression,
or render it less musical — the image, if introduced at all,
must be absorbed naturally by the music, and woven into
the very texture of the work. This, we may fairly say,
has been done in the fire and hail, which run along the
ground, in the " Hailstone Chorus." It was possible to im-
itate the running and rattling of hail, and it has been done,
but without controlling the free and beautiful expression,
or disturbing the essential development of the chorus.
When we come to the frogs leaping, the image begins to
get the upper hand, and the emotional force is instantly
diminished, and necessarily so ; for images derive their sig-
nificance from the emotion with wrhich you are prepared
to clothe them ; and if, as is certainly the case, they ever
create emotion by themselves, it is only because the mind
at some previous time has invested them with the emotion,
which it subsequently draws from them. But images in
themselves are passionless symbols, and that mysterious
movement of life which we call emotion is the only heat
SA UL AND ISRAEL IN EG YPT. 171
and glory of them. To appeal, then, from sound, which
touches directly the very springs of emotion, to images,
which only affect us when they are touched by those very
springs, is like appealing from the sun itself to a pool of
water in which we may have once seen it reflected.
But Handel's finest effects are not imitations, although
they have been called so ; they are analogies, or musical
counterparts. It is obvious that a thing like darkness,
which is simply the negation of light, is not imitable by
any sound ; yet the emotion of darkness that may be felt
is very intensely produced by means of that wonderful
sound analogue beginning, " He sent a thick darkness."
We have another fine sound analogue in Joshua, where
the sun standing still is represented by a long-drawn-out
note. But we repeat that analogy is not imitation ; and
if we wish to compare musical analogy with musical imita-
tion, we can not do better than pass from Handel's "dark-
ness" in the Israel, and " light" in the Joshua, to Beetho-
ven's real " cuckoo" in the Pastoral Symphony, and Men-
delssohn's live donkey in the Midsummer NigkCs Dream.
It was clear that henceforth neither praise nor blame
could turn Handel out of his course. He was not popular
at this time with the musical world ; his operas had been
quenched for good, and the first surprise of his oratorio
music over, his greatest works failed to bring him in much
money ; his enemies tore down his handbills, and his finest
cantatas, such as IJ Allegro and II Penseroso, were voted
tedious. But we find no more undignified catering for
popular taste ; no more writing in the Italian style ; no
more ballets ; no more silly and emasculated operas. The
eagle has finally left the small birds chattering on the
tree-tops, and has soared once for all into the higher re-
gion.
Handel continued to compose with the greatest indus-
!72 IIANDEL.
try, but he was getting very tired of London, and was be-
ginning to turn his eyes from an ungrateful English pub-
lic toward Ireland.
Handel was very fond of the Irish, and this truly musical
71. people had longj been devoted to him. The Duke
Handel in l J . , .
Ireland, of Devonshire, lord lieutenant, had asked him over,
and an influential society of amateurs in Dublin requested
him to come and compose music for a festival in aid of
" poor and distressed prisoners for debt" in the Marshalsea
of Dublin.
There was nothing to keep him in London, and the Dub-
lin papers announce that on the " 18th of November, 1741,
Dr. Handel arrived here in the packet-boat from Holyhead ;
a gentleman universally known by his excellent composi-
tion in all kinds of music."
From the moment of his arrival, Handel's house in Ab-
bey Street, near Liffey Street, became the resort of all the
professors and amateurs in Dublin. No time was lost in
producing selections from the splendid repertory of music
which the German composer had brought over with him.
One after another his principal works were unfolded to an
admiring audience in the New Music Hall, Fishamble
Street. The crush was so great to hear the Allegro and
Penseroso that the doors had to be closed, and a handbill
put up to say that no more money could be taken, and the
papers declared there never had been such a scene. Han-
del gave twelve performances at incredibly short intervals,
comprising almost all his finest and chiefly his latest works.
In these concerts the Acis and Alexanders Feast held the
most prominent places. But the lustre even of these com-
positions was about to pale before the Messiah, as the mere
vestibule is forgotten when we stand at last by the sacred
shrine of the inner temple.
THE MESSIAH. l 7 3
At midday of the 13th of April, 1742, the great hall in
72 Fishamble Street was densely crowded with an
The Messiah, enthusiastic audience. Mr. Handel's new orato-
rio, the Messiah, composed in England especially for Dub-
lin, was to be performed for the first time. Mrs. Cibber,
Mrs. Avolio, and Mr. Dubourg were the chief singers, and,
following the example of Handel, they gave their services
gratuitously ; for, by a remarkable and perhaps not wholly
undesigned coincidence, the first performance of the Mes-
siah literally proclaimed deliverance to the captives, for it
was, as we have said, for the benefit and enlargement of
poor distressed prisoners for debt in the several prisons in
the city of Dublin.
The newspapers and the critics, the poets and the tat-
tlers, exhausted every trope and figure in their praise of
the new oratorio. A reverend gentleman in the audience
is recorded to have so far forgotten himself or his Bible as
to exclaim at the close of one of Mrs. Cibber's airs, " Wom-
an, for this be all thy sins forgiven thee ;" while another en-
thusiast observed, in terms even more poetical and scarce-
ly less secular, that
" To harmony like his celestial power was given,
To exalt the soul from earth and make of hell a heaven. "
The penny-a-liners wrote that " words were wanting to
express the exquisite delight that it afforded," etc., etc. ;
and, lastly, to their honor be it recorded, the ladies of the
period consented to leave their hoops at home in order that
an additional one hundred listeners might be got into the
room. The proceeds amounted to about £400, and the
event may truly be regarded as the greatest in Handel's
life. Years of misconception, partial neglect, and bitter
rivalry were forgotten in that hour of triumph. A few
months before, the equally great oratorio of Israel had
been but coldly received in England ; it had been reserved
174 II AN DEL.
for the Irish people without hesitation to set their seal of
enthusiastic approval upon an oratorio which, to this day,
is considered by the majority of the English people the
greatest oratorio that was ever written.
Works of the highest genius should not be compared.
The Messiah has surely earned for itself the right of being
judged by itself, as a great whole, without reference to
any other great whole. So has the Israel, and so, we may
add, has the Elijah.
When generations have been melted into tears, or raised
to religious fervor — when courses of sermons have been
preached, volumes of criticism been written about, and
thousands of afflicted and poor people supported by the
oratorio of the Messiah, it becomes exceedingly difficult to
say any thing new. Yet no notice of Handel, however
sketchy, should be written without some special tribute of
reverence to this sublime treatment of a sublime subject.
Bach, Graun, Beethoven, Spohr, Rossini, and, it may be
added, Mendelssohn, and, later still, Mr. Henry Leslie, have
all composed on the same theme ; but no one in complete-
ness, in range of effect, in elevation and variety of concep-
tion, has ever approached Handel's music upon this partic-
ular subject.
The orchestral prelude, fairly overstepping the manner-
isms of that period, opens with a series of chords which, in
their abrupt and deliberate shocks of startling harmony,
immediately arrest the attention, and inspire the hearer
with a certain majestic anticipation. This strange grave
soon breaks into the short fugue, which, in its simple and
clear severity, prepares the mind with an almost ascetic
tone for the sustained act of devotional contemplation
about to follow.
Upon this temper of devout expectation the words "Com-
fort ye my people" fall like a refreshing dayspring from on
TEE MESSIAE. i f 5
high. The soul seeking for God has but just withdrawn
itself from an evil and a suffering world to wait in faith,
when at the hour of that world's greatest need — in the
moment of a resignation almost stoical — a glimpse of the
blue heaven is seen, and the voice of prophecy rolls forth,
"Thus saith the Lord!" Immediately the heat and stir
of human interest is once more kindled, and the Deliverer
seems very near. With a merry noise of joyful encour-
agement, each man finds some work to do — these in level-
ing the mountains, those in bridging the vales with via-
ducts, for the King of Glory to pass over. We hear a vast
multitude, not of slaves, but of freemen, singing at their
work, "Every valley shall be exalted," and suddenly break-
ing from monologue into chorus, their lips send forth the
one thought that possesses them, " The glory of the Lord
— the glory of the Lord shall be revealed."
But the exceeding light will surely blind them ; they are
so weak with sin, and He is of purer eyes than to behold
iniquity. "Who may abide the day of His coming?" — a
terror seems to seize them. The voice scales up to a high
pitch, and dwells with a kind of awful suspense and fasci-
nation on the word " appeareth." The first burst of joyful
activity over, their sinful hearts quail before the thought
of the mighty and spotless King. But do they indeed de-
sire Him ? Would they rather have his severity than their
own sin ? Then He himself will fit them for his presence.
" He shall purify them," and help them to " offer unto Him
an offering of righteousness."
Therefore, with hearts docile and teachable, waiting for
the Messiah, they eagerly listen to the words of the Seer,
" Behold, a virgin shall conceive." Is it indeed so ? What
a different message from the one they expected, and yet
how reassuring ! All their fears are at once calmed. He
was to be humble as well as mighty. He was to be one
17G HANDEL.
of them, and yet in some mysterious way exalted above
them all. The image of a King coming with pomp and
majesty is now withdrawn, and in its place we have sim-
ply a Virgin and a Child.
But at that moment, while a chorus of those who accept
this strange and unexpected revelation with the utmost
joy and confidence, believing that, in spite of appearances,
" the government shall be upon his shoulders," the first
ominous forebodings of the impending catastrophe may be
noticed in the recitative and aria, dwelling on the gross
darkness of the people at large, and forcibly reminding us
of "the light which shone in the darkness, and the dark-
ness which comprehended it not."
Then comes one of those pauses so common in the works
of the great dramatists, where the mind has been led up to
the threshold of certain startling events, and is called upon
to recreate itself for a moment before entering upon a train
of the most exciting interest and rapid action.
We are upon the hill-sides around Bethlehem ; the de-
licious pastoral symphony makes us aware of a land of
flocks and herds. It is toward evening- the flocks of
sheep are being gathered by the shepherds, and are wind-
ing slowly toward the wells before settling down on the
mountain slopes for the night. The melody breathes peace
as the shadows lengthen with the setting sun ; at length
we seem to hear the faint tinkle of the last bells die away
in the distance, and then all is still. The flocks are rest-
ing, the shepherds are watching beside them in the dark-
ness, when, lo ! the angel of the Lord comes upon them,
and in an instant the bright light gleams out upon the
green and glittering sward ; the gloom is suddenly broken
up with tints of heavenly color, and the night is filled with
music. The accompaniment to the recitative " And lo !"
gives the sensation of the mustering from afar of the an-
THE MESSIAH. \ 7 7
gels ; and by the time we come to the angelic chorus, " Glo-
ry to God," which is exquisitely written, chiefly in treble,
and is ringing with pure melody, the whole air seems full
of visions — myriads of flame-like faces, sublime and tender,
such as Fra Angelico loved to paint, are around us, the
distance is thronged with them, the air vibrates with the
pulsation of their innumerable wings as they chant to each
other, with the voices of another world, the hymn of glory ;
and then, just as the shepherds are beginning to realize
their own ecstasy, the light fades, the sound seems to as-
cend and be lost among the stars, and all is again dark on
the hill-sides of Bethlehem. But the light was evermore
in the shepherds' eyes, and the sound of the angels' voices
in their ears, and, with images culled from their own gentle
calling, they returned bringing a message of joy to Zion,
and proclaiming in snatches of that very melody they had
heard by night the advent of One " who should feed his
flock like a shepherd, and carry the lambs in his bosom."
The second part, which is occupied with the sufferings
and exaltation of Christ, the spread and final triumph of
the Gospel, opens with what is probably the finest piece
of choral declamation in existence. " Behold the Lamb of
God !" now sounds through the world, and each time, as
the august cry sinks, it is taken up again and again, until
the whole land is ringing with the announcement.
It is curious to observe how, in obedience to the prev-
alent theology of the day, the teaching of Jesus is sup-
pressed, and only his more conspicuous sufferings and
death are dwelt upon.
We are now brought close to a Messiah very different
from the popular conception at the beginning of the first
part ; and, instead of a triumphant King, one appears who,
" without form or comeliness," treads the path of suffering,
and is made acquainted with grief. A heavy shame and
H2
178 HANDEL.
sorrow seems to pervade the next few pieces, as of some
beloved disciple who stands aside comprehending in part
the nature of the tragic spectacle before him, and a prey
to all its desolating influences. The floodgates of feeling
are at length loosed, and after the air, " He was despised
and rejected of men," written singularly enough in the
major key, three choruses are poured forth in succession.
The first two, " Surely He hath borne our griefs," and
" With his stripes we are healed," bringing before us the
willing victim and the propitiation for sin, and the third,
" All we like sheep have gone astray," representing with
marvelous fidelity the constant and hopeless wanderings
of the sheep. It was this hopeless disorder that had to be
atoned for, these hopeless wanderers that had to be re-
claimed. The Shepherd of Israel could alone seek and save
that which was lost. He would not shrink from the nec-
essary suffering ; He would endure scorn, and solitude, and
agony ; He was the Good Shepherd who laid down his life
for the sheep. Then we are shown the outside world
laughing Him to scorn, and the vulgar rabble shooting out
their tongues and mocking Him in harsh and abrupt staves
of ribald irony — " He trusted in God that He would deliv-
er Him !" till at last the disciple who stands by can bear
the sight no longer, and, as he hears the Savior cry out,
" Eloi,Eloi,lama sabachthani !" he himself turns away, over-
come with misery, exclaiming, " Thy rebuke hath broken
his heart !"
The first feeling at the sight of the dead Christ upon
the cross is one of simple and blank despair. He who
should have redeemed Israel — upon whose shoulders the
government was to rest — the Mighty Counselor, the Prince
of Peace — He was no victorious monarch — only a crucified
man ! " He was cut off out of the land of the living."
But this train of thought is soon arrested, and we are car-
THE MESSIAH. 1 7 9
ried rapidly forward through death and the grave, until,
ascending from those depths with the now glorified Savior,
we rise higher and higher toward the blinding splendors
of the heavenly courts. A shout of triumph bursts forth
as the everlasting gates roll asunder, and throngs of angels
with the bright seraphim stream forth to meet the King.
The sky itself seems to throb with the thrilling cry, " He
is the King of Glory !" and just as we begin to feel that we
have been whirled along with the prodigious power of the
sound until wTe have almost forgotten our own powers of
endurance, and are made sensible that we can no longer
bear the strain of excitement, the abrupt dead pause falls,
and then, with a last, long, shattering cry " of glory," the
mighty paean swoons away into the echoless silence.
After such a climax we are not surprised to find the
next three pieces deficient in interest ; this may even be
intentional. The great artist knows when the eye requires
rest, and lays on his middle tints until our emotion has
been subdued, and we are ready to contemplate with calm-
ness the progress of the Gospel in the wrorld.
Something like a second pastoral now follows — the Lord
Christ speaks from heaven, and sends forth shepherds to
feed his lambs — " How beautiful are their feet !" and then
the mind is absorbed by the stir and enterprise of mission-
ary labor until the chorus, " Their sound is gone out into
all lands," is felt to be as powerfully descriptive as the go-
ing astray of the sheep themselves. In another moment
the shepherds have become warrior-pilgrims, the nations
rage furiously together, but their bows are broken asunder
— the rod of iron smites them, and God himself declares for
the soldiers of the Cross. The battle-scene in its turn van-
ishes, and the final triumph of good over evil is anticipated
by a daring and indomitable effort of faith ; for a moment
all heaven is opened ; we are caught up in the clouds, and
1 SO HANDEL.
hear from the vast multitude which no man can numbc*
the hallelujahs of those that chime "after the chiming of
the eternal spheres."
The "Hallelujah Chorus" stands alone. It is not easy
to speak of it. It appears to have the same overpowering
effect upon learned and unlearned ; it is felt and under-
stood by all. The thought is absolutely simple, so is the
expression ; two or three massive phrases growing out of
each other, or, rather, rising one after another, in reitera-
ted bursts of glory, a piece of divine melody in the middle,
succeeded by the last clause of the triumphal shout, "And
He shall reign forever and ever," which is taken up raptur-
ously by the flaming choirs of the immortals, and hurled
from side to side, until at last the energies of heaven itself
seem spent, and the mighty strain itself dies away before
" the Great White Throne, and Him that sitteth thereon."
Such are the leading ideas and sensations of this chorus.
But perhaps Handel's own words are the only ones fit to
describe this shout of inspired praise — " I did think I did
see all heaven before me, and the great God himself!"
That twTo such choruses as "Lift up your heads" and the
" Hallelujah" should be placed not far from each other in
one and the same part without prejudice to either, is in it-
self a marvel ; but the greater marvel is, that after the
" Hallelujah" Handel should be able to recover himself
and carry his audience through a third part. Mendels-
sohn has done something similar in the Elijah, after the
great choruses " Thanks be to God" and " Be not afraid,"
and the scene of the fiery chariot, with wrhich an inferior
man would certainly have culminated. He has shown
that he could refresh and recreate the heart with less tre-
mendous but not less elevating emotions until his hearers
are fairly restored to their self-possession, and finally left
in a calm and almost severely meditative frame of mind
by the last chorus.
THE MESSIAH. 181
The third part of the Messiah is purely theological, yet
the interest does not flag. When the history of the first
two parts has been told, there is left to the world a body
of Christian truth than which nothing can be more consol-
atory and sublime. "I know that my Redeemer liveth"
belongs to a type of melody that is never likely to grow
old nor pass away. The two doctrinal quartets, " Since by
man came death," and "As in Adam all die," have never
been surpassed ; while in sweetness and solemn force " The
trumpet shall sound" will probably retain its popularity as
long as there is a silver-toned trumpet in existence.
The oratorio closes with two choruses, of which the first,
"Worthy is the Lamb," is by far the most florid. The
last is the measured and severe "Amen" chorus.
It is a fitting and dignified close to so exciting, and, at
the same time, majestic a work. All emotion has now
been spent, and the mind, like the still heaving waves of
the sea after a storm, is left to rock itself slowly into deep
and perfect peace. Thus the oratorio opens with the hope
of " comfort," and ends with the full calm joy of attain-
ment. One feeling now fills the Christian disciple through
and through, and one word only is found sufficient to ex-
press it — it is the glorious "Amen" of the final chorus.
On his return from Ireland in 1742, Handel immediately
73. prepared a new oratorio — Samsoji — for the
occas?onaf ora-e following Lent season ; and this, together with
tona the Messiah, then heard for the first time in
London, was intended to form the staple of twelve per-
formances. Whether many people went to hear them or
not is doubtful ; the papers have not a word of comment
on that season. It is to be feared that the fashionable
world in London had made up its mind not to care for Mr.
Handel. One Lady Brown, a lady of fashion, gave large
182 HANDEL.
tea-partie6 whenever his music was advertised ; there were
regular sets made up at Lady Godolphin's to play cards on
those nights ; one Mr. Russell, a comic man, was hired to
sing at the great houses; a few went to hear a new Italian
opera, the Caduta cli Giganti^hy a young man just arrived
from abroad named Gluck; and Horace Walpole had the
impudence to say of Handel (who had excellent singers),
that " he had hired all the goddesses from farces, and sing-
ers of roast-beef,* from between the acts of both theatres,
with a man with one note in his voice, and a girl with nev-
er a one, and so they sang, and made brave Hallelujahs !"
In 1745, poor Handel, deserted by the paying world,
struggled through fifteen performances of his finest orato-
rios, but the effort cost him dear. He was unable to dis-
charge his debts, and for the second time in his life was
forced to suspend payment as a complete bankrupt. Luck-
ily his health did not give way, and with indomitable en-
ergy he sat down to compose the first two acts of the Oc-
casional Oratorio, the third act of which, though contain-
ing many new pieces, is of the nature of pasticcio. Hence-
forth he determined to enter into no eng^ao'ement with sub-
scribers for so many performances per season, but to give
concerts when he chosB, and to throw himself rather upon
the general public, who, as it had no share in the luxuries
and follies of the nobles, felt little enough sympathy with
their musical tastes and prejudices. Although constantly
persecuted by a frivolous and effeminate clique, Handel
never appealed in vain to the people at large. In a short
time he had discharged his unfulfilled obligations to sub-
scribers by issuing free tickets for some Lent performances,
and had also laid by sufficient to pay off most of his debts.
This was in 1746.
* In allusion to the ' ' Roast Beef of Old England, " a popular song of
the period.
JUDAS MA CCAB^EUS. 183
In the following year, the third of his great masterpieces,
74. the Judas Jfaccabceus. appeared. It was com-
Judas Mac- . . A1
cabseus. posed in thirty days, between the 9th of July and
the 11th of August, and was produced at Covent Garden
on the 1st of April, 1747.
Justice is usually discovered to be on the winning side,
and after the victory of Culloden, Prince William, Duke
of Cumberland, not too popular in some quarters, had to
be greeted as the Judas Maccabaaus of the age. The ap-
plication was not obvious, but it served Handel's turn.
The first part opens with the celebrated chorus, " Mourn
ye afflicted ;" but grief for the departed hero who had
roused the Jews to resist the oppression of Antiochus
Epiphanes soon vanished before the fair promise of his no-
ble son Judas. The "pious orgies" for the father over,
"Arm, arm, ye brave !" is the war-cry of the son, and the
rest of the part is occupied with appropriate meditations
on, and preparations for, the war, until at length they go
to battle with the chorus, " Hear us, O Lord." The second
part celebrates the victories of Judas Maccabaaus, and con-
tains one of the best known of Handel's songs, "Sound an
alarm !" It concludes with one of the freest and most
original of his choruses, " We never will bow down." The
last part celebrates the return of Judas after re-establish-
ing the liberties of his country, and winds up with the na-
tional thanksgiving. " O lovely Peace" is one of the fresh-
est soprano duets ever written, and " See the conquering
Hero comes," which originally belonged to Joshua, is per-
haps the most widely popular of all Handel's compositions.
The Messiah excepted, no oratorio is more often perform-
ed in England than Judas Maccabceas. In many respects
it is not so difficult to get through passably, and is conse-
quently a great favorite with amateur choirs; although
not too long, it readily admits of being shortened, and in
184 HANDEL.
provincial towns is seldom heard in its entirety. It con-
tains much repetition of sentiment, and yet little that we
can afford to lose : it is one of the very finest works of his
most mature period. The Morning Herald of the 19th of
February, 1852, indulged in the following sapient criti-
cisms, which wTe can not do better than quote : " The airs
of Judas Maccabwus, like those of many other works of
Handel, are occasionally feeble and insipid ; but two or
three of them are exactly the reverse, and in the hands of
singers of ability become both important and interesting."
0 patria ! 0 mores !
In 1747 appeared Joshua. The graceful air, " Hark, 'tis
75 the linnet," still never fails to please. Haydn
mon^Sufannah, observed of the chorus, " The nations tremble,"
Theodora. \\\$x only one inspired author ever did, or ever
would, pen so sublime a composition. The amount of reci-
tative makes the oratorio heavy as a whole. In 1748,
Handel, being then in his sixty-fourth year, wrote the ora-
torio of Solomon ; between the 5th of May and the 19th
of June the oratorio of Susannah ; between the 11th of
July and the 24th of August, toward the close of the same
year, he prepared the Firework Music, wThich was played
at night before the king's palace in the Green Park. Let
us hope that his love of noise was for once fully gratified.
The music ended with the explosion of a hundred and one
brass cannons, seventy-one six pounders, twenty twelve-
pounders, and ten twenty-four pounders. There was no
lack of hunting-horns, hautboys, bassoons, kettle-drums
and side-drums, besides bass-viols innumerable. Every
one seems to have been delighted ; and when the magnifi-
cent Doric temple, under the superintendence of that great
pyrotechnist, the Chevalier Servardoni, went off with a
terrific bang, it wras thought success could go no farther,
JOSHUA, SOLOMON, SUSANNAH, THEODORA. 185
and the king's library was very nearly burnt down. When,
in 1749, the Firework Music was repeated at the Yauxhall
Gardens by a band of a hundred musicians, twelve thou-
sand persons are said to have attended. There was such
a stoppage on London Bridge that no carriage could pass
for three hours, and the receipts were set down at the fab-
ulous sum of £5700.
In 1749 Handel produced one of his least popular ora-
torios, Theodora. It was a great favorite with him, and
he used to say that the chorus, " He saw the lovely Youth,"
was finer than any thing in the Messiah. The public were
not of this opinion, and he was glad to give away tickets
to any professors who applied for them. When the Mes-
siah was again produced, two of these gentlemen who had
neglected Theodora applied for admission. " Oh ! your
sarvant, meine Herren !" exclaimed the indignant composer.
"You are tamnable dainty! You would not go to Teo-
dora — dere was room enough to dance dere when dat was
perform." When Handel heard that an enthusiast had
offered to make himself responsible for all the boxes the
next time the despised oratorio should be given — "He is
a fool," said he ; " the Jews will not come to it as to Judas
Maccabceus, because it is a Christian story ; and the ladies
wrill not come, because it is a virtuous one."
It is difficult to believe that virtue itself, under so at-
tractive a form, could fail to charm. "Angels ever bright
and fair" is probably the highest flight of melody that even
Handel ever reached.
But the long struggle was drawing to a close, and the
battle was nearly wTon, as the great ship floated out of the
storm into the calm sunset waters. Handel had turned
from the nobles to the people, and the people had welcomed
him throughout the length and breadth of the land. An
aristocratic reaction soon began to take place : it wTas found
1 80 1IANDEL.
necessary to produce pasticcio operas by the lately-neglect-
ed composer, and to republish numbers of airs as harpsi-
chord pieces which in their original connection had found
small favor. Publishers vied with each other in producing
works with Mr. Handel's name, and there is reason to fear
that unscrupulous persons manufactured music by Handel
as freely as Italian artists are in the habit of attaching the
name of Domenichino to their dull and smoky daubs. By
the time Handel had reached his sixty-seventh year the
merits of rival factions were pretty generally understood,
and the last ten years of his life were passed in compara-
tive tranquillity.
No voice was now raised to proclaim the superior charms
. 76. of Bononcini — no rival composer sent for to ruin
Handel at L
peace. the great sacred writer with Italian rubbish — no
foreign fiddler announced to supersede Mr. Handel's enter-
tainments on the organ — nor any comic man to grin the
Israel or the Judas Maccdbwus out of court. The closing
years of the great master's life witnessed a general draw-
ing together of adverse parties and reconcilement of pri-
vate quarrels. Handel at last found his way to an eleva-
tion from which no one thought of dislodging him.
It is pleasant, before the last sad short act of his life, to
bring him before us as he appeared at this time to those
who knew him best, and loved him most. His life of al-
ternate contemplation, industry, and excitement, from be-
ginning to end, is unstained by any suspicion of dishonesty
or licentiousness. A few indistinct rumors of unsuccessful
love affairs in very early life (unsuccessful on the part of
the ladies) reach us ; and wTe hear no more of women, nor
of any need of their love experienced by Handel. He lived
for the most part very quietly in the house now numbered
57 Brook Street, Hanover Square, and let the charmers of
HANDEL AT PEACE.
187
this world go their way. Of no man was it ever truer than
of Handel, that he was wedded to his art. His recreations
were few and simple. Occasionally he would stroll into
St. Paul's Cathedral, and amuse himself with ineffectual at-
tempts to play the people out ; then taking sculls, or, when
in better circumstances, indulging himself in oars, he would
be rowed toward the village of Charing, along the banks
of the Thames, whose waters were then somewhat more
transparent than they are now. Not far from his favorite
organ at St. Paul's there was a favorite tavern called the
" Queen's Head." Thither he often resorted at nightfall,
and smoked his pipe and drank his beer with three others
— Goupy, the painter ; Hunter, the scarlet dyer ; and John
Christopher Smith, his secretary. There was an old harp-
sichord in the tavern, and he would often sit thrumming
away to himself and a few musical connoisseurs, who were
content to drop in and spend their time over papers, por-
ter, silence, and applause. These were the times of Han-
del's social exhilaration ; and although we have no reason
to believe that he indulged in excesses, we have abundant
evidence that he despised not conviviality. Surrounded
by a circle of familiars, his conversation flowed freely, and
sparkled with satire and fun of all kinds. He spoke En-
glish, like some Italians, with great fluency and infinite sat-
isfaction to himself, but with a strong accent, and the con-
struction of his sentences was sometimes German, some-
times Italian. He was often passionate, but never ill-na-
tured ; no man ever had more rivals, or was less jealous of
them. Although he had numerous acquaintances, he had
few friends ; and during the last years of his life he stead-
ily declined the invitations of the nobles, whose patronage
might twice have saved him from ruin, but whose flattery
he could now afford to dispense with. His friend Goupy,
whose caricatures, although often leveled against himself,
1S8 HANDEL.
Dcvcr seemed to have offended him, would frequently ac-
company him to picture-galleries, in which he took the most
vivid interest, and it is more than likely that his operas
owe as much to the classical inspiration of Poussin and
Duval, or the Pastorals of Watteau, as his sacred music
undoubtedly does to the great sacred painters of Italy. In
his latter years he was a regular attendant at St. George's,
Hanover Square, and it was noticed by one, who records
the fact with affectionate emotion, that on such occasions
he appeared to be deeply absorbed by his devotions.
Let us look once more at this noble and portly figure
tt. saunterinGf alone: with the peculiar rocking mo-
A Visit to Mas- . , , , ,. i
ter Hardcastie. tion common to those whose legs are a little
bowed ; let us note the somewhat heavy but. expressive
face gathering freshness from the morning air, moved at
times with a frown like a thunder-cloud, or with a smile
like the sun that bursts from behind it. The general im-
pression is the right one. There was a man of inflexible
integrity, of solid genius and sterling benevolence ; a man
fitted to cope with the puerilities of fashion, singularly
generous to foes, singularly faithful to friends. So, uncon-
scious of the approaching shadow that was to dim the
brightness of his last days, with a light heart which comes
of a conscience void of offense toward God or man, we may
picture to ourselves good Father Handel as he rocks along
this morning toward Paper Buildings to see his friend
Master Hardcastie, and crave his hospitality for breakfast.
It happened to be the very day on which a competition
was to take place for the post of organist to the Temple
Church, and Zachary Hardcastie had bidden his old friends,
Colley Cibber, Dr. Pepusch, and Dr. Arne, be with him to a
dish of coffee and a roll at nine o'clock, in order that they
might all go together to hear the contest.
A VISIT TO MASTER HARD CASTLE. i 89
" Vat, mem dear friend Hardcastle !" exclaimed Handel,
breaking in upon the party ; " vat ! and Mr. Golley Gibber
too ! and Toctor Bepusch as veil ! Yell, dat is gomical.
And how vags the vorld mit you, mein dears ? Bray, bray
let me sit down a moment !" Pepusch took the great man's
hat, Colley Gibber took his stick, and old Zachary Hard-
castle wheeled round his reading-chair, which was some-
what about the dimensions of that in which kings and
queens are crowned, and then the great man sat him down.
" Yell, I thank you, gentlemens. Now I am at mein ease
vonce more. 'Bon my vord, dat is a bicture of a ham ! and
I have brought along mit me a nodable abbetite."
" You do me great honor, Mr. Handel," said the host.
" I take this early visit as a great kindness. It is ten min-
utes past nine. Shall we wait more for Dr. Arne ?"
"Let us give him another five minutes," says Colley
Cibber ; " he is too great a genius to keep time."
"Let us put it to the vote," says Pepusch, smiling. "Who
holds up hands ?"
"I will zecond your motion wid all mein heart," says
Handel. "I will hold up mein feeble hands for my old
friend Gustos" (Arne's name was Augustine), " for I know
not who I would wait for over and above mein old rival,
Master Dom" (meaning Thomas Pepusch) ; " only, by your
bermission, I vill take a snag of your ham and a slice of
French roll, or a modicum of chicken ; for, to dell you the
honest fact, I am all but famished, for I laid me down on
my billow in bed the last night mitout mein supper, at the
instance of mein physician, for which I am not altogether
inglined to extend mein fast no longer." At this moment
Arne's footstep being heard outside — " Bresto ! be quick !"
roared Handel ; " fifteen minutes of dime is bretty well for
an ad libitum."
Arne enters, a chair is placed, and they soon fall to. " So,
190 UANDEL.
sir, I presume you are come to witness the trial of skill at
the old round church ? I understand that the amateurs
expect a pretty round contest," said Arne.
" Gontest !" echoed Handel, laying down his knife and
fork, " no doubt ; your amateurs have a passion for gon-
test. Not what it was in our remembrance. Hey, mein
friend ? Ha, ha, ha !"
" No, sir ; I am happy to say those days of envy, bicker-
ing, and party feeling are gone and past. To be sure, we
had enough of such disgraceful warfare. It lasted too
long."
" Why, yes, it tid last too long. It bereft me of my poor
limbs ; it tid bereave me of that vot is de most blessed
gift of Him vat made us, and not we ourselves" (in allusion
to the paralysis and mental alienation of 173V). " And for
vat ? Vy, for nodings in the world bote the Measure and
bastime of them who, having no wit, nor no want, set at
loggerheads men as live by their wits, to worry and de-
stroy von anodere as wild beasts in the Golloseum in the
dimes of the Romans."
" I hope, sir," said Dr. Pepusch, who had evidently been
sitting on thorns, " you do not include me among those
who did injustice to your talents?"
" Nod at all, nod at all ; God forbid ! I am a great ad-
mirer of the airs of the Peggars1 Ohera, and eveiy profes-
sional gentleman must do his best for to live. Put why
play the Peggar yourself, Toctor, and adapt old ballad
humstrum, ven, as a man of science, you could gompose
original airs of your own ? Here is mein friend, Gustus
Arne, who has made a road for himself for to drive along
his own genius to the Demple of Fame." Then, turning to
our illustrious Arne, "Mein friend, you and I must meet
togedere sometimes before it is long, and hold a tede-a-
tede of old days vat is gone. Oh ! it is gomical, now dat
THE LAST ACT. 191
it is all gone by. Do not you remember as it was almost
only of yesterday dat she-devil Cuzzoni and dat odere pre-
cious daughter of iniquity, Beelzepup's spoilt child, the
bretty-faced Faustine ? Oh, the mad rage vat I have to
answer for ! vat with von and the odere of dese fine ladies'
airs and graces ! Again, do you not remember dat up-
start buppy, Senesino, and cle goxcomb Farinelli? Next,
again, mein someclime notable rival, Master Bononcini and
old Borbora ? All at var mit me, and all at var mit dem-
selves ; such a gonfusion of rivalships, and doublefaced-
ness, and hypogrisy, and malice, vot would make a gom-
ical subject for a boem in rhymes, or a biece for the stage,
as I hopes to be saved !"*
In 1751, while composing Jephtha, Handel wTas attacked
78. with that peculiar blindness produced by gutta sere-
Act. na. Between January and August, this, his last or-
atorio, was nevertheless completed ; again and again with
indomitable ardor he seized his pen, and in the growing
dimness traced the last choruses with his own hand. The
same year the Messiah was twice performed for the Found-
ling Hospital, Handel presiding at the organ.
In 1752 he was couched for the third and last time, and
at first he was tempted to believe that his sight was re-
turning; but the darkness soon settled down upon him,
and toward the close of the year he became quite blind.
Beethoven standing deaf in the middle of his orchestra ;
Handel turning his sightless eyes toward the sun ; it is not
easy to think upon either without emotion. The great mas-
ter presided at the organ to the last, but it is said that he
could never hear the pathetic air allotted to blind Samson,
in the oratorio of that name, without being visibly affected ;
* A clever fiction quoted by V. Schoelcher from Somerset House Gazette,
1823.
192 HANDEL.
we quote Milton's well-known lines in preference to the
garbled version in the libretto of Samson :
" Oh dark, dark, dark, amid the blaze of noon,
Irrecoverably dark, total eclipse
Without all hope of day !
Oh first created Beam, and thou great Word,
' Let there be light,' and light was over all ;
Why am I thus bereaved thy prime decree?
The sun to me is dark "
When Handel became conscious that his blindness was
incurable, he was perfectly resigned, and seemed to know
that his end was not far off. With the exception of " Zion
now her head shall raise," and " Tune your harps," dictated
to Smith for the Judas Maccabosus, he almost ceased to
compose, but not to play ; and he was as active as ever
in organizing the performances of his oratorios. The last
years of his life were also the most lucrative. He often
drove home at night in a coach quite heavy with bags
of silver and gold. But the bags of silver and gold were
not unfrequently transferred to some charitable institution.
Sometimes it was the Society for Poor Musicians, at others
the Sons of the Clergy, and very often the Foundling Hos-
pital.
His friends noticed that after his blindness, instead of be-
coming soured, impatient, or irritable, he grew gentle and
subdued. He desired now to be at peace with all men,
showed himself more than ever anxious to assist poor and
suffering people by the performance of his music, and look-
ed forward to his departure without anxiety or dismay.
Latterly his thoughts constantly turned upon the subject,
and he was heard to express a wish that "he might breathe
his last on Good Friday, in hopes," he said, " of meeting his
good God, his sweet Lord and Savior, on the day of his
resurrection."
THE LAST ACT. 193
On the 6th of April, 1759, at Covent Garden, Handel, be-
ing in his seventy-fifth year, conducted the oratorio of the
Messiah for the last time. The same night he was seized
with a deadly faintness, and, calling for his will while in
the full possession of his reason, he added a codicil. On
Good Friday, April 13th, it being the anniversary of the
first performance of the Messiah, the Public Advertiser has
this short announcement : " Yesterday morning died G. F.
Handel, Esq." This is, according to Schoelcher, incorrect ;
and he proceeds to affirm, on the alleged testimony of Dr.
Warren, the physician who attended him, that Handel died
late on Good Friday night. The question is exhausted in
Husk's Preface to the Handel Festival of 1868, from which
it appears that the 14th is, after all, the right date. He had
always longed to rest in the old Abbey among the people
who had made room for him in their homes and hearts.
We have all read the simple inscription beneath hig
monument :
GEORGE FREDERICK HANDEL, Esquire,
BORN FEBRUARY XXIII., MDCLXXXIV.
DIED ON GOOD FRIDAY, APRIL XIV., MDCCLIX.
I
G L U C K.
Born 1714, Died 1787.
in.
I shall now proceed to notice in succession two men
who exercised a vast influence over the course and prog-
ress of modern music in the eighteenth century — Gluck
and Haydn : Gluck, if not the founder of the modern ope-
ra, certainly the founder of the German opera ; Haydn, if
not the founder of the modern orchestra, certainly the foun-
der of the modern quartet and symphony.
As we turn over the well-known batch of letters, recent-
79. ly translated by Lady Wallace, the <?host of Chris-
Portrait J J J > &
ofGiuck. tophe Gluck looks out from the pages, and gradu-
ally assumes more and more the semblance of flesh and
PORTRAIT OF GL UCK. \ 95
blood. His portrait, finely painted by Duplessis, and of
which a miserable travestie is affixed to the above-named
volume, explains the man and many of his abrupt and ex-
ultant utterances : he is looking straight out of the canvas
with wide and eager eyes — his nostril a little distended, as
of one eager to reply — his mouth shut, but evidently on
the point of hastily opening. The noble brow and pro-
nounced temples carry off the large development of the
cheek-bone, and slightly heavy, though firm and expressive
nose. The attitude is one of noble and expectant repose,
but has in it all the suggestion of resolute and even fiery
action. " Madame," said he, drawing himself up to his full
height, and addressing Marie Antoinette, then dauphiness,
who inquired after his opera of Armida, "Madame, il est
bientot fini, et vraiment ce sera superbe !"
These words might be written at the foot of Duplessis's
picture ; they evidently express one of Gluck's most char-
acteristic moods. His life seems to have been illumined
and buoyed up by the indomitable sense of his own power.
He exults in his music : like a giant refreshed with wine,
he rejoices in his strength. A wretched French writer has
lately mistaken this for vanity. It is the vanity of the ea-
gle as he wheels above the horde of small birds, and re-
joices to be alone with the sun. " I have written," he says,
" the music of my Armida in a manner which will prevent
its soon growing old." If ordinary men are permitted to
be conscious of life, why should we grudge to genius the
consciousness of its own immortality ?
Christophe Willibald Ritter von Gluck was the son of a
80 gamekeeper in the service of Prince Lobkowitz,
?ndestate!ofk' an(l was born at Weidenwang, in the Upper
MU8icini7i4. paiatinate, on July, 2, 1714. The shadow of It-
aly still lay far and wide over the fields of German music.
19G 6 LUCK.
Bach and Handel, it is true, had created a national school
of sacred music ; but then, and long afterward, Italy was
popular with the masses. Handel, in common with Gluck,
and even Mozart in his early days, wrote operas for the
people in the Italian style.
Orchestral music, as such, was not as yet in high repute.
Indeed, the orchestra Avas usually eked out with a harpsi-
chord, and the conductor alternately strummed away on
the keys and beat time on the back of his instrument to a
few violins, basses, a flute, a drum, oboes, and trumpets.
Cabinet instrumental music had only reached as far as
trios ; and although Correlli and Hasse wTere both a good
deal played in Germany, yet, until the string quartet came
into fashion, the combination most favorable to the prog-
ress of cabinet music was wanting.
Choir-singing and organ-playing were far more advanced,
and it was to this department that Gluck, in common with
m6st other young musicians, had to look for a maintenance.
From the first, the musical training of Gluck was happily
varied and comprehensive. At the age of eighteen he
emerged from the Jesuit college of Kommotau, where he
had received a good education, and been taught to sing,
and to play the organ, the violin, and the harpsichord.
Prague was at that time famous for musical discernment ;
and its connoisseurs, who a few years later rejoiced in the
title of Mozart's favorite public, were the first to recognize
and to support Gluck. But they supported him as they
supported dozens of others. They only saw in him an ex-
cellent violin-player, a steady chorister, and a fair organist,
in all which capacities he figured at the Polish convent of
Saint Agnes. Probably there was nothing more to see.
He was groping about in the dark himself, and had not
even begun to break into the track of his future glory.
In 1736, after giving a few concerts in the neighborhood,
OL UCK AND HA YDN. 197
he decided upon finishing his musical education at Vienna
under the guidance of such masters as Caldara, Fux, and
the brothers Conti. Up to this time the attention of Gluck
had been impartially divided between Italian and German
influences; but Prince Lobkowitz, who remembered his
old gamekeeper, and took a kindly interest in his son, in-
troduced Christophe to the Italian prince Melzi, whose
usual residence was at Milan ; and when that nobleman
went back, Gluck was easily prevailed upon to accompany
him to Italy. He soon became the devoted pupil of the
well-known Italian composer and organist Sammartini.
The first age, even of genius, is more imitative and recep-
tive than original or independent, and Gluck began to pour
forth Italian operas to Italian audiences. In four years he
had produced eight, every one of which may safely be for-
gotten. They were all successful, and success then, as
now, proved a ready passport. What was good enough
for Italy was good enough for London, and to London was
Gluck, now aged twenty-two, summoned by the managers
of the Haymarket Theatre.
Here he fell in with Handel, who, after listening to one
si. of his operas, the Cadnta di GiqantL merelv ob-
Gluck and \ \ -
naydu. served that the author knew no more of counter-
point than his cook. This may have been true enough,
but the remark was hardly appreciative. Great men do
not always look at genius with prophetic eyes. Weber
failed to see the merits of Schubert. Goethe, sixty of
whose songs he set to music, took no notice of him. Spohr
never fairly appreciated Mendelssohn. We must not won-
der if the author of the Messiah, foiled to see, in such feeble
glimmer of transalpine melody as may be found in the
Artamene, the rising sun of Orpheus and Eur y dice.
Thus it was from Handel, no unfitting Mentor, that
198 GLUCK.
Gluck received the first blow which led to his happy dis-
enchantment with the Italian opera. There must be some-
thing wrong ; henceforth he would not go on composing
opera after opera on the same model. Perhaps the model
itself might be a wrong one. What was the model? A
story, told as much as possible by a series of songs ; dra-
matic declamation in recitative much neglected; orches-
tral accompaniment still more so ; and, worst of all, the
character and the style of the song music itself not neces-
sarily in keeping with the words. Any taking tune seems
to have done for almost any words; a little scraping and
strumming by way of accompaniments, which nobody was
supposed to attend to, and V opera, le voild !
The discovery of these defects, now so patent to all the
world, was the second and last blow which ruined the
credit of Italy with Gluck, and it happened on this wise.
His operas had hitherto not pleased in England. He now
determined to please. Pyramus and Thisbe was to be the
triumph. He chose the best bits out of all his most suc-
cessful operas, and this omnium gatherum was to be the
music of Pyramus and Thisbe. The opera was a misera-
ble failure. The experiment was too glaring, although it
was, after all, nothing but a reductio ad absurdum of the
Italian method.
Gluck perceived henceforth the necessity for a more ex-
82# act and rigid correspondence between the drama
Giuck's style. an(j ^ie music< j^ never occurred to him to
abandon the form of opera altogether as a form of art
which was false, because it used music to express not only
the emotion which accompanies action, but action itself;
but he thought, and thought rightly, that the opera might
be improved philosophically, by at least making the music
always express emotions in harmony with the dramatic
THE OPERA A DEFECTIVE FORM OF ART. 1 99
action, instead of any emotion in connection with any
action.
Shortly afterward, passing through Paris, Gluck heard
for the first time the French operas of Rameau ; he re-
ceived a new element, and one sadly wanting to the Ital-
ian opera — the dramatic declamation of recitative. This
was the one element that France contributed to the forma-
tion of the opera as now existing. We observe, there-
fore, three sources from which this composer derived the
elements of his own system. His early training in Italy
determined the importance which he ever afterward at-
tached to pure melody. His subsequent acquaintance with
France taught him the value of dramatic declamation.
Germany gave him harmony, a more careful study of the
orchestra, and that philosophical spirit which enabled him
to lay the foundation of the distinctive German opera.
We have often expressed an opinion that opera is a de-
83 fective form of art. That music can only repre-
defec?fie*a a sent the emotions of a drama, and not its inci-
formofArt. c|entSj js a truth enunciated alike by Gluck the
first, and Richard Wagner the latest, of the German opera
writers. Gluck writes, " My purpose was to restrict music
to its true office, that of ministering to the expression of the
poetry without interrupting the action."
Wagner, in extolling legendary subjects as best fitted
for the opera, observes that " music does not stop at the
exterior incidents, but expresses the underlying emotion."
Yet neither of these writers seems to perceive that his ad-
mission is fatal to the very existence of the opera. We
may fairly ask Gluck, "Must not music, when sung by the
person acting, always interrupt the spontaneity of the ac-
tion ?" And we may say to Wagner, " The music at the
opera, in so far as it is acted, loses its power of expressing
200 OLUCK.
the emotion of an action by becoming itself the action," or,
as he says, " stopping at the exterior incident." The sun is
distinct from the planets which it illumines. The sphere
of musical emotion is equally distinct from that of dramatic
action. The two spheres may have important mutual re-
lations, but they must not be confounded.
A situation can be expressed by action and language ;
the emotion of the situation can be expressed by music ;
but music can not express a situation, and we must not try
to make it do so by making the actor sing. People do not
go about the world singing incidents ; people do not wail
out melodious strains in the midst of consumptive agonies.
But it may be asked, in reply to these remarks, " If the
opera is a false form of art, because men do not sing off, as
they do on, the stage, is not the whole drama false in art,
since men do not speak and act off, as they do on, the
stage?" ~No. The drama is not false in art, because wc^ds
and actions are fitted to express situations, do actually en-
ter into all situations ; it is for the dramatist to represent
and combine them in the most forcible and natural manner
which the necessary limits of his art will allow. Even in
the case of soliloquy no radical violence is done to nature,
since people do really sometimes think aloud ; besides, it is
universally admitted that language and action are the fit
exponents of thought and incident, while it must not be
for a moment conceded that music can express definite
thoughts or incidents, but only the emotions which accom-
pany these. The fallacy that music expresses incidents or
any definite thought whatever lies at the root of all the
nonsense that is talked about this tune meaning the sea,
and the moon, Vesuvius, or the scarlet fever.
Nor, to return to the drama, is undue violence done to
the mind by years being supposed to have elapsed between
the acts of a play, as it is not attempted in any way to rep*
RISE OF THE GERMAN OPERA. 201
resent the passage of those years before the public. That
is left to the imagination, and no exception can be taken
to the representation of that which is not represented. In
Macbeth, as produced some time ago by Mr. Phelps, no
man could take exception to the manner in which the
ghost of Banquo was represented, because the ghost never
appeared at all. It was left to the imagination of the au-
dience. If they do not conceive them aright, it is no busi-
ness of his.
We submit, then, that the drama and the opera have
separate foundations, or, rather, the one has a foundation
which the other lacks. It is perfectly fair in all forms of
art to leave to the imagination what can not be expressed,
but it is perfectly false in any form of art to try and make
a power — like music, for instance — express what it is in-
capable of expressing.
But it is time to return to Gluck. Disconcerted by the
54 failure of Pyramits and Thisbe, perhaps with Han-
Germm/op- del's music fresh in his mind, and strongly impress-
era* ed with the importance of copious recitative and
plenty of declamation, after the manner of the French, he
entered upon his transition period. From Telemacco (1750)
to II Re Pastore, produced at Vienna, 1756, wTe may notice
a continuous development in the direction of the new Ger-
man opera style. Between 1756 and 1762 he appears, like
a man struggling with the apprehension of new ideas, to
have tried various experiments. We can not regard his
comic operas as any thing but tentative ; they bear witness
more to his versatile activity than to his judgment. The
Pilgrims of Mecca might indeed have established the fame
of a lesser composer, but it is little better than waste from
the author of Orpheus and Ear y dice.
The time now drew nigh for that fortunate conjunction
202 GLUCK.
of circumstances upon which genius itself is obliged to
wait. In 1762 Gluck at last met the man capable of un-
derstanding him, and of producing a libretto after his own
heart. This man was Calzabigi, the writer of Orpheus and
Eurydice, Alceste, and other librettos belonging to Gluck's
finest period. The Orpheus and Alceste were produced at
Vienna with that amount of success which the author's
name could by this time command. But Gluck, with his
strong feeling for dramatic declamation, was dissatisfied
with the German actors and with the German stage, and
turned his eyes toward Paris. His overtures were gladly
met by the directors of the French opera, and the event
proved their discernment.
The success of Gluck at Paris has to be accounted for.
85- Although Paris has o-enerally admitted the results
Gluck in ° ....
Paris. of German music, as it has in due time appropriated
the results of German philosophy, it has seldom been for-
ward to acknowledge any new development of either. Ger-
man composers have usually found themselves specially
miserable in Paris ; Mozart, Beethoven, Schumann, Wag-
ner, have each in their day been snuffed out by the Parisian
public, and only enjoyed a tardy recognition when it could
no longer be withheld. Yet both Gluck and Haydn were
from the first feted and admired by at least important sec-
tions of the French musical world.
How can this be explained in the case of Gluck? We
must remember, in the first place, that Gluck hoisted no
opposition flag. Of the deep lines which have been since
drawn, and rightly drawn, between German, Italian, and
French music, hardly a trace at this time existed.
Modern music was not sufficiently developed for each na-
tion to appropriate its own specialty, and what existed of
music was cosmopolitan rather than national. So little
GL TICK IN PARIS. 203
conscious was Gluck of founding a school, that he writes
innocently to his old pupil, Marie Antoinette :
"It has been no pretension of mine, though some have reproached mc
with it, to come here to give lessons to the French in their own language.
I thought that I might attempt with French words the new style of music
that I have adopted in my three last Italian (sic) operas. I see with sat-
isfaction that the language of nature is the universal language."
Hence we observe that he had the singular good fortune
of entering Paris under the auspices of the Dauphiness
Marie Antoinette, and without a thought of rivalry, but
simply with the naive intention of improving the French
music ; and this pacific garb, no doubt, greatly conduced
to his courteous reception.
The political revolution was also favorable to a revolu-
tion in art. The old fabric of the French monarchy was
ready to crumble. The Encyclopaedists had set up a fer-
ment of new ideas throughout the country, which not only
pointed to an abuse, but had a remedy to propose. The
signs of the times were not hard to read, yet no one seem-
ed to read them. There was something in the very air
which told of imminent change. None escaped the subtle
influence. The doomed palace itself was full of it. And
the courtiers, in listening to Rousseau's Devin du Village,
in admiring a return to nature, in craving for ideals as far
as possible removed from the effete civilization of their
own age and country, in applauding the classical but rev-
olutionary operas of Gluck, were like children playing with
the sparks that were destined presently to burn the house
down.
Meanwhile Gluck had it all his own way. Armed with
a French libretto by Du Rollet, protected by the mantle
of royalty, and filled unconsciously, like so many others,
with the revolutionary spirit, he produced his opera of
Ip/iir/e?7ia in Aulis. The orchestra, as orchestras will, tit-
204 OLUCE.
tercel over his scores, and grumbled at the instrumentation,
but ended by playing them, and playing them well. The
audience, as audiences will, acted philosopher on the first
night, but applauded vigorously on the second. The Abbe
Arnault, a great leader of taste, is said to have exclaimed,
"With such music one might found a new religion." The
orchestral effects of the Iphigenia were found somewhat
difficult to understand at times, but deemed vastly learn-
ed by the connoisseurs ; while the apostrophe sung by Ag-
amemnon to the Creator of Light, as also the celebrated
phrase, " I hear within my breast the cry of nature," were
considered quite sublime by the general public.
It was the midsummer of 1774. The Parisians, then as
now, were in the habit of flying from the white heat of the
city to the cool retreats of their suburban villas, but the
Opera-house still continued to be crammed nightly. Gluck
was called the Hercules of music. Admirers doomed his
footsteps in the streets. His appearance at public assem-
blies was the sign for loud acclamations. And a few priv-
ileged ones were admitted to the rehearsal of his new op-
era Alceste, to see him conduct in his night-cap and dress-
ing-gown.
But the enemy was not far off. The musicians who had
8G grumbled at his scores, the old school who had
anefpicci- ^een shocked, and the second-rate composers who
msts. ^ad \)een shelved, were only biding their time to
organize an open attack. The Italian Piccini was pitted
against Gluck. There were powerful leaders on both sides,
and the chances at one time seemed about equal. Marie
Antoinette (Gluckist) was influential, but so was Madame
du Barri (Piccinist), the king's mistress; 1' Abbe Arnault
(Gluckist) was sarcastic, but Marmontel (Piccinist) was
witty ; Du Rollet was diplomatic, but La Harpe was elo-
QLUCEISTS AND PICCIMSTS. 205
quent ; and the storm burst thus upon the unsuspecting
Gluck. During his absence from Paris, he learned that
Piccini had been commissioned to compose music for the
same opera {Roland) upon which he himself was engaged.
Gluck tore up his unfinished score in a rage, and declared
open war upon the Italian school. The boards of the op-
era became the scene of hot contentions, and the rival par-
tisans abused and bullied each other like school-boys. "I
know some one," says Gluck, " who will give dinners and
suppers to three fourths of Paris to gain proselytes for M.
Piccini. Marmontel, who tells stories so well, will tell one
more to explain to the whole kingdom the exclusive merits
of M. Piccini." " The famous Gluck," wrote La Harpe,
" may puff his own compositions, but he can not prevent
them from boring us to death." And the wags of Paris,
who looked on and thought of the difference between
tweedledum and tweedledee, named the street in which
Gluck lived " Rue du Grand Hurleur," while Piccini's and
Marmontel's quartiers were nicknamed respectively "Rue
des Petits Chants" and "Rue des Mauvaises Paroles."
But, pleasant and exciting as all this must have been, it
had its inconveniences. Piccini was very well, but Paris
could not afford to lose Gluck, and Gluck declined at first
to compose as Piccini's rival. At this crisis, a bright idea
occurred to Berton, the new opera director : could not the
rival maeslros be induced to compose an opera jointly?
He asked them both to dinner, and inter pocula all seemed
to go well. But it was only the convivial lull that was to
precede a post-prandial storm. It was arranged that each
should compose an opera of his own on the subject of Iphi-
genia in Tauris. In 1779 Gluck produced his second Iphi-
genia first, and Piccini was so conscious of its superior ex-
cellence that he shut his own opera up in a portfolio, which
was not opened until two years later, when the Italian
20G OLUCK.
Iphigenia was brought out, and fell quite flat. Vce victisf
The Italian school seemed fairly vanquished; but even now
Fortune was turning her capricious wheel. Four months
afterward Gluck produced his Echo and Narcissus, which,
to the consternation of the Gluckists, fell as flat as Piccini's
Iphigenia.
He was offered many consolations, and Marie Antoinette
87. besought him eagerly to stay and retrieve the po-
Old Afp
and Death, sition which seemed for the moment lost; but he
was getting old and fretful ; all his life long he had been
the spoiled child of Fortune, and he was less able than most
men to bear any reverses. He had amassed considerable
wealth, and in 1780 left Paris for Vienna; but he does not
appear to have been happy in his old age. Nervous mal-
adies, long kept off by dint of sheer excitement and inces-
sant labor, seemed now to grow upon him rapidly. He
had always been fond of wine, but at a time when his sys-
tem was least able to bear it he began to substitute bran-
dy. The very thought of action after his recent failure in
Paris filled him with disgust. He did nothing, but his in-
activity was not repose, and the fire which had been a
shining light for so many years, now in its smouldering
embers seemed to waste and consume him inwardly. His
wife, who was ever on the watch, succeeded in keeping
stimulants away from the poor old man for weeks togeth-
er; but one day a friend came to dine. After dinner cof-
fee was handed round, and liqueurs were placed upon the
table. The temptation was too strong. Gluck seized the
bottle of brandy, and before his wife could stop him he
had drained its contents. That night he fell down in a fit
of apoplexy, and he died November 25th, 1787, aged sev-
enty-three.
ESTIMATE OF HIS CHARACTER. 207
Gluck has been hardly handled by his French critics.
88. To be a successful German musician in France
Estimate of . .
his character, is no doubt a crime; a hot temper is perhaps
another; but when we read that Gluck was consumedly
vain, full of a malevolent egotism, that he seized every oc-
casion to injure his rivals, that he was the enemy of rising
or foreign merit, that he tried to stifle Mozart and to sneer
down Piccini, we require an explanation. Some of us may
be consoled by the reflection that these assertions — com-
ing from M. Felix Clement, whose book is more distin-
guished for bulk than benevolence, for screams and com-
monplaces than for criticism or candor — are unfounded.
The vanity of Gluck consisted in the consciousness of
his own superiority. His malevolent egotism was merely
the ebullition of a hasty temper stung into self-assertion
by detraction and abuse. When party spirit ran so high
at Paris between Gluckists and Piccinists, without imput-
ing to either malevolent egotism, we might expect to find
the rivals themselves not always calm and measured in
their language. But, in truth, Gluck was a single-minded
man, devoted to music and generous to other musicians.
In his sixty-fourth year he writes, not to his own support-
ers, but to "the friends of music in Paris" — Paris, the
stormy scene of his first contentions with the Italian fac-
tions; Paris, the witness of his early triumphs and his late
discomfiture ; Paris, the place where he is said to have
shown nothing but malevolent egotism:
" M. Gluck is very sensible of the politeness of Messieurs les amateurs
and M. Cambini. He has the honor to assure these gentlemen that it will
give him much pleasure to hear the performance of M. Cambini's scene
from Armida [the subject of one of his own operas]. It would be indeed
tyranny in music to seek to prevent authors from bringing forward their
productions. M. Gluck enters into rivalry with no one, and it will always
give him pleasure to listen to music better than his own. The progress
of art ought alone to be considered."
208 QLUCK.
An old broken-down man, he sat in a box and applaud-
ed the young Mozart's new symphonies. He extolled Mo-
zart's music in Viennese circles, and asked him and his wife
to dinner ; and Mozart speaks of him every where in his
letters in terms of reverence and affection. It is said that
he was fond of money, and he was, no doubt, in his later
years unhappily addicted to wine; but his purse-strings
were often loosed for the needy, and many of his detract-
ors were fed at his hospitable board. Under trying cir-
cumstances, he always maintained the dignity and inde-
pendence of his art ; and the favorite of princes and court-
iers, he knew how to enlist sympathy without truckling to
power.
M. Felix Clement is facetious on the subject of the in-
temperance which marked the failing years of a man whose
nerves had been shattered by hard work and the excite-
ment inseparable from his vocation. We prefer to recall
one who, in the midst of an immoral court, remained com-
paratively pure, and who, in an age of flippant atheism, re-
tained to the last his ■ trust in God and his reverence for
religion.
HAYDN.
Born 1732, Died 1809.
ft
cJ*^
IV.
Gluck and Haydn worked parallel to each other. We
so. are not aware that they ever met. Both car-
Likeness and . .
Difference, ned out great reforms — Gluck in the sphere of
opera, Haydn in symphonic and instrumental music. Both
were adored in foreign countries : while Gluck was known
in England and worshiped in France, Haydn was known in
France and worshiped in England. Both, however, were
recognized and admired in Germany; both were generous
in their recognition of others ; both were the friends of
Mozart; both knew how to be popular with princes with-
out forfeiting the respect of equals ; both could compose
210 HAYDN.
for the people without pandering to what was vicious or
ignorant in their tastes ; both began as " poor devils" (to
use Haydn's phrase), and lived to enjoy an easy compe-
tence ; and both descended to the grave, after long, labo-
rious lives, heavy with years and honors — Gluck dying
1787, at the age of seventy-three ; Haydn 1809, at seventy-
seven.
We may thus draw an outward parallel between the
founder of the German opera and the inventor of the Ger-
man symphony; but the parallel belongs more to the ca-
reer than to the character, to the work than to the person,
of the composers. As we turn from that eager, restless,
ambitious face by Duplessis, to the placid, easy-going, and
contented profile by Dance, the contrast between Chevalier
Gluck and "Papa Haydn," as Mozart loved to called him,
is complete.
The face of Haydn is remarkable quite as much for what
it does not as for what it does express. No ambition, no
avarice, no impatience, very little excitability, no malice.
On the other hand, it indicates a placid flow of even health,
an exceeding good humor, combined with a vivacity which
seems to say, " I must lose my temper sometimes, but I can
not lose it for long ;" a geniality which it took much to dis-
turb, and a digestion which it took more to impair ; a pow-
er of work steady and uninterrupted ; a healthy devotional
feeling; a strong sense of humor; a capacity for the en-
joyment of all the world's good things, without any morbid
craving for irregular indulgence; affections warm, but not
intense ; a presence accepted and beloved ; a mind content-
ed almost any where, attaching supreme importance to one,
and one thing only — the composing of music — and pursu-
ing this object with the steady instinct of one who believed
himself to have come into the world for this purpose alone
— such was Francis Joseph Haydn, born on the 31st of
EARLY DAYS. 211
March, 1732, at Rohrau, a little village about thirty miles
from Vienna, on the confines of Austria and Hungary.
The father, Matthias Haydn, coachmaker and parish clerk,
90 had married a domestic servant in the household
Early Days. 0f one Count Harrach. He was fond of the harp,
and after the day's work he delighted to sing and play
while Frau Haydn sat busily knitting, and joined in occa-
sionally, after the manner of German fraus. Joseph, when
about five years old, began to assist on these occasions
with two pieces of stick, grinding away in perfect time,
like any real fiddler. These wooden performances were
not thrown away, for one day a Hamburg schoolmaster
named Franck happened to see the child thus earnestly em-
ployed, and ascertaining that he had a good voice, took him
off to Hamburg, and promised to educate him, to the great
delight of the honest coachmaker.
Franck seems to have taught him well, although he
knocked him about a good deal ; but the boy was a merry
and industrious little fellow, and did not mind, providing
he was allowed to transfer the blows in play-hours to a big
drum, on which he practiced incessantly. When he was
about nine years old, Reuter, the Capellmeister of St. Ste-
phen's, Vienna, happened to be dining with Franck, and
Joseph was produced as a musical prodigy. Franck had
taught him to sing, and all that his master knew he could
do. At the close of his song the delighted Reuter cried
" Bravo ! But, my little man, how is it you can not shake?"
" How can you expect me to shake when Herr Franck him-
self can not ?" replied the enfant terrible. " Come here,
then ;" and, drawing the child to him, he showed him how
to hold his breath, and then make the necessary vibrations
in his throat once or twice, and the boy caught the trick
and began shaking like a practiced singer. The Copellmeis-
212 HAYDN.
ter had found a new star for his cathedral choir, and Haydn
was carried off in triumph to Vienna. Here he gained in-
struction in singing, and an acquaintance with sacred mu-
sic; but it was no part of Reuter's plan to teach him the
theory of music. At the age of thirteen he tried to com-
pose a mass, at which his master merely laughed ; indeed,
Haydn was wholly uninstructed in composition, and no
doubt the mass was poor stuff. But genius was not to be
daunted; money was hoarded up, the "Gradus ad Parnas-
sum" and the " Parfait Maitre de Chapelle," by Mattheson,
were purchased, and with these two dull and verbose damp-
ers to enthusiasm the lad set to work to discover the sci-
ence of harmony. We have no means of knowing what
progress he made ; we only know that he worked away for
eight years. At the end of that time his voice broke, and
he was turned away by Reuter on quite a frivolous pre-
text. Some say the master was afraid of finding a rival in
the pupil, but we think this improbable, as at this time
there is no proof that Haydn had arrived at any special
excellence in composition ; but Reuter was a selfish, and, in
Haydn's case, a disappointed man. From the first he had
desired to perpetuate, by the usual means, the fine soprano
of his pupil, and thus retain him in his service forever.
Happily this project wTas firmly withstood by the parents ;
and Reuter, who was no doubt annoyed, kept the boy as
long as he could sing, and when his voice broke, not car-
ing to trouble himself with any further connection, picked
a quarrel wTith him and turned him out. But the choris-
ter's sweet voice was known to many who came to wor-
ship at the cathedral of St. Stephen, and when Keller, th©
barber, heard that Haydn was a homeless wanderer, he
came forward and offered him free board and lodging.
In a little upper room, witli a little worm-eaten harpsi-
chord, Haydn pursued his studies, and down stairs lie
METASTASIO AND PORPORA. 213
dressed and powdered away at the wigs. Unhappily, there
was something besides wigs down stairs — there was Anne
Keller, the barber's daughter, to whom, in a luckless hour,
he promised marriage, and of whom more presently.
By-and-by things began to improve. He played the
91. violin in one church, the organ in another, and
Metastasio „
and Porpora. got a few pupils. Vienna was not the city to
allow a good musician to starve, and Haydn soon found
those who could appreciate and help him. He left Keller,
took a small attic in a large house, and, as luck would have
it, in the state apartments of that very house lived the
great poeta Oesareo, or, as we should say, poet laureate of
the day — Metastasio. Through the poet Haydn's good
fortune began : he introduced him to the Venetian embas-
sador's mistress, a rare musical enthusiast, and in her cir-
cle he met the famous Italian singing-master Porpora, then
a very crusty old gentleman, who appears to have occu-
pied at Vienna the same post of musical dictator and privi-
leged censor which Rossini for so many years held in Paris.
The relations between Haydn and the Porpora were
sufficiently amusing. Madame Sand, in " Consuelo," has
sketched them in her own incomparable way. Of course
Porpora could have nothing to say to so lowly a personage
as Joseph Haydn. But he was always meeting him. They
even lived in the same house for some time, for they both
accompanied the embassador to the Manensdorf baths for
the season. However, Haydn had found his man in the
Porpora, and was not slow to take his cue. He wanted in-
struction : no one in Italy or Germany could give it better
than Porpora ; so he cleaned Porpora's boots, trimmed his
wig to perfection, brushed his coat, ran his errands, and
was his very humble and devoted servant. Before such
attention as this the old man at last gave way. Haydn
214 HAYDN.
became the master's constant companion, disciple, and ac-
companyist, and the benefits which he derived in return
were soon manifested in the increased salableness of his
compositions.
At the age of eighteen Haydn composed his first string-
m ed quartet. It consists of a number of short move-
Quartets. mentSj an(j does not differ materially from other
cabinet music of the period, save in being written for four
instruments. Let any one take up the famous eighty-four
quartets, and trace the growth of the master's mind, and
he will be astonished how slow, and yet how steady, is the
development. Nothing hurried — no torch blown by the
wind — but a lamp, well guarded from gusts and currents,
slowly consuming an abundant supply of oil. It is not till
we get past the No. 50's that all traces of the Boccherini
school begin to disappear ; the movements become fewer,
but longer, and yet quite symphonic in their development,
until we break upon such perfect gems as 63 ; while in 77,
78, 81, the master reaches that perfect form and freedom
of harmony which is observed in the quartets of Mozart
and Beethoven.
As quartets, Haydn's have never been surpassed. Mo-
zart has been more rich, Beethoven more obscure and sub-
lime, Spohr more mellifluous and chromatic, Schubert more
diffuse and luxuriant, Mendelssohn more orchestral and
passionate, but none have excelled Haydn in completeness
of form, in fine perception of the capacities of the four in-
struments, in delicate distribution of parts to each, and in
effects always legitimate — often tender, playful, and pa-
thetic— sometimes even sublime.
At night the young minstrel, accompanied by two
friends, used to wander about the streets of Vienna by
A TEMPEST. 215
93# moonlight, and serenade with trios of his compo-
A Tempest. sftion nis friends and patrons.
One night he happened to stop under the window of
Bernardone Curtz, the director of the theatre. Down rush-
ed the director in a state of great excitement.
" Who are you ?" he shrieked.
"Joseph Haydn."
" Who's music is it ?"
"Mine!"
" The deuce it is ! at your age, too !"
" Why, I must begin with something."
" Come along up stairs."
And the enthusiastic director collared his prize, and waB
soon deep in explaining his mysteries of a libretto entitled
"The Devil on Two Sticks." Haydn must write music for
it according to Curtz's directions. It was no easy task;
the music was to represent all sorts of things — catastro-
phes, fiascos, tempests. The tempest brought Haydn to his
wits' end, for neither he nor Curtz had ever witnessed a
sea-storm.
Haydn sat at the piano banging away in despair: be-
hind him stood the director fuming, and raving, and ex-
plaining what he did not understand to Haydn, who did
not understand him. At last, in a state of distraction, the
pianist, opening wide his arms and raising them aloft,
brought down his fists simultaneously on the two extrem-
ities of the key-board, and then drawing them rapidly to-
gether till they met, made a clean sweep of all the notes.
" Bravo ! bravo ! that's it — that's the tempest !" cried
Curtz; and, jumping wildly about, he finally threw his
arms round the magician who had called the spirits from
the vasty deep, and afterward paid him one hundred and
thirty florins for the music — storm at sea included.
216 HAYDN.
In 1759, at the age of twenty-eight, Haydn composed his
94 first symphony, and thus struck the second key-
symphonies. note of hig originality. To have fixed the form
of the quartet and the symphony was to lay deep the foun-
dations of all future cabinet and orchestral music. Of the
one hundred and eighteen symphonies comparatively few
are now played, but probably we have all heard the best.
The twelve composed for Salomon in the haste of creative
power, but in the full maturity of his genius, are constant-
ly heard side by side with the amazing efforts of Mozart
and Beethoven in the same department, and do not suffer
by the comparison because they are related to them, as the
sweet and simple forms of early Gothic are to the gorgeous
flamboyant creations of a later period.
Haydn's last symphonies stand related to his earlier ones
as the last quartets to the earlier. In both at first the form
is struck, but the work is stiff and formal; latterly the out-
line is the same, but it is filled in with perfect grace and
freedom. There is Mozart's easy fertility of thought, but
not Mozart's luxurious imagination ; there is Beethoven's
power of laying hold of his subject — indeed, Haydn's grip
is quite masterful in the allegros, and the expression of his
slow movements is at all times clear and delicious — but
the heights and the depths, together with the obscurities
of the later master, are absent. Ravished at all times with
what was beautiful, sublime, or pathetic in others, he him-
self lived in a work-a-day world — a world of common
smiles and tears ; a world of beautiful women and gifted
men ; of woods, and mountains, and rivers ; of fishing and
hunting ; of genial acclamation, and generous endeavor,
simple devotion, and constant, joyous, irreproachable laboi
and love.
PRINCE ESTERHAZ Y. 2 1 1
Soon after his first symphony he had the good fortune
95. to attract the attention of a man whose iamily
Prince Es- . . . , . ,
ternazy. has since become intimately associated with mu-
sical genius in Germany : this was old Prince Esterhazy.
" What ! you don't mean to say that little blackamoor"
(alluding to Haydn's brown complexion and small stature)
"composed that symphony?"
" Surely, prince !" replied the director Friedburg, beck-
oning to Joseph Haydn, who advanced toward the orches-
tra.
" Little Moor," says the old gentleman, " you shall enter
my service. I am Prince Esterhazy. What's your name ?"
" Haydn."
" Ah ! I've heard of you. Get along, and dress yourself
like a Capellmeister. Clap on a new coat, and mind your
wig is curled. You're too short ; you shall have red heels ;
but they shall be high, that your stature may correspond
with your merit."
We may not approve of the old prince's tone, but in
those days musicians were not the confidential advisers of
kings, like Herr Wagner ; rich bankers' sons, like Meyer-
beer ; private gentlemen, like Mendelssohn ; and members
of the Imperial Parliament, like Verdi ; but only " poor dev-
ils," like Haydn. Let these things be well weighed, and
let England remember that as she has had to follow Ger-
many in philosophy and theology, so must she sooner or
later in her estimation of the musical profession.
Haydn now went to live at Eisenstadt, in the Esterhazy
96. household, and received a salary of 400 florins.
Work and
Wife. The old prince died a year afterward, and Haydn
continued in the service of his successor, Nicolas Esterha-
zy, at an increased salary of 700 florins, which was after-
ward raised to 1000 florins per annum. Nothing more uK
K
218 HA TDK
interesting than the dull routine of a small German court,
and nothing less eventful than the life of Haydn between
1760 and 1790, can be imagined. He continued the close
friend and companion of Prince Nicolas, and death alone
was able to dissolve, after a commerce of thirty years, the
fair bond between him and his Maecenas. Every morning
a new composition was laid upon the prince's breakfast
table, generally something for his favorite instrument, the
baryton, a kind of violoncello. One hundred and fifty of
these pieces, we believe, are extant. His work was regular
and uninterrupted, his recreations were calm and healthful,
occasional journeys to Vienna, months and months passed
at the prince's country seat, mountain rambles, hunting,
fishing, open-air concerts, musical evenings, and friendly in-
tercourse, and Haydn lived contented, laborious, and per-
fectly unambitious.
There was but one cloud in his sky — that was his wife.
The promise made to the hair-dresser's daughter in a rash
moment was fulfilled in what some may think a moment
still more rash. Haydn could have been happy with most
women, but there are limits to the endurance of a man,
however amiable ; and Haydn found those limits exceeded
in the person of Anne Keller. His temperament was easy
and cheerful ; hers difficult and dismal. His religion turned
on the love of God; hers on the fear of the devil. Her de-
votion was excessive, but her piety small; and she passed
easily from mass to mischief-making, or from beads to
broils. We are told that the tongue is a little fire, but it
proved too hot for Haydn. He found that the incessant
nagging of a quarrelsome partner was ruining his life-work,
and the world has probably long pardoned him for refus-
ing to sacrifice his time and genius to the caprices of a
silly and ill-tempered woman. He did what was probably
best for both. He gave her a fair trial, and then separated
MOZAST. 219
himself from her, making her a liberal allowance, and thus
permitting her to enjoy the fruits of his labor without de-
stroying his peace of mind or robbing the world of his
genius.
In the retirement of the prince's family, between 1760
and 1790, an incredible number, and among them some of
his most famous works, were produced. We may note sev-
eral of the later quartets, six symphonies written for Paris,
and the famous last seven works written for Cadiz.
The labor of thirty years had not been thrown away.
97 Haydn appears to have been very unconscious of
Mozart. tj]e jmmense reputation which he had been acquir-
ing all through France, Spain, and England, and was prob-
ably never more astonished in his life when a stranger
burst into his room, only a few days after the death of his
beloved patron, Prince Nicolas, and said abruptly, " I am
Salomon from London, and am come to carry you off with
me ; we will strike a bargain to-morrow." There was no
bond now sufficiently strong to keep him in Germany. He
was getting on in life, although still hale and hearty ; and
now, at the age of sixty, he prepared to cross the sea on
that journey to London so famous in the annals of music.
Yet were there dear friends to part from. Dr. Leopold von
Genzinger, the prince's physician ; and the charming Frau
Yon Genzinger, to whom so many of his letters are ad-
dressed, who made him such good tea and coffee, and sent
him such excellent cream. Then there were Dittersdorf
and Albrechtsberger; and, lastly, Mozart. These would
fain have kept him. " Oh, papa !" said Mozart, who had al-
ready traveled so much and knew every thing, "you have
had no education for the wide, wide world, and you speak
too few languages." " Oh, my language," replied the papa,
with a smile, "is understood all over the world."
220 HAYDN.
December 15, 1*790, was the day fixed for his departure.
Mozart could not tear himself away, nor was he able to re-
press the tears that rose as he said in words so sadly pro-
phetic, " We shall now doubtless take our last farewell."
They dined together indeed for the last time. Both were
deeply affected, but neither could have dreamed how very
soon one of them, and that the youngest, was to be taken
away. A year after we read in Haydn's diary, " Mozart
died December 5, 1791." Nothing could exceed Haydn's
admiration for Mozart. In 1785 Mozart wrote the six cel-
ebrated quartets dedicated to Haydn. " I declare to you,"
said the old composer to Mozart's father, " before God, that
your son is the greatest composer who ever lived." In
1787 he thus writes:
"I only wish I could impress upon every friend of music, and on great
men in particular, the same deep musical sympathy and profound appre-
ciation which I myself feel for Mozart's inimitable music ; then nations
would vie with each other to possess such a jewel within their frontiers.
It enrages me to think that the unparalleled Mozart is not yet engaged at
any imperial court ! Forgive my excitement j I love the man so dearly."
His wife must needs write to worry him in England by
saying that Mozart had taken to running him down. " I
can not believe it," cried Haydn ; " if true, I will forgive
him." As late as 1807, the conversation turning one day
on Mozart, Haydn burst into tears ; but, recovering him-
self, " Forgive me," he said ; " I must ever, ever weep at
the name of my Mozart."
On his way to England Haydn was introduced to Beet-
98. hoven, then twenty. Beethoven actually had a
Haydn in .
England, lesson or two from him, and Haydn was exceed-
ingly anxious to claim him as a pupil. Beethoven, upon
hearing this many years afterward, said characteristically
and no doubt truly, " Certainly I had a lesson from Haydn,
HA YDN IN ENGLAND. 2 2 1
but 1 was not his disciple ; I never learned any thing from
him."
"By four o'clock we had come twenty-two miles. The
large vessel stood out to sea five hours longer, till the tide
carried it into the harbor. I remained on deck during the
whole passage, in order to gaze my fill at that huge mon-
ster, the ocean." Haydn was soon safely, but, according to
his moderate German notions, expensively housed at 18
Great Pulteney Street, London. He was to give twenty
concerts in the year, and receive £50 for each. The novelty
of the concerts was to consist in the new symphonies which
Haydn was to conduct in person, seated at the piano. His
fame had long preceded him, and his reception every where
delighted him. " I could dine out every day of the week,"
he writes. At concerts and public meetings his arrival
was the sign for enthusiastic applause ; and how, in the
midst of Lord Mayors' feasts, royal visits, and general star-
ring, he managed to have composed and produced the Sa-
lomon Symphonies and countless other works written in
London, is a question we can not attempt to solve.
But Haydn was hundred-handed, and had, moreover,
eyes and ears for every thing. He tells us how he enjoy-
ed himself at the civic feast in company with William Pitt,
the Lord Chancellor, and the Duke of Lids (Leeds). He
says, after dinner, the highest nobility — i. e., the Lord
Mayor and his wife (!) — were seated on a throne. In an-
other room the gentlemen, as usual, drank freely the whole
night ; and the songs, and the crazy uproar, and smashing
of glasses, were very great. The oil-lamps smelt terribly,
and the dinner cost £6000. He went down to stay with
the Prince of Wales (George IV.), and Sir Joshua Reynolds
painted his portrait. The prince played the violoncello
not badly, and charmed Haydn by his affability. "He is
the handsomest man on God's earth. He has an extraor-
222 HA YDS.
dinary love for music, and a great deal of feeling, but very
little money." From the palace he passed to the laboratory,
and was introduced to Herschel, in whom he was delighted
to find an old oboe' player. The big telescope astonished
him, so did the astronomer. " He often sits out of doors in
the most intense cold for five or six hours at a time."
From these and other dissipations Haydn had constant-
ly to hasten back to direct his concerts at the Hanover
Square Rooms, and before he left England he produced at
the Haymarket the first six symphonies of the twelve com-
posed for Salomon. The public was enthusiastic ; but so
much orchestral music was both a novelty and a trial ; it
is even possible that people may have gone to sleep in the
middle of some of the adagios. The well-known " Surprise
Symphony" is, in that case, Haydn's answer to such culpa-
ble inattention. The slow movement, it will be remember-
ed, begins in the most ^'cmzo and unobtrusive manner, and
by about the time the audience should be nodding, a sud-
den explosive fortissimo, as Haydn remarked, " makes the
ladies jump !" In amateur orchestras it is not unusual for
some enthusiast to let off a pistol behind the stage to give
tone to the big drum, but it has been generally thought
unnecessary to paint the lily in this manner.
The evenings at the Haymarket were triumphs that it
was not easy to rival. In the public prints we read :
"It is truly wonderful what sublime and august thoughts this master
weaves into his works. Passages often occur which it is impossible to
listen to without becoming excited — we are carried away by admiration,
and are forced to applaud with hand and mouth. The Frenchmen here
can not restrain their transports in soft adagios ; they will clap their hands
in loud applause, and thus mar the effect."
To stem this tide of popularity the Italian faction had
recourse to Giardini ; and to beat the German on his own
ground, his own pupil, Pleyel, was got over to conduct
THE CREATION AND THE SEASONS. 223
rival concerts. At first Haydn writes, "He behaves him-
self with great modesty ;" but later we read, " Pleyel's pre-
sumption is every where criticised;" yet he adds, "I go to
all his concerts and applaud him, for I love him."
Very different were the social amenities which passed
between Papa Haydn and the Italian Giardini. " I won't
know the German hound !" cries the excited Italian. " I at-
tended his concert at Ranelagh," says Haydn ; " he played
the fiddle like a hog !"
In a year and a half (July, 1792) Haydn was back at Vi-
enna, conducting his new symphonies, which had not yet
been heard in Germany. In 1794 he returned to the large
circle of his friends in England, and in the course of anoth-
er year and a half produced the remaining six symphonies
promised to Salomon. In May, 1795, Haydn took his bene-
fit at the Hay market. He directed the whole of his twelve
symphonies, and pocketing 12,000 florins, returned to Ger-
many, August 15, 1795.
The eighteenth century was closing in, dark with storms,
99 and the wave of revolution had burst in all its
and theesea-n ^nrY over France, casting its bloody spray upon
S0U8' the surrounding nations. From his little cot-
tage near Vienna Haydn watched the course of events.
Like many other princes of art, he was no politician, but
his affection for his country lay deep, and his loyalty to the
Emperor Francis was warm ; the hymn, " God save the
Emperor," so exquisitely treated in the seventy-seventh
quartet, remained his favorite melody; it seemed to have
acquired a certain sacredness in his eyes in an age when
kings were beheaded and their crowns tossed to a rabble.
But his own world, the world of art, remained untouched
by political convulsions. In 1795 he commenced, and in
1798 he finished the cantata or oratorio called the Creation.
224 HAYDN.
It very soon went the round of Germany, and passed to
England : and it was the Creation that the First Consul
was hastening to hear at the Opera on the memorable 24th
of January, 1801, when he was stopped by an attempt at
assassination.
In 1800 Haydn had finished another great work, "The
Seasons," founded on Thomson's poem. In 1802 his two
last quartets appeared. A third he was forced to leave un-
finished ; in it he introduced a phrase which latterly he
was fond of writing on his visiting card :
" Hin ist alle meine Kraft,
Alt und schwach bin ich!"
He was now seventy years old, and seldom left his room.
On summer days he would linger in the garden. Friends
came to see him, and found him often in a profound melan-
choly. He tells us, however, that God frequently revived
his courage ; indeed, his whole life is marked by a touch-
ing and simple faith, which did not forsake him in his old
age. He considered his art a religious thing, and constant-
ly wrote at the beginning of his works, " In nomine Dom-
ini," or " Soli Deo gloria ;" and at the end, " Laus Deo."
In 1 809 Vienna was bombarded by the French. A round-
shot fell into his garden. He seemed to be in no alarm, but
on May 25 he requested to be led to his piano, and three
times over he played the " Hymn to the Emperor" with an
emotion that fairly overcame both himself and those who
heard him. He Avas to play no more ; and being helped
back to his couch, he lav down in extreme exhaustion to
wait for the end. Five days afterward, May 26, 1809, died
Francis Joseph Haydn, aged seventy-seven. He lies buried
in the cemetery of Gumpfendorf, Vienna.
The number of Haydn's compositions is nearly estimated
at eight hundred, comprising cantatas, symphonies, orato-
CHAR A CTERISTTCS. 2 2 5
ioo. rios, masses, concertos, trios, quartets, sonatas, niin-
Character- > ' ' ...
istics. uets, etc. ; twenty-two operas, of which eight are
German, and fourteen Italian. But the great father of
symphony is not to be judged by his operas any more than
the great father of oratorio.
The world has often been tantalized by the spectacle of
genius without industry, or industry without genius, but in
Haydn genius and industry were happily married.
' ' Ego nee studium sine divite vena
Nee rude quid possit video ingenium."
In early years he worked sixteen, and sometimes eighteen
hours a day, and latterly never less than five ; and the work
was not desultory, but very direct. No man had a clearer
notion of what he meant to do, and no man carried out his
programme more rigidly. He was equal to Schubert in
the rich flow of his musical ideas, but superior to him in
arrangement and selection. He could be grave and play-
ful ; serious, and sometimes sublime, but seldom romantic.
In him there is nothing artificial, nothing abnormal ; his
tenderness is all real, and his gayety quite natural ; nor is
the balance of symmetry any where sacrificed to passion or
to power. The abundance of his ideas never tempted him
to neglect the fit elaboration of any. He applied himself
without distraction to his thought until it became clear to
himself. He would often compose, and then recompose on
a given theme, until the perfect expression had been found.
We remember, some years ago, one of the finest classical
scholars at Cambridge, who was in the habit of making
miserable work of his Greek-construing during class-time.
Few of his pupils could understand what he was about ; to
the inexperienced freshman it sounded like the bungling of
a school-boy. The sentence was rendered over and over
again, and at the close probably not a word retained its
original position. While the novices scribbled and scratch-
K2
226 HAYDN.
ed out, the older hands waited calmly for the last perfect
form. The process was fatiguing, but amply repaid the
toil. Poets have been known to spend days over a line
which may afterward have been destined to sparkle forever
"On the stretched forefinger of all time."
Like good construing or good poetry, good music demands
the most unremitting toil. No doubt the artist attains at
length a certain direct and accurate power of expression.
We know that many of Turner's pictures were dashed off
without an after-touch. While Macaulay's manuscripts are
almost illegibly interlined and corrected, many of Walter
Scott's novels are written almost without an erasure ; but
such facility combined with accuracy is, after all, only the
work of a mind rendered both facile and accurate by long
practice.
Haydn is valuable in the history of art, not only as a
brilliant, but also as a complete artist. Perhaps, with the
exception of Goethe and Wordsworth, there is no equally
remarkable instance of a man who was so permitted to work
out all that was in him. His life was a rounded whole.
There was no broken light about it; it orbed slowly witli
a mild, unclouded lustre into a perfect star. Time was
gentle with him, and Death was kind, for both waited upon
his genius until all was won. Mozart was taken away at an
age when new and dazzling effects had not ceased to flash
through his brain : at the very moment when his harmonies
began to have a prophetic ring of the nineteenth century,
it was decreed that he should not see its dawn. Beethoven
himself had but just entered upon an unknown "sea whose
margin seemed to fade forever and forever as lie moved ;"
but good old Haydn had come into port over a calm sea
and after a prosperous voyage. The laurel wreath was
this time woven about silver locks; the gathered-in har-
vest was ripe and golden.
SCHUBEET.
Born 1797, Died 1828.
V.
In passing from the great gods of music to those other
delightful tone-poets and singers whose works the world
will not willingly let die, we could scarcely find any names
more dear to the heart of the true musician than those of
Franz Schubert and Frederick Chopin.
Schubert, the prince of lyrists — Chopin, the most roman-
101 tic of piano-forte writers ; Schubert rich with an in-
andCho- exhaustible fancy — Chopin perfect with an exqui-
pin* site finish, each reaching a supreme excellence in
his own department, while one narrowly escaped being
greatest in all — both occupied intensely with their own
228 SCHUBERT.
meditations, and admitting into them but little of the out-
er world — both too indifferent to the public taste to become
immediately popular, but too remarkable to remain long un-
known— both exhibiting in their lives and in their music
striking resemblances and still more forcible contrasts —
both now so widely admired and beloved in this country
— so advanced and novel, that although Schubert has been
in his grave for thirty-eight years and Chopin for seventeen,
yet to us they seem to have died but yesterday — these men,
partners in the common sufferings of genius, and together
crowned with immortality in death, may well claim from
us again and again the tribute of memory to their lives,
and of homage to their inspiration.
In the parish of Lichtenthal, Vienna, the inhabitants are
102. fond of pointing out a house commonly known bv
Precocious x ° . . "
Talent. the sign of the " Red Crab," which, in addition to
that intelligent and interesting symbol, bears the decora-
tion of a small gray marble tablet, with the inscription
" Franz Schubert's Geburtshaus." On the right hand is a
sculptured lyre, on the left a wreath, with the date of the
composer's birth, January 31, 1797.
Franz Schubert was the youngest son of Franz and Eliz-
abeth Schubert ; he had eighteen brothers and sisters, few
of whom lived very long. His father was a poor school-
master, who, having little else to bestow upon his children,
took care to give them a good education. " When he was
five years old," his father writes, " I prepared him for ele-
mentary instruction, and at six I sent him to school; he
was always one of the first among his fellow-students." As
in the case of Mozart and Mendelssohn, the ruling passion
was early manifested, and nature seemed to feel that a ca-
reer so soon to be closed by untimely death must be begun
with the tottering steps and early lisp of childhood. From
PRECOCIOUS TALENT. 229
the first, Schubert entered upon music as a prince enters
upon his own dominions. What others toiled for he won
almost without an effort. Melody flowed from him like
perfume from a rose ; harmony wTas the native atmosphere
he breathed. Like Handel and Beethoven, he retained no
master for long, and soon learned to do without the assist-
ance of any. His father began to teach him music, but
found that he had somehow mastered the rudiments for
himself. Holzer, the Lichtenthal choir-master, took him in
hand, but observed that " whenever he wanted to teach him
any thing, he knew it already ;" and some years afterward
Salieri,* who considered himself superior to Mozart, admit-
ted that his pupil Schubert was a born genius, and could
do whatever he chose. At the age of eleven Schubert wTas
a good singer, and also an accomplished violinist ; the com-
posing mania soon afterward set in, and at thirteen his con-
sumption of music-paper was something enormous. Over-
tures, symphonies, quartets, and vocal pieces were always
forthcoming, and enjoyed the advantage of being perform-
ed every evening at the concerts of the u Convict"! school,
where he was now being educated — Schubert regarding
this as by far the most important part of the day's work.
At times music had to be pursued under difficulties ; Ada-
gios had to be written between the pauses of grammar and
mathematics, and Prestos finished off when the master's
back was turned. Movements had to be practiced, under
some discouragements, during the hours of relaxation. "On
one occasion," writes a friend, "I represented the audience:
there wTas no fire, and the room was frightfully cold !" At
the age of eleven he had been admitted as chorister into
* Salieri, born 1750, died 1825, now chiefly remembered as the person
to whom Beethoven dedicated three sonatas.
t A sort of free grammar-school, where poor students were boarded gra-
tuitously.
230 SCHUBERT.
the Imperial choir, then under the direction of Salieri, where
he remained until 1813, when his voice broke. There can
be no doubt that Salieri, the avowed rival of Mozart, and
as narrow and jealous a man as ever lived, was very fond
of Schubert, and exercised an important influence over his
studies, and yet it would be impossible to conceive of two
minds musically less congenial. Salieri was devoted to
Italian tradition, and was never even familiar with the Ger-
man language, although he had lived in Germany for fifty
years. Schubert was the apostle of German romanticism,
and almost the founder of the German ballad, as distinct
from the French and Italian Romance. Schubert thought
Beethoven a great composer — Salieri considered him a
very much overrated man; Schubert worshiped Mozart,
Salieri did not appreciate him. It was evident that per-
sons holding: such dissimilar viewTs would not Ions; remain
in the relation of master and pupil, and one day, after a
bitter dispute over a Mass of Schubert's, out of which Sa-
lieri had struck all the passages which savored of Haydn
or Mozart, the recalcitrant pupil refused to have any thing
more to do with such a man as a teacher. It is pleasing,
however, to find that this difference of opinion was not fol-
lowed by any personal estrangement; and while Schubert
always remained grateful to Salieri, Salieri watched with
affectionate interest the rapid progress of his favorite pupil.
The boyish life of Schubert was not marked by any pe-
rn culiarities apart from his devotion to music. He
Early Com-
positions, was light-hearted, disposed to make the best of
his scanty income, a dutiful and obedient son, fond of so-
ciety, and of all kinds of amusement. "We find nothing to
account for the lugubrious titles which belong to so many
of his early works, and which seem to fall across the spring-
time of his life like the prophetic shadows of coming sor-
EARLY COMPOSITIOXS. 231
row and disappointment. Between the ages of eleven and
sixteen his compositions were "A Complaint," " Hagar's
Lament," " The Parricide," and "A Corpse Fantasia !" He
left the " Convict Academy" in his seventeenth year (1813),
and, returning to his father's house, engaged himself vigor-
ously in the tuition of little boys. The next three years
were passed in this delightful occupation, but the continu-
ous stream of his music never ceased, and 1815 is marked
as the most prolific year of his life. It witnessed the pro-
duction of more than a hundred songs, half a dozen operas
and operettas, several symphonic pieces, church music,
chamber music, etc., etc. It is remarkable that at this ear-
ly period he wrote some of his finest songs ; and that, while
many of his larger works at that time, and for some years
afterward, continued to bear a strong resemblance to Mo-
zart, some of these ballads are like no one but himself at
his very best. Such are the "Mignon Songs," 1815, and
the " Songs from Ossian."
Early in 1810 Schubert produced the most popular of
all his works, " The Erl King." It was composed, charac-
teristically enough, in the true Schubertian fashion. One
afternoon Schubert was alone in the little room allotted
to him in his father's house, and happening to take up a
volume of Goethe's poems, he read the "Erl King." The
rushing sound of the wind and the terrors of the enchant-
ed forest were instantly changed for him into realities.
Every line of the poem seemed to flow into strange un-
earthly music as he read, and seizing a pen, he dashed
down the song nearly as it is, in just the time necessary
for the mechanical writing.
The song so hastily composed was destined to have a
remarkable future. It was sung some years after by Vogl
at Vienna, and produced a great sensation. The timid
publishers who had hitherto declined to publish Schubert's
232 SCHUBERT.
comj)ositions now began to think him a young man of
some talent, and Diabelli was induced to engrave and sell
the song. Schubert got little enough, but in a few months
the publishers made over £80 by it, and have since real-
ized thousands. A few hours before his death, and when
lie was quite blind, Jean Paul desired to have it sung to
him. Two years before Goethe's death (1830), and two
years after Schubert's, Madame Schroder Devrient was
passing through Weimar, and sang some songs to the
aged poet ; among them was the " Erl King." Goethe
was deeply affected, and, taking Schroder's head between
both his hands, he kissed her forehead, and added, "A
thousand thanks for this grand artistic performance : I
heard the composition once before, and it did not please
me ; but when it is given like this, the whole becomes a
living picture !" The startling effect produced by Madame
Viardot in this song may still be fresh in the memory of
some of our readers.
In 1816 Schubert applied for a small musical appoint-
ment at Laibach under government. The salary was only
£20 a year; but, although now a rising young man, and
highly recommended by Salieri, he proved unsuccessful.
However, he was not destined to struggle much longer
with the trials of the pedagogue's vocation, and soon aft-
erward he consented to take up his abode in the house of
his friend Schober. Schubert soon gathered about him a
small but congenial circle of friends, and from the very
scanty biographical materials before us we are able to
catch some glimpses of them.
Schober was several years his friend's senior, and lived
104. a quiet bachelor life with his widowed mother.
His Fnends. jje wag nQ^ eSpecjaiiy musical himself, but pas-
sionately attached to art in all its forms, and when unable
HIS FRIENDS. 233
to give, was all the more ready to receive. Schober was a
poet, but his great merit will always consist in having rec-
ognized and assisted Schubert in the days of his obscurity,
and the one poem by which he will be longest remembered
is the poem inscribed on his friend's coffin, beginning,
"Der Friede sei mit dir, du engelreine Seele!"
"All bliss be thine, thou pure angelic soul!"
Gahy was a close friend of Schubert's, especially toward
the close of his short life. He was a first-rate pianist, and
with him Schubert studied Beethoven's symphonies, ar-
ranged for four hands, which could then so seldom be
heard, besides immense quantities of his own fantasies,
marches, and endless piano-forte movements.
At once the most singular and the most intimate of
Schubert's friends was Mayehofee, the poet. Tall and
slight, with delicate features and a little sarcastic smile, he
came and went, sometimes burning with generous emotions,
at others silent and lethargic. He seemed to be swayed
by conflicting passions, over which he had no control. He
was constantly writing poetry, which Schubert was con-
stantly setting to music. But as time went on, his nerv-
ous malady developed itself. He wrote less, and for hours
gave himself up to the dreams of confirmed hypochondria.
He held a small post under government. One morning,
going into his office as usual, he endevored in vain to fix
his attention. He soon rose from his desk, and, after a few
turns up and down the room, went up to the top of the
house. A window on the landing stood wide open — he
rushed to it, and sprang from a great height into the street
below. He was found quite unconscious, and expired in a
few moments.
Schubert could not have got on well without the broth-
ers Hltttenbrennee ; to the end of his life they fetched
234 SCHUBERT.
and carried for him in the most exemplary manner. They
puffed him incessantly at home and abroad ; they bullied
his publishers, abused his creditors, carried on much of his
correspondence, and not unfrequently paid his debts ; they
were unwearied in acts of kindness and devotion to him —
never frozen by his occasional moroseness — never soured
or offended by the brusqueness of his manner. They have
still in their possession many of his MSS., every scrap of
which they have carefully preserved, with the exception
of two of his early operas, which the housemaid unluckily
used to light the fires with.
The last and most important of this little coterie was
Johaxn Michael Vogl, born in 1768. He was educated
in a monastery, and although he sang for twenty years in
the Viennese opera, he never lost his habits of meditation
and study, and might often be met with a volume of the
New Testament, Marcus Aurelius, or Thomas a Kempis in
his hand. Twenty years older than Schubert, and pos-
sessed of a certain breadth and nobleness of character in
which his friend was somewhat deficient, he very soon ac-
quired a great ascendency over him. They became fast
friends, and Yogi was the first to introduce Schubert to
the Viennese public. He could hardly have been more for-
tunate in his interpreter. Vogl not only possessed a re-
markably fine voice, perfect intonation, and true musical
feeling, but he was universally respected and admired ; and
as he had ample means of studying the real spirit of Schu-
bert's songs, so he had frequent opportunities of extending
their popularity.
Schubert himself was now about twenty years old. His
105. outward appearance was not prepossessing; he
His Appear- L \ , . - -
ance. was short, with a slight stoop; his face was puf-
fy, and his hair grizzled ; he was fleshy without strength,
HIS APPEARANCE. 235
and pale without delicacy. These unpleasant characteris-
tics did not improve with years. They were partly, no
doubt, constitutional, but confirmed by sedentary, perhaps
irregular habits, and we are not surprised to find his doc-
tors, some years later, recommending him to take fresh air
and exercise. Schubert, though a warm-hearted, wras not
always a genial friend, and his occasional fits of depression
would sometimes pass into sullenness and apathy; but mu-
sic was a never-failing remedy, and Gahy used to say that,
however unsympathizing and cross he might be, playing a
duet always seemed to warm him up, so that, toward the
close, he became quite a pleasant companion. Hittten-
brenner, it is true, called him a tyrant because he wTas in
the habit of getting snubbed for his excessive admiration.
" The fellow," growled out Schubert, " likes every thing I
do !" Schubert did not shine in general society. He pos-
sessed neither the political sympathies of Beethoven, nor
the wide culture of Mendelssohn and Schumann. Almost
always the greatest man present, he was frequently the
least noticed ; and while drawing-room plaudits were oft-
en freely lavished upon some gifted singer, few thought of
thanking the stout, awkward, and silent figure who sat at
the piano and accompanied the thrilling melodies which
had sprung from his own heart. Only when music was
the subject of discussion would he occasionally speak like
one who had a right to be heard. At such times his face
would seem to lose all that was coarse or repulsive, his
eyes would sparkle with the hidden fire of genius, and his
voice grow tremulous with emotion.
In 1818, Count Esterhazy, a Hungarian nobleman, with
106. his wife Rosine, and his two daughters Marie and
Work and ' &
Romance. Caroline, aged respectively fourteen and eleven,
passed the winter at Vienna. Schubert, who, as a rule, re-
23G SCHUBERT.
fused to give music-lessons, was induced in ibis one in-
stance to waive his objections, and entered this nobleman's
house in the capacity of music-master. He found the whole
family passionately devoted to the art. Marie had a beau-
tiful soprano voice, Caroline and her mother sang contral-
to, Baron Schonstein took the tenor, and the count com-
pleted the quartet by singing bass. Many of Schubert's
most beautiful quartets were written for the Esterhazy
family; among them, "The Prayer before the Battle," on
the words of La Motte Fouque, and numbers of his songs
(such as "Abendlied," "Morgengruss," "Blondel zu Ma-
rien," and "Ungeduld") were inspired by the charms of
their society, and the scenes which he visited with them.
At the close of the season the family thought of leaving
Vienna ; but Schubert had become necessary to them, and
they could not bear to part with birn, so he went back
with them to Hungary. Count Esterhazy's estate was sit-
uated at the foot of the Styrian Hills, and here it was that
Schubert fell in love with the youngest daughter, Caroline
Esterhazy. As his affectionate intercourse with the fam-
ily was never interrupted, we may suppose that Schubert
kept his own counsel at first, and was never indiscreet
enough to press his suit. The little girl was far too young
to be embarrassed by his attentions, and when she grew
older, and may have begun to understand the nature of
his sentiments, she was still so fond of him and his music
that, although she never reciprocated his love, there was
no open rupture between them. Caroline played at pla-
tonic affection with great success, and afterward married
comfortably. She could, however, sometimes be a little
cruel, and once she reproached her lover with never hav-
ing dedicated any thing to her. " What's the use," cried
poor Schubert, " when you have already got all !"
Had not art been his real mistress, he would probably
WOBK AND R OMANCM. 237
have been still more inconsolable. Perhaps no one ever
knew what he suffered from this disappointment in early
love. Even with his most intimate friends he was always
very reserved on these subjects. That he was not insensi-
ble to the charms of other women is certain, and in the
matter of passing intrigues he was perhaps neither better
nor worse than many other young men. But it is also cer-
tain that no time or absence ever changed his feelings to-
ward Caroline Esterhazy, for whom he entertained to the
last day of his life the same hopeless and unrequited pas-
sion. In Baron Schonstein, the family tenor, he found an-
other powerful and appreciative admirer, and a vocalist
second only to Vogl. " Dans les salons," writes Liszt in
1838, " j'entends avec un plaisir tres vif, et souvent avec
une emotion qui allait jusqu'aux larmes, un amateur le
Baron Schonstein dire les lieder de Schubert — Schubert, le
musicien, le plus poete qui fut jamais !"
Schubert was not a happy man, and as he advanced in
life he lost more and more of his natural gayety and flow
of spirits, and at times would even sink into fits of the deep-
est despondency. He writes to a dear friend in 1824,
"You are so good and kind that you will forgive me much which oth-
ers would take ill of me — in a word, I feel myself the most wretched and
unhappy being in the world ! Imagine a man whose health will never
come right again, and who, in his despair, grows restless and makes things
worse — a man whose brilliant hopes have all come to naught, to whom the
happiness of love and friendship offers nothing but sorrow and bitterness,
whom the feeling — the inspiring feeling, at least of the beautiful, threatens
to abandon forever, and ask yourself whether such a one must not be mis-
erable? Every night when I go to sleep I hope that I may never wake
again, and every morning renews the grief of yesterday ; my affairs are
going badly — we have never any money."
No doubt Schubert suffered from the exhaustion and re-
lapse which is the torment of all highly sensitive and im-
aginative temperaments. But his troubles, after all, were
238 SCHUBERT.
far from imaginary. Step by step life was turning out for
him a detailed and irremediable failure. Crossed in early
love, he devoted himself the more passionately to art, and
with what results ? He had, indeed, a small knot of ad-
mirers, but to the public at large he was comparatively un-
known. He set about fifty of Goethe's songs to music, and
sent some of them to the poet, but never got any acknowl-
edgment, nor was it until after his death that Goethe paid
him the compliment of a tardy recognition. Although
many of his airs were treasured up in the monasteries, when
Weber came to Vienna in 1823 he was unacquainted with
any of his music, and called him a dolt; and in 1826, when
Schubert humbly applied for the place of vice-organist at
the Imperial Chapel, Chapel-master Eybler had never heard
of him as a composer, and recommended Weigl, who was
accordingly chosen instead. Although the publishers ac-
cepted a few of his songs, he constantly saw the works of
men like Kalkbrenner and Romberg preferred to his own.
Of his two great operas, Alfonso and JEstrella was practi-
cally a failure, and Fierrabras was neither paid for nor per-
formed. Public singers not unfrequently refused to sing
his music, and his last and greatest symphony, the Seventh,
was pronounced to be too hard for the band, and cast aside.
Much of this failure may be attributed, no doubt, to his
constant refusal to modify his compositions, or write them
down to the public taste. His behavior toward patrons
and publishers was not conciliatory; he was born without
the " get on" faculty in him, and was eminently deficient in
what a modern preacher has called the " divine quality of
tact." In the midst of all these disappointments, although
Schubert was never deterred from expressing his opinion,
his judgment of his rivals was never embittered or unjust.
He wras absolutely without malice or envy, and a warm
eulogist of Weber and even Rossini, although both of these
WORK AND R OMANCE. 239
favorites were flaunting their plumage in the sunshine
while he was withering in the shade.
In 1824 he revisited the Esterhazys in Hungary. His
little love was now sixteen, but with her dawning woman-
hood there was no dawn of hope for him. And yet he was
not unhappy in her society. His many troubles had made
him so accustomed to pain — it was so natural for joy to be
bitter, and life to be " mixed with death," " and now," he
writes, "I am more capable of finding peace and happiness
in myself." All through the bright summer months, far
into the autumn, he staid there. Many must have been
the quiet country rambles he enjoyed with this beloved
family. Marie seems now to have become his confidante,
and from the tender sympathy she gave him, and the care
she took of every scrap of his handwriting, we may well
believe that a softer feeling than that of mere friendship
may have arisen in her breast as they wTandered together
among the Styrian Hills, or listened to the woodland notes
which seem to be still ringing through some of his inspired
melodies. Gentle hearts! — where are they now? — the
honest Count and Rosine — the laughing, affectionate girls
— the simple-hearted, the gifted, the neglected Schubert?
— not one of them survives, only these memories — like
those sad garlands of immortelles which are even now from
year to year laid upon the tomb of Germany's greatest
song-writer.
There remains little more to be told of Schubert's life ;
yet one scene before the last must not be passed by.
For thirty years Schubert and Beethoven had lived in
10T the same town and had never met. Schubert
Beethoven. worshipeci at a distance. " Who," he exclaimed,
" could hope to do any thing after Beethoven ?" On their
first meeting, Beethoven treated Schubert kindly, but with'
240 SCHUBERT.
out much appreciation, and contented himself with point-
ing out to him one or two mistakes in harmony. Being
quite deaf, he requested Schubert to write his answers; but
the young man's hand shook so from nervousness that he
could do and say nothing, and left in the greatest vexation
and disappointment. It was only during his last illness
that Beethoven learned with surprise that Schubert had
composed more than five hundred songs, and from that
time till his death he passed many hours over them. His
favorites were " Iphigenia," " The Bounds of Humanity,"
" Omnipotence," " The Young Nun," " Viola," and " The
Miller's Songs." Between the intervals of his suffering he
wTould read them over and over, and was repeatedly heard
to exclaim with enthusiasm, " There is, indeed, a divine
spark in Schubert. I, too, should have set this to music."
But the days of Beethoven were numbered, and in March
of the year 1827 he was overtaken by his last illness.
Several of his friends, hearing of his dangerous state, came
to visit him — among them came Schubert, with his friend
Htittenbrenner. Beethoven was lying almost insensible,
but as they approached the bed he appeared to rally for a
moment, looked fixedly at them, and muttered something
unintelligible. Schubert stood gazing at him for some
moments in silence, and then suddenly burst into tears and
left the room. On the day of the funeral, Schubert and
two of his friends were sitting together in a tavern, and
after the German fashion, they drank to the soul of the
great man whom they had so lately borne to the tomb.
It was then proposed to drink to that one of them who
should be the first to follow him — and hastily filling up the
cup, Schubert drank to himself!
In the following year (1828) he finished his seventh and
last great Symphony in C, and produced, among other
LAST DAYS. 241
108 works, the Quintet in C, the Mass in E flat, and
LastDkys. the Sonata ]sj0# 3 (Halle edit.), B flat major. His
health had been failing for some time past, but although
he now suffered from constant headache and exhaustion,
we do not find that he ever relaxed his labors in composi-
tion. In the spring he gave his first and last concert.
The programme was composed entirely of his own music.
The hall was crowded to overflowing ; the enthusiasm of
Vienna was at length fairly awakened, and the crown of
popularity and success seemed at last within his reach ; but
the hand which should have grasped it was already grow-
ing feeble. He thought of going to the hills in July ; but
when July came he had not sufficient money. He still
looked forward to visiting Hungary in the autumn, but was
attacked with fever in September, and expired November
19, 1828, not having yet completed his thirty-second year.
He lies near Beethoven, in the crowded cemetery of
Wahring. On the pediment beneath his bust is the fol-
lowing inscription :
' ' ' Music buried here a rich possession,
and yet fairer hopes.'
Here lies Franz Schubert ; born Jan. 31, 1797 ; died Nov. 19, 1828,
aged 31 years."
We pass from the composer to his works. Works be-
109. longing to the highest order of genius depend
eitions. upon the rare combination of three distinct quali-
ties — (l) Invention, (2) Expression, (3) Concentration.
Speaking generally, we may say that Beethoven and Mo-
zart possessed all three. Mendelssohn,* the second and
* The quality, at once delicate, tender, and sublime, of Mendelssohn's
creations is not questioned ; but the endless though bewitching repetitions,
or inversions of the same phrase, and an identity of form which amounts
to more than mere mannerism, compel us to admit that the range of his
musical ideas was limited.
L
242 HC HUBERT.
third in the highest degree ; Schumann,* the first and
third ; Schubert, the first and second. As fast as his ideas
arose they were poured forth on paper. He was like a
gardener bewildered with the luxuriant growth springing
up around him. He was too rich for himself — his fancy
outgrew his powers of arrangement. Beethoven will often
take one dry subject, and, by force of mere labor and con-
centration, kindle it into life and beauty. Schubert will
shower a dozen upon you, and hardly stop to elaborate
one. His music is more the work of a gifted dreamer, of
one carried along irresistibly by the current of his thoughts,
than of one who, like Beethoven, worked at his idea until
its expression was without a flaw. His thought possess-
es Schubert — Beethoven labors till he has possessed his
thought.
Schubert has left compositions in every style — operas,
church music, symphonies, songs, and unexplored masses
of piano-forte music. His ojDeras were uniformly unsuccess-
ful, with the exception of " War in the Household," which
is on a very small scale, and has the advantage over all the
others of an experienced librettist, Castelli. The truth is
that Schubert was probably deficient in the qualities which
are necessary to the success of an opera. Besides melody,
harmony, facility, and learning, an attention to stage ef-
fect, a certain tact of arrangement, and, above all things
(what Schubert never possessed), the faculty of coming to
an end, are necessary. Any thing like diffuseness is a
fault. A successful opera must have definite points to
work up to, and a good crisis. How many Italian operas
* Again, extraordinary powers of expression are not denied to Schu-
mann. He sometimes hits you, like Robert Browning, with the force of
a sledge-hammer, but you often feel that, like that poet, he is laboring with
some thought for which he can find and for which there is no adequate
verbal expression.
HIS COMPOSITIONS. 243
depend upon three situations, one quartet, and a good
murder ! And how many of them are worth a page of
Schubert's music ?
Some of his Masses and Psalms are still unpublished ;
the few we have had the good fortune to hear possess all
the breadth and sweetness of his secular works. The twen-
ty-third Psalm, for women's voices, might be sung by a
chorus of angels.
Schubert wrote in all seven complete symphonies. Of
these, the sixth, in C, is interesting, as showing the transi-
tion from the forms of Mozart and Beethoven to true Schu-
bertian. The seventh and last (1828) is a masterpiece,
and tastes of nothing but Schubert from beginning to end.
Comparisons of merit are usually senseless or unjust, but
different qualities are often best observed by the light of
contrast. In Schubert's piano-forte music and symphonic
writing for strings or full orchestra we miss the firm grip
of Beethoven, the masterful art-weaving completeness of
Mendelssohn, the learning of Spohr, or even the pure melo-
dic flow of Mozart ; grip there is, but it is oftener the grip
of Phaeton than the calm might of Apollo ; a weaving
there is, no doubt, but like the weaving of the Indian loom
— beautiful in its very irregularity ; learning there is, and
that of the highest order, because instinctive ; but how oft-
en do we find a neglect of its use in the direction of cur-
tailment or finish ! — melodies there are in abundance, but
they are frequently so crowded upon each other with a de-
structive exuberance of fancy that we fail to trace their
musical connection or affinity. In speaking thus, we are
dealing, of course, with characteristics and tendencies, not
with invariable qualities. Movements of Schubert might
be pointed out as rounded and complete, as connected in
thought and perfect in expression, as the highest standard
of art could require ; but these will be found more often
244 SCHUBERT.
among his piano-forte four-hand and vocal music than in
his larger works. We must, however, admit that the ex-
ceptions to this rule are triumphant ones, and criticism
stands disarmed before such works as the Quintet in C,
the Sonata in A minor, and the Seventh Symphony.
In describing this symphony, Schumann has not fallen
into the shallow mistake of explaining to us the particular
thought which the author had in his mind ; but, while ad-
mitting that probably he had none, and that the music was
open to different interpretations, he neither there, nor else-
where in the mass of his criticism, explains how the same
piece of music can mean different things, or why people
are so apt to insist upon its meaning something. The fact
is, when we say a piece of music is like the sea or the
moon, what we really mean is that it excites in us an emo-
tion like that created by the sea or the moon ; but the
same music will be the fit expression of any other idea
which is calculated to rouse in us the same sort of feeling.
As far as music is concerned, it matters not whether your
imagination deals with a storm gradually subsiding into
calm, passionate sorrow passing into resignation, or silence
and night descending upon a battle-field ; in each of the
above cases the kind of emotion excited is the same, and
will find a sort of expression in any one of these different
conceptions. In illustration of the number of similar ideas
which will produce the same emotion, and of the different
ways in which the same emotion will find an utterance, see
an article in the Argosy, II., by Matthew Browne : " It has
seemed to me that no note of pain, shriek of agony, or
shout of joy — for either would do — could be strong enough
to express sympathy with a meadow of buttercups tossed
and retossed by the wind."
How often in Beethoven is it impossible to decide wheth-
er he is bantering or scolding, and in Mendelssohn whether
he is restless with joy or anxiety !
HIS COMPOSITIONS. 245
Thus a very little reflection will show us that music is
not necessarily connected with any definite conception.
Emotion, not thought, is the sphere of music ; and emotion
quite as often precedes as follows thought. Although a
thought will often, perhaps always, produce an emotion of
some kind, it requires a distinct effort of the mind to fit an
emotion with its appropriate thought. Emotion is the at-
mosphere in which thought is steeped — that which lends
to thought its tone or temperature — that to which thought
is often indebted for half its power. In listening to music,
we are like those who gaze through different colored lenses.
Now the air is dyed with a fiery hue, but presently a wave
of rainbow green, or blue, or orange floats by, and varied
tints melt down through infinite gradations, or again rise
into eddying contrasts, with such alterations as fitly mir-
ror in the clear deeps of harmony the ever-changeful and
subtle emotions of the soul. Can any words express these?
No ! Words are but poor interpreters in the realms of
emotion. Where all words end, music begins ; where they
suggest, it realizes ; and hence the secret of its strange, in-
effable power. It reveals us to ourselves; it represents
those modulations and temperamental changes which es-
cape all verbal analysis ; it utters what must else remain
forever unuttered and unutterable ; it feels that deep, in-
eradicable instinct within us of which all art is only the
reverberated echo — that craving to express, through the
medium of the senses, the spiritual and eternal realities
which underlie them ! Of course, 'this language of the
emotions has to be studied like any other. To the inapt
or uncultured, music seems but the graceful or forcible
union of sounds with words, or a pleasant meaningless vi-
bration of sound alone. But to him who has read the open
secret aright, it is a language for the expression of the
soul's life beyond all others. The true musician cares very
246 SCHUBERT.
little for your definite ideas, or things which can be ex-
pressed by words — he knows you can give him these ; what
he sighs for is the expression of the immaterial, the impal-
pable, the great " imponderables" of our nature, and he
turns from a world of painted forms and oppressive sub-
stances to find the vague and yet perfect rapture of his
dream in the wild, invisible beauty of his divine mistress!
Although music appeals simply to the emotions, and rep-
resents no definite images in itself, we are justified in using
any language which may serve to convey to others our mu-
sical impressions. Words will often pave the way for the
more subtle operations of music, and unlock the treasures
which sound alone can rifle, and hence the eternal popular-
ity of song. Into the region of song Schubert found him-
self forced almost against his will. He could get himself
heard in no other, and this, after all, proved to be the sphere
in which he was destined to reign supreme. His inspira-
tions came to him in electric flashes of short and over-
whelming brilliancy. The white heat of a song like the
"Erl King," or " Ungeduld," must have cooled if carried
beyond the limits of a song. Nowhere is Schubert so great
as in the act of rendering some sudden phase of passion.
Songs like "Mignon" and "Marguerite Spinning" remind
one of those miracles of photography where the cloud is
caught in actual motion — the wave upon the very curl.
Schubert was always singing. The Midas of music, every
thing dissolved itself into a stream of golden melody be-
neath his touch. All his instrumental works are full of
melodies piled on melodies. We need not wonder at the
number of his songs. He began by turning every poem
he could get hold of into a song, and, had he lived long
enough, he would have set the whole German literature to
music. But he who, like Coleridge, is always talking, is
not always equally well worth listening to. Schubert com-
HIS COMPOSITIONS. 247
posed with enormous rapidity, but seldom condensed or
pruned sufficiently, and his music sometimes suffers from a
certain slipper- and- dressing- gown style, suggestive of a
man who was in the habit of rising late, and finishing his
breakfast and half a dozen songs together. His warmest
admirers can not be quite blind to an occasional slovenli-
ness in his accompaniments ; but, like Shelley, he is so rich
in his atmospheric effects that we hardly care to look too
nearly at the mechanism. His songs may be divided into
seven classes. We can do no more at present than barely
enumerate them, pointing out specimens of perfect beauty
in illustration of each. We quote the " Wolfenbiittel" edi-
tion, in five volumes, edited by Sat tier. The first number
refers to the volume, the second to the page.
I. Religious— •" Ave Maria," ii., 248 ; " The Young Nun," h\, 222.
II. Supernatural—" The Double," v., 183 ; "The Ghost's Greeting,''
hi., 431.
III. Symbolical— ."The Crow," ii., 409 ; " The Erl King," i., 2.
IV. Classical— " Philoctetes," iv., 97 ; " ^Eschylus," iv., 125.
V. Descriptive— " The Post," ii., 406 ; "A Group in Tartarus," i., 112.
VI. Songs of Meditation— "The Wanderer," i., 20; "Night and
Dreams," ii., 225.
VII. Songs of Passion— "Mignon," iv., 176; "Thine is my heart," i.,
132 ; "By the Sea," v., 181 ; "Anne Lyle," ii., 348.
Notwithstanding the opinion of an illustrious critic to
the contrary, we must be allowed to doubt whether Schu-
bert ever reached his climax. Those works of his latest
period not manifestly darkened by the shadow of approach-
ing death — e. #., " Seventh Symphony" and " A minor So-
nata"— bear the most distinct marks of progress; and dur-'
ing the last year of his life he had applied himself with vig-
or to the study of Bach, Handel, and the stricter forms of
fugue and counterpoint. What the result of such severe
studies might have been upon a mind so discursive we can
only conjecture. He might have added to his own rich-
248 SCHUBERT.
ness more of Beethoven's power and of Mendelssohn's fin-
ish; but, in the words of Schumann, "lie has done enough;"
and as we take a last glance at the vast and beautiful ar-
ray of his compositions, we can only exclaim again with
Liszt, "Schubert ! — Schubert, le musicien,le plus poete qui
fut jamais!"
CHOPIN.
Jff-
Born 1810, Died 1849.
£Ujl. V
^^
0f<*S
b-f-^4
*< w-
7
VI.
What Schubert was to Song, Chopin was to the Piano ;
110 but while the genius of Schubert ranged freely
andciassi- over every field of musical composition, that of
cai Schools. ch0pin was confined within certain narrow limits.
Borne into the mid-current of that great wave of Romanti-
cism first set in motion by Schubert, he was destined, with
the aid of Liszt and Berlioz, to establish its influence per-
manently in Paris. Paris — at once so superficially brilliant
and so profoundly acute — the same in theology, philoso-
phy, and the arts — always slow to receive German influ-
ences, and always sure to adopt them in the long-run —
Paris became in reality the great foreign depot of the Ro-
mantic school. But political events had something to do
with this. About 1832, the effervescence of the first years
L2
250 CSOPIjs.
of t lie July Revolution seemed to pass naturally into ques-
tions of art and literature, and as the French are occasion-
ally tired of blood but never of glory, the great battle of
the Romantic and Classical schools was fouejht out in the
bloodless arena of the arts.
It was the old contest, with which in so many other
forms we have grown familiar — what Mr. Mill calls "the
struggle between liberty and authority"* — or as Mr. Car-
lyle once said at Edinburg, " the question of whether we
should be led by the old formalities of use and wont, or by
something that had been conceived of new in the souls of
men." Dead fruit has to be shaken periodically from ev-
ery branch of the tree of knowledge. But if any good is
to be done, the shaking must be severe and thorough.
The constantly recurring question between the new wine
and the old bottles admits of no compromise. " What
compromise,"! asks Liszt, " could there be between those
who would not admit the possibility of writing in any oth-
er than the established manner, and those who thought
that the artist should be allowed to choose such forms as
he deemed best suited for the expression of his own ideas ?"
We know how the question was settled. We know how
Mendelssohn saved the movement from suicidal extrava-
gance in its early stages — while Schumann, and, later still,
"Wagner, have done something: toward sanctioning its very
excesses. The cause of freedom, in music as elsewhere, is
now very nearly triumphant; but at a time when its ad-
versaries were many and powerful, we can hardly imagine
the sacred bridge of liberty kept by a more stalwart trio
than Schubert the Armorer, Chopin the Refiner, and Liszt
the Thunderer.
* Mill on "Liberty," chap. i.
t Liszt's fifth chapter. "Life of Chopin," contains a statement of the
points ot ^ssue-
FUtS r YEARS. 251
Frederick Francis Chopin was born in 1810, atZela-
m zowa-Wola, near Warsaw. His family was of
First Years. French extraction, and, though gifted with a cer-
tain native distinction, seems to have been neither rich nor
prosperous. Frederick was a frail and delicate child, and
a source of constant anxiety to his parents. He was pet-
ted and coaxed on from year to year, and seemed to gain
strength very slowly. He wras a quiet and thoughtful
child, with the sweetest of dispositions — always suffering
and never complaining. At the age of nine he began to
learn music from Ziwna, a passionate disciple of Sebastien
Bach; but it does not appear that either he himself or his
friends were at that time aware of his remarkable powers.
In 1820 he was introduced to Madame Catalani, who for
some reason gave him a watch — whether merely as a wom-
an she was attracted towTard the pale and delicate boy, or
as an artist, with a certain prophetic instinct, when his life
was yet in the bud —
" She too foretold the perfect rose" —
we can not say. At any rate, the bud soon began to open.
Through the kindness of Prince Radziwill, a liberal patron
of rising talent, Chopin was sent to the Warsaw College,
where he received the best education, and where his music-
al powers began to make themselves felt. At the age of
sixteen he became the favorite pupil of Joseph Eisner, Di-
rector of the Conservatory at Warsaw, and from him he
learned those habits of severe study, and that practical sci-
ence, which gave him in later years so complete a mastery
over his subtle and dreamy creations. At college he made
many friends, more especially among the young nobility,
and upon being introduced to their families, he assumed
without an effort that position in society which he ever
after retained, and for which nature had so peculiarly fit-
ted him. " Gentle, sensitive, and very lovely, he united
252 CHOPIN.
the charm of adolescence with the suavity of a more ma-
ture age ; through the want of muscular development he
retained a peculiar beauty, an exceptional physiognomy,
which, if we may venture so to speak, belonged to neither
age nor sex It was more like the ideal creations
with which the poetry of the Middle Ages adorned the
Christian temples. The delicacy of his constitution ren-
dered him interesting in the eyes of women. The full yet
grateful cultivation of his mind, the sweet and captivating
originality of his conversation, gained for him the atten-
tion of the most enlightened men, while those less highly
cultivated liked him for the exquisite courtesy of his man-
ners."*
The manners of Chopin seem to have impressed every
112 one with the same sense of refinement. Tinged
His Manners. ^^ a certain melancholy which was never ob-
trusive, and which exhaled itself freely in his music alone,
he was nevertheless a most charming companion. Only
those who knew him well knew how reserved he really was.
He received every one with the same facile courtesy, and
was so ready to be absorbed by others that few noticed
how little he ever gave in return. He was unmoved by
praise, but not always unmortified by failure ; yet he never
lost that quiet and affable dignity which some may have
thought a little cold and satirical, but which to others
seemed at once natural and charming. He was usually
cheerful, but seldom showed deep feeling. He was not,
however, deficient in impulse nor wanting in depth, and
beneath a somewhat placid exterior lay concealed the
warmest family affections, a burning patriotism, a passion-
ate love, and a stern, unalterable devotion to the true prin-
ciples of his art.
* George Sand.
HIS STYLE.— PARIS. 253
Soon after completing his education at Warsaw he visit-
113 ed Vienna, where he played frequently in public ;
His style. ^^ ;LiSZt fa^ been before him, and he found those
large audiences, whose ears had been so lately stunned
with the thunder of cascades and hurricanes, wholly unpre-
pared to listen to the murmuring of the waterfall or the
sighing of the midnight wind. The genius of Chopin could
never cope with the masses. " I am not suited for con-
cert-giving," he said to Liszt. " The public intimidate me
— their breath stifles me. You are destined for it, for
when you do not gain your public, you have the force to
assault, to overwhelm, to compel them." But he found
some compensation for the indifferentism of the many in
the enthusiastic admiration of the few. A little circle of
friends, consisting of several distinguished amateurs, and
some of the first artists of the day, began to gather round
the new pianist, and the public prints soon took the hint,
and described him as "a master of the first rank," and the
most remarkable meteor then shining in the musical firma-
ment, and so forth.*
After the Revolution of 1830, the position of Poland
114 seemed more hopeless than ever, and Chopin, like so
Paris" many of his compatriots, determined to leave his
country, and seek a temporary asylum in England. But
unforeseen events delayed the accomplishment of this plan.
On his way to England he often said, with a sad and satir-
ical smile, " he passed through Paris ;" but when he left
Paris it was not for London, but for an island in the Medi-
terranean. Great was the curiosity in some French circles
when Chopin's visit was announced. All the first musi-
cians and connoisseurs, including Liszt, M. Pleyel, Kalk-
brenner, Field, and others, assembled in M. Vleyel's con-
* Leipsic Gazette, 1829, No. 46.
254 CIIOPIX.
cert-rooms to hear him. Chopin played his First Concerto
and several of his detached pieces, a,nd the sensation which
lie produced is still fresh in the memory of Liszt and oth-
ers who were present on that oeeasion. But, while all
were astonished, some were not convinced, and sober pian-
ists like Kalkbrenner took exception to such unconstitu-
tional effects as the new virtuose was in the habit of pro-
ducing by using his third finger for his thumb, and vice
versa. Chopin was at once received into the best society,
and here he breathed the atmosphere most congenial to
him. Unlike Schubert, he was not averse to giving les-
sons, but chose only pupils of the highest natural endow-
ments ; and when we add that the most distinguished and
beautiful women in Paris eagerly sought his instructions
on any terms, we can imagine him engaged in a more un-
palatable occupation. Chopin, in a Avord, became the rage :
he was feted in the salons, and sought after by the highest
circles. There he formed many admirable pupils, who
closely imitated his style, and generally played nothing
but his music.
Meanwhile he lived quietly in the Chaussee d'Antin —
115 shunned the celebrities, literary and philosophic*
His Friends. aj — seldom entertained, and objected to the in-
vasion of his privacy. But his friends and admirers would
sometimes take no refusal, and occasionallv invade his
apartments in a body. Through the kindness of Dr. Liszt,
who was usually the ringleader in such disturbances, we
can easily transport ourselves in imagination to one of
these impromptu levees. It is about nine o'clock in the
evening. Chopin is seated at the piano, the room is dimly
lighted by a few wax candles. Several men of brilliant
renown are grouped in the luminous zone immediately
around the piano.
HIS FRIENDS. 255
Heine, the sad humorist, leans over his shoulder, and as
the tapering fingers wander meditatively over the ivory
keys, asks " if the trees at moonlight sang always so har-
moniously."
Meyerbeer is seated by his side : his grave and thought-
ful head moves at times with a tacit acquiescence and de-
light, and he almost forgets the ring of his own Cyclopsean
harmonies in listening to the delicate Arabesque -woven
mazourkas of his friend.
Adolphe Nourrit, the noble and ascetic artist, stands
apart. He has something of the grandeur of the Middle
Ages about him. In his later years he refused to paint
any subject which was wanting in true dignity. Like
Chopin, he served art with a severe exclusiveness and a
passionate devotion.
Eugene Delacroix leans against the piano, absorbed in
meditation — developing, it may be, in his own mind, some
form of beauty, or some splendid tint, suggested by the
strange analogies which exist between sound and color.
"Buried in afauteuil, -with her arms resting on a table,
sat Madame Saxd, curiously attentive, gracefully subdued"
(Liszt). She was listening to the language of the emo-
tions; fascinated by the subtle gradations of thought and
feeling which she herself delighted to express, she may
have there learned that wondrous melody of language
which so often reminds one of a meditation by Chopin.
It is in memory of some such golden hours that she writes,
"There is no mightier art than this, to awaken in man the
sublime consciousness of his own humanity ; to paint be-
fore his mind's eye the rich splendors of nature ; the joy
of meditation ; the national character of a people; the pas-
sionate tumult of their hopes and fears; the languor and
despondency of their sufferings. Remorse, violence, terror,
control, despair, enthusiasm, faith, disquietude, glory, calm
256 CHOPIK
— these and a thousand other nameless emotions belong to
music. Without stooping to a puerile imitation of noises
and effects, she transports us in the spirit to strange and
distant scenes. There we wander to and fro in the dim
air, and, like iEneas in the Elysian fields, all we behold is
greater than on earth, godlike, changed, idealized !"*
It was soon after the extraordinary creation of "Lelia,"
in which all the vials of her passionate scorn are poured
out upon man, while every thing except " the Eternal Fem-
inine"! is exalted in woman, that Madame Sand first met
Chopin. She was then suffering from that exhaustion and
lassitude which generally follows the attempt to realize an
impossible ideal. Her creation was still before her, but it
did not satisfy her; like the statue of Pygmalion, it want-
ed life. What was, after all, the world of dreams to her, if
there were no realities to correspond to them? She would
not ask for a perfect realization, but, womanlike, something
she must have. She who " had surprised such ineffable
smiles on the faces of the dead"J — she who " had dreamed
of scenes which must exist somewhere, either on the earth
or in some of the planets, whose light we love to gaze upon
in the forests when the moon has set"§ — seemed to find for
the time an outward reflection of her ideal world in the
mind and music of Chopin. Her strong, energetic person-
ality at once absorbed the fragile musician. She drew him
as a magnet draws steel. He was necessary to her. She
felt that one side of her nature had never been adequately
expressed. She was many-sided. She would have every
thing in turn. She would lay heaven and earth under con-
tribution. The passing moment was her eternity. Noth-
ing seemed to her limited which filled the present phase.
For a time, in the course of her imperious self-develop-
* "Consuelo." X "Spiridion."
t " Das ewig Weibliche."— Goethe. § " Lettres d'un Voyageur.'*
CHOPIN AND MADAME SAND. 257
ment, the part represented to her the whole, and thus it
happened that Chopin, whose whole was only a part, was
offered up, among others, upon the altar of her comprehen-
sive and insatiable originality.
In his twenty-seventh year (183V) Chopin Avas attacked
116. wTith the lung disease which had threatened him
Madame Sand, from his earliest childhood. Madame Sand had
now become his constant and devoted companion, and with
her he was induced to leave the heated drawing-rooms
and perfumed boudoirs of Paris for the soft and balmy
breezes of the South. They finally settled in the island of
Majorca, and for the events which followed we must refer
the reader to the pages of " Lucrezia Floriani," where Ma-
dame Sand is "La Floriani," Chopin the "Prince Karol,"
and Liszt the " Count Salvator Albani." Those who have
lingered in feeble health by the shores of the Mediterra-
nean know how from those sunny waters and cloudless
skies a sweet, new life seems to pass into the veins, while,
as it were, Nature herself arises to tend her sickly children.
The grounds of the Villa Floriani were bounded only by
the sand of the sea-shore — here and there the foliage dip-
ped into the water. Can we wonder if, in this momentary
and delusive rest, health returned to the overtasked and
exhausted musician, or that some of his loveliest inspira-
tions arose as he lingered by the blooming coast, gazed
upon the summer sea, or floated out into its moonlit wa-
ters ?
He returned to Paris with a show of health which was
soon to disappear beneath the shocks of passion and disap-
pointment which now awaited him. The dream of Cho-
pin's life wras union with Madame Sand in marriage. He
had not followed her in her speculations — he did not agree
with her conclusions — he only prayed that what had be-
258 CHOFIX.
come dearer to him than life itself might be secured to him
forever, and he asked the woman he loved to sacrifice her
philosophical opinions to his passionate devotion. But,
unfortunately, marriage found no place in Madame Sand's
system of morals. She considered it a snare to a man and
a delusion to a woman. This controversy first brought
out the glaring differences of character which had always
existed between them, and from the hour of Madame Sand's
deliberate refusal Chopin was seized with a restless and
inextinguishable jealousy. Although Madame Sand had
been considerate and consistent enough to remove every
cause, yet Chopin was never satisfied, and in his misery
and impatience he began to attack her philosophy and re-
ligion. It was a fatal step ! Off his own peculiar ground
he was not able to meet her. The "Floriani" confesses
that at last she grew tired of his endless reproaches, and
the knell of their separation at length sounded. It could
not be otherwise. They met and parted in dreamland,
and it is the keenest satire on Madame Sand's philosophy
of passion that an intimacy, begun with the conviction that
here at last were all the elements of a deep and enduring
union, should end with the mournful confession that " twro
natures, the one rich in its exuberance, the other in its ex-
clusiveness, could never really mingle, and that a whole
world separated them !"*
But the love that was only an episode in the life of Ma-
dame Sand proved to be the whole life of Chopin. "All
the cords," he would frequently say, " that bound me to
life are broken." From this time his health visibly de-
clined. He was soon seized with another severe attack of
his old complaint, but he was now no longer tended by his
incomparable nurse. Her place was supplied by his favor-
ite pupil, M. Gutman," whose presence," he said," was dear-
" Lucrezia Floriani."
EX GLAND. 259
er to him than that of any other person." Contrary to ex-
pectation, he rallied ; but a great change had passed over
him ; he had lost much of his outward equanimity, and
looked so pale and cadaverous that his friends hardly rec-
ognized him. He soon began to resume his former occu-
pations, but with an ever-growing restlessness which an-
nounced too surely the beginning of the end. He seemed
utterly careless about his health : " Why should he care?"
he would sometimes ask; there was nothing to live for
now — " no second friend." He had " passed through Paris"
— Paris could never be the same to him again — he had
best leave it, and go any where — to London. So his friends
and disciples assembled once more in M. Pleyel's rooms,
and there they heard him for the last time. In vain they
besought him to delay his visit ; Chopin was bent upon
leaving Paris immediately, and, although threatened with
a relapse, at the most inclement season of the year he start-
ed for England.
His fame had preceded him, and the highest circles
117. opened their ranks to receive him. He was pre-
Engiand. sented to the Queen by the Duchess of Sutherland ;
played twice in public at Willis's Rooms, and at many
private concerts. He went much into society, sat up late
at night, and exposed himself to constant fatigues. Against
the advice of his physicians he next visited Scotland, and
returned to London in the last stage of consumption. One
more concert, the last he ever played at — in aid of his ex-
iled countrymen, the Poles — and then he hurried back to
Paris. But his favorite physician, Dr. Molin, who had
saved his life more than once, was dead, and Chopin had
no confidence in any other. His unnatural energy was
now succeeded by the deepest lassitude and dejection.
He scarcely ever left his bed, and seldom spoke. M. Gut-
260 CHOPLX.
man, Louise, his own sister, and the beautiful and accom*
plished Countess Delphine Potocka, were his constant at-
tendants.
One evening toward sunset, Chopin, who had lain insen-
11S sible for many hours, suddenly rallied. He observed
Death. tjie C0U11tesSj draped in white, standing at the foot
of the bed. She was weeping bitterly. " Sing !" mur-
mured the dying man. She had a lovely voice. It was a
strange request, but so earnest a one that his friends wheel-
ed the piano from the adjoining parlor to his bedroom
door, and there, as the twilight deepened, with the last
rays of the setting sun streaming into the room, the count-
ess sang that famous canticle to the Virgin which it is said
once saved the life of Stradella. " How beautiful it is I"
he exclaimed. " My God, how beautiful ! — Again, again !"
In another moment he swooned away.
On the 17th of October, 1849, having entered upon his
fortieth year, Chopin breathed his last in the arms of his
devoted pupil, M. Gutman. Many of his intimate friends
came to see him. His love of flowers was well known, and
the next day they were brought in tsuch quantities that
the bed on which he lay, and, indeed, the whole room,
disappeared beneath a variegated covering of a thousand
bright tints. The pale face seemed to have regained in
death all its early beauty ! there was no more unrest — no
signs of care — he lay sleeping tranquilly among the flow-
ers.
On the 30th day of October his requiem was sung at
the Madeleine Church in Paris, Signor Lablache, Madame
Viardot, and Madame Castellan claiming the principal so-
los, and M. Wely presiding at the organ. He lies in the
cemetery of Pere la Chaise, between Cherubini and Bel-
lini.
HIS COMPOSITIONS. 261
Chopin was essentially a national musician. Although
119. he lived much in France, his music is never
His Compo- _ _ „ _ . , ,.
sitions. French. "He sings to one clear harp in divers
tones," the swan-song of his people's nationality. His ge-
nius Avas elegiac. He is more often tender than strong,
and even his occasional bursts of vigor soon give way to
the prevailing undertone of a deep melancholy. His coun-
try is ever uppermost in his thoughts. His Polonaises re-
flect the national ardor of a noble but unhappy patriotism.
His mazourkas and scherzos are full of the subtle coquetry
and passionate sensibility of his gifted countrywomen,
while his ballads* are nothing but the free, wild songs of
his native land, transcribed for the first time by himself.
He, first of all musicians, understood the dignity of
manners and the language of deportment, and with varied
utterance he seems to be continually reminding us that
"Manners are not idle, but the fruit
Of noble nature and of loyal mind."
His dance music has added a strange and fascinating
solemnity to the graces of the ballroom, elevating a mere
pastime into what may almost be called a philosophy.
As a romance writer for the piano-forte he had no models
and will have no rivals. He was original without extrava-
gance, and polished without affectation. It is to him we
owe the extension of chords struck together in arpeggio,
the little groups of superadded notes "falling like light
drops of pearly dew upon the melodic figure;" he also in-
vented those admirable harmonic progressions which lend
importance to many a slender subject, and redeem its
slightest efforts from triviality. Of Schubert he once re-
marked that " the sublime is desecrated when followed by
* There are sixteen (the " Ringlein") published. They are very little
known. No. 12, "My Joy," and 10, "Riding Home from the Fight,'
are quite remarkable.
262 CHOPIN.
the trivial or commonplace." A certain rollicking fun, and
vulgar though powerful energy, that frequently peeps out
in Schubert's marches, was abhorrent to him. Perhaps he
hardly appreciated the enormous range of men like Beet-
hoven or even Schubert. His own range was limited, but
within it he has probably never been equaled in absolute
perfection of finish. His works are marked by a complete
absence of commonplace, and you will search throughout
them in vain for a slovenly chord or an unskillful combina-
tion. His boldness is always justified by success, and his
repetition by a certain weird and singular pathos.
He was great in small things, but small in great ones.
His two concertos with orchestral accompaniments are
more ambitious than successful. The other instruments,
like the general public (thin as are his orchestral scores),
seem to stifle and embarrass him, and we long to have
Chopin alone again at the piano-forte.
Thus much in general. Volumes more might doubtless
be written about these men and their music, but they had
better be left to speak for themselves to the listening ear
and the loving heart. We lay down the pen of the critic
— we look up once more at the familiar features of Fraxz
Schubert and Frederick Chopin. They have long been
to us a running commentary upon all nature, and the gen-
tle companions of our solitude; May never comes wTith its
glittering freshness and myriad bloom but the songs of
Schubert are rinprino; in our ears, nor June with its sjlo\v-
ing tints and tender twilights but the melodies of Chopin
seem to haunt the air.
"For the stars and the winds are unto them
As raiment, as songs of the harp-player ;
For the risen stars and the fallen cling to them,
A.nd the southwest wind and the west wind sing!"
THE LETTERS OF
MOZART.
*
jffllljl
tf
a
fe<3W^
v^
VII.
A geoup of musical biographies without two such cen-
tral figures as Mozart and Beethoven is like a collection of
the British poets without Shakspeare and Milton ; but we
must remind our readers that, in this book, there is a third
great name that has only been mentioned incidentally, the
name of Sebastien Bach, while an illustrious group of nine-
teenth-century composers in France, Italy, and Germany
have not been touched.
Mozart and Beethoven may be hereafter treated in two
120. separate volumes. The position of Sebastien Bach
Omissions
explained, would, according to our method, be most aptly
considered whenever a detailed biography of Mendelssohn
comes to be written. The modern Italian and French
264 MOZART.
schools may also form an interesting subject for future
consideration, while the germs of musical art in England
should not be regarded as hopeless or trivial.
The present volume should be taken, not as a complete
survey of musical art, but merely as a serious tribute to
its importance combined with a group of biographies sug-
gestive of a few great landmarks in the rise and develop-
ment of modern music.
I have felt it impossible to close this second book with-
out trying to give the reader a passing glimpse of Mozart,
Beethoven, and Mendelssohn. The study on Elijah will,
I trust, not be considered cle trop.
To open Mozart's letters is like opening a painted tomb.
121. We are surrounded by people long dead — we
Vivid Letters. Yea(\ ^ie once familiar names, forgotten now —
we look curiously at the busy every-day life of a century
ago — we almost catch the ringing laugh and the sound of
voices. The colors are all fresh, the figures are all distinct.
Let us select one group. There is Leopold Mozart, the
father, with his old threadbare coat and oaken stick, a God-
fearing, sensible, but somewhat narrow-minded man ; his
wife — the very model of a thrifty housewife. There is
pretty little Nannerl, now about fifteen, who " looks like
an angel in her new clothes," and plays the clavier to the
astonishment of Herr von Molk, the stupid lover, and the
other court musicians who frequent the worthy Capell-
meister's house at Salzburg. There is Bimberl the clog,
who gets so many kisses, and the canary that sings in G
sharp; and, last, there is the glorious boy Wolfgang Ama-
deus Mozart, now about thirteen, in his little puce-brown
coat, velvet hose, and buckled shoes, and long, flowing
curly hair, tied behind after the fashion of the day. He
has already visited Paris, London, and Rome, and is no less
VIVID LETTERS. 265
famous for uproarious merriment than for music. At the
age of four he wrote tunes, at twelve he could not find his
equal on the harpsichord, and the professors of Europe
stood aghast at one who improvised fugues on a given
theme, and then took a ride a cock-horse on his father's
stick.
The first two sections of Letters, which carry us up to
his twenty-second year, reach from 1769 to 1778, and are
dated variously from Verona, Milan, Rome, Bologna, and
Venice. We have also an account of a professional tour
in Germany with his mother, in the fruitless search after
some settled employment. He seems to have met with
many friends, much praise, some jealousy, but so little
money that he charged only four ducats for twelve lessons,
and could write to Martini, the old Italian Nestor of mu-
sic, " We live in a country where music has very little suc-
cess." Meanwhile he has excellent spirits, and laughs at
every thing and every body — at the ascetic friar, who ate
so enormously — at Nannerl's lover, poor Herr von Molk,
whimpering behind his pocket-handkerchief — at the violin
professor, who was always saying," I beg your pardon, but
I am out again," and was always consoled by Mozart's in-
variable reply, " It doesn't in the least signify" — at the
Italian singer who had " una rugged voce e canta sempre
about a quarter of a note too hardi o troppo o buon ora /"
Contrasted with these lighter moods, it is striking to ob-
serve a deep undertone of seriousness, as when he assures
his father of his regularity at confession, and exclaims, "I
have always had God before my eyes. Friends who have
no religion can not long be my friends ;" "I have such a
sense of religion that I shall never do any thing that I
would not do before the whole world :" and we recognize
the loving, unspoiled heart of a boy in the young man's
words, "Next to God comes papa." This period was
M
266 MOZART.
marked by the composition of the greater number of his
masses, most of which were written before his twenty-
third year.
The year 1778 and 1779, which he spent in Paris, were
129. probably the most uncongenial of his life. He
Paris, Vienna, * / ° . .
and Love. found the people coarse and intriguing, the mu-
sicians stupid and intractable, the nobles poor and stingy,
the women unconversable and dissolute. The whole tone
of the French mind displeased him. "The ungodly arch-
villain Voltaire has died like a dog," he writes. But upon
the French music he pours all the vials of his wrath.
" The French are, and always will be, downright donkeys."
" They can not sing — they scream." " The devil himself
invented their language." In 1779 he came back to Ger-
many, resolved to abandon forever both the French and
Italian styles, and devote himself to the cultivation of a
real German opera school. The Idomeneo was the first-
fruits. It was produced at Munich for the Carnival of
1780 — a date forever memorable in the annals of music as
the dawn of the great classical period in Mozart's history.
From 1781 to 1782, all his letters are dated from Vien-
na, where he finally settled down. Money is still scarce.
"I have only one small room," he writes: "it is quite
crammed with a piano, a table, a bed, and a chest of draw-
ers ;" but, combined with his almost austere poverty, we
notice the same regularity in his religious duties, the same
purity in his private life; of this, such letters as vol. ii.,
No. 180-182, afford the strongest circumstantial evidence.
In 1781, his reasons for marrying, though quaintly put, are
quite unanswerable — viz., because he had no one to take
care of his linen ; because he could not live like the disso-
lute young men around him; and, lastly, because he was
in love with Constance Weber. The marriage took place
HAYDK 267
in 1782, Mozart being then twenty-six, and his bride eight-
een. The same year witnessed the production of II Se-
raglio, and shortly afterward we find him dining pleasant-
ly with the veteran composer Gluck, who, although of
quite another school, and in some sense a rival, was always
cordial in his praises of Mozart. So thoroughly, indeed,
had the spirit of the new music begun to revolutionize the
public mind, that popular Italian composers engaged Mo-
zart to write arias for them, in order to insure the success
of their operas.
The rest of Mozart's life can be compared to nothing
123. ^ut a torch burning out rapidly in the wind. Un-
Haydn* wearied alike as a composer and an artist, he kept
pouring forth symphonies, sonatas, and operas, while dis-
ease could not shake his nerve as an executant, and the
hand of death found him unwilling to relinquish the pen
of the ready writer. In April, 1783, we find him playing
at no less than twenty concerts. The year 1785 is marked
by the six celebrated quartets dedicated to Haydn. " I de-
clare to you," exclaimed the old man, upon hearing them,
to Mozart's father, "before God and on the faith of an hon-
est man, that your son is the greatest composer who ever
lived." In 1786 Figaro was produced; and in 1787 Don
Giovanni was written for his favorite public at Prague.
It will hardly be believed that all this time Mozart was in
the greatest want of money. His works were miserably
paid for. He visited Berlin, Dresden, and Leipzic to re-
cruit his fortunes : the nobles gave him watches and snuif-
boxes, but very little coin ; and in 1790 we find Mozart, at
the zenith and fame of his popularity, standing dinnerless
and "in a state of destitution" at the door of his old friend
Puchberg. It is difficult to account for this, as he cer-
tainly made more money than many musicians. His purse,
268 MOZART.
indeed, was always open to his friends; he was obliged to
mix on equal terms with his superiors in rank ; he had an
invalid wife, for whom he procured every comfort. There
must, indeed, have been bad management, but we can
scarcely read his letters and accuse him of wanton extrav-
agance.
In 1791 he entered upon his thirty-sixth and last year.
124. Into it, among other works, were crowded La
and Death. CUmenza cli Tito, II Flauto Magico, and the Re-
quiem. His friends looked upon his wondrous career, as
we have since looked upon Mendelssohn's, with a certain
sad and bewildered astonishment. That prodigious child-
hood— that spring mellow with all the fruits of autumn —
that startling haste " as the rapid of life shoots to the fill"
— we understand it now. "The world had waited eight
centuries for him, and he was onty to remain for a mo-
ment" (Oulibicheff). In the October of 1791 he closes a
letter to his wife with the words from Zauberfldte, " The
hour strikes. Farewell ! we shall meet again !" These are
the last written words of Mozart extant.
His wife returned from Baden somewhat invigorated by
the waters, but she noticed with alarm a pallor more fatal
than her own upon her husband's face. His passionate
love for her never waned, but he had grown silent and
melancholy. He would constantly remain writing at the
Requiem long after his dinner-hour. Neither fatigue nor
hunger seemed to rouse him from his profound contempla-
tion. At nio-ht he would sit brooding over the score until
he not unfrequently swooned away in his chair. The mys-
terious apparition of the stranger in black, who came to
Mozart and gave the order for the Requiem, has been re-
solved into the valet of a nobleman wTho wished to pre-
serve his incognito, but it doubtless added to the sombre
A CTIVITY AND DEA TH. 269
melancholy of a mind already sinking and overwrought.
One mild autumn morning his wife drove him out in an
open carriage to some neighboring woods. As he breathed
the soft air, scented with the yellow leaves that lay thickly
strewn around, he discovered to her the secret of the Re-
quiem. " I am writing it," he said, " for myself." A few
days of flattering hope followed, and then Mozart was car-
ried to the bed from which he was never destined to rise.
Vienna was at that time ringing with the fame of his last
opera. They brought him the rich appointment of organ-
ist to the Cathedral of St. Stephen, for which he had been
longing all his life. Managers besieged his door with hand-
fuls of gold, summoning him to compose something for
them — too late ! He lay, with swollen limbs and burning
head, awaiting another summons. On the night of Decem-
ber 5, 1791, his wife, her sister, Sophie Weber, and his friend
Susmeyer, were with him. The score of the Requiem lay
open upon his bed. As the last faintness stole over him,
he turned to Susmeyer — his lips moved feebly — he was
trying to indicate a peculiar effect of kettle-drums in the
score. It was the last act of expiring thought ; his head
sank gently back ; he seemed to fall into a deep and tran-
quil sleep. In another hour he had ceased to breathe.
On a stormy December morning, through the deserted
streets of Vienna, amid snow and hail, and unaccompanied
by a single friend, the body of Mozart was hastily borne,
with fifteen others, to the common burial-ground of the
poor. In 1808, some foreigners, passing through the town,
wished to visit the grave ; but they were told that the
ashes of the poor were frequently exhumed to make room
for others, and no stone then remained to mark the spot
where once had rested the body of Johann Ciirtsostom
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart.
These letters in great measure supply the want of mate-
270 MOZART.
rial noticeable in every biography of Mozart between the
years 1785-90, and are further valuable as correcting sev-
eral hasty and ill-advised statements in the otherwise
learned and elaborate narrative of M. Oulibicheff, such as,
that Mozart had a passion for traveling, when he declares
that he could never sleep in his carriage, and hated being
from home — or that he was fond of wine and women, when
throughout his life he was scoffed at for being chaste and
sober — or that he was extravagant, when he continually
sent large sums to his father, wore the coarsest linen, and
devoted every thing else to the comfort of an invalid wife
— or that his talents were not recognized at Vienna, where
many of his most successful concerts were given — or that
Figaro was received coldly there, when he writes, "There
were seven encores."
The following passages will be perused with interest, as
specimens of Mozart's style of letter-writing.
On a January in 1778, from Paris to Strasburg, he writes:
"I submitted to this conveyance for eight days, but longer I could not
stand it — not on account of the fatigue, for the carriage was well hung, but
from want of sleep. We were off every morning at four o'clock, and thus
obliged to rise at three. Twice I had the satisfaction of being forced to
get up at one o'clock in the morning, as we Mere to set off at two. You
know that I can not sleep in a carriage, so I really could not continue this
without the risk of being ill. I would have taken the post, but it Avas not
necessary, for I had the good fortune to meet with a person who quite
suited me — a German merchant who resides in Paris and deals in English
wares. Before getting into the carriage we exchanged a few words, and
from that moment we remained together. We did not take our meals with
the other passengers, but in our own room, where we also slept. I was
glad to meet this man, for, being a great traveler, he understands it well."
The following passage may be safely commended to per-
sons about to marry. Mozart writes to the reluctant par-
ent of the period ; it is the old story. Papa thinks it un-
wise to marry without means, and again it is the old story
— son of a contrary opinion:
A CTIVITY AND BE A TIL 271
" You can have no possible objection to offer, nor can there be any, and
this you admit in your letters. Constanze is a well-conducted, good girl,
of respectable parentage, and I am in a position to earn at least daily bread
for her. We love each other, and we are resolved to marry. All that you
have written, or may possibly write, on this subject, can be nothing but
well-meant advice, which, however good and sensible, can no longer apply
to a man who has gone so far with a girl. There can, therefore, be no
question of further delay. Honesty is the best policy, and can not fail to
insure the blessing of Providence. I am resolved to have no cause for
self-reproach. Now farewell!"
Just after the wedding he writes :
"My darling is now a hundred times more joyful at the idea of going
to Salzburg, and I am willing to stake — ay, my very life, that you will re-
joice still more in my happiness when you know her ; if, indeed, in your
estimation, as in mine, a high-principled, honest, virtuous, and pleasing
wife ought to make a man happy."
Late in his short life he writes the following character-
istic note to a friend, whose life does not appear to have
been one of the most regular :
" Now tell me, my dear friend, how you are. I hope you are all as well
as we are. You can not fail to be happy, for you possess every thing that
you can wish for at your age and in your position, especially as you now
seem to have entirely given up your former mode of life. Do you not
every day become more convinced of the truth of the little lectures I used
to inflict on you ? Are not the pleasures of a transient, capricious passion
widely different from the happiness produced by rational and true love ? I
feel sure that you often in your heart thank me for my admonitions. I
shall feel quite proud if you do. But, jesting apart, you do really owe me
some little gratitude if you are become worthy of Fraulein N , for I
certainly played no insignificant part in your improvement or reform.
" My great-grandfather used to say to his wife, my great-grandmother,
who in turn told it to her daughter, my mother, who repeated it to her
daughter, my own sister, that it was a very great art to talk eloquently
and well, but an equally great one to know the right moment to stop. I
therefore shall follow the advice of my sister, thanks to our mother, grand-
mother, and great-grandmother, and thus end, not only my moral ebulli-
tion, but my letter."
THE LETTERS OF
BEETHOVEN
Born 1770-2, Died 1827.
jjuwg Vw^
VIII.
The person of Beethoven, like his music, seems to have
125 left its vivid and colossal impress upon the age.
Appearance. « rpj^ Square Cyclopean figure, attired in a shab-
by coat, with torn sleeves," described by Weber, is familiar
to all, and the face too — the rough hair brushed impatient-
ly off the forehead, the boldly arched eyebrows, resolute
nose, and firmly set mouth — truly a noble face, with a cer-
CHILDHO OD AND ONL Y LO VES. 2 7 3
tain severe integrity, and passionate power, and lofty sad-
ness about it, seeming, in its elevation and wideness of ex-
pression, to claim kindred with a world of ideas out of all
proportion to our own. The face at the beginning of vol.
i. of Beethoven's published letters is better than any thing
in the book.
We open these letters with the greatest eagerness ; we
close them with a feeling of almost unmingled pain and
disappointment. Unlike Mozart's, they are not a spark-
ling commentary on a many-colored life. Beethoven's out-
ward life was all one color, and his letters are mainly oc-
cupied with unimportant, vexatious, or melancholy details.
His inward life has long since been given to the world, but
not in words, only in
"The tides of music's golden sea,
Setting toward eternity."
Born in 1770 or 1772,* Ludwig van Beethoven early
126. showed a strong dislike to music. His father
Childhood and &
only Loves. had to beat him before he would sit down at
the piano. At the age of eleven, however, he declares that
for several years music had been his favorite pursuit. His
compositions were always abundant, and from the first met
with the approval of the publishers. His early composi-
tions were at once understood. And no wonder, for in him
the bereaved public found Mozart redivivits with varia-
tions. " Mind, you will hear that boy talked of!" whis-
pered the great composer when he first heard Beethoven
play. Did he foresee with what firm and gigantic strides
the " boy," as he entered manhood, would lead the way to
fresh woods and pastures new? ever triumphant and suc-
cessful— amid what trials and disasters !
On the very threshold of his career he was met by two
* See Fetis, "Biographie Universelle des Musiciens," art. "Beethoven."
M 2
274 BEETHOVES.
gloomy companions — Poverty and Disease — who acompa-
nied him to the grave. In 1800 he lost his patron, the
Elector of Cologne, and with him a small salaiy, and in
1801 he became partially deaf. Both evils were lightened
by success ; but what is success without health or spirits ?
"Oh, blissful moment! how happy do I esteem myself!"
and in the same letter, " I can not fail to be the most un-
happy of God's creatures !" About this time occur those
strange letters to his " immortal beloved," the Countess
Giulietta Guicciardi ; and in the still more immortal song
of "Adelaide," written then, we can almost hear the refrain
of" My angel! my all! my life!" (15), and such-like pas-
sionate utterances. The countess married some one else,
and Beethoven does not seem to have broken his heart.
His relations with women were always severely honorable.
This is the only burst of love he ever permitted himself,
and if we except his unhappy love for Marie Pachler, and
the wild fancy which that strange little being, Bettina Bren-
tano, seems to have inspired in Goethe, Beethoven, and ev-
ery one who came near her, we must suppose that the myth
of Platonic affection became for once real history. He was
not, however, at all insensible to the charms of female so-
ciety. The ladies might knit him comforters, make him
light puddings, he would even condescend to lie on their
sofas after dinner, and pick his teeth with the snuffers,
while they played his sonatas. Madame Breuning and
Frau Von Streicher especially seem to have been inval-
uable friends and advisers. He told them all his petty
troubles: "Nany is not strictly honest;" "I have a cough
and severe headache." Then follow details about servants'
clothes and wages. If, however, his relations with women
were unromantic, they were proportionably constant. His
correspondence was limited in range, but the same names,
both male and female, recur to the end of his life. This
DEAFNESS. 275
fact speaks volumes. It is more to retain than to win. The
head may win ; the heart alone can keep.
Walking one day in the woods with his devoted friend,
127 Ferdinand Ries, he disclosed to him the sad secret
Deafness. Qf j^g increasing deafness : this was as early as
1800. From this time his patience and money were vainly
lavished on doctors without success. The world of sweet
sounds and pleasant voices were gradually closing up for
him. " I wander about here with music-paper among the
hills, and dales, and valleys, and scribble a great deal. No
man on earth can love the country as I do." But he could
not hear the birds sing. No one was naturally a more in-
telligent converser, but he could hardly hear the voices of
his friends. Early in life he writes, " I must tell you my
extraordinary deafness is such that in the theatre I am
obliged to lean close up against the orchestra ; a little way
off, I lose the high notes of both instruments and singers ;"
and latterly no sound from the thunder of a full orchestra,
while he stood in the midst of it with his back to the au-
dience, could reach him. They used to turn him round at
the end of his symphonies that he might see the enthusi-
asm which his music had created. Thus, in 1802, he bids
iarewell to his hearing in one of those bitter heart-cries
which remind us of that other immortal plaint,
" When I consider how my life is spent,
Ere half my days in this dark world and wide :"
"As autumn leaves fall and wither, so are my hopes blighted. Almost
as 1 came I depart. Even the lofty courage which ^o often animated me
in the lovely days of summer is gone forever. Oh, Providence! vouch-
safe me one day of pure felicity ! How long have I been estranged from
the glad echo of true joy ! When, O my God ! when shall I feel it again
in the temple of nature and man ? — never !"
When we hear it recorded of Beethoven that he was a
276 BEETHOVEN.
morose, churlish, and ill-tempered man, " full of caprice, and
devoid of all complaisance," let us rather remember one
who, in the midst of sufferings which we can not estimate,
and trials which we have not known, never lost his rever-
ence for God, his deep and tender devotion to all that was
highest in man, his patient forbearance with the weak and
selfish, and a certain indomitable courage, wideness of vis-
ion, and power of will, which has raised him, the lonely
worker, to one of the most solitary pinnacles of Fame.
The years from 1805 to 1808 witnessed the production
of " The Mount of Olives," " Leonora," " Pastorale," and
" Eroica," besides a host of minor concertos, songs, and
sonatas. In 1809, his affectionate patron, the Archduke
Rudolf, settled a small pension on him for life, and hence-
forth Beethoven hardly ever moved from Vienna, except to
go to Baden in the summer months.
In 1816 he writes in better spirits to his comical friend
128 Zmeskall,"For the sake of various scamps in this
yoinghRas- world I should like to live a little longer." His
cai. general health had improved, a new and sudden
interest in life had come to him with the guardianship of
his nephew Carl, who, upon his father's death, was res-
cued by his uncle from the clutches of a most abandoned
mother.
His love for this young rascal is the most affecting thing
in his whole life. He put him to school — had him home
for the holidays — gave him every indulgence, and lavished
upon him all the love which was never destined to flow
through happier channels. He had a natural horror of
business and detail, but nothing could be small or vexa-
tious which concerned Carl. The size of his boots — the
cut of his coat — his physic — his food — and, above all, his
piano-forte playing, were subjects of unfailing interest to
CARL, THE YOUNG RASCAL. 277
Beethoven. By the way, here is a valuable hint to teach-
ers, from the great master to the pianist Czerny : " When
sufficiently advanced, do not stop his (Carl's) playing on
account of little mistakes, but only point them out at the
end of the piece. I have always followed this system,
which quickly forms a musician." But, unfortunately, Carl
was not a musician, but an idle fellow who cared for noth-
ing but pleasure, and nobody but himself. It was the last
bitter drop in the poor uncle's cup — a drop which he re-
fused to taste until his hair began to get gray — that he,
who had been father, mother, servant, nurse, every thing
to Carl, was only looked upon by him in the light of the
"relieving officer.* The saddest letters are those from 435
to 450, addressed to this miserable nephew :
"Dear son, I still feel very weak and solitary — my weakness often
amounts to a swoon. Oh, do not further grieve me ! Farewell, dearest
boy ; deserve this name ; any thing you want shall be purchased. If it is
too hard a task for you to come and see me, give it up ; but if you can by
any possibility come, etc., let us not refer to the past. If you had any
depth of feeling you would have acted differently. Be my own dear pre-
cious son ! imitate my virtues, not my faults."
The " precious son" seems to have met all this affection
with coldness, ingratitude, and the meanest lying. At last
the whole truth breaks upon the unhappy old man, and he
exclaims, we can almost fancy with tears, " I know now
you have no pleasure in coming to see me — which is only
natural, for my atmosphere is too pure for you. God has
never yet forsaken me, and no doubt some one will be
found to close my eyes." Carl, after attempting suicide,
gambling, and commerce, and failing signally in each, final-
ly enlisted, and so disappears from these letters ; but we
read his last forgiveness in the brief codicil of Beethoven's
will — " I appoint my nephew Carl my sole heir."
078 BEETHOVEN.
Beethoven's external life presents us with the familiar
129. picture of the man of genius and misfortune
His Generosity * , '
and Poverty, struggling with the world. " Miser sum pau-
per" he would often say. He was wretched, because deaf,
and solitary, and disappointed in the deepest and most
sensitive parts of a nature singularly tender and profound.
He was poor because the best pay in those days was bad,
and because the men who could have helped him hang
back until the life that might have been prolonged and
cheered by their kindly support was closed abruptly with-
out it. George IV., then Prince Regent, never acknowl-
edged the dedication of the battle symphony, or took the
slightest notice of its composer. Neither the Imperial fam-
ily nor the Austrian government ever showed the smallest
interest in either Haydn, Mozart, or Beethoven. They left
them to the mercy of private patrons. Beethoven was
always very poor, but in his poverty he never forgot to be
generous. At a concert given in aid of the soldiers wound-
ed at Hanau, he supplied music and conducted. Schuppan-
sigh, Spohr, and Mayseder were among the violins, and old
Salieri played the drums and cymbals (Meyerbeer, Mos-
cheles, and Hummel also assisted). When some offer of
payment was made, he writes, " Say Beethoven never ac-
cepts any thing ivhere humanity is concerned."
On another occasion, when the concert was for poor Ur-
suline nuns — " I promise you an entirely new symphony :
my joy will be beyond bounds if the concert prove a suc-
cess." But his charity was not merely for show — it began
at home. His friends never applied in vain for money as
long as he had any to give, and his purse-strings were often
loosed for those who had injured him deeply.
Beethoven's relations with his London publishers were
very satisfactory. The Philharmonic paid liberally for his
works, honored him with appreciation during his life, and
HIS RELIGION AND HIS ART. 279
sent him a present of £100 when he was lying on his death-
bed.
Beethoven's domestic life was one of singular discom-
fort. He was always changing his lodgings — getting into
worse ones and falling among thieves. He no sooner got
into new rooms than the chimneys began to smoke, or the
rain came in through the roof, or the chairs came down
when sat upon, or the doors came off their hinges. He
was no more fortunate with his servants. " Nancy is too
uneducated for a housekeeper — indeed, quite a beast."
" My precious servants were occupied from seven o'clock
till ten trying to heat the stove." " The cook's off again."
"I shied half a dozen books at her head." They made his
dinner so nasty that he could not eat it. " No soup to-day,
no beef, no eggs again — got something from the inn at
last."
From a life of public neglect, and private suffering and
i3o. trial, he turned to the ideal life in art. In all his
His Religion . . . ,
and his Art. earthly strivings he might well say with Goethe,
"I have ever looked up to the highest." To him art was
no mere recreation or luxury, but the expression of all that
was conceivable and most worthy of being expressed in
things divine and human. It was a call, a mission, an in-
spiration ; and the ear so early closed to the discords of
earth seemed all the more intently open to the voice of the
informing Spirit:
' ' Lo, I have given thee
To understand my presence and to feel
My fullness : I have filled thy lips with power.
I have raised thee nigher to the spheres of heaven,
Man's first, last home; and thou with ravished senee
Listenest the lordly music flowing from
Th' illimitable years."
" Nothing can be more sublime," he writes, " than to
280 BEETHOVEN.
draw nearer to the Godhead than other men, and to dif-
fuse here on earth these Godlike rays among mortals." Bat
none understood better than he that "the exeellency of the
power was not of him :"
"What is all this compared to the grandest of all Mas-
ters of harmony — above, above !" And so this mighty
spirit seemed always reaching forward with the glorious
"not as though I had attained" forever on his lips. "I
feel," he writes in 1824, "as though I had written scarcely
more than a few notes of music !" for to him
"All experience seemed an arch, wherethrough
Gleamed that untravel'd world whose margin fades
Forever and forever as we move."
Beethoven had worked too hard. In 1823 his eyes gave
i3i. way 5 f°r several years before his death he had been
Death, gp^ing blood, and his digestion was nearly gone.
In December of the year 1826 he found himself upon a
sick-bed, in great poverty, and unable to compose a line
of music. There are a few more letters, written in a trem-
ulous hand; others only signed still more illegibly; letters
to Moscheles, to Sir George Smart, and to Baron Pasqua-
lati, an old friend, who sent him fruit, wine, and other del-
icacies during his illness.
On the 18th of March, 1827, all hopes of Beethoven's re-
covery were abandoned. On the 23d they read him his
will. It was suggested that the words " natural heirs"
should be put in the place of" heirs of my body," as he had
no children, and the words might provoke disputes. He
replied that the one term was as good as the other, and
that it should remain just as it was. This was his last
contradiction.
In the afternoon of March 26th, 1827, Beethoven was
seized with his last mortal faintness. Thick clouds were
DEATH. 281
hanging about the sky ; outside, the snow lay upon the
ground ; toward evening the wind rose ; at nightfall a ter-
rific thunder-storm burst over the city of Vienna, and while
the storm was still raging the spirit of the sublime master
departed.
Ludwig van Beethoven died in his fifty-fifth year, and is
buried in the cemetery of Wahring, near Vienna.
The passages which I am about to quote from Beetho-
ven's Will are likely to tell the reader more of Beethoven's
inner life than almost any of his letters:
" Oh yo, who consider or declare me to be hostile, obstinate, or misan-
thropic, what injustice ye do me ! Ye know not the secret causes of that
whioh to you wears such an appearance. My heart and my mind were
from childhood prone to the tender feelings of affection. Nay, I was al-
ways disposed even to perform great actions. But only consider that, for
the last six years, I have been attacked by an incurable complaint, aggra-
vated by the unskillful treatment of medical men, disappointed from year
to year in the hope of relief, and at last obliged to submit to the endurance
of an evil the cure of which may last perhaps for years, if it is practicable
at all. Born with a lively, ardent disposition, susceptible to the diversions
of society, I was forced at an early age to renounce them, and to pass my
life in seclusion. If I strove at any time to set myself above all this, oh
how cruelly was I driven back by the doubly painful experience of my de-
fective hearing ! and yet it was not possible for me to say to people, ' Speak
louder — bawl — for I am deaf!' Ah! how could I proclaim the defect of a
sense that I once possessed in the highest perfection — in a perfection in
which few of my colleagues possess or ever did possess it ? Indeed, I can
not ! Forgive me, then, if ye see me draw back when I would gladly
mingle among you. Doubly mortifying is my misfortune to me, as it
must tend to cause me to be misconceived. From recreation in the soci-
ety of my fellow-creatures, from the pleasures of conversation, from the
effusions of friendship, I am cut off. Almost alone in the world, I dare
not venture into society more than absolute necessity requires. I am
obliged to live as an exile. If I go into company, a painful anxiety comes
over me, since I am apprehensive of being exposed to the danger of be-
traying my situation. Such has been my state, too, during this half year
that I have spent in the country. Enjoined by my intelligent physician
to spare my hearing as much as possible, I have been almost encouraged
282 BEETHOVEN.
by him in my present Datura] disposition, though, hurried away by my
fondness for society, I sometimes suffered myself to be enticed into it.
But what a humiliation when any one standing beside me could hear at a
distance a flute that I could not hear, or any one heard the shepherd sing-
ing, and I could not distinguish a sound ! Such circumstances brought me
to the brink of despair, and had well-nigh made me put an end to my life:
nothing but my art held my hand. Ah ! it seemed to me impossible to
quit the world before I had produced all that I felt myself called to ac-
complish. And so I endured this wretched life — so truly wretched, that a
somewhat speedy change is capable of transporting me from the best into
the worst condition. Patience — so I am told — I must choose for my
guide. Steadfast, I hope, will be my resolution to persevere, till it shall
please the inexorable Fates to cut the thread.
"Perhaps there may be an amendment — perhaps not; I am prepared
for the worst — I, who so early as my twenty-eighth year was forced to be-
come a philosopher — it is not easy — for the artist more difficult than for
any other. O God ! thou lookest down upon my misery ; thou knowest
that it is accompanied with love of my fellow-creatures, and a disposition
to do good ! O men! when ye shall read this, think that ye have wronged
me ; and let the child of affliction take comfort on finding one like him-
self, who, in spite of all the impediments of nature, yet did all that lay in
his power to obtain admittance into the rank of worthy artists and men.
$ * * # £ ♦ ♦ * •
"I go to meet death with joy. If he comes before I have had occasion
to develop all my professional abilities, he will come too soon for me, in
spite of my hard fate, and I should wish that he had delayed his arrival.
But even then I am content, for he will release me from a state of endless
suffering. Come when thou wilt, I shall meet thee with firmness. Fare-
well, and do not quite forget me after I am dead ; I have deserved that
you should think of me, for in my lifetime I have often thought of you to
make you happy. May you ever be so !
" Ludwig van Beethoven.
"M.P. (L. S.)
" Heiligenstadt, October 6th7 1802."
MENDELSSOHN.
(^^(Ki^t^m^C^
t <
A biography of Mendelssohn has yet to be written; but,
132. before presenting the reader with an analysis of
Books about . . 3 J
Meudeissohu. the Elijah, I propose to transfer to these pages
a slight sketch, not of Mendelssohn's life, but of Mendels-
sohn himself, drawn almost entirely from a volume of Rem-
iniscences published by his intimate friend Edward Dev-
284 MENDELSSOHN.
rient. The book is neither a biography nor a book of scat-
tered notes, but it is a kind of narrative, giving a connected
and vivid impression of Mendelssohn as he appeared to one
of his most intimate friends, from a very early age to the
time of his death. Nothing so real and life-like about him
has yet come before the public. " CEcolampadius" only
professes to give a sketch. Mr. Benedict's charming little
work is but the shadow of an affectionate sketch. The
two volumes of Mendelssohn's own letters are, of course,
priceless ; but Elise Polko's anecdotes are almost disfig-
ured by enthusiasm. Edward Devrient is content to draw
very fully, as far as he could see it, the picture of one who
was more than a brother to him — whose genius he pro-
foundly reverenced, whose character he understood perhaps
better than any body now living, whose virtues he never
ceased to extol, but whose faults he never attempted to
conceal. Some will doubtless consider that the additional
letters of Mendelssohn, there published for the first time,
are the most valuable portion of the book ; and, indeed,
they possess in the highest degree all those qualities which
drew the public toward the first two volumes of Mendels-
sohn's letters. The little vivid touches of description be-
tray the same poetic heart and facile pen :
"I send you this from Styria. The convent is quite inclosed by gveen
wooded hills ; there is a rushing and murmuring on every side, and the
consequence is trout for supper. It is now only seven o'clock, and already
quite dark. This reminds one of autumn, no less than by day do the
thousand tinted hills, where the red of the cherry-trees and the pale green
of the winter gleam gayly through each other. I went in the twilight to
the convent, and made acquaintance with the organ.*'
Educated with an almost Spartan rigor — early brought
133 into contact with every department of human
Characteristics. knowledge, an(j associating constantly with his
elders, Mendelssohn nevertheless retained throughout his
CHAR A CT ERISTICS. 285
life the simplicity and impulsiveness of a child ; yet his
career is full of manly energy, enlightened enthusiasm, and
the severest devotion to the highest forms of art. He had
a passion for cake and sweetmeats, and a detestation of
every kind of meanness and hypocrisy. He could romp
like a child, but shrunk from any thing like dissipation or
excess. Nothing can be more genuine than his indigna-
tion upon one occasion when his anxious friend Devrient,
hearing of the adulation lavished upon him in London,
wrote to warn him of the dangers and seductions of Lon-
don society. Mendelssohn was then a very young man,
and his older friend might well be excused some little
anxiety on his account.
1 ' If you were here, I might walk up and down your room, and vent my
vexation about many things, but it will be some time till we meet, and if
you have not full reliance in one whom you should know, you will have
cause enough hereafter to feel uncomfortable about him. Now I should
be sorry for this, and very sorry if any thing again were to be useful or
hurtful to me in your good opinion, or that you thought I could ever
change. Upon my word, Devrient, when I improve or deteriorate I shall
let you know by express. Till then, believe it not. Of course I mean as
to certain things usually called sentiments."
Mendelssohn's very weaknesses were lovable. If he
was sometimes sharp with his friends, it was because he
could not bear the shadow of suspicion ; if he was some-
times suspicious himself, it was because his sensitive na-
ture was too open to sudden and often one-sided impres-
sions ; if he could not pardon jealousy or meanness in low-
er natures than his own, it was because he was incapable
of understanding them. His want of resolution is some-
times charming. When Devrient had persuaded him to
go to old Zelter, his beloved master, in order to try and
win him over to the production of Bach's Passions Musik,
Mendelssohn characteristically says at the door,
"' If he is abusive I shall go. I can not squabble with him.' ' He is
2 s 6 MEND EL S3 01IX.
sure to be abusive,' said I, ' but I will take the squabbling in hand my-
self.'"
What delicate little touches of character are these!
" lie came to us at twilight to say good-by, anxious and cast down. I
went with him across the court, and we walked up and down a long time
under the projecting eaves by the summer drawing-room, as there was a
gentle rain. Felix poured himself out in almost infantile lamentations ;
he wept, nor was I able to comfort him."
He had little coaxing ways with his friends, which made
them love him with something like a child's love. When
in company with Devrient, he wTould sometimes pronounce
his name with an affectionate and lingering drawl, " Ede-
ward," apropos of nothing in particular, and gently stroke
his head or lean confidingly upon his arm. Devrient tells
us with emotion how, years later, when much had passed
between them, many things had changed, and he some-
times fancied his friend wTas not the same Mendelssohn of
old times, the old word, pronounced in the old loving way,
recalled him to himself, and almost brought tears to his
eyes.
Mendelssohn's brain was from the first overstimulated.
134 But nature had prepared remedies for him —
Temperament. reme(Jies which could not prevent premature
decay, but which, no doubt, lengthened out his short life.
Trifles sometimes excited him almost to frenzy ; he could
not bear disappointment or opposition. On one occasion,
when there was some likelihood of a royal summons inter-
fering with a little domestic fete,
"His excitement increased so fearfully that, when the family was as-
sembled for fhe evening, he began to talk incoherently and in English, to
the great terror of them all ... . they took him to bed, and a profound
sleep of twelve hours restored him to his normal state."
It was by these sleeps, often almost like death in their si-
lent torpor, that nature recreated a frame ^ousiantly over-
TEMPEMAMEXT. 287
taxed to the extreme limits of endurance by nervous ex-
citement. His appetite, also, never failed him ; he could
eat almost at any time, and, according to his own playful
admission, to any extent.
"With such a temperament there was keen joy, much
work, and great suffering for him in life ; and deeply he
drank of each cup, until one by one he put them down
empty, and composed himself for his last deep sleep. It
has been the fashion to say in England that Mendelssohn
was not a good conductor ; that he was too irritable and
exacting. The same was said in Berlin ; but this was nev-
er said at Leipsic. No doubt, when out of a sympathetic
atmosphere, when contending at his desk with the obsti-
nacy of the Berliners, who looked upon him as an inter-
loper, and the stupidity of the English players, many of
whom thought him an upstart, he failed sometimes to con-
ciliate the orchestra or to conquer its defects. Yet it is
allowed that with the most stubborn materials he wrought
wonders in England ; and although he was never appreci-
ated at Berlin, he always had the greatest difficulty in es-
caping. Devrient is probably right when, admitting his
excessive irritability at times, he speaks of his conducting
when surrounded by those who loved to play as quite per-
fect. He declares that the way in which he was able to
infuse himself into the band was little short of magical,
and at times he would leave off in a kind of trance, and
listen with his head a little on one side, quite rapt with
delight at the band itself having become Mendelssohn,
and therefore hardly needing Mendelssohn's baton for the
time.
But there are pages in Mendelssohn's life which have
135. never been filled up, and points of interrogation
Wife, Chil- . r> I i=>
drcn, Death, which have never been answered. His relations
288 MENDELSSOHN.
with his wife Cecile nee Jean-Renaud appear to have been
tender and satisfactory, and yet her name is hardly ever
mentioned in any letter or book of reminiscences which
has yet appeared. She seems before her own death to
have destroyed all his letters to herself, and with the ex-
ception of a few casual, but affectionate remarks in some
letters written very soon after their marriage, Mendelssohn
does not allude to her in his published correspondence.
A change, which Devrient himself can only partially ac-
count for, seems to have passed over Mendelssohn on his
return from England in 1848.
' ' I became clearly conscious of a change that had come over the sour-
ces of his inner life. His blooming, youthful joyousness had given place
to a fretfulness, a satiety of all earthly things, which reflected every thing
back from the spirit of former days. Conducting concerts, every thing
that savored of business, was an intolerable annoyance to him ; he took
no longer any pleasure in the conservatorium ; he gave over his piano-
forte pupils ; not one of the young people inspired him with any sympa-
thy; he could not bear to see any of their compositions."
If there is any explanation of this change beyond disease
of the brain, which seems to have been hereditary in the
Mendelssohn family, we shall probably not know yet a
while, or, indeed, until some of his contemporaries, who
may have the keys of the enigma in their hands, have
passed away.
He never got over the death of his favorite sister Fanny.
He went to Interlachen with his family, and w-orked hard
at the education of his children, the unfinished Lorelei and
the unfinished Christus. Soon after, at Leipsic, working
with ever more and more application as he felt the night
approaching, he was seized with a fatal pain in his head.
A relapse followed.
"On the 5th I went in the evening to Bendemann, where I hoped to
learn the latest tidings from Leipsic. There came Clara Schumann with
a letter, weeping ; Felix had died yesterday evening, Nov. 4th."
ELIJAH. —INTROD UCTIOK 289
We must conclude with a few more of Devrient's own
touching words :
"Hensel led me to the corpse, which he had thoughtfully decorated.
There lay my beloved friend in a costly coffin, upon cushions of satin, em-
broidered in tall growing shrubs, and covered with wreaths of flowers and
laurels. He looked much aged, but recalled to me the expression of the
boy as I had first seen him. Where my hand had so often stroked the
long brown locks and the burning brow of the boy, I now touched the
marble forehead of the man. This span of time in my remembrance in-
closes the whole of happy youth in one perfect and indelible thought. "
ORATORIO OF ELIJAH.
PART FIRST.
Next to the Messiah, the Elijah is the most popular
136 oratorio in England. It is shorter and more
introduction. jramatic than Handel's masterpiece, less theo-
logical than Spohr's Last Judgment, and infinitely less di-
dactic and monotonous than the wondrous Passion Music
of Sebastien Bach. Thus, while the subject-matter of the
Elijah is full of the most stirring incidents, its artistic
form is sufficiently brief to rivet the attention of even an
uncultivated audience from the first recitative down to the
last chorus. No man ever wrote more in the presence of
his public and less in the seclusion of his study than Men-
delssohn, and in no other work has he so finely calculated
the capacities of the ordinary music-loving mind, and so
richly poured forth treasures which the most experienced
musician will find, if not inexhaustible, yet always perfect.
The strange and majestic figure of the "Prodigiosus
13T# Thesbites," as he is called in the Acta /Sanctorum,
S^Prophet '1S> ushered in by four solemn but not violent
Elijah. trumpet-blasts — a mode of appeal to the imagi-
N
290 MENDELSSOHN.
nation of the audience which afterward frequently, but not
invariably, accompanies the appearance of Elijah.
The northern kingdom of Israel under Ahab, in the lux-
ury of its magnificent cities of Jezreel and Samaria, had
forgotten the God who had led the wandering tribes like
sheep through the deserts of Sinai. Jezebel, the Sidonian
queen, had not only persecuted the prophets of the true
God, but had superseded the Jewish worship of holiness
and purity with the seductive idolatry of power and pas-
sion. On every high hill flamed the pagan sacrifices, and
wild, licentious orgies had penetrated even into the sanc-
tuary of Israel, and taken the place of Jehovah's pure and
elevating ritual. The harvest of sin seemed ripe, the time
was near at hand, the hearts of the seven thousand who
had not bowed the knee to Baal cried aloud from the dens
and caves of the earth, and the God of righteousness at
last arose to confound the rebellious nation with famine
and drought. Alone, the man of the desert, clothed ?.n a
rough sheepskin, and wearing a leathern girdle about his
loins, with the suddenness of an apparition confronted the
idolatrous Ahab, and pronounced the curse of drought upon
the streams and valleys of the land.
The opening prelude indicates the gradual awakening
138. of the nation to the sense of a new calamitv.
Famine and "
Dearth. Less and less water, the wells fast drying up, the
routine of life gradually affected, the cattle fainting on the
highways, the people vainly seeking for relief, the impa-
tient and irritable chafing of the sufferers at the conse-
quences of a curse as yet but half realized ; such is the
purport of the first subject. The second begins with a
crescendo of semiquavers, indicating very powerfully the
approach of a more intense anguish. Still the first phrase
of impatience is woven into this new subject as an under-
FAMINE AND DEARTH. 291
current, and the movement is then carried on with increas-
ing vehemence until impatience rising to fury, fury sinks
at last into the wild impotence of despair, which culmi-
nates in the desperate cry of " Help, Lord !" wrung from
the whole body of the apostate people.
After the first three passionate shouts the solid business
of the first chorus begins, with a chromatic phrase of
mournful and tender beauty taken up gently and distinct-
ly by each part — "The harvest is over, the summer days
are gone, no power cometh to help !" The sorrow goes
on rocking itself into a calm and almost pensive mood,
when suddenly a change of emotion occurs with the words,
" Will then the Lord be no more God in Zion ?" It is one
of those abrupt and magical inspirations which Mendels-
sohn often employs to bind together the different sections
of his choruses; anon the old plaintive phrase is woven in
with a newly-developed meaning; the heavy grief is rapid-
ly yielding to a stern and bitter feeling in the contempla-
tion of certain special incidents of the drought, such as
" the suckling's tongue cleaving to the roof of his mouth"
and " the children crying for bread."
Another chorus full of heavy affliction follows, but its
tone is more chastened, and it is not until all irritation has
died away, and the hearts of the people have been brought
low by the divine judgments, that Obadiah, the king's
servant, in the character of a minor prophet, comes forth
to speak of a God who is slow to anger and of great kind-
ness, and repenteth him of the evil. With the immortal
tenor song, " If with all your hearts ye truly seek me," the
hearer now enjoys a short respite from the dreary and
hopeless anguish of the afflicted people.
But the rest is of short duration, for no sooner have the
last echoes of the tenor solo died away than the chorus
breaks out again into wild lamentations, mingled this time
292 MENDELSSOHN.
with a consciousness of sin as well as of suffering, and with
that sense of sin comes terror. This last emotion is almost
immediately suspended by a chorale of calm and severe
beauty worthy of Sebastien Bach, as a vision of God's holi-
ness dawns upon the sensual and idolatrous heart. The
mourners seem to forget their sorrow for a while and be-
come rapt in the contemplation, not so much of a jealous
God who visits the sins of the fathers upon the children,
as of one " whose mercies fall upon thousands." In this
wider and more consolatory view of the divine nature we
are again lifted above the harrowing scene of a great
national calamity, and soon afterward we find ourselves
transported with Elijah to a solitary place by the brook
Cherith, to await in the hollow of the torrent's bed the
further unfolding of the divine purposes.
It is here, beyond the cries of a distracted nation — be-
139. yond the reach of Ahab and the wrath of Jezebel,
The Desert, tfi&t Elijah listens in a dream to a double chorus
of angels. These choral quartets are managed with six
trebles and two basses, and any thing more truly ethereal
than the effect produced can hardly be conceived. " He
shall give his angels charge over thee." The waves of
high, clear melody break upon the stillness of the desert,
and float joyously through the air. The veil of heaven it-
self seems rent, and in the clear blue sky the faces and
forms of the angels are ranged in calm and beautiful ranks,
as in the pictures of Fra Angelico, smitten with the eternal
brightness and filled with divine harmony, as when " the
morning stars sang together, and all the sons of God
shouted for joy."
No wonder that the prophet who had listened to such
music, and received the promise of divine protection "in
all his ways," returned with more than mortal strength to
THE SA ORIFICE ON 310 UNT OARMEL. 293
minister among men. Armed with angelic might, nothing
was now impossible to him. The passionate appeal of the
widow woman of Sarepta is answered by the calm words
" Give me thy son," and as the blood begins to course
again through the veins of the dead child, and the breath
in faint rushes comes and goes, the infinite love of God
seems to break upon the poor woman's soul for the first
time, and the chorus, " Blessed are the men who fear Him,"
at once suggests the meaning of Elijah's miracle, and con-
firms in the mother's heart a new emotion of adoration
and trust.
Once more the trumpets peal forth as Elijah reappears,
140. after three years, in the presence of the kino;.
The Sacrifice on _ J ,,/.,-, , *
Mount carmei. and announces the close oi the drought. A
short choral burst interrupts his recitative — it is the clam-
oring of the fickle people, now rebellious, now penitent,
then again ready to rend in pieces the prophet of the Lord
as they shout aloud the words of the angry king : " Thou
art he that troubleth Israel." But the solemn conclusion
of all doubt is at hand, and both the multitude and the
priests of Baal become strangely docile beneath the at-
tractive power of a great impending catastrophe. Every
word of Elijah is now caught up as readily by the chorus
as were but lately the words of Ahab. The crowds sweep
on at the bidding of the prophet, who, from this time forth
throughout the scene on Carmei, never for one moment
loses his ascendency over them. They catch from his lips
the inspiration of their brief chorus— " And then we shall
see whose God is the Lord," as he gathers them together,
and summons the four hundred and fifty prophets of Baal
to meet him upon the mountain promontory.
At the command of Elijah the first heathen chorus
breaks forth. It is of a severe and formal character, very
2 [) 4 MENDELSSOHN.
simple in construction, consisting of a hard, short melody,
repeated again and again, with a kind of dogged abrupt-
ness. Indeed, the second phrase is sufficiently bare and an-
cient in form to remind one forcibly of the Macbeth music,
commonly, though falsely, attributed to Matthew Locke.
The second Baal chorus begins with great earnestness.
It is full of misgivings, and at last loses every vestige of
ritualistic stiffness in the wild cries of " Baal, hear us !"
followed by death-like pauses, in which the whole assem-
bly waits for the reply of Baal. " Call him louder !" shouts
the prophet of Jehovah, as he stands apart and views with
derision the scene of idolatrous fanaticism.
The trumpets peal forth derisively, as though to herald
in the answer of Baal, and his prophets spend themselves
in frantic efforts to awaken their sleeping god, but in vain.
Then, maddened by the exulting sarcasm of Elijah, they
pour forth their last wTild chorus, leaping upon the altar
and cutting themselves with knives, fainting at times from
sheer exhaustion and loss of blood ; then starting up with-
shrieks of frenzy and despair, they fall back upon the
ground, and their plaint relapses into a protracted mono-
tone of pain, succeeded by an awful stillness.
Wounded and bleeding around their unconsumed sacri-
fice crouch the false prophets. The shadows begin to
darken in the mountain hollows, and the sun dips slowly
in the western sea.
In the deepening twilight the voice of Elijah is heard,
and the strong, calm prayer of the true prophet ascends to
God. The meditative quartet, "Cast thy burden upon the
Lord," follows. It is exactly what is needed to prepare the
mind for the violence and tumult of the next terrible scene.
Once more Elijah speaks, but no longer in prayer. He
has transcended all ordinary forms of communion, and his
mind seems rapt in the contemplation of a spirit- world out
THE STORM ON MOUNT (JARMKL. 295
cf ail proportion to ours ; he is conversing with none oth-
er than the flaming ministers of heaven ; and at the words,
"Let them now descend," the fire falls from the skies with
the hurtling crash of thunder, and the immense chorus of
the people, thrilled with mingled ecstasy and terror, closes
in round the blazing altar of victorious Jehovah.
The pent-up excitement of a long day finds a splendid
and appropriate utterance in the passionate adoration of
the crowd, and they fall upon their faces with one mighty
and prolonged cry of " God the Lord is our God : we will
have none other God but him." In another moment the
religious emotion has passed into a murderous frenzy, and
the prophets of Baal are hewn down like corn beneath a
pelting hail-storm. The carnage is over and the vengeance
done ere night descends upon the tumultuous throng and
the smoking altar of the true God.
With a really splendid temerity characteristic of him,
141. Mendelssohn dares after this climax to return
The Storm on .
Mount carmei to the subiect with a bass solo, descriptive of
—" Thanks be . J . ,
to God." Elijahs prophetic majesty upon that memora-
ble day, and a quiet alto song, full of solemn pathos, pro-
nouncing woe upon all those who forsake God. It is here
that, were it not for the exquisite beauty of what we may
call this didactic episode, the action of the first part might
be in danger of dragging a little. But the composer is
still master of the situation. He knew that the mind would
be exhausted by the prolonged vigil and sustained excite-
ment of the scene upon Mount Carmei, and the needful re-
pose is provided.
The way in which a second great climax is rendered ef-
fective so soon after the first is worthy of some attention.
After the two didactic pieces alluded to above, which
are intended to recreate the emotions, the action becomes
296 MENDELSSOHN.
exceedingly rapid. Two short recitatives, then the brief
cry for rain, followed by the thrilling dialogue between the
prophet who prays on Carmel and the youth who watches
the sky for the first filmy shadow of a rain-cloud. " There
is nothing !" and the music is suspended on a long note of
intense anticipation. "Hearest thou no sound?" and a
growing agitation in the accompaniment makes us feel the
distant stirring of the wind. Then the little cloud appears
like a man's hand, and in a moment, as the prophet rises
abruptly from his knees, with the rapidity of an Eastern
tempest, the deluge of rain is upon us, drenching the parch-
ed valleys of Carmel, and dashing into the empty pools.
We are but one step from the grand conclusion of the first
part ; but that conclusion is not to be in the storm, as we
should have expected. No temptation can hurry Mendels-
sohn from his artistic purpose ; not a point is to be lost,
not a touch of perfection omitted. A brief shout of mad
delight rises from the people ; in the pauses of the tem-
pest, the dominant voice of the mighty Tishbite is once
more heard, uttering the phrase, "Thanks be to God!"
which is in another moment reiterated by the whole mul-
titude; and the last and greatest chorus of the first part
then commences, and thunders on with uninterrupted splen-
dor to its magnificent close.
SECOND PART.
The second part of the Elijah is in some respects finer
142 than the first. It contains at least as many inl-
and thKies- mortal fragments, while the great danger of mo-
smh. notony is avoided by a variety of new and start-
ling incidents, woven into an elaborate whole, which, if it
does not exceed the first part in beauty of arrangement,
has evidently made greater demands upon the composer,
and astonishes the listener by its sustained power and com-
pleteness.
EXULTATION. 297
die Messiah is composed in three parts ; but we may
fairly say that although Mendelssohn found it possible to
produce a second part in many respects more powerful
than the first, the unique splendor of that second part ren-
dered the very notion of a third simply out of the ques-
tion.
Resuming the subject, we find that the action is not
143 immediately recommenced. It would indeed be
rad"Benot nar<l if we could not put up with some moral
Afraid." comment upon the events which have just oc-
curred, especially when the moral is conveyed by one of
the most thrilling soprano songs ever written. The clear
freshness of the key of five sharps breaks upon us with an
impetuous rush of words, " I, I am he that comforteth ; be
not afraid; I am thy God." The highest pitch of exulta-
tion is reached when the voice sweeps up from C to the
high A, to descend through a splendid sequence and rest
upon the lower A in the words, " I the Lord will strength-
en thee." In the course of the song, all the most brilliant
soprano effects which are calculated to express the confi-
dence of a burning impetuosity seem to have been well-
nigh exhausted. The same phrase from C to A has appa-
rently brought things to a climax toward the end ; but in
the next line a completely new and still more startling ef-
fect is attained by sweeping up from B to A natural (in-
stead of the normal A sharp of the key), and descending
through a long G to the close of the song in B.
But we have not yet done with the exulting sentiment
started by the soprano, for we are now close upon what
has been not unjustly considered the greatest of Mendels-
sohn's choruses. After a silence of about half a bar, the
mighty " Be not afraid," with the whole power of the cho-
rus, orchestra, and organ, bursts with a crash upon the
N2
298 MENDELSSOHN.
audience, already filled with the emotion of triumph in its
more simple song-form. Now it is not one shrill angel
only, but, as it were, all the battalions of heaven, with
joyous shouting and glad thunder marching onward, and
chiming as they go the glorious deliverance which God
has prepared for his people.
The languishing of thousands is then described in a
minor phrase of contrast taken up by each part in succes-
sion, while the accompaniment expresses the fainting of
those who rise, and fall, and gasp for breath ; and the old
scene of the wide land smitten with drought and inexora-
ble suffering of thirst-stricken people comes back to us like
a dim memory in the midst of this glorious atmosphere of
redemptive joy, when, with a suddenness and imperious
decision that nothing can check, the dream is arrested, and
vanishes forever before the recurrence of the first colossal
subject, which now proceeds for some time with a steady
swing and a kind of white heat at once resistless and sub-
lime. The rapid march of the chorus now so fastens the
listener that he almost pants for an enlarged scene, or rath-
er longs to take in the sound with more senses than one.
There are no pages more utterly satisfactory, even to the
ordinary hearer, than the closing pages of "Be not afraid."
The satisfaction is shared by the orchestra ; every instru-
ment has to play what it can play so well; the first violin
parts, especially, make the heart of a violinist leap to look
at them. Who does not remember the richness of the ac-
companiments in that striking passage toward the close,
wrhere the musical phrase rises on a series of melodic steps,
supported by the richest harmonic suspensions, from B, B
to A, from D, D to C, from C, C to B, until the long D is
reached in the word " afraid," and the violins in serried
ranks, with all the power of the most grinding stretto, scale
to upper E once, with a shrill scream that pierces high
JEZEBEL. 299
through the orchestral tempest, and then draw down to
the long-expected D which ends the phrase? This con-
summate passage is repeated in extenso, without pause or
interlude, and brings us to the two last shouts of "Be not
afraid," accompanied by the significant silences which ush-
er in the close of the chorus ; and then, in the simplest and
broadest form, come the eight bars of thundering chorale,
" Thy help is near, be not afraid, saith the Lord." The
chorus is well weighted. Those bars rendering their three
massive clauses are felt to be sufficient balance without
any extra page of musical peroration. Any thing more
simple can hardly be imagined, but nothing more compli-
cated would produce so complete and majestic an effect.
Mendelssohn is not less great because he knows when to
be simple.
The enthusiasm of the people for the worship of the true
144 God and his prophet proves short-lived enough, and
Jezebel. ft new figUre js 110w brought before us in connection
with the popular disaffection. A few words of scathing
rebuke addressed to Ahab, in some of those matchless reci-
tatives which knit together so many portions of the orato-
rio as with links of pure gold, a lofty proclamation of the
outraged sovereignty of God, and a sharp condemnation
of Baal worship, are sufficient to bring out the Sidonian
queen with powerful dramatic effect. The type at once
of heathen pride, beauty, and insolence, this great pagan
figure, in the midst of her haughty and indomitable will,
towers high above the wretched vacillation of King Ahab
on the one hand, and the miserable irresolution of the pop-
ulace on the other. In all Israel she was the only worthy
rival of Elijah, for she alone seems to have thoroughly
known her own mind. Not for one moment did she con-
fuse the points at issue. It was human passion and human
300 MENDELSSOHN.
power pitted against the righteousness of Jehovah ; it was
the licentious orgies of Ashtoreth and the splendid rites of
the Sidonian Baal against the worship of holiness and the
severe purity of the Jewish ritual. But in the moment of
her supreme rage Jezebel did not forget her cunning, and
she sums up her case before the people in the most effect-
ive possible manner, when in her remarkable recitative she
exclaims, " Doth Ahab govern the kingdom of Israel while
Elijah's power is greater than the king's?" For popular
purposes it was not so much Jehovah against Baal as Elijah
against Ahab; and the populace now side with the queen
as readily as they had before sided with Ahab and Elijah.
Shouts of" He shall perish !" rend the air, and in the pauses
the voice of Jezebel is heard lashing the multitude into sav-
agery with her scorpion tongue. The popular wrath set-
tles at length into the powerful but somewhat unattractive
chorus of " Woe to him !" rounded off with a brief orches-
tral close, in the course of which the last forte is toned
down into pianissimo, and the much-needed rest comes in
the shape of a beautiful and tender recitative and melody,
in which Obadiah bids the prophet hide himself in the wil-
derness, assuring him, in a phrase of singular purity and
elevation, that the Lord shall go with him, " and will never
fail him nor forsake him." And yet Elijah was destined
shortly afterward to feel himself most forsaken.
Sheltered only by the scanty boughs of a solitary bush
145 in the wilderness, alone amid the inhospitable
Skjen and rocks of Southern Palestine, we can scarcely pic-
comforted. ^ure j.Q 0lirseives a figure more utterly forlorn.
Faint and weary, his steadfast spirit for once sinks within
him. A great reaction, physical as well as mental, now
sets in. Flesh and blood can stand only a certain amount
of pressure, and Elijah's power of endurance had been fair-
ELIJAH FORSAKEN AND COMFORTED. 30 1
ly overwrought. The long watch upon the mountain, the
intense emotion of that silent prayer for rain in which the
prophet seemed to bear in his heart to God the sins and
the sorrows of a whole nation — the stupendous answer to
his petition, followed by the almost immediate apostasy of
those to whom it was granted — the wrath of Jezebel, and
the rapid flight for life — all this seems to have broken down
for a moment even the noble courage and endurance of
Elijah. The first and the last feeble plaint now escapes
him : " It is enough, O Lord, now take away my life."
We are filled with reverent sympathy at the sight of the
prophet's utter dejection. Never, surely, was there any
thing conceived in the language of sound more pathetic
than the melody to which these words are set. We follow
every graduated expression of the almost monotonous emo-
tion until we perceive how largely due to mere physical
causes is this apparent spiritual lapse. Elijah prays for the
sleep of death, but the recreative sleep of the body is all
that he really needs ; and presently, in spite of himself,
overcome with intense weariness and exhaustion, while his
lips have hardly ceased to falter out the words, " It is
enough !" he falls asleep under the juniper-tree.
It is a sight for angels to look upon, and with the silence
of the wilderness and the sore need of the prophet, the ce-
lestial ministry recommences.
Not less exquisite, though more brief, and, if possible,
more perfect than the angelic chorus in the first part ("He
shall give his angels"), is the soprano trio, "Lift thine eyes
unto the hills." Happy prophet ! to pass from the arid
wilderness to such a dream of heaven, and to exchange
suddenly the valley of the shadow of death for the bright
morning hills, " Whence cometh thy help." No other vocal
trio with which we are acquainted equals this one in per-
fection of form and in the silver-toned ripple of its un-
broken harmony.
302 MENDELSSOIIX.
It was doubtless hard to follow such an inspiration ; and
with supreme skill, ere the prophet awakes, we are gently
let down to earth by a chorus only a little less heavenly
than the matchless trio itself. " He, watching over Israel,"
moves along with a certain quiet weaving of sweet rhythm
and sound which indicates marvelously the steady and tire-
less vigil of the heavenly Father over his frail children dur-
ing the hours of their helplessness.
Very softly at last comes the voice, mingling with, but
as yet hardly dissipating, the prophet's slumber, "Arise,
Elijah!" and very touching is the answer, "I have spent
my strength for naught ; O that I might now die !"
The heavenly music was reserved for his dreams; but,
true to nature, with his first waking moments the melody
reproduces the feeling of profound dejection in which he
fell asleep, praying that his life might be taken away. List-
less, without hope or fear, the disheartened prophet, in pass-
ive obedience to the divine commands, starts upon his
long lonely journey of forty days unto Horeb, the Mount
of God ; and some of the thoughts which in that pilgrim-
age may have sustained and cheered him are embodied in
the contralto song, " O rest in the Lord," and the quiet
chorus, "He that shall endure unto the end."
The hearer is frequently so entranced by the full rich-
ness of the melody that he may have failed to notice the
art-concealing art of one of the loveliest of all sacred songs.
The delicate and minute changes in a perfectly unlabored
and simple accompaniment — the fragments of tender coun-
ter-melody which, without being obtrusive, prevent the
least monotony — the gentle continuity, so expressive of
sustained and chastened devotion, which requires less than
one whole bar of rest from the time the voice begins to the
time it leaves off — the perfectly original and characteristic
coda where, in the last two utterances of the phrase, "0
EAMTHQ UAKE ON MO UNT HOREB. 303
rest in the Lord," the voice ascends unexpectedly to G in-
stead of descending to C, and where the accompaniment
contains a thrilling surprise in the slurred G to C in oc-
taves above the line; and finally the long " wait" drawn
out through a semibreve of time, with an aspiration of un-
bounded confidence, presently to be resolved into a deep
and happy repose of patience — all this, and much more,
will come back to the memory of those wIig have once
studied this matchless song.
We pass over the grave and somewhat severe chorus,
146 " He that shall endure to the end," simply remark-
on Mh<?untke mS tna^ ^ tn^s point the interest of the oratorio
Horeb. seems to be intentionally diminished, so that we
are tempted to think the action is again beginning to drag,
at the very moment we are about to be restored to the so-
ciety of the leading character, and to assist at one of the
most stupendous effects of dramatic music that has ever yet
been realized.
A soft prolonged chord forms a prelude to the reappear-
ance of Elijah among the rocky and cavernous clefts of
Mount Horeb. The night is falling around him — his mood
is changed, his deep depression has vanished. He is now
filled with a passionate desire, not to die, but to feel the
presence of his God and be assured of His protection. In
such an aspiring and expectant state of mind he hears the
voice of a strong angel — no murmur as of the night wind,
but distinct, loud, and decisive: "Arise now !"— - then a
trembling in the accompaniment, and a kind of agitation
immediately suppressed into a whisper full of awa, with the
words, "Thy face must be veiled," prepares us for the dread
announcement in a single bar of unaccompanied recitative
— "For He draweth nigh !" With a burst like that of a
sudden earthquake, the chorus," Behold God the Lord pass-
304 MENDELSSOHN.
ed by," comes upon us ; but the forte is almost instantly
suppressed, like fire that tries to escape. As when we
watch the almost silent working of some monstrous engine
whose force is nevertheless sufficient to crush the strongest
fabric to atoms, we feel the presence of a power in all that
immense repression — something latent in the noiseless mo-
tion of the wheel which makes the inexorabk swiftness of
its revolutions all the more imposing, so the same kind of
emotional effect is produced by Mendelssohn's use ofpp's
in such words as " A mighty wind rent the mountains !"
Great and glorious gusts of sound burst forth almost di-
rectly afterward, and the crescendo increases with the throes
of the earthquake until shock after shock subsides with a
diminuendo, leaving us each time breathless with the an-
ticipation of what is about to follow.
-What follows is so unexpected in the elevation of its har-
monic temperature, that we have known persons in a state
of rapt excitement, upon hearing this chorus for the first
time, break out into a cold sweat at the words, smitten like
tongues of fire from the rocks, " But the Lord was not in
the tempest !"
The mere excitement of watching for the recurrence of
this thrilling major phrase makes each stormy interval full
of new interest. Every time it recurs on a different note —
" But the Lord was not in the earthquake" — " But the Lord
was not in the fire" — which last major, before it brings the
series to a close, is carried on with a reiteration so urgent
and absorbing as to impress the mind with the thought of
a soul seized with a divine frenzy to see God, and in almost
a terror of anguish at finding the wind, and the earthquake,
and the fire pass without any definite discovery of the Di-
vine Presence. So near the absolute beatific vision, and yet
no vision ! The earthquake, and the tempest, and the blaze
of the lightning, and yet no voice, for " The Lord was not
in the fire !"
ELIJAH IS TAKEN UP INTO HEAVEN. 305
As the last wild and nearly distracted cry dies away
there comes very softly one of those magic changes in
which the whole of the emotional atmosphere shifts — the
cry of the spirit is going to be answered with a gentleness
and a power above all that it could ask or think. The
key changes from one to four sharps, and the words, "Aft-
er the fire there came a still, small voice," then follow, with
a peace and majesty of the most ineffable sweetness, "And
in that still, small voice onward came the Lord." The mel-
ody flows on in the clear and silver key of E major: it
passes like the sweeping by of a soft and balmy wind,
never rising, never falling, but gentle, and strong, and
pulseless, coming we know not whence, and passing with
the " tides of music's golden sea" into eternity. And as
the last delicate strains of the accompaniment die away,
we are left still looking up to heaven with senses enrap-
tured and purified like those who have stood beside the
gates of pearl and seen the King "in his beauty."
The recitative and chorus following, " Above him stood
the Seraphim," and " Holy, holy," develop the memory of
this blessed vision, while the outburst of earthly praise at
the close prepares us for the more commonplace scenery
of this lower world, where we are allowed to rest a while
before the final scene of the sacred drama.
Once more, and for the last time, Elijah sets out upon
N 147 his solitary way, but now he is sustained by an
ken^rp^uto" unfaltering trust. No more suffering, no more
Heaven. persecution, no more faintness or weariness ; he
is filled through and through with a sense of the divine
presence, and bears the light of God's splendor upon his
countenance. The quiet arioso andante, " For the moun-
tains shall depart," is thrown in skillfully, to recreate the
mind after the extreme tension to which it has so lately
30G MENDELSSOHN.
been held, and to prepare it for a second climax of equal
greatness and solemnity.
Nothing can be finer than what we may call the trans-
figuration of Elijah before his departure.
When we come upon him for the last time, he is more
imposing than ever — more terrible than when he first met
Ahab in the way, more majestic than when he stood upon
Carmel alone before the altar of the true God.
We are permitted to see him thus only for a few mo-
ments in the chorus, "Then did Elijah the prophet break
forth like a fire." Not in vain had he been upon the Holy
Mount and seen the Lord pass by; not in vain had the
earthquake rent the rocks at his feet and the sky been
changed into a sheet of living flame ; the tempest and the
flame seem in a manner to have passed into his being ; and
the whole man was growing almost elemental as he was
about to enter into the presence of his God. Those who
met with him were stricken with awe at his appearance,
and marked how " his words appeared like burning torch-
es ;" then remembered they how he had " heard the judg-
ments of the future and seen the vengeance of God in
Horeb."
The action from this point becomes almost intolerably
rapid ; indeed, it is wonderful how the mind has been ena-
bled to bear another climax in so short a time.
But it was doubtless impossible to put off the last scene
any longer. We feel that the beloved but terrible prophet
is already breathing the atmosphere of another world, and
has well-nigh done with this earth.
Abruptly, in a moment, the phrase, "And when the Lord
would take him away to heaven," is heard; first from a
solitary bass voice, then from a rushing and impetuous
chorus, as of a multitude who see the heavens opened be-
fore them, and answer with a frantic shout of mingled ter-
A PERFECT CLOSE. 307
ror and adoration. A brief pause, and the chariot and
horses of fire are there, and black clouds hurled about by
a whirlwind, and flashes of intolerable radiance and mighty
thunderings — and Elijah has passed.
" He went up by a whirlwind into heaven."
All through this rending of sky, and cloud, and terror of
blinding flame, the tension on the mind, produced by the
accompaniment of incessant triplets in semiquavers, sup-
ported by a magnificent pedal bass of chords and octaves,
is so great that we lose all account of the time taken by
the whirlwind. It is, however, very considerable, as a
glance at the score will show us, and accordingly produces
an adequate and massive impression, suitable to the au-
gust and miraculous nature of the event. The last long
"Whirl — wind" on a minim is but one more instance of
Mendelssohn's inexhaustible command of effects at the
moment when he seems to have strained our powers of
endurance to the utmost, and exhausted every combination
of sound.
Few composers wrould have attempted to produce, at no
148. great distance from each other, in one and the
A perfect .
Close. same part, two such crises as the scene on Horeb
and the Fiery Ascension ; but surely none but the very
finest genius would have resisted the temptation of closing
the oratorio with this last scene. But Mendelssohn has
had the courage to despise mere sensation for the sake of
perfection, and has thus here, as elsewhere, asserted his
claim to join hands with Handel, Mozart, and Beethoven.
Steadily through the glare of light which at once trans-
ports and dazzles us does this great oratorio "orb into the
perfect star we saw not when we moved therein." The bad
art of leaving; off with a shock finds no favor with so com-
308 MEXDELSSOHX.
plete an artist as Mendelssohn, and his greatness is never
more felt than in the incomparable richness of the music
from the time when all scenic effect is over, and all dra-
matic action has ceased.
At the close of some refulgent summer day, when the sun
has set, darkness does not immediately take possession of
the earth; the sky still pulses with pale light, and long
crimson streaks incarnadine the west. Then, as we watch,
the colors change and nicker, thin spikes of almost impal-
pable radiance shoot upward through the after-glow, and
with celestial alchemy turn many a gray cloud into gold.
The rising mists are caught and melted capriciously into
violet and ruby flame; and as the eye, still dazzled with
the sun, traverses the deserted heavens, the prospect is no
doubt more peaceful than when the fiery globe was there
— more peaceful, for the cold twilight grows apace, and the
eye is gradually cooled as it gazes upon the fading fires,
until at last the subtle essences of the night have toned all
down into a calm monotint of gray and passionless repose.
The conclusion of the Elijah is like the splendor and the
peace of such a sunset. The day-star is indeed gone, but
all things are still impregnated with his glory, and not un-
til every gradation of color has been traversed are we suf-
fered to rest from our contemplations, and drink deep, as it
were, from the cool cisterns of the silent night.
From the time of Elijah's departure we notice a prepon-
derance of clear refreshing majors, which make us feel aware
that we are coming to the end of our journey — just as the
odor of brine from the ocean tells the traveler that he is
approaching the sea-shore. The great tenor song, " Then
shall the righteous shine," which falls as out of high heav-
en, like the clarion shout of an angel, is in the major; so
is the chorus, " But the Lord ;" so is the delicious quartet,
" O come every one that thirsteth, come to the waters;"
A PERFECT CLOSE. 309
and so also is the final chorus, "And then shall your light
break forth as the light of the morning !"
The one recitative which occurs gives a curious theolog-
ical twist to the close by working in an allusion to Elijah's
second advent as the forerunner of Messiah ; indeed, we
may call the quartet, "O come every one," strictly Messi-
anic. It is as if Mendelssohn felt the incompleteness of
the grandest revelation in the Old Testament apart from
the New, and wished to give his hearers at least a hint of
the Christian dispensation, a subject which he would, no
doubt, have developed had he lived to complete his unfin-
ished oratorio of Christus. Some people complain of the
last chorus as dull and needlessly protracted. But the
more we study the Elijah, the more we perceive that this
chorus is necessary, and in its place at the end. It is quite
regular, and even somewhat mechanical, and it leaves the
mind in an atmosphere at once severe and tranquil. That
is a very high level of conception for the closing treatment
of so majestic a subject, and it would be difficult to improve
upon it without fatally destroying the musical morality as
well as the artistic beauty of the work.
The Elijah destroyed Mendelssohn. It was produced for
the first time at the Birmingham Festival in 1846, when
Mendelssohn himself conducted, and there can be little
doubt that the excitement and incessant toil incident upon
so great an undertaking largely helped to shatter a frame
already enfeebled by excessive mental exertion.
On the 4th of November, 1847, Felix Mendelssohn Bar-
tholdy died at Leipsic, before he had completed his thirty-
uinth year.
END OF THE SECOND BOOK.
®l)irb Sock.
INSTRUMENTAL.
VIOLINS, PIANO -FOKTES, BELLS, AND
CAEILLONS.
Sljirb Book.
VIOLINS.
i.
I have never been able to class violins with other instru-
149 ments. They seem to possess a quality and char-
introduction. acter 0f their own. Indeed, it is difficult to con-
template a fine old violin without something like awe ; to
think of the scenes it has passed through long before we
were born, and the triumphs it will win long after we are
dead ; to think of the numbers who have played on it, and
loved it as a kind of second soul of their own ; of all who
have been thrilled by its sensitive vibrations; the great
works of genius which have found in it a willing inter-
preter; the brilliant festivals it has celebrated; the soli-
tary hours it has beguiled ; the pure and exalted emotions
it has been kindling for perhaps two hundred years ; and
then to reflect upon its comparative indestructibility ! Or-
gans are broken up, their pipes are redistributed, and their
identity destroyed; horns are battered and broken, and get
out of date ; flutes have undergone all kinds of modifica-
tions; clarionets are things of yesterday; harps warp and
rot ; piano-fortes are essentially short-lived ; but the sturdy
violin outlasts them all. If it gets cracked, you can glue it
O
314 VIOLINS.
up; if it gets bruised, you can patch it almost without in-
jury ; you can take it to pieces from time to time, strength-
en and put it together again, and even if it gets smashed
it can often be repaired without losing its individuality,
and not unfrequently comes home from the workshop bet-
ter than ever, and prepared to take a new lease of life for
at least ninety-nine years.
These and similar thoughts forced themselves upon me
as I found myself some time ago in the quaint old work-
shop of one of the most gifted violin-makers of the age. It
might have been the house of Stradiuarius at Cremona in
1720. Violins lay around us in every possible stage of com-
position and decomposition — new violins made with loving
care by the keen workman who would never hear them in
their maturity ; old violins that had somehow got wrong,
and which had to be kept like watches until they went
right; violins suffering from the "wolf;" others bruised
and dilapidated ; sick violins, with their bellies* off; oth-
ers, equally indisposed, waiting to have their backs put on ;
a vast number without any heads, several waiting for ribs,
and piles and piles of what we may call violin-bones, con-
sisting of various pieces of hundreds of instruments of all
ages, waiting to be made up at the discretion of the ar-
tificer into violins of no particular age. The dim light
came in through one window upon those relics of the past.
The sun seemed to have subdued himself for the occasion.
A stronger glare, I felt, would have affronted the dusky
browns and sober tints of that old-fashioned workshop.
Rome was not built in a day, nor was the violin the in-
150. vention of any one man or a^e. Like the piano,
Ongiu of J ° l '
the violin, its elements maybe said to have come together
from the four quarters of the globe. They appear to have
* Technical term for the front of the instrument.
ORIGIN OF THE VIOLIN. 3! 5
been combined in every possible proportion, until endless
experiments and the most grotesque forms resulted at
length in the singularly perfect and exquisitely simple in-
strument known as the Cremona violin, which no time
seems likely to impair, and no art seems able to improve.
As we look with a certain interest at the earliest daubs of
a great painter, or compare the wooden huts of a barbarous
age with the stately edifices of our own, so we may be al-
lowed to recall for a moment those rough early forms which
have contributed their several elements to the violin.
If I were writing a treatise in the German style, I should
be prepared to show how, at some remote period before the
dawn of history, the great European races migrated from
India, passing through Bactria, Persia, Arabia, and Arme-
nia, and, crossing the Hellespont, overflowed Roumelia,
Wallachia, Croatia, Styria, and Bohemia, then, stretching
away to the Danube and the Rhine, proceeded to people
all Gaul under the name of Celt, from whence, as wTe all
know, they crossed over to Britain ; and then, after prov-
ing that the Chrotta Britanna was an instrument common
to both Gaul and Britain, I should show, by a comparison
between the instruments now in use in India and those
played on by the ancient Europeans, that the Indo-Celtic
race must certainly have transported the first rough model
westward from the East. But perhaps it would be more
true, if not quite so learned, to say that the principle of a
string stretched on wood and set in vibration by horsehair
or some kind of fibre has been known time out of mind by
almost every nation in the world; and as we are now con-
cerned only with the modern violin, I must beg leave to
make short work with the savants, and confine the read-
er's attention to what I may call its three roots, e. g. :
The JRebek, or lute-shaped instrument, with one or three
strings; the Cvoutli, or long box-shaped instrument, with
316 VIOLINS.
six or more strings (in both these the strings are supported
by bridges and played with bows, as in the violin) ; and,
lastly, the JRotta, or kind of guitar, without a bridge or
bow, and played by the fingers.
In a MS. of the ninth century we have a drawing of
the rebek, although it was probably known as early as the
sixth. The crouth is somewhat later; we have no repre-
sentation of it earlier than the eleventh century. It was
an improved form of the rebek, but it does not appear to
have superseded it for many centuries. The last player on
the crouth was a Welshman, whose name was, of course,
Morgan — John Morgan. He lived in the Isle of Anglesea,
and died about 1720. The rebek was by far the ruder in-
strument of the two, and became extinct at a somewhat
earlier date. It was the instrument of the people, and war
rasped at every fair and tournament. It found little favo
with either monks or nobles, who are usually represented
playing on the more aristocratic crouth. It stood in some-
what the same relation to the latter as the accordion does
to the concertina. The rotta may be thought of simply
as a form of guitar. But it must be remembered that all
these three instruments were constantly undergoing mod-
ifications in size and shape ; that some rebeks had but one
string, some crouths three or six, some rottas as many as
seventeen.
And now, if the reader wishes to know how the violin
arose out of this medley, adopting various items in the
composition of each of the above instruments, and adding
a something of its own which bound these scattered hints
of substance, and shape, and sound into a higher unity, we
advise him to take a good look at Figs. 1, 2, and 3, and then
accompany us through the following brief analysis.
In the rebek (Fig. l,p. 318) we get the rounded form
pierced with two slits to let the sound out, which we also
ORIGIN OF THE VIOLIN. 317
find in the upper part of the front of a violin. We have a
bridge, a tail-piece, and screws, with doubtless a sound-post
inside to resist the thrust of the bridge upon the front or
belly. We also note that a box for the screws and the
shape of the head come from the rebek, and not from the
crouth.
From the crouth (Fig. 2) we get the important detail of
the back and the belly joined by sides. This principle of
two vibrating surfaces joined by what we call ribs or sides
was an immense step forward, as will be presently seen.
The shape of the tail-piece was nearly the same as in our
violins.
From the rotta, or, speaking more generally, from the
guitar tribe, came the suggestion of the two curves inward
in the sides, and the semicircular curve of lower part to
correspond with the top. From the guitar tribe we also
get the elongated neck made separate from the body of
the instrument, and ultimately the six frets on the finger-
board, now happily abolished, which for a hundred and fifty
years marred the perfection of the violin.
We have now an instrument of the viol tribe something
like this (Fig. 3), which we may place roughly in the twelfth
century. Although to the inexperienced it may look some-
thing like a violin, the most that can be said of it is that
it contains only those elements of the violin which that in-
strument has borrowed from the rebek, crouth, and rotta,
and still lacks the characteristics which constitute the
violin proper, and raise it above the whole race of the old
viols.
About the end of the fourteenth century, at the dawn of
scientific music, viols were made in great profusion : the
number of strings does not appear to have been fixed, and
ranged from three to six or more. About this time it was
noticed that human voices might be divided into four class-
1. Rebek. 2. Crouth.
3. Transition Instrument. 4. Violin, Bow. and Bridge.
OHIO IN OF THE VIOLIN. 319
es — soprano, contralto, tenor, and bass — and in the light of
this discovery we soon find viols divided into the quartet,
e. g., violette, alto, tenor, and bass. We shall probably
never know all the curious shapes and sizes of viols which
were made between the twelfth and sixteenth centuries.
Large quantities have perished, others have been used up
for violins. The lute-makers were constantly trying ex-
periments. We find instruments which it is difficult to
class at all, others that early went out of fashion, while the
most recognized forms were hardly fixed, and were contin-
ually being modified, altered, or added to. As music grew,
so did the rage for viols, and it is owing partly to the
quantities made and partly to the caprice of the makers,
partly to the waste and ruin of time, that it becomes diffi-
cult to trace in detail the steps from the rough viol to the
violin, until we suddenly find this latter, about the middle
of the sixteenth century, occupying a modest position in
the midst of that host of viols which it was destined to
supersede forever. But the violin with four strings, and
tuned as at present, continued for a few years in obscurity.
In a concise Italian catalogue (printed in 1601) of viols
then in use, it is not once mentioned; and in 1607, when
two were certainly used in Monteverde's opera of Orfeo,
played at Mantua, they are alluded to as " two little French
violins," which seems to indicate that the French makers
first discovered this modification of the viol. In 1620, Mi
chael Praetorius, in the Theatrum Tnstrumentorum, publish-
ed at Wolfenbiittel, gives us an undoubted picture of an
instrument which is none other than the violin. And now,
if the reader will glance from Fig. 3 to 4, he will at once
see how the mongrel of the twelfth century was transform-
ed through a course of successive developments into the
violin of the sixteenth. The flat guitar-front is changed
for the raised belly, the smooth curves of the sides are bro-
320 VIOLINS.
ken into four corners* — a form which was found better to
resist the strain of the bridge, and also allows a freer action
of the bow. The slits in the shape of £ ^'s take the place
of the C ")'s; the handle, instead of being flat and wide, is
narrow and rounded ; the finger-board is raised, and reach-
es over the curve of the belly, instead of being in the same
plane with the flat guitar front ; and the guitar frets are
abolished. Soon after we meet with the tenor viol and
double bass, all built on the same model ; and the constel-
lation of "The Violin," suddenly detaching itself from the
confused nebulae of the violas, shines out brightly in the
musical firmament.
The violin has four strings tuned in the treble clef; the
first is E between the lines, the second A between the. lines,
the third D under the lines, and the fourth string G under
the lines. The natural compass is from G under the lines
to B above the lines ; but by shifting the hand up the fin-
ger-board— a practice unknown to the viol-player — the
compass may be almost indefinitely increased. The first
three strings are made of thin gut, the fourth of gut cov-
ered with silver wire. The bow is strung with horsehair,
powdered with rosin, which readily bites the strings and
keeps them in vibration.
Whether the violin model came from France or Italy, it
151# is indebted to Italy, and to Italy alone, for its
Magmi,°andathe r^se an^ progress. If it was a French seed, it
Amatis. early floated away from its native land to take
root and flourish in Italian soil. There were great lute
schools at Brescia as early as 1450, and viols were fabrica-
* Since writing the above I have seen a drawing of a capital in the Ab-
bey S. George de Boscherville, near Rouen, containing a viol with sides
broken into four corners. 1006 is the date. I believe this to be a singu-
lar curiosity.
GASPABO DI SAL 0, ETC. 3 2 1
ted in large quantities somewhat later at Venice, Bologna,
and Mantua. But it was in the workshop of Gaspaeo di
Salo that the first Italian violin was probably made. Like
almost all the great violin-makers, he lived to an advanced
age, and died, after fifty good years of work, in the town
of Brescia. A violin of his is extant dated 1566, and an-
other dated 1613. He found at least one great pupil in
Jean Paul Magini (1590-1640) — not to be confounded with
Santo Magini, a celebrated double-bass maker in the seven-
teenth century. The Magini violins closely resemble those
of Gasparo di Salo. The sides are narrow, the arch of the
belly is high, and extends almost up to the sides ; the in-
strument is strongly built ; the varnish, of a yellowish light
brown, is very pure and of an excellent quality. The tone
is like that of a powerful violin muffled. It is, however,
much more sonorous than the older viols.
Passing by such inferior makers as Antonino Mariani,
Juvietta Budiana and Matteo Bente, both of Brescia, we
come to the illustrious founder of the Cremona School,
Andeeus Amati. When and where he was born, and who
were his masters, we can not say with certainty. What is
certain is that he worked in the first half of the sixteenth
century, and set up a manufactory of his own at Cremona
— some say, after having studied in the old Brescia school
of Magini. A large number of his finest violins disappear-
ed from Versailles after the 5th and 6th of October, 1790.
These instruments had been the property of Charles IX.,
who seems to have been a great fiddler.
Like all the cabinet instruments of the day, spinets,
lutes, theorbos, mandores, and guitars, the violins of An-
drew Amati are not loud — a loud violin would have killed
the other instruments, and grated on ears only accustomed
to the feeble twanging of old viols, and faint tinkle of the
ancestors of the harpsichord and piano-forte. The Andrew
02
v|22 VIOLINS.
Amatis are usually a little smaller than the Maginis, much
raised toward the centre, finely worked throughout, and
thickly varnished light brown ; the sound is soft and clear.
His two sons, Jerome and Antonius Amati, inherited
their father's workshop and genius in 1580. They seem to
have worked together, and those instruments which were
the results of their united efforts are the finest. They are
highly vaulted in front, deeply scooped out on either side
of the vaults, the wrood is chosen with great care, the
workmanship is exquisitely smooth, they have not much
power, the first and second strings are sweet and delicate,
the third a little dull, and the fourth disproportionately
weak. About 1635 Antonius died. Jerome married, and,
although some of his instruments are equal in workman-
ship to the earlier ones made conjointly with his brother,
those made after the death of Antonius are, as a rule, in-
ferior.
Nicolas, son of Jerome, born 1596, was the greatest of
the Amatis. The superior grace and elegance of his forms
at once strike the practiced eye. The curves are less ab-
rupt and more carefully studied, the proportions more
subtle and harmonious, the varnish is plentiful, soft, and
glossy. A few extant violins, wrhich have been worked
out with a truly astonishing labor of love, are of indescrib-
able beauty and finish. M. Allard, the eminent French vi-
olinist, possesses one of them. Another perfect gem, bear-
ing date 1668, bolonged to Count Cozio. With great
sweetness and evenness of tone they unite a certain clear,
unmuflled brilliancy prophetic of the last achievements o*"
the art.
The second Jerome, the last of this great family, is in no
wise remarkable except for the mediocrity of the instru-
ments which he has labeled with the great name of Amati.
To the school of Nicolas Amati belongs the illustrious Jo-
STRADIUARIUS. 323
seph Guarnerius, whose genius and originality might well
entitle him to a separate biographical notice ; but the
Amatis and all their associates pale before the one great
name which is forever associated with Cremona, Antonius
Stradiuarius. We have now traversed just one hundred
years from Gasparo di Salo to Stradiuarius. One after an-
other, quality after quality had been discovered. Gasparo
and Magini determined the main outline and build, and
produced a new tone essentially superior to that of the old
viols, though still somewhat dull and muffled. The Ama-
tis and J. Guarnerius brought the workmanship near to
perfection, improved the proportions, and produced a clear,
soft tone of silvery sweetness. It remained for one master
mind at this propitious crisis to step in and unite to the
softness and brilliancy of his predecessors a powerful depth
and body of sound entirely his own.
The rise of music in Italy and the perfection of the great.
152# violin schools closely followed the rise and per-
stradiuarms. fec^jon of Italian painting. It was at the begin-
ning of the sixteenth century that all the elements of the
art which had existed apart from each other began to
come together: the study of anatomy and chiaroscuro
from Florence and Padua, richness of color from Venice,
reverence for ideal beauty from Umbria. It was toward
the end of the seventeenth century that one great maker
gathered up in himself the perfections of all his predeces-
sors, and bequeathed to modern ears, in tonal splendor, de-
lights analogous to those which the noblest painters have
left us in form and colors. Like the rapid perfection of
Greek sculpture under Pericles, or the sudden blossoming
of Italian art under Pope Julius II., so, at the close of one
short century, broke into perfect bloom the flower of the
Cremonese school. Antonius Stradiuarius stands crown*
324 VIOLINS.
eel the monarch of his art, the Phidias or the Raphael of
the violin.
This remarkable man was born in 1644. There could
be but one master for Stradiuarius — the great Nicolas
Amati. The highest genius is often the most impressiona-
ble in its early stages, and we should never be surprised
to find it engaged for a time simply in reflecting with ut-
ter devotion and the most perfect fidelity the highest
known types. The early pictures of Raphael are scarcely
distinguished from the later productions of Perugino ;
Beethoven's first strains remind us forcibly of Mozart ;
and the first violins made by Stradiuarius, from 1667 to
1670, are not only exact copies of Amati, but are actually
labeled with his name. Little is known about the great
pupil, but that little exhibits to us a man who never had
but one ambition — who without haste, but also without
rest, labored for the perfection of the violin. He took his
time to watch, to listen, to test, and to ponder, waiting
frequently years for his results, and accounting failure oft-
entimes as precious as success. To him the world was
nothing but one vast workshop. On the western slopes
of the Swiss mountains there were fair forests of maple
and willow. It may be doubted whether he ever saw
them, but they grew good wood for violins. The sun of
Lombardy beat fiercely down on the white marble dust of
the Italian roads, and made Cremona in the dog-days little
better than an oven ; but the heat was good to dry the
wood for violins. The fruit of the vine was refreshing,
but the most precious ingredient was, after all, the spirit
which mixed the varnish for the wood of violins. Sheep,
oxen, and horses were, no doubt, valuable for food and la-
bor, but the best parts of them were the intestines, which
made strings for violins ; the mane or tail, which provided
hair for the bow ; and the gelatinous hoof, which yielded
STRADIUAMUS. 325
erood o-lue for the manufacture of violins. After his first
essays, in which he may be supposed to have completely
mastered the forms of the old makers, and sounded their
shortcomings, Stradiuarius appears to have passed almost
twenty years in profound absorption and study. He was
trying to solve those problems in sound which previous
makers had only suggested. Why were some violins
sweet and others harsh, or some clear while others were
muffled ? What were the peculiar forms and proportions
which made Nicolas Amati superior to his predecessors ?
Was it possible, by deviating from these forms, to gain an
increase of power without a loss of sweetness? Some such
speculations as these no doubt occupied Antonius from
1670 to 1690. They were his years of meditation, theory,
and experiment. We have few violins of this period, but
these few bear his own name, and still bear a strong re-
semblance to the Amatis. It seems almost as if, in what
he gave to the world, he had been unwilling to depart
from the finest model he knew until he had discovered a
finer. After all, it is only the second-rate minds that are
forever explaining their methods, and bringing the para-
phernalia of the workshop before the public; the first-class
men have a passion for the perfect work, and can afford to
suppress many beautiful failures which seem to them mere-
ly steps in the ladder of progress.
No doubt, then, the sudden change we notice in 1690
was not the result of a momentary inspiration so much as
the embodiment of twenty years of thought and experi-
ment.
Stradiuarius had discovered a better model, and his work
henceforth ceases to be a close copy of his masters. His
violins are now somewhat wider, the arch of the belly is
less abrupt, the thicknesses of the wood are fixed accord-
ing to more rigorous experiments, the varnish has a tinge
326 VIOLINS.
of red in it, yet the maker has not readied his climax.
The violins up to this period, from 1690 to 1700, are called
Stradiuarius Amati. The great artist has now reached his
fiftieth year — his hand and eye had at length attained su-
preme skill and freedom. The violins from 1720 to 1725
have all the grace and boldness of a Greek frieze drawn by
a master's hand. The curves are perfectly graceful — the
arch of the belly, not too flat or too much raised, is the
true natural curve of beauty. On each side the undulating
lines, as from the bosom of a wave, flow down and seem to
eddy up into the four corners, where they are caught and
refined away into those little angles with that exquisite
finish which rejoices the heart of a connoisseur. When
the instrument is held sideways against the light, the curve
of the back, without being exactly similar, is seen to form
a sweep in delicious harmony with the upper arch. The
details have lost all the old cut-and-dried stiffness; the two
-C^* 's are carved with a symmetry and elegance of pat-
tern which later makers have copied closely, but have not
ventured to modify. The Stradiuarius is throughout a
thing of beauty, and, it may be added, almost a joy forev-
er. When opened for repairs, the interior is no less per-
fect. The little blocks, and ribs, and slips of wood to
strengthen the sides, all are without a scratch or shadow
of roughness; the weight and size of each are carefully ad-
justed to the proportion of the whole; and as great poets
are said to spend days over a line, so Stradiuarius may
well have spent as long over the size, position, and finish
of many a tiny block ; and as the great architects of the
thirteenth century lavished exquisite work on little details
of their cathedrals, in lofty pinnacles and hidden nooks, so
did this great maker finish as carefully interior angles and
surfaces that were, perhaps, never to be seen but once in a
hundred years, if so often, and then only by the eye of
some skillful artificer.
STRADIUARIUS. 327
It is in this way that many plausible forgeries are de-
tected. Early in the present century the French makers
began to copy the Stradiuarius violins so closely that to
the eye there seemed little difference between the origi-
nals and the copies; but when the forgeries were taken to
pieces to improve their dull tone, or to be cleaned and
mended, the dead men's bones, in the shape of rough blocks,
lumps of glue, and rugged work of all kinds, were disclosed,
and it became quite clear that these miserable whited sep-
ulchres had never imprisoned the soul of a Cremona. And
thus the labor of love, which might have seemed in vain
to the master's contemporaries, has had its reward at last,
and lives forever to testify to the cunning hand and the
devoted heart. And by a singular accident, which the old
makers could not have foreseen, all their violins have been
opened, and the faithfulness of their work made manifest,
for the bar which runs down the middle of the inside of
the arch, to support the strain of the bridge, has had to be
replaced in each case by a stronger bar, as the pitch has
risen through successive years, and the tension of the
strings increased in proportion.
Stradiuarius made, besides violins, tenors, violoncellos,
and basses, a great quantity of lutes, guitars, and viols,
which are still celebrated. His tenors are few in number,
but very fine, and his basses have all the characteristic
qualities of the violins. In a few instruments belonging
to his fine period (l 700-1 725) we notice a departure from
his most perfect forms — some are elongated, and others
bulge like the older models — and both are proportionately
inferior in quality.
From 1725 to 1730 the violins are still fine, but fewer in
number, and of more doubtful authenticity. Some are be-
gun by him and finished by pupils ; others, made under his
direction, merely bear his name. About 1730 the master's
328 VIOLINS.
name begins to disappear; yet after this date there are
several violins known to be by his hand : the execution is
uncertain, the designs are drawn with less vigor, and a
want of finish generally attests the dim eye and feeble
hand of old age.
In 1 736, Stradiuarius, being then ninety-two years old,
took up his keen chisel and completed with his own hand
his last violin. The old man had been waiting for death
ever since 1729, the year in which he had his tomb made
ready; he died in 1737.* His last years were employed in
forming such pupils as Bergonzi and Peter Guarnerius. He
was quite aware that his creative period was long past,
and although he no longer labeled his instruments, in his
last years he made an incredible number of sketches and
models for violins, which were afterward finished by his
numerous pupils, and sold as genuine products.
Lute-maker Antonius was probably little moved by the
political convulsions of his age. In 1702 Cremona was tak-
en during the War of Succession by the French Marshal
Villeroy, recovered by Prince Eugenius, and taken again
by the French. After that time for many years Italy con-
tinued in a state of profound and fatal tranquillity. But
peace no doubt suited the absorbed workman better than
any patriotic war.
If, before we take leave of the personal history of this
great man, we are to try and see him as he appeared in
his green old age to the inhabitants of Cremona, we must
transport ourselves to the house No. 1239, in the Piazza
S. Domenico, at Cremona, and imagine that (now) carpet
warehouse changed into an old workshop like that de-
* "In pulling down the church of San Domenico, at Cremona, the
tomb of Antonio Stradivari, the great violin-maker, has been discovered.
His remains have been transported to the cemetery, where a monument
will be erected to him." — Musical Standard.
STRADIUARIUS. 329
scribed at the commencement of this chapter. There lived
and died Antonius Stradiuarius, known to all men, respect-
ed as one of the oldest inhabitants, and envied by not a
few as the most celebrated lute-maker in Italy. We can
not join hands with him through any living person who
has seen him, but we can almost. Bergonzi, grandson of
the great Carlo Bergonzi, who died only a few years ago
at the age of eighty, used to point out the house of his
grandfather's contemporary. And old Polledro, late chap-
el-master at Turin, describes Antonius as an intimate friend
of his master, and we shall get no nearer to Antonius than
the description he has left of him. He was high and thin,
and looked like one worn with much thought and inces-
sant industry. In summer he wore a white cotton night-
cap, and in winter a white one made of some woolen ma-
terial. He was never seen without his apron of white
leather, and every day was to him exactly like every other
day. His mind was always riveted upon his one pursuit,
and he seemed neither to know nor to desire the least
change of occupation. His violins sold for four golden
livres apiece, and were considered the best in Italy ; and
as he never spent any thing except uj)on the necessaries of
life and his own trade, he saved a good deal of money, and
the simple-minded Cremonese used to make jokes about
his thriftiness, and not, perhaps, without a little touch of
envy, until the favorite proverb applied to a prosperous
fellow-citizen used to be " As rich as Stradiuarius /"*
And now it may be thought that enough has been said
153. concerning violins and their makers, but, in truth,
Violin- & .
making, we have only come to the threshold of the subject,
* Figure 4 is copied from a very perfect and powerful instrument in
the writer's possession, bearing a label with the master's seal: "Antonius
Stradiuarius Cremonensis faciebat anno 1712."
330 VIOLINS.
and the mysteries of the manufacture remain to be ex-
pounded. This it would be exceedingly difficult to do
without the aid of a great many diagrams, and, indeed,
without presupposing the reader to have acquired some
practical knowledge of the art. I must here confine my-
self to a few leading points.
It has been sometimes said that the merit of a violin is
not so much in the make as (i.) in the age, and (n.) the
quality of vibration produced in the wood by incessant
use. It may be answered, first, that no doubt age improves
violins, but age will never make a good violin out of a bad
one ; witness the host of violins that were made in the
time of Stradiuarius by makers whose names are either
known as greatly inferior to his, or forgotten altogether.
Again, that using a violin keeps it in good condition is no
doubt true ; but that much using a bad one will make it
good is not certainly the case ; for how many bad fiddles
are there that have been scraped assiduously for ages, and
are still as bad as can be ?
Thus it would appear that the secret of excellence lies
neither in age nor use, but must be sought elsewhere.
The excellence of a violin depends, roughly speaking,
upon two ranges of qualities: 1. The thickness, density,
and collocation of the various woods. 2. On the nature
and direction of the curves.
1. The front of a violin is of soft deal, the back and sides
are of maple. Now it is well known that a piece of wood,
like a string in tension, can be set in vibration, and will
then yield a certain musical note — the pitch of that note
will depend upon the length, thickness, and density of the
wood — and that note will be generated by a certain num-
ber of sound-waves or vibrations. Now, when the back
or front of a violin is covered with fine sand, and struck,
or otherwise caused to vibrate, the sand will arrange itself
SI0L1N- MAKING. 331
in certain lines, corresponding to the waves of sound which
generate the note belonging to the back or front, as the
case may be. M. Savarfc maintains that after testing a
great many of Stracliuarius's violins in this way, he found
that all the finest gave the same note, but that in no case
was the note of the front the same as the note of the back.
Further experiment showed that in the finest violins there
was a whole note between the back and the front, and that
any departure from this rule was accompanied with injury
to the tone. There is probably a general kind of truth at
the bottom of these remarks, although suspicion has been
thrown on the worth and extent of M. Savart's experi-
ments by some of our experienced makers ; however, the
following facts, stated necessarily with considerable rough-
ness, may be relied upon :
For the front of the violin you must choose a very light,
soft, and porous wood — there is nothing better in this way
than common deal. When dry, if you cut a section and
look at it through the microscope, you will see it to be full
of little hollow cells, once filled with the sap ; the more of
such cells there are, the more quickly will the wood vi-
brate to sound. Of such wood, then, we make the table
of harmony, or sound-board, or belly of our violin. But in
proportion to the quickness will be the thinness and eva-
nescence of the sound, and if the back vibrated as quickly
as the front, the sound would be very poor. Accordingly,
we take maple wood for the back. It is a harder wood,
containing less sap, and, consequently, fewer hollow cells
when dry. It therefore vibrates more slowly than deal:
the effect of this is to detain the waves of sound radiating
from the deal, and to mix them with slower vibrations of
the back in the hollow of the instrument. The ribs or
sides of the violin, which are also made of maple, serve to
connect the quickly vibrating belly with the slowly vibrat-
332 VIOLINS.
ing back, and hold them until both throb together with full
pulsation and body of sound. But we must not omit to
mention a little bit of stick called the sound-post, which is
stuck upright inside the violin, just under the bridge, and
helps the front to support the strain put upon it by the
strings. This insignificant little post, connecting as it does
the inside roof of the belly directly with the back, is so im-
portant in helping to communicate and mix the vibrations,
that the French have called it the " soul of the violin ;"
indeed, by moving it only a hair's breadth a sensible dif-
ference in the quality of the tone is produced, and a whole
morning may sometimes be wasted in putting it up and
shifting it about from one side to the other. The best pos-
sible advice to all amateurs is, when your sound-post is up,
leave it alone ; but if it is evidently in the wrong place,
don't attempt to alter it yourself, but have it set right by
some first-rate violin doctor.
But we have not quite done with the vibratory qualities
of the wood. Great skill must be exercised in the choice
of woods. You might cut up a dozen maple-trees without
finding a piece of wood so smooth and regular in grain,
and of such even density as some of the Stradiuarius backs;
and then, although deal is more porous than maple, yet all
deal has not the same porousness, nor is all maple equally
close-grained. Consequently, two pieces of deal of equal
dimensions will not give the same note.
How did Stradiuarius find out the notes of his wood ?
how did he measure its vibration? was he aware of the in-
terval between the notes of his fronts and his backs ? How
much he knew we shall perhaps never be able to ascertain.
His experiments in sound have not been handed down to
us, any more than his way of mixing that crystal varnish
into which you can look as into the warm shadows of sun-
lit water. The best authorities believe that he did not
VIOLIN-MAKING. 333
know the reason of what he did — did not determine at all
scientifically the various densities of his woods, or inten-
tionally place a whole tone between the back and the bel-
ly ; and for this reason, that had he once discovered these
laws, neither he nor his pupils would have deviated from
them, and we know that he did so deviate ; for out of the
immense number of his instruments only the finest of his
finest period obey the test of these natural laws of acous-
tics.
I am told that after years of familiarity with violins and
their woods, the hand gets to tell the different densities of
wood by the feel, just as blind people can tell certain col-
ors ; and it is possible that Stradiuarius, in his choice of
woods and their tonal relations, was guided by a certain
instinct insensibly founded upon the immense range of his
experience. I am assured by an eminent maker that he
can tell by the feel the kind of wood which is likely to form
the right front to get on well with a certain back, and vice
versd.
But we must not forget to say a word about the curves.
We have seen that the general shape of the violin has been
fixed, after years of varied experiment. It is not shaped so
for convenience (although its last most perfect shape hap-
pens to be also the most convenient), but because its final
shape is acoustically proved to be the best. The most
important curves are the longitudinal and latitudinal lines
of the belly and the back. At first viols were made flat,
like guitars, then in all sorts of fanciful curves ; the older
ones are thick and bulgy, like pumpkins. The curve grad-
ually subsided, until we get the exquisite wavy lines of
Stradiuarius — that curve so graceful, because it is the
curve of nature. Set a string in vibration, and you will
get the curve in the rise of a Stradiuarius back. And I
am told that it is one of tip most modern discoveries that
334 VIOLINS.
this curve itself — as it were distilled from a vibration — is
the only one which is found perfectly to conduct the vi-
bratory waves of sound. If Stradiuarius had known this,
would he ever have departed from it ? As a fact, we have
some of his instruments whose curves are as far removed
from nature as those of Amati or Magini. We are bound
almost to infer that he did not know for a certainty, but?
got at last to know the kind of curves which, in conjunc-
tion with other qualities, went to produce the finest tone.
But the sides or ribs also call for special notice. The
height of these determines, of course, the air-bearing ca-
pacity of the instrument. It is found by experiment that
all the best violins contain about the same amount of air,
and that a certain fixed relation between their air-bearing
capacity and the thickness of the wood is always adhered
to, and any departure from this rule is found to injure the
intensity of the sound. If there is too much air, the deep
tones are dull and feeble, the high notes thin and screamy ;
if too little air, the deep tones are harsh, and the first string
loses its brilliancy.
Again, if the sounding-board or belly is too thin, the
sonority will be poor and weak ; if too thick, the vibrations
will be slow and stiff, or, as violin-players say, the instru-
ment will not " speak." Arch the belly too much, or make
it too flat, in either case the equilibrium of the mass of air
will be disturbed, and the sound will be muffled and nasal.
The shape and proportions of the two ^ ^'s can not
safely be departed from ; no more can the model and the
various incisions of the bridge. Immense numbers of holes,
of all shapes and sizes, were tried, and also every possible
description of bridge, before Stradiuarius fixed the pattern,
which no good violin-maker has since ventured to alter or
modify in the least degree.
The Stradiuarius varnish, which has a warm reddish
CONCLUSION. 335
tinge in it, preserves the wood from damp, and prevents it
from rotting; it lies upon the wood like a thin sheet of the
most transparent agate. The inside of the violin is not
varnished; the hard outer coat of varnish serves to drive
the sound inward, where it mixes and vibrates before es-
caping through from the two jj ^'s.
We have now done with our historical and technical de-
154 scription of the violin, and perhaps we have said
Conclusion. en0Ugh ^0 sn0w why it is, and must ever remain,
the most fascinating of instruments, not only to the hearer
and the player, but even to the collector. There seems to
be a strangely sensitive, almost human element about it,
which exists in no other instrument, and which goes far to
explain the enormous prices paid for some of the fine vio-
lins ; 300, and even 400 guineas are not unfrequently paid
down cheerfully for a single one. No doubt there is often
some " fancy" in the price. You meet with a violin that
suits you, and it is simply worth any thing that you can
afford to pay. Different instruments, equally fine in their
way, have separate qualities and peculiar characters ; and
the violin, which in some hands will prove unmanageable,
will yield up to others all its hidden and mysterious sweet-
ness. No instrument is so capricious or so absorbing. If
one string chances to be a little too thick, the others will
rebel; it will take to some particular bridge, and reject
others; it will have. its bridge in one place, and only one;
it feels every change in the weather, like a barometer, and
has to be rubbed, and coaxed, and warmed into good hu-
mor like a child. Sometimes after being caressed, and,
above all, played into splendid condition, the sensitive way
in which it responds to each tiny variation of the touch
will entrance and astonish the player himself. Thus it will
often happen as if the player found quite as much power
336 VIOLINS.
as he brought ; and if at times he dictates to the violin, the
violin, at others, seems to subdue him, and carry him away
with its own sweetness, until he forgets his own mind, and
follows the lead and suggestion of his marvelous compan
ion.
We have no room left for hints to amateur violinists, but
we may as well close with two practical remarks :
Firstly. Do not take up the violin unless you mean to
work hard at it. Any other instrument may be more safe-
ly trifled with.
Secondly. It is almost hopeless to attempt to learn the
violin after the age of ten.
PIANO-FORTES.
n.
Before the Piano-forte came the Harpsichord, and be-
^ . J55-, , fore the Harpsichord came the Spinet, and before
Origin of the . * . ,
Piano-forte, the Spinet came the virginal, and before the Vir-
ginal came the Clavichord and Monochord, before these the
Clavicytherium, before that the Citole, before that the Dul-
cimer and Psaltery, and before them all the Egyptian, Gre-
cian, and Roman harps, and lyres innumerable.
Some of the harps of antiquity were struck with a quill
or " plectrum" — we know very little about them except
that some were round and some angular, some with three
corners, some with more, some had ten strings, some thir-
teen; and modifications of these varieties formed the staple
of stringed instruments in the Middle Ages. The Middle
Ages, then, had harps of all kinds, and out of the harp grew
the psaltery, the dulcimer, and citole. The Psaltery* was
a box with metal strings stretched over it ; it was plucked
with a quill. The Dulcimerf was also a box with strings
stretched over it, but it was struck with two crooked sticks.
The Citole, or " little chest," was another box with strings
stretched over it, but it was played with the fingers. And
now, if we roll all these into one, we shall get the first glim-
mering notion or embryo of a piano. A piano involves
three fundamental ideas : Percussion (hammer), Vibration
* Psaltery, from " psaltendo," singing,
t Dulcimer, " dulce melos," sweet sound.
P
338 PIANO-FORTES.
on sonorous box (sounding-board), and Finger-touch through
mechanical action (key-board). From the dulcimer, some-
times called hacbret, or hack-board (alas ! how many young
ladies go back to the Dark Ages, and turn their pianos into
hack-boards !) — from the dulcimer we get percussion with
a hammer, and from all three we get the sonorous box, or
sounding-board; but no one had yet thought of that crown-
ing glory — that now, at length, so perfect and subtle a min-
ister of touch, the key-board. As early as the eleventh cen-
tury the key-board was applied to the organ, and some
time afterward an unknown Italian (perhaps Guido of Arez-
zo) adapted it to stringed instruments, and hence arose the
Clavicytherium, or Keyed Lyre. For many reasons the
Clavicytherium was not extensively popular, and for cen-
turies after we read that at the feasts there was " Cy tolyng
and eke harping, ye fydle dovcemere, ye psaltery and voices
sweet as bell." But little mention is made of the Clavicy-
therium, the " dark horse" which was, after all, to be the
winner. The fact is, in those days people seem sometimes
to have progressed backward : e. g., the Clavicytherium
was fitted with catgut strings and plucked 'with quills, called
jacks ; and so, incredible as it may seem, the instrument,
in gaining a key-board, actually lost its metal strings and
the percussion touch ! The construction of the Clavicy-
therium was coarse and simple to a fault. I have no doubt
that, like our first harmoniums, it was always getting out
of order — keys sticking, catgut snapping, etc., and was al-
together much less manageable and portable than hack-
boards and citoles.
The Clavichord* (1500) was a real advance; it was in
most respects like the Clavicytherium, with the restoration
of metal strings and the addition of that sine qua non of
all delicate effects of harmony — the damper. The damper,
* " Clavi," a key ; " chorda," a string.
ORIGIN OF THE riANO-FORTE. 339
as every one knows, is a piece of cloth which descends
upon the strings after they have been struck, to check the
vibration and prevent the sounds running into one another.
The Clavicymbal differed only from the Clavichord in
shape ; it bore the same relation to the Clavichord that a
small square piano does to an upright semi-grand.
With the Clavichord and Clavicymbal we enter civilized
regions ; instead of having to fall back upon unknown dul-
cimer players, copied from old manuscripts, and ladies out
of stained windows with citoles on their laps, we have the
solemn figure of old Sebastien Bach, with his neat periwig
and silk stockings, thrumming those wonderfully melodi-
ous jigs and sarabands on his favorite instrument, the clavi-
chord. " I find it," he says, " capable of expressing the
most refined thoughts. I do not believe it possible to pro-
duce from any harpsichord or piano-forte (i. e., a piano-
forte of the Bach period) such a variety in the gradations
of tones as upon this instrument, which, I allow, is poor in
quality and small in scale, but extremely flexible." In
1772 Dr. Burney visited C. P. E. Bach, and heard him play.
"M.Bach," he writes, "was so obliging as to sit down to
his Silberman clavichord, on which he played three or four
of his choicest compositions. In the pathetic and slow
movements, whenever he had a long note, he absolutely
contrived to produce from his instrument a cry of sorrow
or complaint, such as can only be effected on the clavi-
chord, and perhaps by himself."
The Virginal and Spinet were still nearer approaches to
156^ the piano-forte ; they were an improved and
The Virginal. more expensive kind of clavichord ; they were
much in vogue toward the end of the sixteenth century,
and were found chiefly in the Elizabethan boudoirs of the
fine ladies of that stirring and romantic epoch. Here, for
340 PIANO-FORTES.
instance, is a description of Mary Queen of Scots' virginal.
" It was made of oak, inlaid with cedar, and richly orna«
mented with gold ; the cover and sides were beautifully
painted with figures of birds, flowers, and leaves, and the
colors are still bright. On the lid is a grand procession
of warriors, whom a bevy of fair dames are propitiating by
presents of wine and fruit."
Some think virginal refers to Elizabeth, who liked to be
called the virgin queen. Dr. Johnson says it was a com-
pliment to young ladies in general, who all liked to strum
on the virginal. But another writer, with better judg-
ment, reminds us how, in the pleasant twilights of con-
vents and old halls, it served to lead sweet voices singing
hymns to the Virgin. The very sound of the word " vir«
ginaV reminds one of St. Cecilia sitting, as Raffael has
painted her, in a general atmosphere of music, with angels
listening; or else the light should fall through stained
glass upon old impaneled wainscots of dark oak, or upon
purple velvet cushions and rich tapestry. And there, in
some retired nook of an ancient palace, at sunset, " my love
doth sit," saith Spenser,
"Playing alone, careless, on her heavenlie virginals."
Or here is another picture drawn from life; it is to be
found in the "Memoirs of Sir James Melvil," 1683, embas-
sador from Mary Queen of Scots to Queen Elizabeth :
"After dinner my Lord of Hundsen drew me up to a quiet
gallery, that I might hear some musick (but he said that
he durst not avow it), where I might hear the Queen
(Elizabeth) play upon the virginals. After I had hearken-
ed a while, I took up the tapestry that hung before the door
of the chamber, and, seeing her back was toward the door,
I entered within the chamber and stood a pretty space,
hearing her play excellently well; but she left oifimmedi-
THE VIRGINAL. . 341
ately she turned about and saw me. She appeared to be
surprised to see me, and came forward, seeming to strike
me with her hand, alleging she used not to play before
men, but when she was solitary, to shun melancholy. She
asked how I came there. I answered, as I was walking
with my Lord Hundsen, as we passed by the chamber door
I heard such a melody as ravished me, whereby I was
drawn in ere I knew how — excusing my fault of homeli-
ness as being brought up at the court of France, where
such freedom is allowed. Then she sat down low upon a
cushion, and I upon my knees by her. She inquired wheth-
er my queen or she played best. In that I found myself
obliged to give her the praise."
Again he writes : " She (Elizabeth) asked me if she
(Mary Queen of Scots) played well. I said, c Reasonably,
for a queen.' " This reminds us of Handel's reply to his
royal patron, who asked him how he liked his playing on
the violoncello. "Vy, sir, your highness plays like a
prince !"
Shakspeare was fully alive to the sentimental side of the
u heavenlie virginal," as the following sonnet proves :
"How oft when thou, my music, music playst
Upon that blessed wood whose motion sounds
With thy sweet fingers, when thou gently swayst
The wiry concord that mine ear confounds,
Do I envy those jacks that nimbly leap
To kiss the tender inward of thy hand,
While my poor lips that should that harvest reap
At the wood's boldness by thee blushing stand?
To be so tickled, they would change their state
And situation with those dancing chips,
O'er whom thy fingers walk with gentle gait,
Making dead wood more bless'd than living lips!
Since saucy jacks so happy are in this,
Give them thy fingers — me thy lips to kiss!"
342 PIANO-FORTES.
About the year 1700 the Virginal went out of fashion.
15L and its place was finally taken up by the im~
The Spmet. provecj clavichord, called Spi?iet* and, later on.
harpsichord. In 1760, a first-class harpsichord by Rticker,
the most celebrated maker, cost one hundred guineas. A
grand harpsichord looked precisely like a grand piano,
only it was provided with two key-boards, one above the
other, the top one being to the bottom one very much
what the swell key-board of the organ is to the main key-
board. To every note there were four strings, three in
unison, the fourth tuned an octave higher, and there were
stops capable of shutting off or coupling any of these to
gether. The quality of the sound depended upon the ma
terial of which the jack was made — whether, that is, the
string was struck with cloth, quill, metal, or buff leather;
the quantity did not depend, as in the piano, upon the fin-
ger touch, but upon the number of strings coupled togeth-
er by the stops. It now at last occurred to admirers of
the harp and violin that all refinement of musical expres-
sion depended upon touch, and that whereas you could
only pluck a string by machinery in one way, you might
hit it in a hundred different ways.
The long-abandoned notion of striking the strings with
i5s. a hammer was at length revived, and by the ad-
The Piano- . . . , -
forte. dition of this third and last element, the harpsi-
chord emerged into the Piano-forte. The idea occurred
to three men at the same time, about the beginning of
the eighteenth century — Cristofali, an Italian; Marius, a
Frenchman ; and Schroter, a German ; the palm probably
rests with the Italian, although so clumsy were the first
attempts that little success attended them, and good harp-
sichords on the wrong principle were still preferred to bad
* From "spina," a thorn — hence "quill."
THE PIANO-FORTE. 343
pianos on the right one; but the key-note of the new in-
strument had been struck in more senses than one — the
object of centuries was, in fact, accomplished — the age of
the quill, pig's bristle, thorn, ivory tongue, etc., was rapidly
drawing: to its close. A small hammer was made to strike
the string and awake a clear, precise, and delicate tone un-
heard before, and the " scratch with a sound at the end of
it" was about to be consigned, after a long reign, to an
eternal oblivion.
We can not wonder at the old harpsichord and clavi-
chord lovers, even the greatest of them, not taking kindly
at first to the piano-forte ; the keys required a greater del-
icacy of treatment, it became necessary for musicians and
amateurs to change their style of playing, and this alone
was enough to hand over the new instrument to the rising
generation. Silberman showed two of his piano-fortes to
Sebastien Bach, who praised them as ingenious pieces of
mechanism, but complained of their feebleness of tone. Sil-
berman, nothing disconcerted, retired into his workshop,
and, after some years of study, during which no expense
was spared, he at last produced an instrument which even
Bach, wedded as he was to the clavichord, pronounced to
be "without fault." From that moment a rapid demand
for Silberman's pianos rose throughout Germany; they
could not be made fast enough.
Frederick the Great,who indulged in a variety of the most
159. improbable pursuits, had several of them about his
Sebastien * r . 7 _ _ .
Bach. palace ; and having the finest pianos, he was natu-
rally anxious to hear the finest player in the world upon
them. But Sebastien Bach, like other great "spirits of the
vasty deep," would not always come when called for. At
last, one night in the year 1747, as the king took up his
flute to perform a concerto at a private concert in the pal-
344 PIANO-FORTES.
ace, a messenger came in with a list of the guests already
arrived. With his flute in his hand, the king ran over the
names, and, turning suddenly to the musicians, in a most
excited manner said, " Gentlemen, old Bach is come !" The
great man had indeed alighted, after his long journey, at
his son's house ; but, by express orders from the king, he
was hurried to the palace. The concert was suspended ;
no doubt the courtiers, in little groups, began eagerly dis-
cussing the new event ; and the king's enthusiasm speedily
spread through the assembly. Presently the door opens,
and " old Bach," in his dusty traveling coat, his eyes some-
what dazzled with the sudden glare of light, steps into the
midst of this lordly company of powdered wigs and doub-
lets, and diamonded tiaras and sword-hilts. His majesty,
after a warm and unceremonious greeting, besought the
great contrapuntist to improvise to the company ; and
Bach passed the remainder of the evening going from room
to room, followed by troops of admiring court ladies and
musicians, and trying "forte-pianos made by Silberman."
But the man who, more than any other, made the piano
160. and piano-forte music popular in England and all
Mozart and ^ ■»« • /~n • t
ciementi. over the Continent was Muzio dementi, born at
Rome, 1752. At eighteen he composed his Op. II., which
forms the basis of all modern piano -forte sonatas, and
which, Sebastien Bach observed, only the devil and Cie-
menti could play. Ciementi was educated in England, by
the kindness of Mr. Beckford, and soon rivaled Bach as a
popular teacher. In 1780 he went to Paris, and was per-
fectly astounded at his reception. He was dubbed the
greatest player of the age, Mozart perhaps excepted, and
soon afterward left for Vienna, where he became acquaint-
ed with Mozart, the reigning star, Father Haydn, and old
Salieri, who was decidedly going off, and hated the new
MOZART AND CLEMENTI. 345
music, new pianos, and every thing new. What right, for-
sooth, had these young upstarts to write music which the
old men could not play ? And such music too ! Mozart
was a charlatan, Beethoven an impostor, and even Schu-
bert, the dear little choir-boy, who might have carried on
the glorious old Italian traditions, was becoming tainted,
and writing music like Mozart ! Poor Salieri ! if he could
only have heard the seventh Schubert Symphony and the
B minor Sonata, what would have become of him ?
One evening Mozart and Clementi met in the drawing-
room of the Emperor Joseph II. ; the Emperor and Em-
press of Russia were the only others present. The royal
trio were longing for a little music ; but how could one
great master take precedence of the other? At last, Cle-
menti, the elder of the two, consented to begin, which he
did with a long improvization, winding up with a sonata.
" Allons," says the emperor, turning to Mozart, " d'rauf
los !" (now fire away !), and Mozart, after a short prelude,
played one of his own sonatas. The royal audience ap-
pear to have been delighted, and probably thought the one
about as good as the other ; but Mozart observed of Cle-
menti, " He is a good player, and that is all ; he has great
facility with his right hand, but not an atom of taste or
feeling !"
The pianos used by Mozart and Clementi were the last
improved pianos of Stein, the successor of Silberman, with
an extended compass of five octaves ; yet, in comparison
with the commonest pianos now in use, these were but
miserable machines. The genius, however, was even then
alive who was destined to sweep away every imperfection
in the working of the piano, and place it once and forever
on its present proud pedestal.
P2
346 PIANO-FORTES.
Sebastian Erard was born at Strasburg, April 5 th, 1752.
161 His extraordinary mechanical genius early at-
wood'co5a?d tracted the attention of all the scientific me-
pieyei. chanics in France ; every problem was brought
to him and generally solved by him as speedily as incom-
prehensible sums in arithmetic used to be by the Calculat-
ing Boy. His manners were refined, and the force of his
amiable and versatile character gained him admission into
the highest circles. He lived in the homes of the French
nobility, and amused them by the uninterrupted flow of
brand-new inventions and extraordinary mechanical con-
trivances. Nothing was too hard for him to accomplish,
and nothing so good but what he could find means to im-
prove upon it. In IV 96 he made his first horizontal grand
pianos, and Dussek played on one with great eclat in Paris
in 1808. But the touch was still heavy and somewhat
slow. It was not until 1823 that Erard produced an in-
strument susceptible of the finest gradations in touch ; and
thus, after laying down all the new principles which have
since made his name so illustrious, he breathed his last at
his country house, " La Muette," near Passey, on the 5th
of August, 1831, at the age of seventy-nine.
The greatest manufacturing firms in Europe are those
of Erard, Broad wood, Collard, and Pleyel. Touch and tone
are the two great tests of a piano's excellence ; speaking
roughly, Erard will bear the palm for touch and Broad-
wood for tone. Collard's flat semi-grands and upright tri-
chords may be especially recommended as brilliant and
good for wear and tear. It would be hazardous to pro-
nounce in favor of any one of these great firms, as almost
every player has his own opinion, and so far we have mere-
ly given ours. There are about two hundred well-known
piano-forte makers, and each one has his own peculiar key-
board action, most of them being very slight modifications
ERARD, BROADWOOD, COLLARD, PLEYEL. 347
of those used by the four great firms. The strings of a
Grand pull between eleven and twelve tons, or about twen-
ty-five thousand pounds. There are forty-eight different
materials used in constructing a piano, laying no less than
sixteen different countries under contribution, and employ-
ing forty-two different hands. The finest piano may be
obtained for about one hundred and twenty guineas. In
the Great Exhibition of 1851, Erard's grand was valued at
one thousand, Broadwood's at one thousand two hundred,
and Collard's at five hundred guineas ; but the extra
money was to pay for the gorgeous cases. About twenty
thousand pianos are annually fabricated.
The following simple rules are more commonly known
than observed. Keep your piano out of damp rooms ;
never place it too near the fire or the window, or between
them, or in a draught, but place it at least a foot from the
wall, or in the middle of the room. Do not load the top
of it with books; and if it is a cottage, don't turn the bot-
tom— as I have known some people do — into a cupboard
for wine and dessert. Keep the keys carefully dusted, and
always shut down the lid when you have done playing.
BELLS.
m.
The long, winding staircase seems to have no end.
162. Two hundred steps are already below us. The
Towers and ■ - _ _
Belfries. higher we go, the more broken and rugged are
the stairs. Suddenly it grows very dark, and, clutching
the rope more firmly, we struggle upward. Light dawns
again through a narrow Gothic slit in the tower; let us
pause and look out for a moment. The glare is blinding,
but from the deep, cool recess a wondrous spectacle un-
folds itself. We are almost on a level with the roof of a
noble cathedral. We have come close upon a fearful
dragon. He seems to spring straight out of the wall.
We have often seen his lean, gaunt form from below — he
passed almost unnoticed with a hundred brother gurgoyles
— but now we are so close to him our feelings are differ-
ent ; we seem like intruders in his lawful domains. His
face is horribly grotesque and earnest. His proportions,
which seemed so diminutive in the distance, are really co-
lossal— but here every thing is colossal. This huge scroll,
this clump of stone cannon-balls, are, in fact, the little
vine tendrils and grapes that looked so frail and delicately
carven from below. Among the petals of yonder mighty
rose a couple of pigeons are busy building their nests ;
seeds of grasses and wild flowers have been blown up, and
here and there a tiny garden has been laid out by the ca-
pricious winds on certain wide stone hemlock leaves ; the
TOWERS AND BELFRIES. 349
fringe of yonder cornice is a waste of lilies. As we try to
realize detail after detail, the heart is almost pained by the
excessive beauty of all this petrified bloom, stretching away
over flying buttresses, and breaking out upon column and
architrave, and the eye at last turns away weary with
wonder. A few more steps up the dark tower, and we
are in a large dim space, illuminated only by the feeblest
glimmer. Around and overhead rise huge timbers, inclin-
ing toward each other at every possible angle, and hewn,
centuries ago, from the neighboring forests, which have
long since disappeared. They support the roof of the
building. Just glancing through a trap-door at our feet,
we sesm to look some miles down into another world. A
few foreshortened, but moving specks, we are told are peo-
ple on the floor of the cathedral, and a bunch of tiny tubes,
about the size of a Pan-pipe, really belong to an organ of
immense size and power.
At this moment a noise like a powerful engine in motion
recalls our attention to the tower. The great clock is
about to strike, and begins to prepare by winding itself up
five minutes before the hour. Groping among the wilder-
ness of cross-beams and timbers, we reach another stair-
case, which leads to a vast square but lofty fabric, filled
with the same mighty scaffolding. Are not these most
dull and dreary solitudes? The dust of ages lies every
where around us, and the place which now receives the
print of our feet has, perhaps, not been touched for five
hundred years. And yet these ancient towers, and the
inner heights and recesses of these old roofs and belfries,
soon acquire a strong hold over the few who care to ex-
plore them. Lonely and deserted as they may appear,
there are hardly five minutes either of the day or night
up there that do not see strange sights or hear strange
sounds.
350 BELLS.
As the eye gets accustomed to the twilight, we may
watch the large bats flit by. Every now and then a poor
lost bird darts about, screaming wildly, like a soul in Pur-
gatory that can not find its way out. Then wTe may come
upon an ancient rat, who seems as much at home there as
if he had taken a lease of the roof for ninety-nine years.
We have been assured by the carillonneur at Louvain that
both rats and mice are not uncommon at such considerable
elevations.
Overhead hang the huge bells, several of which are de-
voted to the clock ; others are rung by hand from below ;
while somewhere near, besides the clock machinery, there
will be a room fitted up, like a vast musical box, containing
a barrel, which acts upon thirty or forty bells up in the
tower, and plays tunes every hour of the day and night.
You can not pass many minutes in such a place without
the clicking of machinery and the chiming of some bell —
even the quarters are divided by two or three notes, or
half-quarter bells. Double the number are rung for the
quarter, four times as many for the half hour, while at the
hour a storm of music breaks from such towers as Mechlin
and Antwerp, and continues for three or four minutes to
float for miles over the surrounding country.
The bells, with their elaborate and complicated striking
apparatus, are the life of these old towers — a life that goes
on from century to century, undisturbed by many a con-
vulsion in the streets below. These patriarchs, in their
tower, hold constant converse wTith man, but they are not
of him ; they call him to his duties, they vibrate to his
woes and joys, his perils and victories, but they are at once
sympathetic and passionless ; chiming at his will, but hang-
ing far above him ; ringing out the old generation, and
ringing in the new, with a mechanical, almost oppressive
regularity, and an iron constancy which often makes them
TO WEBS AND BELFMIES. 351
and their gray towers the most revered and ancient things
in a large city.
The great clock strikes : it is the only music, except the
thunder, that can fill the air. Indeed, there is something
almost elemental in the sound of these colossal and many-
centuried bells. As the wind howls at night through their
belfries, the great beams seem to groan with delight ; the
heavy wheels, which sway the bells, begin to move and
creak; and the enormous clappers swing slowly, as though
longing to respond before the time.
At Tournay there is a famous old belfry. It dates from
the twelfth century, and is said to be built on a Roman
base. It now possesses forty bells. It commands the town
and the country round, and from its summit is obtained 2,
near view of the largest and finest cathedral in Belgium,
with its five magnificent towers. Four brothers guard the
summit of the belfry at Tournay, and relieve each other
day and night, at intervals often hours. All through the
night a light is seen burning in the topmost gallery ; and
when a fire breaks out, the tocsin, or big bell, is tolled up
aloft by the watchman. He is never allowed to sleep —
indeed, as he informed us, showing us his scanty accommo-
dation, it would be difficult to sleep up there. On stormy
nights, a whirlwind seems to select that watchman and his
tower for its most violent attacks ; the darkness is often so
great that nothing of the town below can be seen. The
tower rocks to and fro, and startled birds dash themselves
upon the shaking light, like sea-birds upon a light-house
lantern.
Such seasons are not without real danger; more than
once the lightning has melted and twisted the iron hasps
about the tower, and within the memory of man the ma-
sonry itself has been struck. During the long peals of thun-
der that come rolling;- with the black rain-clouds over the
352 BELLS.
level plains of Belgium the belfry begins to vibrate like a
huge musical instrument, as it is ; the bells peal out, and
seem to claim affinity with the deep bass of the thunder,
while the shrill wind shrieks a demoniac treble to the wild
and stormy music.
All through the still summer night the belfry lamp burns
like a star. It is the only point of yellow light that can be
seen up so high, and when the moon is bright it looks al-
most red in the silvery atmosphere. Then it is that the
music of the bells floats farthest over the plains, and the
postilion hears the sound as he hurries along the high road
from Brussels or Lille, and, smacking his whip loudly, he
shouts to his weary steed as he sees the light of the old
tower of Tournay come in sight.
Bells are heard best when they are rung upon a slope or
in a valley, especially a water valley. The traveler may
well wonder at the distinctness with which he can hear the
monastery bells on the Lake of Lugano, or the church bells
over some of the long reaches of the Rhine. Next to val-
leys, plains carry the sound farthest. Fortunately, many
of the finest bell-towers in existence are so situated. It is
well known how freely the sound of the bells travels over
Salisbury Plain. Why is there no proper peal, and why
are the bells not attended to there ? The same music steals
far and wide over the Lombard Plain from Milan Cathe-
dral ; over the Campagna from St. Peter's at Rome ; over
the flats of Alsatia to the Yosges Mountains and the Black
Forest from the Strasbourg spire ; and, lastly, over the
plain of Belgium from the towers of Tournay, Ghent, Brus-
sels, Louvain, and Antwerp. The belfry at Bruges lies in
a hollow, and can only be seen and heard along the line of
its own valley.
To take one's stand at the summit of Strasbourg Cathe-
dral at the ringing of the sunset bell, just at the close of
TO WERS AND BELFRIES. 353
some effulgent summer's day, is to witness one of the finest
sights in the world. The moment is one of brief but in-
effable splendor, when, between the mountains and the
plain, just as the sun is setting, the mists rise suddenly in
strange sweeps and spirals, and are smitten through with
the golden fire which, melting down through a thousand
tints, passes, with the rapidity of a dream, into the cold
purples of the night.
Pass for a moment, in imagination, from such a scene to
the summit of Antwerp Cathedral at sunrise. Delicately
tall, and not dissimilar in character, the Antwerp spire ex-
ceeds in height its sister of Strasbourg, which is commonly
supposed to be the highest in the world. The Antwerp
spire is 403 feet high from the foot of the tower. Stras-
bourg measures 468 feet from the level of the sea, but less
than 403 feet from the level of the plain.
By the clear morning light, the panorama from the stee-
ple of Notre Dame at Antwerp can hardly be surpassed.
One hundred and twenty-six steeples may be counted, far
and near. Facing northward, the Scheldt winds away un-
til it loses itself in a white line, which is none other than
the North Sea. By the aid of a telescope ships can be dis-
tinguished out on the horizon, and the captains declare
they can see the lofty spire at one hundred and fifty miles
distant. Middleburg at seventy-five, and Flessing at six-
ty-five miles, are also visible from the steeple. Looking
toward Holland, we can distinguish Breda and Walladuc,
each about fifty-four miles off.
Turning southward, we can not help being struck by the
fact that almost all the great Belgian towers are within
sight of each other. The two lordly and massive towers
of St. Gudule's Church at Brussels, the noble fragment at
Mechlin, that has stood for centuries awaiting its compan-
ion, besides many others, with carillons of less importance,
354 BELLS,
can be seen from Antwerp. So these mighty spires, gray
and changeless in the high air, seem to hold converse to-
gether over the heads of puny mortals, and their language
is rolled from tower to tower by the music of the bells.
u Non sunt loquellae neque sermones audiantur voces
eorum." (" There is neither speech nor language, but their
voices are heard among them.")
Such is the inscription we copied from one bell in the
tower at Antwerp, signed " F. Hemony, Amstelodamia
(Amsterdam), 1658."
Bells have been sadly neglected by antiquaries. There
163. are t°° few churches or cathedrals in England
Beii-huntmg. concernmg whose bells any thing definite is
known, and the current rumors about their size, weight,
and date are seldom accurate. In Belgium even, where far
more attention is paid to the subject, it is difficult to find
in the archives of the towns and public libraries any ac-
count of the bells. The great folios at Louvain, Antwerp,
and Mechlin, containing what is generally supposed to be
an exhaustive transcript of all the monumental and fune-
real inscriptions in Belgium, will often bestow but a couple
of dates and one inscription upon a richly-decorated and
inscribed carillon of thirty or forty bells. The reason of
this is not far to seek. The fact is, it is no easy matter to
get at the bells when they are once hung, and many an
antiquarian, who will haunt tombs and pore over illegible
brasses with commendable patience, will decline to risk his
neck in the most interesting of belfries. The pursuit, too,
is often a disappointing one. Perhaps it is possible to get
half way round a bell, and then be prevented by a thick
beam, or the bell's own wheel, from seeing the other half,
which, by a perverse chance, generally contains the date
and name of the founder. Perhaps the oldest bell is quite
ANTIQUITY OF BELLS. 355
inaccessible, or, after half an hour's climbing amid the ut-
most dust and difficulty, we reach a perfectly blank or
commonplace bell. To any one who intends to prosecute
his studies in belfries, we should recommend the practice
of patience, an acquaintance with the Gothic type, and a
preliminary course of appropriate gymnastics. These last
might consist in trying to get through apertures too small
to admit the human body, hanging from the ceiling of a
dark room by one hand while trying to read an illegible
inscription by the light of a lucifer match held in the oth-
er, attempting to stand on a large wheel while in gentle
rotation without losing your equilibrium, and employing
the bell-ropes as a means of ascent and descent without
ringing the bells. It may be worth while to mention that,
as it is often possible to pass the arm round a bell and fed
the dates and letters which it may be impossible either to
see or in any way illuminate, a little practice with raised
inscriptions will soon enable the bell-hunter to read as the
blind read — with his fingers.
The antiquary will note with satisfaction the incontest-
104. able antiquity of bells. We read in Exodus xxviii.,
Antiquity .. „ . . , _
of Bells. 34, a description of the high-priest s dress at the
celebration of the high sacrifices. He was to wear " a gold-
en bell and a pomegranate upon the hem of his robe round
about ;" and to show that no mere ornament is intended,
in the next verse (35) we read, " It shall be upon Aaron to
minister, and his sound shall be heard when he goeth in
unto the holy place before the Lord, and when he cometh
out." This ancient use of bells in the old Hebrew services
irresistibly reminds us of the beE which is introduced into
the Roman ritual at the celebration of the mass.
It is unnecessary here to trace the history of bells before
the Christian era. It is certain that they were early used
•So G BELLS.
in the Christian Church for devotional purposes. The first
large bells for this purpose were probably cast in Italy :
they were soon afterward introduced into this island.
Ingulphus, who died in the year 870, mentions a chime
of six bells given by the Abbot Turketulus to the Abbey
of Croyland ; and he adds, with much satisfaction, as the
sound of those famous old bells came back upon him, with
memories perchance of goodly reflections at the abbey,
and noble fasts on fish, and long abstinence tempered with
dried raisins from Italy and the British oyster — " Xon
erat tunc tanta consonantia campanarum in tota Anglia."
("There wasn't such a peal of bells in all England.")*
We believe there is no bell extant of so early a date as
800. Bad bells have a habit of cracking, and the best will
be worn out by the clapper in time, and have to be recast.
There are, howTever, some wondrous bells in different parts
of the world, which deserve to be mentioned even in so
informal a treatise as the present. Father Le Comte, the
Jesuit missionary, speaks of seven enormous bells at Pe-
kin, each of which was said to w^eigh nine tons. They
proved too heavy for the Chinese tower, and one day they
rang it into ruins. Indeed, a Chinese tower never looks as
if it could bear a good storm of wind, much less the strain
and heavy rhythmic vibration of a peal of bells.
The largest bell in the wrorld is the great bell at Moscow
— if it has not been broken up. It was cast in 1653 by
order of the Empress Sophia, and has never been raised —
not because it is too heavy, but because it is cracked. All
was going on well at the foundery, wThen a fire broke out
in Moscow — streams of water were dashed in upon the
houses and factories, and a little stream found its way into
the bell-metal at the very moment when it was rushing in
a state of fusion into the colossal bell-mould, and to, to the
* Serious doubts have been cast on the authenticity of this <3.XTiment.
A NTIQ UIT Y OF BELLS. 357
disappointment of the Russian people and all posterity,
the big bell came out cracked. It may be as well to men-
tion that a gentleman lately returned from Moscow throws
discredit upon this generally accepted statement, and main-
tains that the bell was originally hung, and that the crack
was caused by its subsequent fall. It is said to weigh no
less than 198 tons. The second Moscow bell is probably
the largest in the world in actual use, and is reported to
weigh 128 tons. The following extract from Chambers's
" Encyclopaedia," a work of unusual accuracy, will illus-
trate the great difficulty of arriving at any thing like facts
and figures : " The largest bell in the world is the great
bell or monarch of Moscow, about 21 feet high, and weigh-
ing 193 tons (sic). It was cast in 1734, but fell down dur-
ing a fire in 1737, was injured and remained sunk in the
earth till 1837, when it was raised, and now forms the dome
of a chapel made by excavating the space below it. An-
other Moscow bell, cast in 1819, weighs 80 tons (sic)." Our
first account of the great Moscow bell is derived from M.
Severin van Aerschodt, the celebrated bell-founder at Lou-
vain.
There are not many English bells worth noticing. In
1845 a bell of 10 J tons was hung in York Minster. The
great Tom at Lincoln weighs h\ tons. His namesake at
Oxford 7 tons.
We have to allude by-and-by to the bells at St. Paul's
Cathedral and at Westminster, but for the present we re-
turn to Belgium, the " classic land of bells," as it has been
well called by the Chevalier Van Elewyck.
About 1620, while the Amatis in Italy were feeling their
165. way to the manufacture of the finest violins, the
Use of Bells. fami]y 0f yan <jen Qheyns, in Belgium, were
bringing to perfection the science of bell-founding. The
358 BELLS.
last Van den Gheyn who made bells flourished only a few
years later than Stradiuarius, and died toward the begin-
ning of this century. The incessant civil wars in which
Belgium for centuries had been en^asred — at one time the
mere battle-field of rival cities, at another the sturdy de*
fender of patriotic rights against France, Germany, and,
lastly, against her old mistress, Spain — gave to the bells
of Belgium a strange and deep significance. The first ne-
cessity in a fortified town like Ghent or Bruges was a tow-
er to see the enemy from, and a bell to ring together the
citizens. Hence the tower and bells in some cathedrals
are half civil property. The tower was usually built first,
although the spire was seldom finished until centuries aft-
erward. A bell was put up as soon as possible, which be-
longed to the town, not to the cathedral chapter. Thus
the Curfew, the Carolus, and the St. Mary bells in the Ant-
werp tower belong to the town, while the rest are the prop-
erty of the cathedral chapter.
It is with no ordinary emotion that the lover of bells
ascends these ancient towers, not knowing what he shall
find there. He may be suddenly brought into contact
with some relic of the past which will revive the historical
life of a people or a period in a way in which hardly any
thing else could. He hears the very sound they heard.
The inscriptions on the bell, in their solemn earnestness or
their fresh foreboding, are often like drops of blood still
warm from the veins of the past. None but those who
have experienced it can understand the thrill of joy, as of
treasure-trove, which strikes through the seeker upon catch-
ing sight of the peculiar elongated kind of bell which pro-
claims an antiquity of perhaps four hundred years. How
eagerly he climbs up to it ! howr tenderly he removes the
green bloom over the heavy rust which has settled in be-
tween the narrow Gothic letters ! how he rubs away at
USE OF BELLS. 359
their raised surfaces, in order to induce them to yield up
their precious secret ! How the first thing he always looks
for is a bell without a D or 500 in it — e. ^.,mcccxx. — and
how often he is disappointed by deciphering mcccccxx.,
where mdxx. might have been written, and put an end at
once to his hopes of a thirteenth or fourteenth century bell.
Then the first bell he will seek on reaching a famous tower
will be the " bourdon," or big bell, which has probably
proved too large for the enemy to carry away, or which,
by some lucky chance, has escaped the sacrilegious melting
down, and been left to the town, perhaps at the interces-
sion of its fairest women or its most noble citizens. Ascend-
ing into the open belfry, his eye will rest with something
like awe upon the very moderate-sized bell hanging high
up in the dusk by itself — the oldest in the tower, which,
from its awkward position and small value, has escaped the
spoliation and rapine of centuries.
We can hardly wronder at the reverence with which the
inhabitants of Mechlin, Ghent, and Antwerp regard their
ancient bells, and the intelligent enthusiasm with wrhich
they speak of them. Certain bells which we shall have to
mention are renowned not only throughout Belgium, but
throughout the civilized world. Most people have heard
of the Carolus Bell at Antwerp, and there is not a respect-
able citizen in any town of Belgium who would not be
proud to tell you its date and history.
Will the reader now have patience to go back a century
166. or two, and assist at the founding of some of
Bell-founding .
in Belgium, these bells ? It is no light matter, but a sub-
ject of thought, and toil, and wakeful nights, and often
ruinous expense. Let us enter the town of Mechlin in the
year 1638. We may well linger by the clear and rapid
River Senne. The old wooden bridge, which has since
360 BELLS.
been replaced by a stone one, unites two banks full of the
most picturesque elements. To this day the elaborately-
carved facades of the old houses close on the water are of
an incomparable richness of design. The peculiar ascent
of steps leading up to the angle of the roof, in a style of
architecture which the Flemish borrowed from the Span-
iards, is still every where to be met with. Several houses
bear dates from 1605 and upward, and are still in habita-
ble repair. The river line is gracefully broken by trees
and gardens, which doubtless in the earlier times were
still more numerous within the precincts of the rough city
wall, and afforded fruits, vegetables, and scanty pasturage
in time of siege. The noblest of square florid Gothic tow-
ers, the tower of the Cathedral church dedicated to St.
Rumboldt, and finished up to three hundred and forty-
eight feet, guides us to what is now called the Grande
Place, where stands still, just as it stood then, the "Halles,"
with a turret of 1340, and the Hotel de Ville of the fif-
teenth century.
But our business is with an obscure hut-like building: in
the neighborhood of the Cathedral : it is the workshop and
furnaces adjoining the abode of Peter Yan den Gheyn, the
most renowned bell-founder of the seventeenth century,
born in 1605. In company with his associate, Deklerk, ar-
rangements are being made for the founding of a big bell.
Let us suppose it to be the celebrated " Salvator," for the
Cathedral tower hard by.
Before the cast was made there was no doubt great con-
troversy between the mighty smiths, Deklerk and Yan den
Gheyn ; plans had to be drawn out on parchment, meas-
urements and calculations made, little proportions weigh-
ed by a fine instinct, and the defects and merits of ever so
many bells canvassed. The ordinary measurements which
now hold good for a large bell are, roughly, one fifteenth
BELL-FO UNDING IN BELGIUM. 3 g i
of the diameter in thickness, and twelve times the thick-
ness in height.
We may now repair to the outhouses, divided into two
principal compartments. The first is occupied by the fur-
naces, in whose centre is the vast caldron for the fusion of
the metal ; and the second is a kind of shallow well, where
the bell would have to be modeled in clay. Let us watch
the men at their work. The object to be first attained is
a hollow mould of the exact size and shape of the intended
bell, into which the liquid metal will then be poured through
a tube from the adjacent furnace, and this mould is con-
structed in the following simple but ingenious manner:
Suppose the bell is to be six feet high, a brick column of
about that height is built something in the shape of a bell,
round which clay has to be moulded until the shape pro-
duced is exactly the shape of the outside of a bell. Upon
the smooth surface of this solid bell-shaped mass can now
be laid figures, decorations, and inscriptions in wax. A
large quantity of the most delicately prepared clay is then
produced ; the model is slightly washed with some kind of
oil to prevent the fine clay from sticking to it, and three
or four coats of the fine clay in an almost liquid state are
daubed carefully all over the model ; next, a coating of
common clay is added to strengthen the mould to the
thickness of some inches ; and thus the model stands with
its great bell-shaped cover closely fitting over it.
A fire is now lighted underneath. The brick-work in the
interior is heated through, then the clay, then the wax or-
naments and oils, which steam out in vapor through two
holes at the top, leaving their impressions on the inside of
the cover. When every thing is baked thoroughly hard,
the cover is raised bodily into the air by a rope, and held
suspended some feet exactly above the model. In the in-
terior of the cover thus raised will of course be found the
Q
362 BELLS.
exact impression in hollow of the outside of the bell. The
model of clay and masonry is then broken up, and its place
is taken by another perfectly smooth model, only smaller
and exactly the size of the inside of the bell. On this the
great cover now descends, and is stopped in time to leave
a hollow space between the new model and itself. This is
effected simply by the bottom rim of the new model form-
ing a base, at the proper distance upon which the rim of
the clay cover may rest in its descent. The hollow space
between the clay cover and the second clay mould is now
the exact shape of the required bell, and only waits to be
filled with metal.
So far all has been comparatively easy ; but the critical
moment has now arrived. The furnaces have long been
smoking ; the brick-work containing the caldron is almost
glowing with red heat ; a vast draught-passage underneath
the floor keeps the fire rapid ; from time to time it leaps
up with a hundred angry tongues, or, rising higher, sweeps
in one sheet of flame over the furnace-imbedded caldron.
Then the cunning artificer brings forth his heaps of choice
metal — large cakes of red coruscated copper from Dron-
theim, called " Rosette," owing to a certain rare pink bloom
that seems to lie all over it, like the purple on a plum ;
then a quantity of tin, so highly refined that it shines and
glistens like pure silver: these are thrown into the caldron,
and melted down together. Kings and nobles have stood
beside these famous caldrons, and looked with reverence on
the making of these old bells ; nay, they have brought gold
and silver, and pronouncing the holy name of some saint or
apostle which the bell was hereafter to bear, they have
flung in precious metals, rings, bracelets, and even bullion.
But for a moment or two before the pipe which is to con-
vey the metal to the mould is opened, the smith stands and
stirs the molten mass to see if all is melted. Then he casts
BELL-FO UNDINO IN BEL Q1UM. 363
in certain proportions of zinc and other metals which be-
long to the secrets of the trade; he knows how much de-
pends upon these little refinements, which he has acquired
by experience, and which perhaps he could not impart even
if he would — so true is it that in every art that which con-
stitutes success is a matter of instinct, and not of rule, or
even science. He knows, too, that almost every thing de-
pends upon the moment chosen for flooding the mould.
Standing in the intense heat, and calling loudly for a still
more raging fire, he stirs the metal once more. At a given
signal the pipe is opened, and with a long smothered rush
the molten fluid fills the mould to the brim. Nothing now
remains but to let the metal cool, and then to break up the
clay and brick-work, and extract the bell, which is then fin-
ished, for better for worse.
A good bell, when struck, yields one note, so that any
person with an ear for music can say what it is. This note
is called the consonant, and when it is distinctly heard the
bell is said to be " true." Any bell of moderate size (little
bells are too small to be experimented upon) may be tested
in the following manner. Tap the bell just on the curve
of the top, and it will yield a note one octave above the
consonant. Tap the bell about one quarter's distance from
the top, and it should yield a note which is the quint, or
fifth of the octave. Tap it two quarters and a half lower,
and it will yield a tierce, or third of the octave. Tap it
strongly above the rim, where the clapper strikes, and the
quint, the tierce, and the octave will now sound simultane-
ously, yielding the consonant or key-note of the bell.
If the tierce is too sharp, the bell's note (i.e., the con-
sonant) wavers between a tone and a halftone above it ; if
the tierce is flat, the note wavers between a tone and a half
tone below it; in either case the bell is said to be "false."
A sharp tierce can be flattened by filing away the inside
364 BELLS.
of the bell just where the tierce is struck; but if the bell,
when cast, is found to have a flat tierce, there is no rem-
edy. The consonant or key-note of a bell can be slightly
sharpened by cutting away the inner rim of the bell, or
flattened by filing it a little higher up inside, just above
the rim.
The greatest makers do not appear to be exempt from
167. failure. In proportion to the size is the diffi-
Belgium Bell- * r
founders. culty of casting a true bell, and one that will
not crack ; and the admirers of the great Westminster bell,
which is cracked, may console themselves with the reflec-
tion that many a bell, by the finest Belgium makers, has
cracked before our Big Ben. The Salvator bell at Mechlin,
renowned as was its maker, Peter Van den Gheyn, cracked
in 1G96 — i. e., only fifty-eight years after it was made. It
was recast by De Haze of Antwerp, and lasted till a few
years ago. On the summit of Mechlin tower Ave fell in with
the man who helped to break up the old Salvator, and al-
though he admitted that it has now issued from Severin
van Aerschodt's establishment, cast for the third time, as
fine as ever, he shook his head gravely when he spoke of
the grand old bell which had hung and rung so well for two
hundred years. When a bell has been recast, the fact will
usually be found recorded on it by some such inscription
as that on the " St. Maria" bell at Cologne Cathedral :
" Fusa anno mccccxviii. — refusa per Ionnem Bourlet anno
mdclxxxxiii." The name of Bourlet is still to be found in
the neighborhood of Cologne.
The names that most frequently occur in Belgium are
those of the Van den Gheyns, Dumery, and Heraony. We
have come across many others of whom we can learn noth-
ing. " Claude & Joseph Plumere nous ont faict," and un-
derneath, regardless of grammar, " me dissonam refundit,
BELGIUM BELL FOUNDERS. 3(35
1664." "Claes Noorden Johan Albert de Grave me fece-
runt Amstelodamia, 1714."
The above were copied in the belfry of St. Peter's at
Louvain. The name of Bartholomeus Goethale, 1680, is
found in St. Stephen's belfry at Ghent, and that of one An-
drew Steiliert, 1563, at Mechlin. Other obscure names oc-
cur here and there in the numberless belfries of this land
of bells, but the carillon of Bruges (which, by the way, is
a fac-simile of the Antwerp carillon, and consists of forty
bells and one large Bourdon, or Cloche de Trnwi^Ae), bears
the name of Dumery. Sixteen bells at Sottighen, several
at Ghent, and many other places, bear the same name.
Perhaps, however, the most prolific of all the founders was
Petrus Hemony. He was a good musician, and only took
to bell-founding late in life. His small bells are exceed-
ingly fine, but his larger bells are seldom true. It is to be
regretted that the same charge may be brought against
several of Dumery's bells in the celebrated carillon at
Bruges.
"Petrus Hemony me fecit," 1658 to '68, is the motto
most familiar to the bell-seeker in Belgium. The magnifi-
cent Mechlin chimes, and most of the Antwerp bells, are
by him.
Besides the forty bells which form the carillon at Ant-
werp, there are five ancient bells of special interest in that
tower. These five are rung from the same loft at an ele-
vation of 274 feet.
The oldest is called " Horrida ;" it is the ancient tocsin,
and dates from 1316. It is a queer, long-shaped bell, and,
out of consideration for its age and infirmities, has of late
been left unruno;.
Next comes the " Curfew," which hangs somewhat apart,
and is rung every day at five, twelve, and eight o'clock.
The third is the " St. Maria" bell, which is said to weigh
300 BELLS.
4 v tons ; it rang for the first time when Carl the Bold en-
tered Antwerp in 1407, and is still in excellent condition.
The fourth is " St. Antoine."
And last, but greatest and best -beloved of all, is the
"Carolus." It was given by Charles V. (Charles Quint),
takes sixteen men to swing it, and is said to weigh 7£
tons. It is actually composed of copper, silver, and gold,
and is estimated at £20,000. The clapper, from always
striking in the same place, has much worn the two sides,
although now it is rung only about twice a year. The
Antwerpians are fonder of this than of all the other bells;
yet it must be confessed, notwithstanding the incompara-
ble richness of its tone, it is not a true bell. I had con-
siderable difficulty, during the greater part of a day spent
in the Antwerp belfry, in gaining access to this monarch
among bells, for it is guarded with some jealousy by the
good Anversois.
After some trouble I got into the loft below it, where
the rope hangs with its sixteen ends for the ringers ; but
I seemed as far as ever from the bell. It appears that the
loft where the Carolus and its four companions hang is sel-
dom visited, and then only by special order. At length 1
found a man who, for a consideration, procured the keys,
and led the way to the closed door.
In another moment I stood beside the Carolus. It was
not without emotion that I walked all round it, and then,
climbing np on the huge segment of the wheel that swings
it, endeavored in vain to read either the inscription or the
date, so thickly lay the green rust of ages about the long,
thin letters. Creeping underneath its brazen dome, I found
myself close to the enormous clapper, and was seized with
an irrepressible desire to hear the sound of the mighty
bell.
But, alas! where were the sixteen men? It mi^ht take
INSCRIPTIONS. 367
that number to move the bell ; but it immediately struck
me that much less was required to swing the clapper as it
hung. Seizing it with all my might, I found with joy that
it began to move, and I swung it backward and forward
until it began to near the sides. At last, with a bang like
that of the most appalling but melodious thunder, the clap-
per struck one side and rushed back; once, and twice, and
thrice the blow was repeated. Deaf to the entreaties of
my guide, who was outside the bell, and did not care to
come in at the risk of being stunned by the vibration, not
to say smashed by the clapper, I felt it was a chance that
comes but once in a lifetime, and so I rang the Carolus un-
til I was out of breath, and emerged at last quite deaf, but
triumphant.
The decorations worked in bas-relief around some of the
168 old bells are extremely beautiful, while the in-
to scnptions. scrjptions are often highly suggestive, and even
touching. These decorations are usually confined to the
top and bottom rims of the bell, and are in low relief, so as
to impede the vibration as little as possible. At Mechlin,
on a bell bearing date " 1697, Antwerp," there is an amaz-
ingly vigorous hunt through a forest with dogs and all
kinds of wild animals. It is carried right round the bell,
and has all the grace and freedom of a spirited sketch.
On one of Hemony's bells, dated 1674, and bearing the in-
scription " Laudate Domim omnes Gentes," we noticed a
long procession of cherub boys dancing and ringing flat
hand-bells, such as are now rung before the Host in street
processions.
On some of the older bells the Latin Grammar has not
always been properly attended to, and P. Van den Gheyn
has a curious affectation of printing his inscriptions in type
of all sizes, so that one word will often contain letters
368 BELLS.
from three or four different alphabets. The old inscrip-
tions are frequently illegible, from the extreme narrowness
of the Gothic type, and the absence of any space between
the words. One of the Ghent bells bears an inscription
which, in one form or other, is frequently found in the Low
Countries :
" Mynem naem is Roelant ;
Als ick clippe dan ist brandt,
Als ick luyde dan is storm im Vlamderland. "
(Anglice — "My name is Roelant ;
When I toll, then it is for a fire ;
When I chime, then there is stormy weather in Flanders.")
The famous Strasbourg tower, although, unlike the Bel-
gian towers, it possesses no carillon and but nine bells in
all, is remarkably rich in inscriptions, and has been richer.
Its bells are interesting enough to warrant a short digres-
sion.
The first, or "Holy Ghost" bell, dated "1375, 3 nonas
Augusti," weighs about eight tons, and bears the beautiful
motto —
" O Rex Gloriae Christse veni cum Pace."
It is only rung when two fires are seen in the town at
once.
The second bell, recast 1774, is named "the Recall," or
the Storm-bell. In past times, when the plain of Alsatia
was covered with forests and marsh land, this bell was in-
tended to warn the traveler of the approaching storm-cloud
as it was seen driving from the Yosges Mountains toward
the plain. It was also rung at night to guide him to the
gates of the city. It is fitted with two hammers, and is
constantly used.
The third, the " Thor," or Gate-bell, is rung at the shut-
ting and opening of the city gates. It was cast in 1618,
and originally bore the following quaint inscription :
INSCRIPTIONS 36S
"Dieses Thor Glocke das erst mal schallt
Als man 1G18 sahlt
Dass Mgte jahr reguet man
i Nach doctor Luther Jubal jahr
1 Das Bos hinaus das Gut hinein
Zu lauten soil igr arbeit seyn."
Did Mr. Tennyson, I wonder, read this inscription before
he took up the burden of the old bell's song, and wrote,
" King out the old, ring in the new,
* * * *
Ring out the false, ring in the true ?"
In 1641 the Thor bell cracked and was recast. It broke
fifty years afterward, and was recast again in 1651.
The "Mittags," or twelve-o'clock bell, is rung at midday
and at midnight. The old bell was removed at the time
of the French Revolution, and bore the inscription
"Vox ego sum vitce
Yoco vos — orate — venite!"
The hanging of most of the Strasbourg bells almost out-
side the delicate net-work of the tower is highly to be
commended. They can be well heard and seen. The same
remark applies to Antwerp, and it is to be regretted that
in such towers as Mechlin and St. Peter's at Lou vain many
of the bells are so smothered up as to sound almost muf-
fled. Almost all the bells which are open to public inspec-
tion, and which can be reached, bear white chalk inscrip-
tions to the effect that our illustrious countryman, Jones
of London, has thought it worth while to visit the bells on
such and such a day ; that his Christian name is Tom or
Harry, and his age is, etc., etc. However, on the stone
walls inside the Strasbourg tower there are some more in-
teresting records. I copied the following : I. M. H. S.,
1587; Klopstock, 1777; Goethe, 1780; Lavater, 1776;
Montalembert, 1834; and Voltaire, the Vb was struck
Q2
370 BELLS.
:i\v:iy from the wall by lightning in 1821, but has been
carefully replaced in stucco.
In Mechlin tower I noticed the initials J. R., in the deep
sill of the staircase- window; underneath is a slight design
of a rose window, apparently sketched with the point of a
compass.
Close inside the clock-tower of Antwerp Cathedral, and
sheltered by the skeleton clock dial, although exposed to
the weather, is scratched the name Darden, 1670. It is
strange, but true, that what we condemn in tourists is re-
garded by us with interest when the tourist happens to be
eminent, or even when he happens to have been dead for
two or three hundred years.
For the sake of contrast, it may now be worth while to
169 look into one or two English belfries before 1
WestSsto? close tllis paper. I will select St, Paul's, West-
Abbey, minster Abbey, and the Clock Tower.
The bells of St. Paul's Cathedral are four in number;
three belong to the clock, and hang in the southwest tow-
er; one small one hangs alone in the northwest tower, and
is rung for service. The largest bell weighs over five tons,
and is commonly supposed to have been recast from the
metal of " Great Tom" of Westminster. The truth seems
to be as follows. " Great Tom" was no doubt at one time
conveyed from Westminster to St. Paul's, but, having
cracked, it became necessary either to recast it or to pro-
cure a new one. The bell-metal was considered so bad
that, by the advice of Richard Phelps, the bell-founder, a
new one was made for £627. He allowed 9-J/7. a pound for
the old bell, but did not work up any of this metal for the
present bell. This is quite certain, as I have the best au-
thority for saying that the old bell was not removed until
the new bell was delivered at the Cathedral. The inscrip-
ST. PA UL> S AND WESTMINSTER ABBE Y. 371
tion is perfectly legible, and, as copied on a particularly
bright morning by me, runs thus :
" Richard Phelps made me, 1716."
A common fleur-de-lis pattern runs round the top, varied
only by the arms of the Dean and Chapter, while the bot-
tom is decorated by a few straight lines.* There is abso-
lutely nothing to be said about the other bells except that
R. Phelps made them, and they are all more or less out of
tune in themselves and with each other — a fact which that
truly musical people whose metropolis they adorn will
probably be prepared to deny with a vehemence equally
patriotic and superfluous.
On ascending the Westminster Abbey tower with note-
book and candle, after being told that the bells were all
rather modern, I was agreeably surprised to find at least
one or two interesting specimens. There are in all seven
bells. Each is rung by a rope and wheel, and has a clap-
per inside ; and, in addition to this, each is acted upon by
an external hammer, worked by the striking apparatus of
the clock. They are, as a rule, in quite as good condition
as the Belgian bells of an equal age. The largest bears
this inscription :
"Remember John Whitmell, Isabel his wife, and William Rus, who
first gave this bell, 1430.
" New cast in July, lf>99, and in April, 1 738. Richard Phelps, T. Les-
ter, fecit."
The oldest bell, somewhat smaller, dates from 1583. The
next oldest is the second largest bell, date 1598. It bears
an inscription — "Timpanis patrem laudate sonantibus al-
tum. Gabriel Goodman, Decanus, 1598." Gabriel Good-
man was dean 1561 to 1601. A smaller bell bears the in-
scription—
* This bell has a very fine tone, and is rung at the hour.
372 BELLS.
" Thomas Lester, London, made me,
And with the rest I will agree,
Seventeen hundred and forty-three."
Another small bell by T. Lester bears the same date, while
the smallest of all, hung at an almost inaccessible height,
is by Richard Lester, in 1738. One bell bears no date. It
is inscribed "+ Christe : audi : nos." The Rev. Mr. Ella-
combe, of Clyst St. George, a well-known writer on Bells,
has been good enough to send me an extract from JYbtes
mid Queries by Mr. Thomas Walesby, giving a more accu-
rate and detailed account of the Westminster bells than I
obtained on my first visit to the tower.
The Westminster bells fail to inspire us wTith much in-
terest. They are products of manufacture, not works of
art. Unlike almost all the Belgian bells, they are one -f-
excepted without symbols or ornamentation of any kind.
There has been no labor of love thrown away upon them
— not a spray or a branch relieves the monotony of the
metal surface. Not even a monogram, or a crown, or an
ecclesiastical coat of arms is bestowed upon any of them.
The Latin, like a great deal of bell Latin, is very bad ; the
spelling is equally indifferent. The type is poor, and de-
void of fancy ; and the wax in which the letters were orig-
inally moulded has been so carelessly laid on, that the tops
of T's are often twisted down upon the letter, and the dots
of the full stops have got displaced. It is interesting to
notice that all the dates, even the earliest, 1583, are in the
Arabic, and not, as we should naturally expect, in the Ro-
man numerals.
By an easy transition, we may pass from the gray majes-
170 tic towers of the old Abbey to the big, square-sided
Big Ben. p^i]ar wjth the tall night-cap, commonly known as
the Westminster Clock Tower.
BIO BEN. 373
This top-heavy edifice contains some of the latest speci-
mens of English bell-founding in the nineteenth century,
and I must do it the justice to say that it is better inside
than out. On a close inspection the massiveness of the
structure is imposing, and it is really surprising that such
a huge amount of stone-work should be so wanting in ex-
ternal dignity. The walls are of a uniform thickness of
between five and six feet, and are little likely ever to be
shaken down, like the Pekin Tower, by the vibration of the
bells. There is a wide passage all round the top of the
tower between the white enameled glass clock-face and its
illuminating apparatus. The proportions of the four disks
are truly colossal, measuring each over 10 feet in circum-
ference. Each is illuminated by a blazing wall of light be-
hind it, composed of five horizontal gas tubes, Avith many
jets, of an average length of 17 feet apiece. Thus the four
clock disks, that can be seen so well from all parts of Lon-
don at night, owe their light-house radiance to a furnace
composed of no less than 340 feet of gas pipes. Outside,
the mighty minute-hand swings visibly round, traveling at
the pace of a foot a minute. The machinery of the clock,
to which a large room is devoted, being on a colossal scale,
looks extremely simple. It bears the inscription, " This
clock was made in the year of our Lord 1854, by Frederick
Dent, from the designs of Edmund Becket Denison, Q. C."
Telegraph wires from Greenwich are introduced into the
interior of the works in order to regulate the time. We
may select a quarter to twelve o'clock to enter the im-
mense belfry, containing the five bells. The iron frame-
work in which they are swung is at once neat and massive,
and contrasts with the rough and ponderous timbers of the
older belfries very much as a modern iron-clad might con-
trast with an ancient man-of-war. We feel in the presence
of these modern structures that we have gained much and
374 BELLS.
lost something. The mechanical element preponderates
over the human, and in the presence of these cast-iron col-
umns, symmetrical girders, and neat bolts, we experience
a sense of power, but without the particular dignity which
belongs to the heavy and cumbrous rafters of the more an-
cient towers. The very same feeling is inspired by the
massive modern iron-work in the belfry of Cologne Cathe-
dral.
Big Ben hangs in the middle, and the four quarter-bells
at the four corners. The original big bell was cast by War-
ner, of Clerkenwell, who is also the founder of the four
quarter-bells. This bell, having cracked, was replaced by
Ben, from the foundery of George Mears. It bears the fol-
lowing inscription :
" This bell, weighing 13 tons 10 cwt. 3 qrs. 15 lbs., was cast by George
Mears, at Whitechapel, for the clock of the Houses of Parliament, under
the direction of Edmund Becket Denison, Q. C, in the 21 t year of the
reign of Queen Victoria, and in the year of our Lord MDCCCLVIII."
The decorations round the top are of the hard Gothic type
of the Houses of Parliament. On one side of the bell is
the ordinary raised heraldic grating, and on the other are
the arms of England. The letters are of the worst possi-
ble kind of that narrow Gothic type which makes the de-
spair of the antiquarian. In a couple of hundred years,
when the rust and mould, which have already begun to ac-
cumulate in our wretched English atmosphere, has clotted
the letters together and confused the tops, we may safely
predict that this inscription will be entirely illegible.
The largest of the four quarter-bells, cast in 1856 by
Warner, weighs 3 tons 17 cwt. 2 qrs. ; the second weighs
1 ton 13 cwt. 2 qrs.; the third, 1 ton 5 cwt. 1 qr. ; the
fourth, 1 ton 1 cwt.
After seeking for some quaint text, or solemn dedica-
tion, which should convey to posterity some idea of the
BIG BEX. 375
founder's reverence for his work or taste for his art, I dis-
covered the following noble and original inscription: "John
Warner and Sons, Crescent Foundery, 1857 ;" then follows
her Britannic majesty's arms, and, underneath, the strik-
ing word "Patent." I could not help thinking of the Bel-
gian bells, on which the founder — half poet, half artist —
has printed the fair forms that seemed forever rising in his
free and fertile imagination. How often do we feel, as we
note the graceful tracery, and the infinitely varied groups,
just sufficiently unstudied to be full of feeling, that the
artist has been tracing memories of netted branches, be-
loved faces, or nature's own hieroglyphics written upon
flowers and sea-shells! There is one bell in a dark corner
of a Louvain belfry, nearly plain, only against the side of
it a forest leaf has, as it were, been blown and changed to
iron, with every web-like vein perfect — but, of course, a
forest leaf is a poor thing compared to a " Patent."
Neither in the Abbey, nor St. Paul's, nor the Clock Tow-
er do we find the bells have any higher vocation than that
of beating the tom-tom. They do not call the citizens "to
work and pray." They remind them of no One above the
toiling and moiling crowd ; of no changeless and eternal
sympathy with man, his joys and his sorrows. They give
no warning note of fire, of pestilence, of battle, or any oth-
er peril. There are no Peals of Triumph, no Storm-bells,
no Salvators — merely Old Toms and Big Bens.
Big Ben is cracked, and his tone grows sensibly worse
every year — I might almost say every month. Yet, con-
sidering he is 8-J- inches thick, we can hardly be surprised
that the crack does not go right through him (1871). It is
said that the designer of the bell insisted upon the metals
being mixed on scientific principles and in certain propor-
tions ; and it is rumored that, had the advice of the founder
been followed, and the metals mixed as only a practical
376 BELLS.
founder knows how, the bell would not have cracked. On
this subject I can not pretend to have even an opinion.
Big Ben is not a true bell. He suffers from a flat third.
His unhappy brother Patent, who is, nevertheless, so far in
his right mind as to be still uncracked (we allude to the
next largest bell, which hangs at one of the corners), is no
more true than his magnified relative. If I am not very
much mistaken, he is afflicted with a sharp third. To
crown all, I fear it must be confessed (but on this subject
I would willingly bow to the decision of Sir Sterndale Ben-
nett or Sir Michael Costa) that none of the bells are in
tune with each other. The intended intervals are indeed
suggested, but it can scarcely be maintained by any musi-
cian that the dissonant clangor which is heard a quarter
before each hour is any thing more than a vague approach
to the intended harmonic sequence.
The excited citizens of Mechlin or Antwerp would have
had these bells down after their first tuneless attempt to
play the quarter ; but the strength of old England lies
more in patents than tuning-forks — so we must still cry,
" Vive le mauvais quart-d'heure !"
I have before mentioned that one bell in the neighboring:
tower of the Abbey, on which is inscribed " John Lester
made me," etc., possesses a laudable desire "with the rest"
to "agree." We may regret that its aspiration rose no
higher; and, still more, that, modest as it is, it was not
destined to be realized. But if both the Clock Tower and
the Abbey Tower are thus discordant in themselves and
with each other, it must be admitted that they agree ex-
cellently well in disagreeing;.
I do not wish to be hard upon English bells, and I con-
fess that I have seen more of foreigri than of English ones,
although since writing the above I have inspected a great
many English towers, among them Peterborough, York,
BIG BEX. 377
Lichfield, and Durham ; yet such specimens as I have seen
have not inspired me with much enthusiasm, and it is with
a feeling of relief that I turn even from such celebrated
belfries as St. Paul's and Westminster Abbey to the old
cathedrals of Belgium, with their musical chimes and their
splendid carillons.
CARILLONS.
IV.
The foot sinks into black dust at least an inch thick.
171 A startled owl sweeps out of the old belfry win-
Our Beifnes. (jow . ^Q s]mtters are broken, and let in some
light, and plenty of wind and rain in winter. The cement
inside the steeple has rotted away, and the soft stone is
crumbling unheeded. Some day the noble old tower w7ill
be proclaimed unsafe, and if no funds are forthcoming,
twenty feet will be taken off it, and the peal of bells w7ill
have to come down. It requires no prophet to foretell
this ; one glance is sufficient. Every thing is already rot-
ting and rusting. The inscriptions on the six or eight great
bells are almost illegible ; the beams wThich support them
have lost their rivets' heads, and are all loose, probably
unsafe ; the unpainted wheels are cracked, and every time
the bells ring the friction about the pivots from the dust
and dirt which has accumulated and worked into them is
very great.
We may well ask Builders, Architects, Deans and Chap-
ters in general, in these days of church restoration, how
they can account for such a state of things in so many
otherwise wTell-restored churches? Why are mighty dust-
heaps and vagrant owls almost invariably to be found
in the belfry? Alas ! because the belfry is the one spot in
the church which is hardly ever visited. When a rope
breaks, or a wheel gets out of order, some one climbs up
OUR BELFMIES. 379
and mends it. When an antiquarian wishes to see some
famous peal, or copy the legend upon some bell, he gets
permission to ascend the tower — perhaps this may happen
once in a year. Yet the bells are often the most interest-
ing things about the church. They have their histories,
and the few words inscribed upon them are not unfre-
quently very quaint and suggestive. But who is to stum-
ble up the old decayed stairs, or plunge into the dust and
filth of centuries, at the risk of breaking his neck? Only
a few enthusiasts, who are powerless to help the poor bells
in their corrosion, and the poor towers in their rottenness.
The notion that there is nothing to do up in the belfry
after the bells are hung but to let them swing and every
thing else rot, seems to be a very prevalent one. This
natural process is at all events going on in many cathedral
towers in England at this moment. Thousands are spent
annually upon the outward decorations ; every Gothic de-
tail is carefully replaced, every mullion repaired ; the inte-
rior is rehabilitated by the best architects ; all is scrupu-
lously clean about the nave and chancel, and side aisles
and sacristy, and not even an organ-pipe is allowed to get
out of tune ; but there is, nevertheless, a skeleton in the
house — we need not descend into the vaults to find it — our
skeleton is in the belfry. His bones are the rotten tim-
bers, his dust is the indescribable accumulations of ages —
the vaults are clean in comparison with the belfry. Open
yonder little door at the corner of the nave, and begin the
dark ascent ; before you have gone far you will sigh for
the trim staircase that leads down to the vaults. Enter
the windy, dirty, rotten room where the poor old bells that
can not die are allowed to mildew and crack for want of a
little attention, until they ring the tower down in the an-
gry resonance of their revenge. You will think of the
well-kept monuments in the quiet vaults below, where the
380 CARILLONS.
dead lie decently covered in, and where the carefully-swept
floor (a trifle damp, maybe) reveals many a well-worn, but
still legible epitaph or funereal symbol.
if the care of belfries and tower walls were a mere affair
iT2. of sentiment, there mio:ht be room for regret, but
Waste and _ ,. *«.,,.,
Rum. hardly matter ior protest. .But, indeed, thousands
of pounds might be annually saved if the any thing but
silent ruin going on inside our church towers all over the
land were occasionally arrested by a few pounds' worth of
timely cement, or a new beam or rivet, just enough to
check the tremendously increased friction caused by loose
bell machinery. Every antiquarian has had to mourn the
loss of church towers that have literally been rung to
pieces by the bells. Let me here protest against the sense-
less practice of trying to tighten the loose bell-works by
ramming beams, bricks, and wedges between the loose
works and the wall of the tower — many a belfry has been
cracked by the cruel thrust of such extemporized repairs.
This is perhaps the commonest and most disastrous trick
which ignorant carpenters are in the habit of playing in
church towers. The great Bell of Time will no doubt ring
down every tower in the land sooner or later, but at pres-
ent, instead of arresting his action, Ave assist him as much
as possible by pretending not to see the ravages he is mak-
ing, or by helping with our own brutal and clumsy wedges.
The other day I ascended the tower of one of the most
beautifully-restored cathedrals in England. It was by no
means as badly kept as many; I therefore select it as a
good average specimen to describe.
The tower and spire are of red sandstone, massive, but
soft, and therefore specially dependent upon good cement
and protection from the weather. The shutters were, as
usual, old and rotting; large gaps admitted the rain and
WASTE AND M UIN. 381
wind, whose action was abundantly manifest upon the
flakes of soft stone which lined the interior of the spire: in
places the old cement had completely fallen out, but the
spire may still stand for another hundred years or more,
after which it will have to be taken down or replaced at
enormous cost. The bell machinery, like every machin-
ery intended for mere peals (not carillons), was of course
of the roughest kind — the old primitive wheel, and nothing
more. This simple, and, at the same time, cumbrous ap-
paratus never can work smoothly on a large scale, and
more complicated works, which would save half the fric-
tion, might easily be devised ; but then who cares what
the works up in the belfry are like? The tower may in-
deed come down by-and-by, but it will last our time, and
the piety of posterity will doubtless build another.
There are ten bells in L Cathedral, of which I am
speaking, the largest weighing If tons. These bells are in
pretty constant use. On examining the wheels, I found
them all to be more or less rough, rotten, and split. Each
wheel, of course, swung between two stout beams. There
was a rest for the axle of the wheel provided upon the sur-
face of each of them, while a piece of wood kept fast by a
movable rivet was fitted over the indentation in which the
axle-tree worked, so as to prevent the wheel from rising
and jolting in the beams when swung. I had the curiosity
to go round and examine each socket. In every case the
rivet was out, lying on the beam, or on the floor, or lost ;
consequently, whenever the peal is rung, the jolting and
creaking alone must, in the long run, greatly injure the
tower. Indeed, I feel convinced that, in nine cases out of
ten, it is not the sound of the bells so much as the unneces-
sary friction of the neglected bell machinery, with its fatal
wedges, which ruins our towers and shakes down our
church spires.
382 CARILLOyS.
But, it may fairly be asked, What ought to be done?
173 I profess no deep architectural knowledge, but a
Remedies. few 0"kvious improvements will, no doubt, have
already suggested themselves to the reader's mind. First*
let architects remember that the towers are not only good
for bells, but also for lovers of scenery ; and let them re-
pair the staircases. This might be done at little cost by
casing the worn-out tower steps with good elm -boards,
which I am told, on good authority, would last as long as
any surface of stone, and would certainly be more easily
as well as more cheaply repaired. Unless the staircase is
decent, safe, and clean, the neighboring panorama of hill
and dale, land and water, will be lost to all but a few ad-
venturous climbers. Then, the better the ascent, the more
chance there is of the belfry being visited and cared for.
And, lastly, if the stairs are mended, perhaps the walls of
the staircase — in other words, the fabric of the tower itself
— might claim a little more frequent attention. But here
are the bells: why should they be eaten up with corro-
sion, and covered with filth and mildew ? The Belgian
bell-founders take a pride in sending out their bells smooth
and clean. The English bell-founders send them out some-
times with bits of rough metal sticking to them from the
mould, and full of pits and flaws. Well they know that
none will care for the bells, or notice their condition, until
they finally crack or tumble down. Why turn them out
clean when they are never to be clean again ?
But the bells should have their official, like the clock.
He should be called the Bell-stoker. He should rub his
bells at least once a week, so as to keep them clean and
prevent corrosion, and then the inscriptions would be pre-
served, and the surface of the bells being protected from
disintegration, the sound would be improved, and the bells
would be less liable to crack. The stoker should keep ev-
RE ME LIES. 383
ery rivet in its place ; the wheels and beams should all be
varnished or painted regularly. I have visited many bel-
fries at home and abroad, but never have I seen a bit of
paint or varnish in one yet. The shutters should be kept
from swinging, with their flanges sloping downward, so as
to keep the wet from driving in, while allowing the sound
to float freely out and down upon the town. But a far
more radical change is required in the machinery of the
bells. In these days of advanced mechanical appliances, it
is strange to reflect that exactly the same machinery is
now used to swing bells as was used in China thousands
of years ago. A wheel with a rope round it — that and
nothing more. The bell-works might occupy much less
room, and the friction, by some of the simplest mechanical
appliances, might be reduced to almost nothing. An eye
for the belfry is a thing to be cultivated. The belfry
should look like a fine engine-room in a first-class factory.
It should be a pleasure, as well as an instructive lesson, to
go into it. When all was in motion, every thing should
be so neatly fitted and thoroughly oiled that we should
hear no sound save only the melodious booming of the
bells themselves. At present, when the bells are rung, the
belfry appears to go into several violent convulsions, cor-
responding too often to the efforts of the poor ringers be-
low. At last the wheel is induced to move enough for the
clapper to hit the bell an indefinite kind of bang — an ardu-
ous operation, which may or may not be repeated in some
kind of rhythm, according as the ringer may or may not
succeed in hitting it off with the eccentric machinery up
aloft. I do not wish to disparage the skill of our bell-
ringing clubs, though when their bells are out of tune and
their machinery bad, their labor is, to a great extent,
wasted. Change-ringing — " triple majors" or " firing" — is,
as the Church Times (which ought to know) remarks, about
384 CARILLONS.
the extent which the art has reached anions us. "Hark!
the merry Christ Church bells," and such like, may also on
some occasions be heard, and little more.
Bells were not made for towers, but towers for bells.
174 Towers were originally nothing but low lanterns;
a/country but wnen bells came into common use the lantern
again. was noisted up} and grew into a spire supported
by the bell-room or tower. One would have thought that
this fact alone, that so many noble structures owe their ex-
istence to bells, might have invested bells with a superior
dignity, and given them an honorable place in the affec-
tion of a church-and-chapel-going nation like our own.
But probably the only influence which will ever be search-
ing and powerful enough to get the wrongs of our bells
and belfries righted is the influence of a more diffused mu-
sical taste. No one in England really associates the bells
in our towers with musical progressions and musical nota-
tion. The roughest possible attempt at an octave is
thought sufficient, and the most discordant sequences are
considered sweet and lovely. The English people do not
seem to be aware that a bell is, or ought to be, a musical
note ; that consequently a peal of bells is, under any cir-
cumstances, a kind of musical instrument, and under some
circumstances a very fine kind. With all the musical
agencies, and the concerts, and the money, and the enthu-
siasm which are annually devoted to music in England, we
have yet much to learn — so much that at times the pros-
pect seems hopeless. What shall we say to a nation that
tolerates with scarcely a protest German bands in every
possible state of decay? — bands made out of a sort of
Ginx's Babies with bugles, horrid clarionets, and battered
brass tubes blown by asthmatic refugees. We are not al-
luding to some really good German bands which conde-
0 UR MUSICAL CO UNTR Y A GAIN. 335
scend to the use of music-desks and the kettle-drum ; but
to those fiendish nomads who congregate together in our
streets without any other principle of cohesion except what
may be found in a dogged conviction that although each
one is incapable of playing alone, yet all together may
have the power of creating such a brazen pandemonium
that sooner or later men must pay them to leave off.
What shall we say to a people who will hear without re-
morse their favorite tunes on the barrel-organs of the pe-
riod ? Legislation has indeed been directed against every
form of street music because it is noisy, but never because
it is unmusical. In Italy the government stops street or-
gans which are out of tune. In England no distinction
whatever is drawn between street noise and street music.
As long as multitudes are content to have piano -fortes
without having them in tune, as long as clergy and con-
gregations are content to put up with the most squeaky
form of the harmonium, as long as organists can be found
to play upon organs as much out of tune as those portable
barrels of madness and distraction carried about our great
country by the wandering minstrels of Italy, as long as
tunes are allowed to be performed for Punch and Judy
upon the discordant pipe of Pan, while negro melodists
thrum the parchment and scratch the violin with more
than demoniac energy, so long it is unreasonable to ex-
pect people to care for the tonal properties of their bells.
Great bells in London are generally considered insuffer-
able nuisances. One church with daily service materially
injures house property in the adjoining streets. But if, in-
stead of one or two bells cracked or false, or, at any rate,
representing no true melodic progression, there were a doz-
en musically tuned and musically played, the public ear
would soon appreciate the sound as an agreeable strain of
aerial music, instead of being driven mad with the hoarse,
R
386 CARILLONS.
gong-like roar of some incurably sick bell. I question
whether there is a musically true chime of bells in the
whole of England, and if it exists, I doubt whether any one
knows or cares for its musical superiority. Many chimes
are respectable, with the exception of one or two bells,
which, being flat or sharp, completely destroy every change
that is rung upon them, yet it never occurs to any body
to have the offenders down, and either made right or re-
cast. The Romsey Abbey bells, for instance, an octave
peal of eight, are respectably in tune with the exception of
the seventh, which is too sharp, but which has hung there
and been rung there ever since 1791 without (as far as we
are aware) creating any unpleasant sensation in the neigh-
borhood. Similar charges might be brought against most
of our cathedral and metropolitan chimes. This being the
case, it can hardly be wondered at if our clock-chimes are
found equally out of tune. I have before expressed my
conviction that Big Ben, with his four quarter-bells, and
the Westminster Abbey chimes, wxmld not be tolerated for
twenty-four hours by any town in Belgium. As bells in-
dividually they may be good, bad, or indifferent, but as
musical notes combined for musical purposes they are sim-
ply abominable. Yet the British citizen knows it not; nay,
he prides himself upon the colossal Ben though cracked,
he plumes himself upon the romantic chimes in the gray
towers of the old Abbey, whereof the explanation is that
the bells are to him as Time and Noise. But they are
something worse than mere noise ; they are rank discords
and corrupters of the public ear. To hear a dozen or so
of quarters struck out of tune every day must have a dis-
astrous effect upon musical taste. It makes people indif-
ferent to tune, wThich is the first essential of music. I have
heard the street-boys whistling Big Ben's quarters deliber-
ately out of tune. The government would no doubt smile
THE BELLS OF BEL GIUM. 3 8 >
at the notion that it ought to prohibit such chimes and
all such public discords as public offenses against taste.
Can there be any more lamentable proof of the truth of
the much-contested sentence, " The English are not a mu-
sical people," than the fact that of all the lords and com-
mons, the elite of the land, who sit at Westminster not a
stone's throw from Big Ben, perhaps not half a dozen are
aware that Big Ben and his four attendant quarter-bells
are hideously out of tune ?
Willingly do I escape from the din and discord of Eng-
175. lish belfries to Belgium, loving and beloved of
The Bells _ „ ° ' °
of Belgium, bells.
The wind that sweeps over her campagnas and fertile
levels is full of broken but melodious whispers.
In Belgium, day and night are set to music — music on a
scale more colossal than that of the largest orchestra ever
yet heard — music more penetrating than the loudest trum-
pet or organ blast ; for, however large the chorus and or-
chestra, it would scarcely be possible, in the east end of
London, to hear a concert at Westminster, yet, on still
nights, with a gentle wind blowing, we have often at that
distance distinctly heard Big Ben. Well, in Belgium every
seven minutes there is bell-music, not only for the whole
town, but for the country miles round. Those carillons,
playing the same cheerful air every hour throughout the
year, at last acquire a strange fascination over one who lives
within sight and hearing of some such gray old church as
St. Rombaud at Mechlin. The listener has heard them at
moments when, elated with hope, he was looking forward
to the almost immediate realization of some long-desired
joy, and the melody of the bells has filled him with exul-
tation. He has heard the same strain rung out in seasons
of depression, and his heart has leaped up at the sound so
388 CAJULLONS.
filled with memories. The bells may have again smitten
upon his ear at the moment when some tragic news has
reached him ; or out in the fields, steeped in yellow sun-
shine, above the hum of insect life, the same tune has come
to him between the pauses of the summer wind; or deep
in his dreams through sleep, without awakening him, the
bells have somehow mingled their old rhythm with his dor-
mant fancies, until at last their sound becomes so charged
with the incidents and emotions of his life that they are
almost as much a part of him as his memory. When he
comes to leave a town where he has dwelt for some time,
he feels as if he had lost a whole side of life ; he misses the
sound of the friendly bells, which always had the power,
by force of association, to call up some emotion congenial
to the moment — the sympathetic bells which seemed al-
ways equally ready to weep or to rejoice with him — the
unobtrusive bells so familiar as never to be a disturbance
— the gentle bells that could, as it were, ring aside to them-
selves when not wanted, and yet never failed to minister
to the listening spirit whenever it stood in need of their
companionship or sympathy.
There is no greater mistake than to suppose that bell
176 music every seven minutes is an unpleasant dis-
BeiiMusic. turbance or interruption; its very frequency en-
ables it to become completely assimilated to our e very-day
life. Are we not surrounded by natural changes and ef-
fects quite as marked in their way as bell music, and yet
which have no tendency to unsettle, distract, or weary us ?
How loud at times does the wind blow ; how suddenly on
a dark day will the sun burst into our room ; how shrill is
the voice of our canary, which at last we hardly heed at
all; how often does a rumbling vehicle pass along in the
streets — and yet we cease neither reading nor writing for
any of these !
BELL MUSIC. 389
The bells musically arranged never irritate or annoy one
in Belgium. Instead of time floating by in blank and mel-
ancholy silence, or being marked by harsh and brazen clash-
es, time floats on there upon the pulses of sweet and solemn
music. To return from a town like Mechlin to chimeless
and gong-like England is like coming from a festival to a
funeral.
M. Victor Hugo staid at Mechlin in 1837, and the nov-
elty of the almost incessant carillon chimes in the neigh-
boring town of St.Kombaud appears, not unnaturally, to
have driven sleep from his eyelids ; yet he was not irri-
tated or angry so much as fascinated, and at last the cre-
ative instinct awoke in the poet, and, rising from his bed,
he inscribed by moonlight the following charming lines
with a diamond-ring upon the window-pane :
" J'aime le carillon dans tes cites antiques,
O vieux pays, gardien de tes moeurs domestiques,
Noble Flandre, oil le Nord se rechauffe engourdi
Au soleil de Castille et s'accouple au Midi !
Le carillon, c'est l'heure inattendue et folle
Que l'ceil croit voir, vetue en danseuse espagnole
Apparaitre soudain par le trou vif et clair
Que ferait, en s'ouvrant, une porte de l'air.
Elle vient, secouant sur les toits lethargiques
Son tablier d'argent, plein de notes magiques,
Reveillant sans pitie les dormeurs ennuyeux,
Sautant a petits pas comme un oiseau joyeux,
Vibrant, ainsi qu'un dard qui tremble dans la cible ;
Par un frele escalier de cristal invisible,
Effaree et dansante, elle descend des cieux ;
Et l'esprit, ce veilleur, fait d'oreilles et d'yeux,
Tandis quelle va, vient, monte et descend encore,
Entend de marche en marche errer son pied sonore !"
177 To Belgium belongs the honor of having first
The Cannon. un(jerstood and felt bells as musical notes, and
390 CAEILLOXS.
devised that aerial and colossal musical instrument known
as the carillon.
" Carillon" is derived from the Italian word quadriglio or
quadrille. A dreary kind of dance music, of which many
specimens still survive, seems under this name to have come
from Italy, and been widely popular throughout Europe in
the sixteenth century. People hummed the quadriglio in
the streets, and as town bells, whether in the cathedral or
in the town belfry, were regarded as popular institutions,
it is not to be wondered at that the quadriglio was the first
kind of musical tune ever arranged for a peal of bells, and
that these peals of time-playing bells became widely famous
under the name of Carillons.
The rise of bell music in Belgium was sudden and rapid.
In the sixteenth century the use of several bells in connec-
tion with town clocks was common enough. Even little
tunes were played at the quarters and half hours. The ad-
dition of a second octave was clearly only a matter of time.
In the seventeenth century carillons were found in all the
principal towns of Belgium, and between the seventeenth
and eighteenth centuries all the finest carillons now in use,
including those of Malines, Antwerp, Bruges, Ghent, and
Louvain, were set up. There seems to have been no limit
to the number of bells, except the space and strength of
the belfry. Antwerp Cathedral has sixty-five bells; St.
Rombaud, Mechlin, forty-four bells ; Bruges, forty bells and
one bourdon, or heavy bass bell ; Ghent, thirty-nine ; Tour-
nay, forty ; Ste. Gertrude, at Louvain, forty.
The great passion and genius for bells which called these
noble carillons into existence can no longer be said to be
at its height. The Van Aerschodts, descendants of the
great bell-founding family of the Van den Ghcyns, proba-
bly make as good bells as their forefathers, or better ones;
and certainly the younger brother, Severin van Aerschodt,
THE CARILLON. 391
retains much of the artistic feeling and genuine pride in his
bells so distinctive of the old founders. M. Severin is a
good sculptor, and works easily and with real enthusiasm
both in marble and in bronze. All bell machinery can be
infinitely better made now than ever ; but, notwithstanding
the love of the Belgians for their chimes and carillons, and
%he many modern improvements that have been recently
made, we can not help feeling that the great bell period
ended in 1785 with the death of the greatest organist and
carillonneur Belgium has ever produced, Matthias van den
Gheyn.
No one who has not taken the trouble to examine the
machinery used for ringing these enormous suites of bells,
many of which weigh singly several tons, can well appre-
ciate all that is implied in the words " Carillons aux clave-
cins et aux tambours," or, in plain English, musical chimes
played by a barrel and played from a key-board.
Up in every well-stored belfry in Belgium there is a
small room devoted to a large revolving barrel, exactly
similar in principle to that of a musical box ; it is fitted all
over with little spikes, each of which, in its turn, lifts a
tongue, the extremity of which pulls a wire, which raises a
hammer, which, lastly, falls upon a bell and strikes the re-
quired note of a tune. We have only to imagine a barrel-
organ of the period, in which the revolving barrel, instead
of opening a succession of tubes, pulls a succession of wires
communicating with bell-hammers, and we have roughly
the conception of the tambour-carillon.
But up in that windy quarter there is another far more
important chamber, the room of the clavecin, or key-board.
We found, even in Belgium, that these rooms, once the
constant resort of choice musical spirits, and a great cen-
tre of interest to the whole town, were now but seldom
visited. Some of the clavecins, like that in Tournay bel-
392 CARILLOXS.
fry, for instance, we regret to say, are shockingly out of
repair; we could not ascertain that there was any one in
the town capable of playing it, or that it had been played
upon recently at all. Imagine, instead of spikes on a re-
volving barrel being set to lift wire-pulling tongues, the
hand of man performing this operation by simply striking
the wire-pulling key, or tongue, and we have the rough
conception of the carillon-clavecin, or bells played from a
key-board. The usual apparatus of the carillon-clavecin in
Belgium, we are bound to say, is extremely rough. It pre-
sents the simple spectacle of a number of jutting handles,
of about the size and look of small rolling-pins, each of
which communicates most obviously and directly with a
wire which pulls the bell-smiting hammer overhead. The
performer has this rough key-board arranged before him
in semitones, and can play upon it just as a piano or organ
is played upon, only that, instead of striking the keys, or
pegs, writh his finger, he has to administer a sharp blow to
each with his gloved fist.
How with such a machine intricate pieces of music, and
178 even organ voluntaries, were played, as we know
Cariiionneurs. t^ were? -g a mySteiy to USi The best living
carillonneurs sometimes attempt a rough outline of some
Italian overture, or a tune with variations, which is, after
all, played more accurately by the barrel ; but the great
masterpieces of Matthias van den Gheyn, which have late-
ly been unearthed from their long repose, are declared to
be quite beyond the skill of any player now living. The
inference we must draw is sad and obvious. The age of
carillons is past, the art of playing them is rapidly becom-
ing a lost art, and the love and the popular passion that
once was lavished upon them has died out, and left but a
pale flame in the breasts of the worthy citizens, who are
CARILLONNEUItS. 393
still proud of their traditions, but vastly prefer the me-
chanical performance of the tambour to the skill of any
carillonneur now living.
The supply of high-class carillon neurs ceased with the
demand; but why did the demand cease? The only ex-
planation which occurs to us is this : the carillonneur was
once the popular music-maker of the people at a time when
good music was scarce, just as the preacher was once the
popular instructor of the people when good books were
scarce. Now the people can get music, and good music,
in a hundred other forms. It is the bands, and pianos, and
the immense multiplication of cheap editions of music, and
the generally increased facilities of making music, which
have combined to kill the carillonneurs and depose caril-
lons from their once lordly position of popular favor to the
subordinate office of playing tunes to the clock.
When Peter van den Gheyn, the bell-founder, put up his
modest octave of bells in 1562 at Louvain, his carillon was
doubtless thought a miracle of tune-playing. But at that
time German music did not exist. Palestrina, then just
emerging from obscurity, was hardly understood outside
Italy. Monteverde and Lulli were not yet born. But
when Matthias van den Gheyn, the carillonneur, died, Han-
del and Bach had already passed away, Haydn was still liv-
ing, Mozart was at his zenith, Beethoven was fifteen years
old, and every form of modern music was created, and al-
ready widely spread throughout Europe. These facts seem
to us to explain the decreasing attention paid to carillon
music in Belgium. The public ear has now become glut-
ted with every possible form of music. People have also
become fastidious about tune and harmony, and many fine
carillons which satisfied our forefathers are now voted well
enough for clock chimes, but not for serious musical per-
formances.
R2
394 CARILLONS.
There is no reason whatever why the taste for carillon
music should not be revived. Bells can be cast in perfect
tunc, and the exquisite English machinery for playing
them ought to tempt our bell-founders to emulate their
Belgian brothers in the fine-toned qualities of their bells.
Let us now try and form some conception of what has
179. actually been realized by skilled players on the
Matthias van .,111 -. i f n 1
den Gneyn. carillon key-board by glancing at some of the
carillon music still extant, and assisting in imagination at
one of those famous carillon seances which were once look-
ed forward to by the Belgians as our Handel festivals are
now looked forward to by the lovers of music in England.
In the middle of the last century there was probably no
town in Belgium more frequented than the ancient and
honorable collegiate town of Louvain. Its university has
always had a splendid reputation, and at this day can
boast of some of the most learned men in Europe. Its
town hall, a miracle of the thirteenth-century Gothic, is
one of the most remarkable buildings of that age. The
oak carving in its churches, especially that of Ste. Ger-
trude, is of unsurpassed richness, and attests the enormous
wealth formerly lavished by the Louvainiers upon their
churches. The library is the best kept and most interest-
ing in Belgium, and the set of bells in St. Peter's Church,
if not the finest, can at least boast of having for many
years been presided over by the greatest carillonneur and
one of the most truly illustrious composers of the eight-
eenth century, Matthias van den Gheyn.
On the 1st of July, 1745, the town of Louvain was astir
at an early hour: the worthy citizens might be seen chat-
ting eagerly at their shop doors, and the crowd of visitors
who had been pouring into the town the day before were
gathering in busy groups in the great square of Louvain,
MA TTHIAS VAN DEN GHE YN. 39*
which is bounded on one side by the town hall, and on the
other by the church of St. Peter's. Among the crowd
might be observed not only many of the most eminent mu-
sicians in Belgium, but nobles, connoisseurs, and musical
amateurs, who had assembled from all parts of the country
to hear the great competition for the important post of
carillonneur to the town of Louvain.
All the principal organists of the place were to com-
pete : and among them a young man aged twenty-four,
the organist of St. Peter's, who was descended from the
great family of bell-founders in Belgium, and whose name
was already well known throughout the country, Matthias
van den Gheyn.
The nobility, the clergy, the magistrates, the burgomas-
ters— in short, the powers civil and ecclesiastical, had as-
sembled in force to give weight to the proceedings. As
the hour approached, not only the great square, but all the
streets leading to it, became densely thronged, and no
doubt the demand for windows at Louvain, over against
St. Peter's tower, was as great as the demand for balconies
in the city of London on Lord Mayor's day.
Each competitor was to play at sight the airs which
wTere to be given to him at the time, and the same pieces
were to be given to each in turn. To prevent all possible
collusion between the jury and the players, no preludes
whatever were to be permitted before the performance of
the pieces, nor were the judges to know who was playing
at any given moment. Lots were to be cast in the strict-
est secrecy, and the players were to take their seats as the
lots fell upon them. The names of the trial pieces have
been preserved, and the curiosity of posterity may derive
some satisfaction from the perusal of the following list,
highly characteristic of the musical taste of that epoch
(1745) in Belgium : " La Folic d'Hispanie," " La Bergerie,"
"Caprice," and one "Andante"
£96 CARILLONS.
M. Loret got through his task very creditably. Next to
him came M. Leblancq, who completely broke down in "La
Bergerie," being unable to read the music. M. Van Dries-
sche came third, and gave general satisfaction. M. De
Laet was fourth, but he too found the difficulties of " La
Bergerie" insuperable, and gave it up in despair. Lastly
came Matthias van den Gheyn ; but, before he had got
through his task, the judges and the great assembly be-
sides had probably made up their minds; there was no
comparison between them and his predecessors. Loret
and Van Driessche, both eminent professors, were indeed
placed second, and the rest were not worth placing, but
beyond all shadow of a doubt the last competitor was the
only man worthy to make carillon music for the town and
neighborhood of Louvain, and accordingly Van den Gheyn
was duly installed in the honorable post of carillonneur,
which he held conjointly wTith that of organist at the
church of St. Peter's. His duties consisted in playing the
bells every Sunday for the people, also on all the regular
festivals of the Church, on the municipal feast-days, besides
a variety of special occasions — in short, whenever the town
thought fit. He was bound to have his bells in tune, and
forbidden to allow any one to take his place as deputy on
the great occasions. His salary was small, but there were
extra fees awarded him upon great occasions, and, on the
whole, he doubtless found his post tolerably lucrative, with-
out being by any means a sinecure.
It is a comfort to think that this great genius was not
180. destined always to spend himself upon the
Van den Gheyn's . . .
Music. trivially popular airs of the period, such as
appear to have been chosen for his ordeal.
The indefatigable efforts of the Chevalier Van Elewyck
have resulted in the discovery and restoration to the world
VAN DEN GHEYN S MUSIC. 397
of more than fifty compositions belonging to this great
master, who has indeed had a narrow escape of being lost
to posterity. We quite agree with MM. Lemmens and
Fetis that some of the " Morceaux Fugues" (now for the
first time published, by Schott et Cie., Brussels, and Regent
Street, London) are quite equal, as far as they go, to similar
compositions by Handel and Bach ; at the same time, they
have a striking individuality, and almost wild tenderness
and poetry peculiarly their own. As there is no reason
why these splendid compositions should any longer be for-
gotten, we shall make no apology for alluding to some of
their prominent characteristics. And, in the first place, let
us say that they are wonderful examples of what may be
inspired by bells, and of the kind of music wThich is alone
capable of making an effect upon the carillon.
The "Morceaux Fugues," though quite elaborate enough
for the piano and organ, were actually played by Van den
Gheyn upon the bells. They are bell-like in the extreme,
full of the most plaintive melody, and marked by peculiar
effects, which nothing but bells can render adequately. If
ever we are to have effective carillon music, these composi-
tions and their general laws must be closely studied. The
difficulty of arranging and harmonizing tunes for bells
seems to baffle all attempts hitherto made in England.
The resonance of the bell renders so much impracticable
that upon piano or organ is highly effective. The sounds
run into each other, and horrid discords result, unless the
harmonies are skillfully adapted to the peculiarities of bell
sound.
In this adaptation, Van den Gheyn, as we might suppose,
is a master, but such a master as it is quite impossible for
any one to conceive who has not closely studied his caril-
lon music. One great secret of bell-playing, overlooked in
the setting of all our barrels, is to avoid ever striking even
398 CAKILLONti.
the two notes of a simple third quite simultaneously. Let
any one take two small bells, or even two wine-glasses
tuned to a third. Let him strike them exactly at the same
time, and he will hardly get the sound of a third at all ; he
will only get a confused medley of vibrations ; but let him
strike one ever so little before or after the other, and the
ear will instantly receive so definite an impression of a
third, that, however the sounds may mix afterward, the
musical sense will rest satisfied. We are not now con-
cerned with the reasons of this ; it is simply a fact ; and,
of course, the same rule holds good in a still greater de-
gree with reference to sixths and chords of three or more
notes, when struck upon bells. The simultaneous striking,
and hence confusion of vibrations, can not, of course, be al-
ways avoided, but, whenever it can be, we shall find that it
is avoided by Van den Gheyn. It is true that he is not al-
ways at the pains of writing his thirds with a quaver and
a crotchet, to indicate the non-simultaneity of the stroke,
but we are more and more convinced that, whenever it was
possible, his bells wTere struck, often with great rapidity,
no doubt, but one after the other. Indeed, any one who
has sat and played, as the writer of this article has done,
upon Van den Gheyn's own carillon in St. Peter's belfry,
will see how next to impossible it would be with the rough
and heavy machinery there provided to strike three notes
simultaneously in a passage of considerable length, such as
the brilliant passage, for instance, in sixths, with a pedal
bass, which occurs at the close of the first Morceau Fugue.
Again, the use of one long pedal note running through
three or four bars in harmony with a running treble may
have been suggested originally by bells. It is a well-known
favorite effect of S.Bach, in his great pedal fugues, and has
been transferred to orchestral and chamber music by Men-
delssohn— conspicuously in one of his violoncello sonatas;
VAN DEN QHEYN REDIVIVUS. 399
but it is the peculiar property of the carillonneur, and has
been used over and over again by Yan den Gheyn with
thrilling interest.
In the second Morceau Fugue we see how magnificently
deep bells may be made to take the place of pedal pipes.
In this massive and solemn movement, a subject of remark-
able breadth and power, a truly colossal subject, suitable
to its colossal instrument, is given out and carried through
with bass pedal bells, and a running accompaniment in the
treble. The use of smaller shrill bells, to pick out what we
may call little definite sound-specks, is a pleasant relief to
the ear toward the close, and prevents our experiencing
the slightest effect of monotonous din throughout this won-
derfully sustained and majestic piece. The way in which
the final cadenza is led up to is masterly. That cadenza
is, in fact, a bravura passage of great rapidity, the treble
part of which it might tax a respectable violinist to get
through creditably, and how it was ever played upon a
Belgian clavecin passes our comprehension.
The whole of this second Morceau is so fresh and so pro-
phetic in its anticipation of modern musical effects that
it might have been written by Mendelssohn ; indeed, in
many places it forcibly reminds us of passages in his organ
sonatas.
But we must not be tempted any longer to discourse
181. upon what baffles all description : let us turn
Van den Gheyn l L 7
Redivivus. ' for a moment from the music to the man, and
see him as he lived and moved a hundred years ago before
the eyes of the worthy Louvainiers. Old men at Louvain
remember well the descriptions of him still current in the
days of their youth. It is Sunday afternoon ; the great
square of Louvain is full of gay loungers. The citizens,
who have hardly had time to speak to each other during
400 CARILLONS.
the week, now meet and discuss the latest news from
France, the market prices, the state of trade. There are
plenty of young students there from the university, and as
they promenade up and down the Grande Place, we may
well believe that they are not wholly insensible to the
charms of the wealthy burghers' daughters, who then (as
now throughout Belgium) considered Sunday as their es-
pecial/ete da}'. We can not do better than enter the Place
and mingle in the crowd. Presently there is a sudden
movement in the little knot of stragglers just where the
Rue de Bruxelles leads into the Grande Place. People
turn round to look, and the crowd makes way as an elder-
ly-looking man, wearing a three-cornered hat, and carrying
a heavy stick with a large wooden knob at the top, comes
smiling toward us. On all sides he is greeted with friend-
ly and respectful recognition, and presently he stops to chat
with one of the town council, and, taking a pinch of snuff,
inquires if any important persons have newly arrived in
town.
The appearance of Matthias van den Gheyn, for that is
our elderly gentleman, is altogether distinguished. He
wears a warm and glossy black coat of the period, his vo-
luminous white cravat is fastidiously clean, his waistcoat
and knee-breeches are of the finest black silk, and his shoes
are set off with handsome gold buckles. His deportment
is that of a man of the world accustomed to good society ;
and there is a certain good-natured, but self-reliant aplomb
about him, which seems to indicate that he is quite aware
of his own importance, and expects as a matter of course
the consideration which he receives.
After chatting for twenty minutes or so, during which
time his quick eye has discovered most of the strangers in
the crowd who may have come to Louvain to hear him
play, he turns into the church of St. Peter, and. having
VAN DEN QEEYN JIEDIVIVUS. 401
doffed his holiday costume and dressed himself in light flan-
nels, ascends the winding staircase, and is soon seated at
his clavecin. His performances, almost always improvisa-
tions on those Sunday afternoons, are said to have been
quite unique. Fantasias, airs fugues in four parts, were
tossed about on the bells, and streamed out in truly wild
and magic music over the town. The sound was audible
far out in the fields around Louvain, and people at Everley
might stand still to listen as the music rose and fell be-
tween the pauses of the wind.
The performance usually lasted about half an hour, aft-
er which time Van den Gheyn would resume his best suit,
three-cornered hat, and massive walking-stick, and come
down to mingle freely in the throng, and receive the hearty
congratulations and compliments of his friends and ad-
mirers.
Matthias van den Gheyn married young, and had a nu-
merous family. His wife was a sensible woman, and did
a thriving business in the cloth trade. Madame Van den
Gheyn had many customers, and her husband had many
pupils, and thus this worthy couple supported themselves
and their children in comfort and prosperity, deserving
and receiving the respect and friendship of the good Lou-
vainiers.
Matthias van den Gheyn was born in 1721 ; at the age
of twenty-four (the same year that he was appointed car-
illonneur of Louvain) he married Marie Catherine Lintz, a
Louvain girl aged twenty-one, by whom he had seventeen
children. He died at the age of sixty-four in 1785.
The present famous Belgian bell-founders, Andre Louis
van Aerschodt and Severin van Aerschodt, are the sons of
Anne Maximiliane, the granddaughter of the great caril-
lonneur, Matthias van den Gheyn. These gentlemen cast
all the best bells that are made in Belgium.
402 CARILLONS.
And now, in conclusion, let us speak a good word for
England.
The English bell-founders, it is true, do not at present
183. seem to have the riff lit feeling about bells, or
English Bell ° . 3 '
Works. any great sense of the importance of tune; but
the English bell mechanism is beyond comparison the first
in the world. We should order our bells in Belgium, and
get them fitted with clavecin and carillon machinery in
England.
The new carillon machinery invented by Gillet and Bland,
of Croydon, and applied to a set of Belgian bells at Boston,
Lincolnshire, occupies about a third of the room used by
the Belgian works, avoiding the immense strain upon the
barrel, and the immense resistance offered by the clavecin
keys to the performer under the old system. In the old
system the little spikes on the revolving barrel had to lift
tongues communicating by wires directly with the heavy
hammers, which had thus to be raised and let fall on the
outside of the bell. In the new system the spikes have
nothing to do with lifting the hammers. The hammers
are always kept lifted or set by a system of machinery de-
vised specially for this heavy work. All the little spikes
have to do is to lift tongues communicating with wires
wdiich have no longer the heavy task of raising the ham-
mers, but merely of letting them slide off on to the bells.
The force required for this is comparatively slight ; and
if we substitute for the barrel with spikes a key-board
played by human fingers, thus making the fingers through
pressure on the keys perform the task of the barrel-spike
in letting off the hammer, any lady acquainted with the
nature of a piano-forte or organ key-board will be found
equal to the task of playing on the carillon. This was
a result probably never contemplated by the old carillon-
ENGLISH BELL WORKS. 403
neurs, who used to strip and go in for a sort of pugilistic
encounter with a vast row of obdurate pegs in front of
them. The pegs have vanished, and in their place we have
a small and temj^ting row of keys, which occupies about
the same space, and is almost as easy to play upon as a
small organ key-board.
The Croydon carillon machine which we have lately ex-
amined plays hymn-tunes on eight bells. The largest of
these bells weighs 31 cwt., and the others are in proportion.
Yet the machine (which stands under a glass case) is only
3 feet long, 2 feet wide, and 3 feet 9 inches in height. The
musical barrel, made of hazelwood (there is no key-board),
is 10 inches in diameter and 14 inches long; the spikes on
the barrel for letting off the heavy hammers are only -jL of
an inch square. When we compare the delicacy of this
machinery, which looks like the magnified works of a mu-
sical box, with the prodigious effects it is calculated to
produce, one can not help feeling convinced that the time
is at hand when every tuneful peal in the kingdom will be
fitted with this beautiful apparatus.
Meanwhile we can not help repeating in more detail a
suggestion made at the commencement of this article, and
which occurs to us whenever we enter a dilapidated belfry
full of creaking wheels and rotten timbers. Before we
think of key-boards and barrels, let us supply some simple
machinery for the common ringing of the bells. Great
Peter at York has never yet been rung, and the friction
caused by any attempt to ring him is very great. This
is, no doubt, due to a defect in the hanging. We hear
about towers being rung down by the vibrations of the
bells, but it would be truer to say that they are rocked
down by the friction of coarse and unscientific machinery.
If all the bellowing of the Prussian guns failed to make
any material impression upon the fragile stone filigree work
404 CARILLOXS.
of the Strasbourg tower, it is not likely that the sound of
bells has much to do with the ruin of brick-work and ma-
sonry.
In connection with the swinging of a heavy bell, there
always must be considerable strain upon the tower. But
the friction might be indefinitely diminished if the bell ma-
chinery worked smoothly, and the labor, often at present
Herculean, of the poor bell-ringer might be reduced to al-
most zero were that machinery a little more scientific.
When it is once understood that an improved system of
ringing the bells would save deans and chapters all over
the country enormous sums of money by suspending the
wear and tear which now goes on in so many of our cathe-
dral towers, we can not help thinking that little opposition
will be raised by those who have to pay for the damages.
Bell-ringers are doubtless a most obstinate set of men ; but
if they were paid the same for working machinery which
produced twice as much effect with less than half the labor,
they too would soon give in to a better system. That un-
grateful and barbarous rope and wTheel, whose action upon
the bell is now so uncertain, would probably disappear,
and give place to something like a handle, a piston, el-
even a key-board and a set of wheels and pulleys. There
is no reason whatever why, with a better ringing mechan-
ism, one man might not ring half a dozen bells, instead of,
as at present, half a dozen men being often set to ring a
single big bell. I make these suggestions wTith the more
confidence because they have been favorably entertained
by the heads of one of the most eminent firms of horology
in England. I am glad to say that, in accordance with my
suggestions, these gentlemen have promised to give their
attention to the development of a better mechanism for
the ringing of bells. They write as follows : " Although
bells have never been rung by machinery, we believe it
REFORM NEEDED. 405
would be possible to accomplish this, although it might be
expensive."
A little ordinary thought and common sense, not to speak
183. of a little mechanical science, would work wonders
Reform . .
needed, in our belfries. There is hardly a cathedral tower
in England where the hanging of one or more bells, or the
oscillation of the tower, is not justly complained of. As a
rule, the reason is not far to seek. In both York and Dur-
ham, for instance, the bells are hung too high up. In York
there are twelve bells besides Great Peter, which hangs in
a separate tower. They are all crowded together on one
floor, instead of being distributed properly in an upper and
a lower floor.
In Durham the two lower side towers, and not the high
centre one, ought to have been fitted for the bells. When
a bell is hard to ring, it is almost always not on account
of its weight, but on account of its "hanging." The wood-
work and hasps at the top of the bell should be kept as
high as possible. In nine cases out of ten, when a bell
works heavily, the wood-work and iron hasps will be found
crowded down low, and reaching over the curve of the top
of the bell. Large bells should have, if possible a separate
tower. Large bells, for the sake of the tower, should be
hung as low as possible ; the little bells can be hung even
up in the steeple ; but when there are a number of bells,
they ought always to be hung, according to their weights,
in two or more layers.
All this has been known and practiced in Belgium for
two hundred years and more ; why do not our bell-hangers
visit the Antwerp or Mechlin towTers? one glance would
often be sufficient. When we extol English bell works we
do not allude to the way in which English bells are hung,
but rather to English carillon, and clavecin, and clock
406 CARILLONS.
works. Let us hope that the time is coming when our
bell -hangers will get some good mathematician to tell
them a few of the ordinary laws of mechanics. Until then,
deans and chapters may sigh and seek in vain to make
their bells work and keep their towers from rocking tc
pieces.
ifourtl) Sock.
CRITICAL.
MUSIC IN ENGLAND.
Jonrtlj Book.
MUSIC IN ENGLAND.
i.
The English are not a musical people, and the English
184. are not an artistic people. But the English are
Englaudnot . . .
Musical. more artistic than musical; that is to say, they
have produced better artists than musicians. A country
is not musical or artistic when you can get its people to
look at pictures or listen to music, but when its people are
themselves composers and artists. It can not be affirmed
that Englishmen are, or ever were, either one or the other.
Let us explain.
Painting is older, and has had a longer time to develop,
than music. There have been great English painters, who
have painted in the Dutch, Italian, and Spanish styles;
there has even been a really original school of English
portrait and landscape painters; and these later years have
witnessed some very remarkable and original developments
of the art in England; but the spirit of it is not in the peo-
ple, for all that. The art of our common workmen is ste-
reotyped, not spontaneous. When our architects cease to
copy, they become dull. Our houses are all under an Act
of Uniformity.
S
^ A 0 MUSIC IN ENGLAND.
Music in England has always been an exotic, and when-
ever the exotic seed has escaped and grown wild on English
soil, the result has not been a stable and continuous Growth.
/ CD
The Reformation music was all French and Italian ; the
Restoration music (1650), half French and half German.
No one will deny that Tallis, Farrant, Byrd, in Church
music — Morley, Ward, Wilbye, in the madrigal, made a
most original use of their materials ; but the materials
were foreign, for all that. At the Restoration, Pelham
Humphreys, called by Pepys " an absolute monsieur," is as
really French as Sir Sterndale Bennett is really German.
Purcell, the Mozart of his time, was largely French, al-
though, he seemed to strike great tap-roots into the older
Elizabethan period, just as Mendelssohn struck them deep
into S. Bach. But all these men have one thing in common
— they were composers in England, they were not English
composers. They did not write for the people, the people
did not care for their music. The music of the people was
ballads — the music of the people is still ballads. Our
national music vibrates between " When other lips" and
" Champagne Charley."
These ballads of all kinds are not exotic : they repre-
sent the national music of the English people. The people
understand music to be a pleasant noise and a jingling
rhythm; hence their passion for loudness, and for the most
vulgar and pronounced melody. That music should be to
language what language is to thought, a kind of subtle ex-
pression and counterpart of it ; that it should range over
the wordless region of the emotions, and become in turn
the lord and minister of feeling, sometimes calling up im-
ages of beauty and power, at others giving an inexpressi-
ble relief to the heart by clothing its aspirations with a
certain harmonious form — of all this the English people
know nothing. And. as English music is jingle and noise,
ENGLAND NOT 31 USICAL. 4 1 1
so the musician is the noisemaker for the people, and noth-
ing more. Even among the upper classes, except in some
few cases, it has been too much the fashion to regard the
musician as a kind of servile appendage to polite society :
and no doubt this treatment has reacted disastrously upon
musicians in England, so that many of them are or become
what society assumes them to be — uncultivated men in
any true sense of the word. And this will be so until mu-
sic is felt here, as it is in Germany, to be a kind of neces-
sity— to be a thing without which the heart pines and the
emotions wither — a need, as of light, and air, and fire.
Things are improving, no doubt. When genius, both
creative and executive, has been recognized over and over
again as devoted to music, even a British public has had
thoughts of patting the gods on the back. There is a
growing tendency to give illustrious musicians the same
position which has been granted in almost every age and
country to illustrious poets and painters. Let us hope that
refined musicians, even though not of the highest genius,
may ere long meet with a like honorable reception. Why
has this not been the case hitherto ? I reply, because En-
gland is not a musical country. The first step is to awa-
ken in her, or force upon her, the appreciation of music as
an art. That is the stage we are now at. The second
stage is to create a national school of composers — this is
what we hope to arrive at.
The contrast between indigenous art and exotic art is
always marked. When the people love spontaneously,
there is enthusiasm and reverence for the artist and his
work. Where or when in this country will ever be seen
a multitude like the crowd which followed Cimabue's pic-
ture of the Madonna through the streets of Florence, or
the mournful procession that accompanied Mendelssohn to
his grave?
4 1 2 MUSIC IN ENGLAND.
When art has to be grafted on to a nation, it is received
fastidiously at first — the old tree likes not the taste of the
new sap. When the graft succeeds, and the tree brings
forth good fruit, the people pluck it and eat it admiringly,
but ages sometimes elapse before it becomes a staff of life
to them. But let art be indigenous, as in Greece of old,
in modern Italy, in Germany, even in France, and every
mechanic will carve and sculpt, every boor will sing and
listen to real music, every shopman will have an intuitive
taste and arrange his wares to the best possible advantage.
In India the commonest workman will set colors for the
loom in such a manner as to ravish the eye of the most
cultivated European artist. In the German refreshment
rooms of the great Paris Exhibition there were rough bands
working steadily through the symphonies of Mozart and
Haydn, while the public were never found so intent on
sauer kraut and sausages as not to applaud vociferously at
the end, and sometimes even encore an adagio. Fancy the
frequenters of Cremorne encoring a symphony by Mozart!
However, the people have their music, and it is of no
185. use to deny it : and the marks of patronage be-
EnglishLib- v ii j ax.
eraiity. stowed upon ballad-mongers, one-eyed harpers,
asthmatic flutes, grinders and bands from " Vaterland," are
sufficient to inspire the sanguine observer with hopes for
the future.
When a man can not feed himself, the next best thing is
to get a friend to do it for him. It can not be denied that
the English of all classes have shown great liberality in
importing and paying for all kinds of foreign music as well
as in cherishing such scanty germs as there happen to be
around them. A musician of any kind is less likely to
starve in England than in any other country, from the or-
gan-grinder who lounges with his lazy imperturbable smile
SEED AND SOIL. 413
before the area railings, as who should say, " If I don't get
a copper here I shall round the corner, and no matter," to
the sublime maestro (Beethoven) who, abandoned in the
hour of sickness and poverty by his own countrymen, re-
ceived upon his death-bed an honorarium of £100 from the
London Philharmonic Society.
English managers were the first who introduced the scale
of exorbitant salaries now paid to opera singers and a few
of the best instrumentalists. We believe the system be-
gan with Malibran ; but Paganini was so well aware of our
extravagant foible that he doubled the prices of admission
whenever he played at the Opera-house. It is the old
story — humming-birds at the North Pole and ice in the
tropics will be found equally expensive.
We have now said the worst that can be said about mu-
sic in England ; all the rest shall be in mitigation of the
above criticism. " May it please your highness," says Grif-
fith, in Henry VIII., " to hear me speak his good now."
II.
It is certainly true that if we do not sow the seed we
18G. provide an admirable soil. Let the English people
Seed and r . . . ° r r
Soil. once receive an impression, and it will be held with
a surprising tenacity. When the now young and fair Ma-
dame or Mademoiselle Prima Donna of the period, at the
age of one hundred — beautiful forever, but perfectly in-
audible— shall advance to the foot-lights to take her fare-
well benefit, those of us who are still alive will flock to see
her, and strew her path with flowers as fadeless as herself.
Among the most hopeful signs of the times we may
enumerate the success of Mr. Hullah's system, the recent
introduction of the Tonic Sol-fa method, and the immense
increase of musical societies throughout the country.
Fifty-five years ago the old Philharmonic was without a
4 1 4 MUSIC IN ENGLAND.
rival. Every year some new chef cVoeuvre was produced,
and the English public was taught to expect at each con-
cert two long symphonies, besides classical concertos, re-
lieved only by a song or two as a kind of musical salts to
prevent downright collapse. This discipline was thought
by some to be too severe; but a little knot of connoisseurs
maintained that in the symphonies of Haydn and Mozart
were to be found the most precious treasures of music, and
people hitherto only accustomed to instrumental music as
an accompaniment to vocal, began to listen with a grow-
ing interest to purely orchestral performances. Haydn
and Mozart soon became popular, but Beethoven was long
a stumbling-block, and, although held in great veneration,
and at all times most liberally treated by the Philharmonic
Society, yet even that advanced body took some time to
unravel the mysteries of the great C minor, and for years
after Beethoven's death his greatest orchestral works were,
to a large majority of English ears, as sounding brass and
tinkling cymbal.
It is impossible to overrate the influence of the old Phil-
harmonic upon musical taste in England ; but it did not
long stand alone. A gold mine may be opened by a soli-
tary band of diggers, but the road leading to it soon be-
comes crowded; a thousand other breaches are speedily
made. We have seen during the last few years the swarms
of daily papers which have sprung up round the Times;
the same remark applies to the crop of quarterlies around
the Edinburg / the cheap magazines round the Cornhill ;
exhibitions round that of 1851 ; and, we may add, orches-
tral societies round the old Philharmonic.
We may fairly date the present wave of musical prog-
i8T. ress in this country from the advent of Mendels-
Meiidelssohn . . .
in England, sohn. It is now more than thirtv years since he
MENDELSSOHN IN ENGLAND. 4 \ 5
appeared at the Philharmonic, and, both as conductor and
pianist, literally carried all before him. He brought with
him that reverence for art, and that high sense of the art-
ist's calling, without which art is likely to degenerate into
a mere pastime, and the artist himself into a charlatan.
The young composer read our native bands some useful
lessons. Himself the chevalier of music — sanspeuret sans
reproche — sensitive indeed to criticism, but still more alive
to the honor of art, he could not brook the slightest insult
or slur put upon music. Gifted with a rare breadth and
sweetness of disposition, his ire began to be dreaded as
much as he himself was admired and beloved.
At a time when Schubert was known here only by a few
songs, Mendelssohn brought over the magnificent sympho-
ny in C (lately performed at the Crystal Palace), together
with his own Buy Bias overture in MS. The parts of Schu-
bert's symphony were distributed to the band. Mendels-
sohn was ready at his desk — the baton rose — the romantic
opening was taken — but after the first few lines, signs of
levity caught the master's eye. He closed the score ; the
gentlemen of the band evidently considered the music rub-
bish, and, amid some tittering, collected the parts, which
were again deposited in the portfolio.
"Now for your overture, Mendelssohn !" was the cry.
"Pardon me !" replied the indignant composer ; and, tak-
ing up his hat, he walked out of the room.
Buy Bias went back to Germany, but the lesson was not
soon forgotten.
After living among us just long enough to complete and
produce his masterpiece, the Elijah, at Birmingham, he
died (1847), leaving behind him an illustrious school of dis-
ciples, of whom Sir Sterndale Bennett may be named chief,
and to that new school, as well as to the old-established
Philharmonic Society, may be traced the rapid increase of
4 1 G MUSIC IN ENGLAND.
orchestral societies and orchestral concerts in England. In
looking back through the last fifteen years, the difficulty is
to choose one's examples.
The growing popularity of the orchestra is a sure sign
iss. of the popular progress in music. Ballad sin<>-
Growmg Taste . i r r . . . . .
for good Music, ing and solo playing, in dealing with distinct
ideas and accentuated melodies, and by infusing into the
subject a kind of personal interest in the performance, de-
pend upon many quite unmusical adjuncts for their suc-
cess ; but orchestral playing, in dealing chiefly with har-
mony, brings us directly into the abstract region of musical
ideas. The applause which follows " Coming through the
Rye" is just as often given to a pretty face or a graceful
figure as to the music itself; and when people encore Bot-
tesini,Wieniawski, or Rubinstein, it is often only to have
another stare at the big fiddle, the romantic locks, or the
dramatic sang-froid of these incomparable artists; but the
man who applauds a symphony applauds no words or in-
dividuals— he is come into the region of abstract emotion,
and if he does not understand its sovereign language, he
will hear about as much as a color-blind man will see by
looking into a prism. It is a hopeful sign when the people
listen to good German bands in the streets. A taste for
penny ices proves that the common people have a glimmer-
ing of the strawberry creams which Mr. Gunter prepares
for sixpence; and the frequent consumption of ginger-pop
and calves'-head broth indicates a confirmed, though it may
be hopeless, passion for Champagne and turtle-soup. No
one will say that the old Philharmonic in any sense sup-
plied music for the people, but the people heard of it, and
clamored for it, and, in obedience to the spirit of the age
the man arose who was able to give them as near an ap-
proach to the loftier departments of music as the masses
could appreciate.
MONS. JULLIEN. 41 7
The immortal Mons. Jullien, who certainly wielded a
189 most magical wrhite baton, and was generall}'
Mons. Juihen. lin<jerstood to wear the largest white waistcoat
ever seen, attracted immense, enthusiastic, and truly popu-
lar crowds to his truly popular concerts. Knowing little
about the science of music, and glad, says rumor, to avail
himself of more learned scribes in arranging his own match-
less polkas and quadrilles, he had the singular merit of find-
ing himself on all occasions inspired with the most appro-
priate emotions. From the instant he appeared before a
grateful public to the moment when, exhausted by more
than human efforts, he sank into his golden fauteuil, Mons.
Jullien was a sight ! The very drops upon his Parian brow
were so many tributary gems of enthusiasm to the cause
of art. Not that Mons. Jullien ever lost his personality, or
forgot himself in that great cause. The wave of his silken
pocket-handkerchief, with the glittering diamond rings,
seemed to say, " There, there, my public ! the fire of genius
consumes me — but I am yours !"
But, without farther pleasantry, it must be acknowl-
edged that the irresistible Jullien took the English public
by storm, and having wTon, he made an admirable use of his
victory. Besides his band in London, detachments trav-
eled all over the country, and spread far and wide currents
of the great central fire that blazed in the metropolis.
Those grand triumphs at the Surrey Gardens, when
the Jullien orchestra, overlooking the artificial lake, rang
through the summer evenings, and sent its echoes reverber-
ating through the mimic fortress of Gibraltar, or the magic
caves presently to be lit up by forty thousand additional
lamps ! Happy hours ! many of us, since grown to years
of discretion, may remember them in the days of our early
youth ! No summer evenings in the open air seem now so
full of ecstasy ; no fireworks explode with such regal and
S2
418 M TT8IC IN ENGLAND.
unprecedented splendor ; must it be confessed ? no music
can come again with such a weird charm as that which
filled the child's ear and ravished the child's heart with a
new and ineffable tremor of delight. But it was the music,
not the scenery, not the fireworks alone. It was hardly a
display of fireworks, assisted by Mons. Jullien's band — it
was Mons. Jullien's band accompanied by fireworks ! It
would be wrong, however, to imply that these concerts
were supported merely by big drums and skyrockets.
I do not think Mons. Jullien ever got due credit for the
large mass of good classical music he was in the habit of
introducing. Besides the finest German overtures were
heard movements from Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven's
symphonies admirably executed ; of course without the re-
pose and intellect of a classical conductor, but without of-
fensive sensationalism, and with perfect accuracy.
Upon the shoulders of the late Mr. Mellon descended
loo. the mantle of Mons. Jullien. If Mellon's concerts
His Follow-
ers, lacked the romance and unapproachable fire that
went out with the brilliant Frenchman, they retained all
that could be retained of his system, and gave it additions
which his perseverance had made possible, but which he
had probably never contemplated. There was also the
same care in providing the first soloists.
Bottesini, whose melodies floated in the open air over
the Surrey Gardens, and filled the wTorld with a new won-
der and delight, was again heard under the dome of Cov-
ent Garden.
M. Sivori — the favorite pupil of Paganini, who seems to
have inherited all the flowing sweetness of the great ma-
gician without a spark of his demoniac fury — appeared,
and filled those who remembered the master wTith a strange
feeling, as though at length,
MUSICAL PRO GUESS. 4 1 9
" Above all pain, yet pitying all distress,"
the master's soul still flung to earth faint fragments from
the choirs that chime
"After the chiming of the eternal spheres."
Mons. Levy on the cornet, and Mods. Wieniawski on the
violin, are the only other real instrumental sensations that
have been produced at these concerts.
At any time instrumental genius is rare, and of the num-
bers who are first-rate, only a few feel equal to stilling the
noisy, half-trained audiences usually found at promenade
concerts. When we have mentioned Chopin, Liszt, Thal-
berg, Mendelssohn, Madame Schumann, Madame Goddard,
Rubinstein, and Halle, on the piano ; De Beriot, Paganini,
Ernst,Vieuxtemps, Wieniawski, and Joachim, on the violin ;
Linley and Piatti on the violoncello ; Dragonetti and Bot-
tesini on the contra-basso ; Konig and Levy on the cornet,
the roll of solo instrumentalists during the last fifty years
may very nearly be closed. And of the above men, some,
like Chopin, Halle, and Joachim, never cared to face, strict-
ly speaking, popular audiences ; but those who did were
usually secured by the popular orchestras of Jullien and
Mellon, and by the givers of those intolerable bores called
monster concerts, which begin early in the afternoon and
never seem to eDd.
m.
The immeDse advaDce of the popular mmd is remarka-
191. bly illustrated by the change in the ordinary or-
Musical
Progress, chestral programme. We have now Mozart nights,
and Beethoven nights, and Mendelssohn nights. Not bits
of symphonies, but entire works are now listened to, and
movements of them are encored by audiences at Covent
Garden. We have heard the Scotch symphony and the
420 MUSIC IN ENGLAND.
"Power of Sound" received with discrimination and ap-
plause. A certain critical spirit is creeping into these
audiences, owing to the large infusion of really musical
people who are on the lookout for good programmes, and
invariably support them.
The old and new Philharmonics, the London Musical So-
ciety, the performances under Mr. Hullah at St. Martin's
Hall, the Sacred Harmonic under Sir W. M. Costa, the Bir-
mingham Festival and the Cathedral Festivals, Jullien,
Mellon, Arditi, Riviere, Mr. Barnby's Oratorio Concerts,
Mr. Henry Leslie's wonderful choir, and last — and greatest
of all — the Crystal Palace band, have no doubt supplied a
want, but they have also created one. They have taught
thousands to care about good music. They have taught
those who did care to be more critical. The time is gone
by when the Philharmonic had it all its own way, or when
only the wealthy could hear fine music, or when the pub-
lic generally was thankful for small mercies. The ears of
the public have grown sharp. When musical amateurs
now go to hear a symphony, they know what they go for,
and they know, too, whether they get it. They hear the
Italian Symphony by the Crystal Palace band on Satur-
day afternoon, and not long afterward at the Philharmonic,
and there is no possibility of evading a comparison. The
members of the Crystal Palace band, from playing every
day all the year round together under the same admirable
conductor, have achieved an excellence hitherto unknown
in England.
The office of conductor is no sinecure. The position of
192> the four or five conductors before the public in
Conductors. England is accurately gauged, and the merits of
each aspirant to new fame are eagerly discussed.
Mr. Manns, of the Crystal Palace band, is the finest clas-
CONDUCTORS. 421
sical conductor in England. The refinements gone into by
the band in playing Beethoven's symphonies are only to
be compared to the rendering of Beethoven's sonatas by
M. Charles Halle. The wind is simply matchless, and blows
as one man ; the wind accompaniment in the Italian sym-
phony to the slow movement commonly called "The March
of the Pilgrims," has all the evenness and dead accuracy
of the key-board. But it is more than a key-board — it is
a key-board with a soul — it sounds like an. inspired organ.
Where Mr. Manns appears to us to be absolutely impecca-
ble is in his rendering of Schubert, and the great orches-
tral overtures of Weber and Mendelssohn. Not that any
one in England could produce Schumann's works as he
does, but the name of Robert Schumann opens up a field
of absorbing inquiry which we must not allow ourselves
at present to enter upon.
The late Mr. Mellon", without the fire of genius, brought
great vigor of talent, perseverance, and ingenuity to bear
upon his band. The French brilliancy of Jullien was re-
placed in Mellon by a careful calculation of effect. In
comparing his band with that of the Crystal Palace, wTe
must always remember that he was less favorably situated
in three particulars. His band was larger and less choice-
ly selected, it rehearsed less frequently, and was bound to
cater for rough, mixed audiences. His work was thus less
noble, but more popular. To adapt the words of the late
Dr.Whewell, in speaking of the poets Longfellow and Ten-
nyson, "He was appreciated by thousands whose tastes
rendered them inaccessible to the harmonies of the greater
masters."
The continuation of Mellon's concerts under Signor Ar-
diti and M. Jullien {fils) were not equally successful.
The theatre was never half full, and the performances in-
different.
422 -]JL ' s7 ' ' IX EN® LA MD-
The same concerts under Signor Bottesini must be spo-
ken of in very different terms. The classical music was
not so well done, but the ensemble was admirable ; and the
presence of a master, though a somewhat careless one, was
felt throughout. Signor Bottesini's opera-conducting de-
lighted even a Paris audience. His classical taste is also
excellent ; the simplest accompaniment played by him, and
the simplest selection arranged by him, display the same
tact and genius ; nor is it wonderful to find him pass from
the skilled soloist to the conductor's desk, and wield the
baton with a grace and power worthy of the first contra-
basso in the world.
A strange new figure startled the public out of all com-
posure and gravity during the season of 1868, and a para-
graph to record so popular and exceptional a talent will
not here be out of place. Every night, in the middle of
the concert, a slim and dandified young man, with a pro-
fuse black beard and mustache, would step jauntily on to
the platform vacated by Signor Bottesini. His appear-
ance was the signal for frantic applause, to which, fiddle
and bow in hand, he bowed good-humoredly ; then, turn-
ing sharp round, he would seem to catch the eye of every
one in the band, and raising his violin bow, would plunge
into one of those rapturous dance tunes which, once heard,
could never be forgotten. Now shaking his bow at the
distant drummer, egging on the wind, picking up the bass-
es, turning fiercely on the other stringed instruments ; then
stamping, turning a pirouette, and dashing his bow down
on his own fiddle-strings, the clear twanging of the Strauss
violin would be heard for some moments above all the
rest. Presently the orchestra sways as one man into the
measure, which flows capriciously — now tearing along,
then suddenly languishing, at the will of the magical and
electric violin. Johann Strauss danced, pit and boxes
CONDUCTOBS. 423
danced, the very lights winked in time ; every body and
every thing seemed turned into a waltz or a galop by
yonder inexorable "pied piper," until some abrupt clang
brought all to a close, and the little man was left bowing
and smiling, and capering backward, to an audience beside
themselves with delight. Nothing of the kind has been
seen in England before, and all that can be said is that of
its kind it is simply inimitable.
It is a transition as sudden as any to be found in the
Strauss dances to pass from Herr Stkauss to Sir William
Sterndale Bennett.
The Cambridge musical professor's conducting possesses
great charm for all admirers of real classical music — it is
full of refinement and quiet power. It is much to be re-
gretted that he no longer holds any post as conductor,
having resigned the Philharmonic baton. This illustrious
musician has been long popular in Germany, as the letters
of Schumann and Mendelssohn alike testify, and the Eng-
lish people can not any longer be accused of blindness to
his distinguished merits.
Mr.W. G. Cusins at the Philharmonic has won great fa-
vor with that critical audience. The care which he be-
stows on rehearsals, the careful, though sometimes quaint
selection of his programmes, the noble soloists and the
new chef cVceavres which he has produced, have made the
last few seasons among the most brilliant of many brilliant
predecessors.
We have reserved the name of Sir Michael Costa until
193 now, that we might speak of him in connection
The opera. ^^ tke 0pera an(j oratorio. About the prog-
ress or decadence of the opera we can here say but little.
We regard it, musically, philosophically, and ethically, as
an almost unmixed evil. Its Yery constitution seems to
424 MUSIC IN EN 0 LAND.
us false, and in Germany, cither tacitly or avowedly, it lias
always been felt to be so.
Mozart no doubt wrote operas, but the influence of Italy
was then dominant in music, and determined its form even
in Germany. The Climenza cli Tito in its feebleness is a
better illustration of this than Don Juan in its great might.
Schubert in Alfonso and Estrella broke down, hopelessly
hampered by stage requirements. Spohr's Jessonda was
never successful, and he abandoned opera writing. Weber
singularly combined the lyric and dramatic elements, and
succeeded in making his operas of Oberon and Der Freis-
chntz almost philosophical without being dull. Mendels-
sohn has left us no opera because he was dissatisfied with
every libretto offered him. We can hardly regret this, as
he has selected instead the truer forms of oratorio, cantata,
and occasional music, of which take as supreme examples
the Elijah, Walpurgis JVacht, Antigone, and Midsummer
JSTighfs Dream. Wagner, in despair, has been driven, in
Tannhduser and Lohengrin, into wild theories of opera,
devoid, as it seems to us, both of Italian naivete and sound
German philosophy. We desire to speak with the great-
est respect of Herr Wagner's genius, and also of his opin-
ions, while not agreeing with much of his theory as far as
we understand it. Schumann, avoiding all scenic effect,
found in Paradise and the Peri a form as charming and
appropriate as it is true to the first principles of art.
Beethoven wrote the best opera in the world simply to
prove that he could do every thing, but the form was even
then a concession to wThat wras least commendable in Ger-
man taste ; and the overture was written four times over,
wTith the colossal irony of one wTho, although he would not
stoop to win, yet knew how to compel the admiration of
the world.
The truth is simple. The opera is a mixture of two
THE OPERA. 425
things which ought always to be kept distinct — the sphere
of musical emotion and the sphere of dramatic action. It
is not true, under any circumstances, that people sing songs
with a knife through them. The war between the stage
and music is internecine. We have only to glance at a
first-rate libretto, e. </., that of Gounod's Faust, to see that
the play is miserably spoiled for the music. We have only
to think of any stock opera to see that the music is ham-
pered and impeded in its development by the play. Con-
troversy upon this subject will, of course, rage fiercely.
Meanwhile irreversible principles of art must be noted.
Music expresses the emotions which attend certain char-
acters and situations, but not the characters and situations
themselves, and the two schools of opera have arisen out
of this distinction. The Italian school wrongly assumes
that music can express situations, and thus gives prom-
inence to the situations. The German school, when opera
has been forced upon it, has striven with the fallacy in-
volved in its constitution by maintaining that the situa-
tion must be reduced and made subordinate to the emo-
tion which accompanies it, and which it is the business of
music to express. Thus the tendency of many German
operas is to make the scene as ideal as possible. The more
unreal the scene, the more philosophical, because the con-
tradiction to common sense is less shocking in what is pro-
fessedly unreal than in what professes to represent real
things, but does so in an unnatural manner. Weber was
impelled by a true instinct to select an unreal raise en scene
in connection with which he was able to express real emo-
tions. Oberon and Der Freischutz are examples of this.
In every drama there is a progressive history of emotion.
This, and not the outward event, is what music is fitted to
express, and this truth has been seized by Germany, al-
though in a spirit of compromise. In the Italian school the
420 MUSIC IN EXGLAXD.
music is too often nothing but a series of situations strung
together by flimsy orchestration and conventional recita-
tives.
In the German and Franco-German schools of Weber,
Meyerbeer, and Gounod, the orchestra is busy throughout
developing the history of the emotions. The recitatives
are as important as the arias, and the orchestral interludes
as important as the recitatives. Wagner, in his anxiety to
reduce the importance of situations and exalt that of emo-
tions, bereaves us of almost all rounded melody in the Lo-
hengrin. Weber, in Oberon, works out his choruses like
classical movements, almost independently of situations.
Meyerbeer greatly reduces the importance of his arias in
the PropltUe ; and Gounod, in Faust, runs such a power of
orchestration through the whole opera, that not even the
passionate scene in the garden can reduce the instruments
which enhance the intensity of its emotional elements to a
secondary importance.
In spite of all drawbacks, it is not difficult to see why
the opera does, and probably will for some time, retain its
popularity. The public in all ages are children, and are
led like children. Let one person clap, and others are sure
to follow. Let a clown but laugh, and the whole house
will giggle. A long drama is a little dull without music;
much music is a little dull without scenery. Mix the two,
in however unreasoning a manner, and the dull or intel-
lectual element in each is kept out of sight, and will be
swallowed unsuspiciously. It is the old story of the pow-
der in the jam.
I sav nothing against music bein^ associated with situa-
tions, as in the Midsummer NigJiVs Dream, or as in an ora-
torio. It is only when music is made part of the situation
that it is misapplied. Let the event be in all cases left to
the imagination ; but if it be expressed, then the more im-
THE OPERA. 427
aginative and suggestive the expression, the less the vio-
lence done to common sense. The cantata and the orato-
rio are the forms which, with some modification, will prob-
ably prevail over the opera. When Mr. Santley appears
in Exeter Hall as Elijah, in a tail-coat and white kid gloves,
no one is offended, and every one is impressed, because he
does not pretend to reproduce the situation, but merely to
paint in words and music its appropriate emotion, leaving
the rest to be supplied by the imagination of the audience.
But let Mr. Santley put on a camel's-hair shirt, and appear
in the otherwise wild and scanty raiment of the Hebrew
prophet — let him sing inside a pasteboard cave, or declaim
from the summit of a wooden Carmel, and our reverence is
gone — our very emotions at the sublime music are checked
by the farcical unreality of the whole thing.
Herr Rubinstein once entertained, perhaps still enter-
tains, the idea of putting the whole of Genesis on the stage
with sacred music, and thought that England's reverence
for the Bible would pave the way for the production of
sacred opera in this country ; he was much disappointed
on being told that it was precisely Englishmen's traditional
sense of reverence for the Bible stories which would not
suffer them to witness its scenes brought before the foot-
lights. This is perfectly true. But why is it so ? Because,
the more strongly we feel the importance of a story, the
less can we bear to see it presented in a perfectly irrational
manner, such as opera presentation must always be.
Sir Michael Costa is the most popular conductor in Eng-
land. Without putting forward, as far as we know, any
definite theories on the subject of romantic and classical
music, he has accepted facts, and done the best that could
be done for the opera and the concert-room. To Signor
Arditi's knowledge of stage effect, he unites a breadth of
conception, a wide sympathy, and a powerful physique,
428 MUSIC IN ENGLAND.
which enable him to undertake, and to carry through, ora-
torios on a scale'hitherto unknown.
The dramatic gifts and sensational effects which are al-
most out of place in Exeter Hall, are all needed in coping
with the extended space, and the multitudinous band and
chorus of the Handel orchestra or the Albert Hall perform-
ances. Sir Michael Costa is felt to be the only man equal
to such a task. On these occasions the fewer solos the bet-
ter. The Israel in Egypt is the only kind of thing which
is of the slightest use under the central transept. Even
Mendelssohn's choruses are thrown away. ~No one heeds
the intricate arabesque wTork of the violins and subtle coun-
terpoint of the wind. The crowded scores of modern com-
posers were never intended for, and should never be pro-
duced before, giant audiences. But still less should great
singers tear themselves to pieces simply in contending with
space. Mr. Sims Reeves at the Crystal Palace is no bet-
ter than a penny trumpet in Westminster Abbey. The
acoustic properties of the Albert Hall are very much su-
perior to those of the Crystal Palace transept, although
some rearrangement of the orchestra and redistribution of
the chorus is manifestly needed before either can be heard
to real advantage.
We might be expected here to notice the various socie-
ties of sacred music, but the subject is too wide, embracing
ecclesiastical music generally, and we can not now enter
upon it. We may, howTever, observe in passing the popu-
lar progress made in this department. The people of Lon-
don in 1868 listened to shilling oratorios for the first time
at the Agricultural Hall in the East, and St. George's Hall
in the West End of London. And who can not bear joy-
ful witness to the change that has passed over the choirs
of churches and chapels during the last twenty years?
Music is thus approaching in England to what it has ever
MUSIC-HALLS AND NEGEO MELODIES. 429
been in Germany — a running commentary upon all life, the
solace of a nation's cares, the companion of its revelry, the
minister of its pleasure, and the inspired aid to its devotion.
IV.
If we now enter for a moment the music-halls of the
194 metropolis, we shall notice that the happy change
anSSo8 *s extending downward. The members of our
Melodies. cathedral choirs do not disdain to produce before
these once despised, and, it must be confessed, sometimes
equivocal audiences, the part-songs of Mendelssohn and the
ballads of Schubert.
In the better-class establishments whole evenings pass
without any thing occurring on the stage to offend the deli-
cacy of a lady ; while, if we go lower, we shall find the
penny gaffs and public-house concerts coarse it may be,
but, on the whole, moral, and contrasting most favorably
with any thing of the kind in France.* It must be under-
stood that I am alluding merely to the musical portion of
these entertainments. Of late years the general increase
of ballets and vulgar clap-trap comic songs has not tended
to elevate the tone of our music-halls.
There is one other branch of strictly popular music which
seems to be considered beneath the attention of serious
critics ; but nothing popular should be held beneath the
attention of thoughtful people — we allude to the Negro
Melodists now best represented by the Christy Minstrels.
About twenty years ago, a band of enthusiasts, some black
by nature, others by art, invaded our shores, bringing with
them what certainly were nigger bones and banjos, and
what professed to be negro melodies. The sensation which
they produced was legitimate, and their success was well
* See two admirable essays on "Art and Popular Amusement, " in
"Views and Opinions," by that ingenious writer, Matthew Browne.
430 MUSIC IN ENGLAND.
deserved. The first melodies were no doubt curious and
original; they were the offspring of the naturally musical
organization of the negro as it came in contact with the
forms of European melody. The negro mind, at work upon
civilized music, produces the same kind of thing as the ne-
gro mind at work upon Christian theology. The product
is not to be despised. The negro's religion is singularly
childlike, plaintive, and emotional. It is also singularly
distinct and characteristic. Both his religion and his mu-
sic arise partly from his impulsive nature and partly from
his servile condition. The negro is more really musical
than the Englishman. If he has a nation emerging into
civilization, his music is national. Until very lately, as his
people are one in color, so were they one in calamity, and
singing often merrily with the tears wet upon his ebony
cheek, no record of his joy or sorrow passed unaccompani-
ed by a cry of melody or a wail of plaintive and harmonious
melancholy. If we could divest ourselves of prejudice, the
songs that float down the Ohio River are one in feeling and
character with the songs of the Hebrew captives by the
waters of Babylon. We find in them the same tale of be-
reavement and separation, the same irreparable sorrow,
the same simple faith and childlike adoration, the same
wild tenderness and passionate sweetness, like music in the
night. As might have been supposed, the parody of all
this, gone through at St. James's Hall, does not convey
much of the spirit of genuine negro melody, and the man-
ufacture of national music carried on briskly by sham nig-
gers in England is as much like the original article as a
penny woodcut is like a line engraving. Still, such as it
is, the entertainment is popular, and yet bears some impress
of its peculiar and romantic origin. The scent of the roses
may be said to hang round it still. We cherish no malig-
nant feeling toward those amiable gentlemen at St. James's
STRING QUARTETS. 431
Hall, whose ingenious fancy has painted them so much
blacker than they really are, and who not unfrequently be-
tray their lily-white nationality through a thin though su-
dorific disguise ; we admit both their popularity and their
skill ; but we are bound to say that we miss, even in such
pretty tunes as " Beautiful Star," the distinctive charm
and orignal pathos which characterized " Mary Blane" and
"Lucy Neal."
I can not close without alluding to a very different class
of music.
As opera is the most irrational and unintellectual form
195- of music, so that class of cabinet music called
String . '
Quartets, string quartets is the most intellectual. The true
musician enters, as it were, the domestic sanctuary of mu-
sic when he sits down to listen to, or to take part in a
string quartet. The time has gone by when men like Lord
Chesterfield could speak of a fiddler with contempt. Few
men would now inquire with the languid fop what fun
there could be in four fellows sitting opposite each other
for hours and scraping catgut ; most people understand
that in this same process the cultivated musician finds the
most precious opportunities for quiet mental analysis and
subtle emotional meditation.
The greatest masters wrote their choicest thoughts in
this form — it is one so easily commanded and so satisfy-
ing. The three varieties of the same instrument — violin,
viola, and violoncello — all possessing common properties
of sound, but each with its own peculiar quality, embrace
an almost unlimited compass, and an equally wide sphere
of musical expression.
The quartet is a musical microcosm, and is to the sym-
phony what a vignette in water-colors is to a large oil
432 *H 'SIC JX J':XG LAXD.
painting. The great quartet writers are certainly Haydn,
Mozart, and Beethoven. Haydn is the true model. He
attempts nothing which four violins can not do; the parts
are exquisitely distributed, scrupulous justice is done to
each instrument, and the form is perfect. Mozart's quar-
tet is equally perfect as such, but much bolder and more
spontaneous. Beethoven carried quartet writing, as he did
every other branch of music, into hitherto untrodden re-
gions, but, with the sure instinct of the most balanced of
all geniuses, never into inappropriate ones. Fascinating
as are the quartets of Spohr and Mendelssohn, as quartets
I am bound to place them below the above great models.
Spohr seldom distributes his parts fairly ; it is usually first
violin with string accompaniment. Mendelssohn frequent-
ly forgets the limits of the legitimate quartet; orchestral
effects are constantly being attempted, and we pine at in-
tervals for a note on the horn, while the kettle-drum is oc-
casionally suggested. Schubert can wander on forever
with four instruments, or any thing else — mellifluous, light-
hearted, melancholy, fanciful by turns. When he gets half
way through there is no reason why he should not leave
off, and when he gets to the end there is no reason why
he should not go on. But in this process form and unity
are often both lost.
The characteristics of Schumann require separate atten-
tion. Under the general heading of cabinet music would
be comprised the addition of the piano-forte in trios, quar-
tets, and quintets, as also the addition of a horn, a flute, or
a clarionet in sestets and octets. Variety is always pleas-
ant, but none of these combinations equal the string quar-
tet in beauty of form, or real power and balance of expres-
sion. The piano in a trio will eke out a good deal, but it
usually results in the strings accompanying the piano, or
the piano accompanying the strings. Mendelssohn's two
STRING QUARTETS. 433
trios are small orchestral whirlwinds, and quite unique, but
the trio form might be seriously demurred to as inappro-
priate.
On the other hand, one feels the piano-forte in a quartet,
or even a quintet, as a kind of interloper — a sort of wasp
in a bee-hive — a sort of cuckoo in a hedge-sparrow's nest.
One would rather see the natural bird there ; one would
rather have the second violin in its place. Again, in oc-
tets and sestets, splendid as are some of these composi-
tions, we feel the orchestral form is the one aimed at, and
consequently the poverty of the adopted one is constantly
making itself felt. Space compels us to speak most gen-
erally and without even necessary qualification on these
points, and we pass on to the quartet playing that has of
late years come before the public.
Mysterious quartets in back rooms and retired country
houses becoming more and more frequent, the experiment
of public performances was at last made ; but they were
to be for the few. The Musical Union, under Mr. Ella's
direction, was one of the first societies which provided this
luxury every season. It soon met with a formidable rival
in the quartet concerts at Willis's Rooms, under Messrs.
Sainton, Hill, Piatti, and Cooper. But the man and the
hour were still to come. The concerts were too select and
too expensive. Mr. Chappell flew to the rescue with a
chosen band of heroes, foremost among whom must always
stand M. Joachim.
M. Joachim is the greatest living violinist ; no man is so
nearly to the execution of music what Beethoven was to
its composition. There is something massive, complete,
and unerring about M. Joachim that lifts him out of the
list of great living players, and places him on a pedestal
apart. Other men have their specialties ; he has none.
Others rise above or fall below themselves; he is always
T
434 MUSIC IN ENGLAND.
himself, neither less nor more. He wields the sceptre of
his bow with the easy royalty of one born to reign; he
plays Beethoven's concerto with the rapt, infallible power
of a seer delivering his oracle, and he takes his seat at a
quartet very much like Apollo entering his chariot to drive
the horses of the sun.
The second violin of the usual Monday Popular quartet
is Herr Ries, masterly and unobtrusive. The tenor was
until lately Mr. Blagrove, who, an admirable first violin and
a great orchestral leader, knows how to shine any where ;
the absence of so eminent an English artist from these
truly national concerts is a public misfortune. Signor Pi-
atti, the one violoncello player whom the public like best
to hear, completes the finest cast ever heard in England.
Of course the description of the Monday Popular players
must vary from year to year.
Other players of various merits constantly appear. Lot-
to, Strauss, Wieniawski, and last, but certainly not least,
Madame Norman Neruda, are among the best substitutes
which have been provided for M. Joachim. Why Mr. Car-
rodus is so seldom heard we are at a loss to conjecture.
Mr. Charles Halle is usually seated at the piano, and as
long as he is there the presence of a master is felt and ac-
knowledged by all. Madame Schumann and Madame God-
dard are also frequently heard at these concerts.
For one shilling any one can get a seat at these con-
certs where he can hear perfectly, and enjoy the classical
music played in the finest style.
Mr. Henry Holmes's quartets at St. George's Hall deserve
honorable mention. They afford one more proof of the in-
creasing popularity of such high-class music. Mr. Holmes
is a violinist who does honor to our country, and whose
reputation is increasing every year. He has for some
years been a favorite abroad.
THE MUSICAL AMATEUR. 435
The crowded and attentive audience which assembles
every Monday night throughout the season at St. James's
Hall is the latest and most decisive proof of the progress
of music in England. When an audience numbering some
thousands is so easily and frequently found, it matters little
where it comes from. No doubt many connoisseurs are
there, but many others also attend who have cultivated,
and are cultivating, a general taste for certain higher forms
of music, hitherto almost unknown in England.
V.
No survey of music in England, however cursory, should
1%. fail to give some account of so pronounced a
The Music- , ° , __ . ' XT
ai Amateur, character as the Musical Amateur, lie may be
a depressing subject for contemplation, but he is the best
possible index to the musical tastes of a people. Given
the musical amateurs of a country, and the music they
like, and it is easy to say where the nation is in the scale
of musical progress. We place Italy and France below
Germany when we see that the ordinary Italian is satisfied
with melody and a little noise, the ordinary Frenchman
with less melody and more noise, while the German insists
upon melody, harmony, and thematic treatment combined.
Who are the English amateurs? What do they like?
How do they play and sing? In the following pages these
questions will receive some definite answers, and these an-
swers may furnish us with a new clew to the state of mu-
sic in England.
o
The first obvious description of musical amateurs is
i97 People who play the Piano-forte. In twen-
piCa°yPtheWp£ tv years Mr. Broad wood has sold 45,863 pianos;
;mo- Mr. Collard, 32,000. About 20,000 are annually
issued from the manufactories of Great Britain, while about
4 3 6 MUSIC IN ENGLAND.
10,000 foreign pianos are annually imported. From these
figures, I believe, it would not be difficult to show that
about 400,000 pianos are at present in use in the British
Islands, and that about one million persons at least an-
swer to the description of People who play the Piano-
forte.
All these are not amateurs, but most of them are, and
the exceptions exist chiefly for their benefit.
Most young ladies play the piano as an accomplishment.
A girl's education is as much based on the piano-forte as
a boy's is on the Latin Grammar, and too often with simi-
lar results. A girl without musical tastes objects to Mo-
zart, as a boy without a classical turn hates Caesar. Mean-
while it is pleaded that the education of the sexes must be
carried on ; that some routine must be adopted ; that what
need not be pursued as an end is nevertheless good as a
means; that the Latin Grammar strengthens a boy's mem-
ory, and teaches him to study the meaning of words ; that
the piano makes a girl sit upright and pay attention to
details; and against the school-room view of music as
training for mind and body we have nothing to say. But
the other prevalent view of music as a necessary accom-
plishment is more open to objection.
In Germany no girl is ashamed to say she can not play
or sing, but in England such an ill-bred admission would
be instantly checked by mamma. The consequence is,
that young ladies, whose honest ambition would naturally
begin and end with Cramer's exercises in the school-room,
are encouraged to trundle through Beethoven's sonatas in
the drawing-room, and perhaps pass their lives under the
impression that they are able to play the "Lieder ohne
Worte."
By all means let every girl begin by learning the piano.
Such a chance of gaining a sympathetic companion for life
PEOPLE WHO PLAY THE PIANO. 437
should never be thrown away. Even to the unmusical girl
it is valuable as a training, but to the musical girl its value
is beyond price. As a woman's life is often a life of feel-
ing rather than of action, and if society, while it limits her
sphere of action, frequently calls upon her to repress her
feelings, w 3 should not deny her the high, the recreative,
the healthy outlet for emotion which music supplies. Joy
flows naturally into ringing harmonies, while music has
the subtle power to soften melancholy by presenting it
with its fine emotional counterpart. A good play on the
piano has not unfrequently taken the place of a good cry
up stairs, and a cloud of ill temper has often been dispersed
by a timely practice. One of Schubert's friends used to
say that, although often very cross before sitting down to
his piano, a long scramble-duet through a symphony, or
through one of his own delicious and erratic piano-forte
duets, always restored him to good humor.
But if a person is not musical, piano -forte instruction
after a certain point is only waste of time. It may be
said, " Suppose there is latent talent ?" To this we reply
that, as a general rule, musical talent develops early or not
at all. It sometimes, though very seldom, happens that a
musical organization exists with a naturally imperfect ear.
In this case it may be worth while to cultivate the ear.
But when the ear is bad, and there is no natural taste for
music, we may conclude that the soil is sterile, and will
not repay cultivation.
If a boy has no taste for classics, when he goes to the
University his tutor tells him to study something else for
his degree. Why should not a girl try drawing, or paint-
ing, or literary composition? Why should the money be
spent on her music when she has perhaps shown some oth-
er gift ? Many a girl with real literary or artistic taste
has achieved excellence in nothing because her energies
438 MUSIC IN ENGLAND.
have been concentrated upon the piano, which she will
never be able to play, or upon songs which are just as
well left unsung. But such performances are otherwise in-
convenient. Why am I expected to ask a young lady to
play, although I know she can not play, is nervous, dislikes
playing before people, and so forth ? How many are there
wTho would fain be spared the humiliation of exposing their
w^eak points ! The piano is a source of trouble to them
and to their friends. If they cry over their music lesson,
their friends groan over the result, and it is difficult to say
which is the worst off, the professor who has to teach, the
pupil who has to learn, or the people who have to listen.
But the cause of music suffers most of all. We have no
hesitation in saying that the rubbish-heaps that accumu-
late every year under the title of piano-forte music, and
which do more than any thing to vulgarize musical taste
in England, owe their existence to the unmusical people
who are expected to play the piano. If such are to play
at all, then indeed it is better that they should play any
thing rather than Beethoven and Mendelssohn ; but why
should they play at all ?
The piano is a noble instrument, less scientifically per-
fect than the violin and less extensive than the organ ; it
has more resource than the first, and infinitely more deli-
cacy than the second. With the aid of a piano we can
realize for ourselves and for others the most complicated
orchestral scores, as well as the simplest vocal melody : in-
tricate harmonies lie beneath our ten fingers, and can be
struck out as rapidly as the mind conceives them. There
is not a single great work in oratorio, in opera, in quartet,
in concerto, or in song, which can not be readily arranged
for two or four hands, and be rendered, if not always with
the real instrumental or vocal impressiveness, at least with
unerring polyphonal accuracy. And, lastly, there has been
PEOPLE WHO PLAY THE PIANO. 439
written expressly for the piano a mass of music which, for
sublimity, pathos, variety, and gradation, is equal to any
thing hi the whole realm of musical conception, while in
extent it probably surpasses the music written for all oth-
er instruments put together.
And now, what are some of the uses to which we apply
this noble instrument, this long-suffering piano ? When
the gentlemen in the dining-room hear that familiar sound
up stairs, they know it is time to have tea in the drawing-
room. Let us enter the drawing-room after dinner. The
daughter of our hostess is rattling away at the keys, and
quite ready for a chat at the same time ; if conversation
comes her way, she can leave the bass out, or invent one,
as it is only the " Senate Pathetique." She has long passed
the conscientious stage, when an indifferent or careless per-
formance caused her the least anxiety. She plays her fan-
tasia now as lightly as she rings the bell, not for its own
sake, but because it is time for the gentlemen to come up,
or for the ladies to begin a little small-talk, or for some-
body to make love. When she gets up another sits down,
and continues to provide that indispensable stimulant to
conversation called " a little music."
It must be admitted that to be a good player is no dis-
tinction in English society. It has its reward, no doubt,
in the quiet happiness of long hours — hours of loving ap-
plication ; hours of absorption ; hours lived in a world of
subtle and delicate emotion, such as musical dreamers alone
realize ; and, above all, real musicians have the luxury of
meeting occasionally those who can listen to and under-
stand them. They give, but they also receive. Good play-
ers and good listeners are equally happy in each other's
society. How seldom they meet in England ! how few,
even fine amateur pianists, have any thing like a musical
circle ! It is very seldom that a neighborhood can muster
440 MUSIC IN ENGLAND.
the materials for a Mozart or a Beethoven trio, not to say
quartet ; and seldom that an amateur has the opportunity
of playing a concerto of Mendelssohn's with string accom-
paniments, or any other accompaniment than that of noisy
children or general conversation. But no. Late years have
witnessed some remarkable combinations, which, however
indifferent, are often respectfully listened to.
The harmonium and concertina force themselves upon
198. our attention. There are certain perfect forms
Concerted Cham- l
ber Music. and perfect players of both these instruments ;
but we deal not now with the master workmen, the Re-
gondis, the Blagroves, the Tamplins, and the Engels. The
same instrument which in the hands of these men is a thins:
of beauty and delight, is capable of tempting the musical
amateur into wild and tuneless excesses ! We will put it
to any impartial person, Was there ever found in the house
of an amateur a concertina or harmonium in tune with the
piano ? Was there ever an amateur who could be deterred
from playing these instruments together, however discord-
ant the result? When there is a chance of having a duet,
people seem to lose all sense of tune. If the concerti-
na is only about a half semitone flat, the lady thinks she
can manage. A little nerve is required to face the first
few bars, but before " II Balen" is over not a scruple re-
mains, and the increasing consternation of the audience is
only equaled by the growing complacency of the perform-
ers.
The same indifference to tune may be observed in the
amateur flute and cornet. Each player has his method of
treating the piano, which, as he tells you, is only the ac-
companiment, and must follow him. If the piano is more
than a semitone flat or sharp, the flute inquires whether it
can not be tuned to his instrument. The piano replies that
CONCERTED CHAMBER MUSIC. 441
the tuner has just been, and asks whether the Ante can not
alter his pitch. This ends in the flute trying to unscrew
himself a little. Then he sounds a C with the piano —
thinks it is a little better, unscrews a little more, and asks
the piano whether that will do. The piano does not know.
Can not flute get a bit flatter? ISTot a bit. The heat of
the room will make it all right, and then they begin.
The cornet is not much better, with this exception, that
the cornet is generally ready to play alone, any where;
for there is this peculiarity about him — he is never tired
of playing, as some people are of hearing, the same tunes
over and over again, and, after playing them next door for
six months every day, if you ask him to your house, he will
play them after dinner in your conservatory, with the same
touching expression, and crack exactly in the same place.
There is a composure about the flute and the cornet, an un-
ruffled temperament, a philosophical calm, and an absolute
satisfaction in their respective efforts, which other musi-
cians may envy, but can not hope to rival. Other musi-
cians feel annoyed at not accomplishing what they at-
tempt ; the cornet and the flute tell you at once they at-
tempt what can not be done.
The organist is disturbed if his organ begins to cipher,
the violinist if his string breaks, the pianist if the pedal
squeaks; but if the flute is out of tune, or plays octaves by
mistake, our friend is easily satisfied after unscrewing and
screwing up again ; and the cornet, however prone to crack,
feels quite happy after putting in a new crook, and fidget-
ing a little with the pistons.
The amateur violin is seldom heard in mixed society. If
good, as he usually is, he is fastidious about accompanyists,
still more sensitive about conversation, and won't play. If
bad, nobody cares to ask him. However, most of us have
come across a fine violin amateur, and enjoyed his playing
T 2
442 MUSIC IN ENOLA ND.
as much as, perhaps more than, that of many professional
artists. It is difficult to speak of the bad violin player
without being thought censorious; but we all know the
shriek of a slate pencil on a slate, and how bad and wanton
little boys use it to torment governesses. Better that than
the scratch of a greasy bow on a bad fiddle ; and better,
too, the boy than the man, for the boy knows he is bad
and can be stopped, but the absorbed violinist knows not,
neither can he be told, neither can he be stopped.
It is difficult to explain the ascendency which the violin
gains over the minds of its votaries for good or for evil.
It can boast of two distinct types of admirers, between
which, as between two poles, all the others may be said to
vibrate. There is the man with one bad fiddle who plays
much and miserably, and there is the man who can not
play a note, but has collected a room full of splendid vio-
lins, most of which remain unstrung. But we must not
dwell on this tempting subject. We proceed to notice the
lowest form of the solo instrumentalist.
It is the amateur who plays by ear. Ladies will often
gratify you by playing a little of Chopin " by ear" — that
means, as much as they can recollect of the tune with any
kind of bass. It would be well for all young musicians to
remember that it is never safe to attempt Chopin, Mendels-
sohn, and, above all, Schumann, by heart, without a most
careful previous study of the notes, and the regular process
of committing a piece to memory : even when once learned
the notes should be occasionally used to refresh the mem-
ory and insure accuracy.
The difficulty of expressing or reproducing in notes a
given musical idea is greater than at first sight appears.
A piece of music is heard, it rings in your ears, you try to
learn it, or you sit down and try to play it. If you have
little musical culture, merely natural taste and a good ear,
CONCERTED CHAMBER MUSIC. 443
you will soon satisfy yourself, and you will say, "That is
exactly the tune I heard." Probably it is only an imperfect
suggestion of what you have heard. There is sure to exist
a gap between it and the original piece. When the sub-
ject happens to be good music, even small deviations are
fatal to the composer's thought, and a slight change will
suffice to vulgarize a theme, just as in poetry a word trans-
posed may destroy the power of a fine line. Who does not
see that a note transposed, or left out, or altered, is as fatal
to a phrase as the following rearrangement, lately made in
our hearing, of one of Mrs. Browning's lines is to the beau-
ty of that line. The verse stands —
" O supreme love ! chief misery,
The sharp regalia are for thee."
As improved in quotation —
"O love supreme! chief misery,
The sharp regalia are for thee. "
Of course, there can be no harm in a general way of singing
and playing by ear to amuse one's self; but how trouble-
some it is on some occasions to hear people sing and play
for your entertainment their so-called reproductions of the
opera or classical music, most musicians know very well.
But it is not easy to convince them of this; and the poor
critic has generally to retire sad and wounded; in short,
he is voted a rude, ill natured, or eccentric kind of person,
and is hummed and strummed out of court.
VI.
Let us now turn to the second great class of musical
amateurs, The People who Sing.
It is thought almost as rude to interrupt a lady when she
199. is speaking as to talk aloud when she sings. Ac-
The People L b . . .
whoSing. cordingly, the advantages of being able to sing in
444 MUSIC IN ENGLAND.
society are obvious. The lady can at any moment fasten
the attention of the room on herself. If a girl has a voice,
the piano is too soon suppressed in favor of it, and the only
chance of her becoming: a musician is thrown away. It is
true she usually accompanies herself; that is, she dabbles
about on the keys, and strikes a chord at the end of her
song, always cutting out the closing bars as not of the
" voice voicy," but the room listens, and the room applauds.
The maiden is happy ; and mamma thinks she requires no
more sin^inoj-lessons.
Every one likes to understand and talk a little about
music, and a very slender knowledge will enable an un-
musical person to occupy a very creditable position in
most musical parties. The following hints may prove use-
ful. Perhaps a chorus is got up. If you are asked to sing
bass, first make sure that all the parts are doubled. Then
stand behind the piano with the others. You need not
sing if you don't like, but you won't do much harm if you
sing. If you sing loud the other bass will think he is
wrong ; if you sing low, he will think that you are read-
ing the music ; if you don't sing at all, he will only think
you have lost your place ; and as the chances are he has
never found his own, he will take no notice. The piece is
almost sure to be "The Bearded Barley," and you can say
at the end, "All Mendelssohn's part songs are so good."
Perhaps some one will say " The Bearded Barley is not
Mendelssohn's." Then you can answer, "Of course not!"
Very likely, however, the piece may be Mendelssohn's.
Then it is sure to be " O Hills and Vales of Pleasure," and
at the end you can say, " Do you know another part song
called ' The Bearded Barley ?' " Then some one is sure to
say "Yes, but I like Mendelssohn best;" and then you oan
answer appreciatively, " Oh, yes, of course !" When a so*
prano duet is sung, the name of it is sure to be, "I would
THE PEOPLE WHO SING. 445
that my Love," by Mendelssohn. When a contralto sings
alone, the song is usually " In questa tomba," by Beetho-
ven. When a soprano sings, it is more difficult to speak
with certainty. However, you can always, if you are at a
loss, ask, " Which do you like best, the ballads of Virginia
Gabriel or Claribel ?" Then, if the singer says " Virginia
Gabriel," it is quite open to you to say " Claribel," or vice
versa. If a tenor sings, you will not be far wrong in sup-
posing the song to be " Spirito Gentil." If, however, it is
neither that nor " Martha," nor " Ah ! che la morte," you
may justly compliment him upon his original and exten-
sive repertory. You must speak of Beethoven as " sub-
lime, but occasionally obscure ;" of Spohr as " scientific,
but too sickly and chromatic ;" of Mendelssohn as " fasci-
nating;" of Schumann as "a man of some genius;" and
you may say of Gounod that " he is very charming, but
that you doubt whether he will last ;" and it will always
be safe, except in the presence of really good musicians,
to sniff at Wagner and the music of the future.
And now, if we seem to have conveyed a somewhat harsh
estimate of drawing-room music and drawing-room criti-
cism under the form of mock counsel to the reader, let us
ask whether the blots of amateur music may not be point-
ed out as effectually in this way as in any other? Is it
not true that a person following the above advice will be
able to conceal his ignorance of music in almost any " at
home" in England? And why? Simply because so few
English people know the difference between the good and
the bad in music, or rightly estimate its value. So many
regard it as the most frivolous of pastimes, as a tea-bell, as
a cloak for scandal, to drown or to promote conversation,
to attract to self, or to outbid a rival. There is nothing
wrong in being without ear and in caring nothing for mu-
sic ; it is a misfortune, but it is no fault. If a man has no
440 MUSIC IN ENGLAND.
taste for conchology, he is not ashamed to say so. In Ger-
many people never pretend to play ; in Italy they never
pretend to sing; and if they know nothing about it, they
can afford to be silent. Why should not some of us do
likewise ?
We have dwelt on a somewhat gloomy side of drawing-
room music because few people seem to realize its serious
defects, and, until this is done, improvement is impossible.
But light dawns as we think of the noble amateur singers
and fine professional performers which it is more and more
our privilege to hear in private society. Power makes its
own terms, and professional singers and players, beginning
to assume a position and dignity which they ought never
to have lost, refuse any longer to promote conversation, or
to be turned on like machines. Let amateurs who can fol-
low their example. If it were considered hors de rlgle for
people to sing and play in company unless they happened
to have both talent and cultivation, and equally objection-
able in others to interrupt those who had, or fancied they
had, the necessary qualifications, bad playing and bad taste
in music would soon go out of fashion.
VII.
We pass on to a more encouraging phase of amateur
200. music. We find ourselves in a quiet, cheerful room
The Quar- . . .
tet Party, at the back oi a good house ; it is morning ; there
are only four people present ; they are all intent upon play-
ing ; they can all play, and there is no one present to mo-
lest with praise or blame. Two violins, viola, and violon-
cello, and the quartet is complete. The first violin is a
gifted amateur, the second violin is a thoughtful gentle-
man, perhaps an art critic, not a brilliant player, but steady,
find never tired. Viola is a rather testy, but thoroughly
good-natured professional, who never can quite get over
THE QUARTET PARTY. 447
the fact of somebody else playing first fiddle, and occa-
sionally has to be called to order for putting in little bits
which belong to some one of the other instruments. Vio-
CD
loncello is a good amateur, or perhaps a semi-professional,
who plays a little of every instrument under the sun.
However, these men can really make music. Let us begin
with a light Haydn quartet — No. 63.
It begins with seven-bars rest for the first violin, and
seems to glide off the bows — facile, easy, rippling along-
like a summer rivulet. Every one knows it, every one
likes it : the smart allegro moderato, the cantabile adagio,
just long enough, the rousing minuet and trio, and the
smart vivace staccato, which invariably runs all the fiddlers
off their legs, and ends with " Bravo, first fiddle !" and a
good laugh at violoncello and tenor, who have too often
been dancing through the movement with the light and
airy gait of elephants. But now all four have whetted
their swords — rosined their bows, we mean — and feel eager
for more serious work. Beethoven is put up on the desks.
Let us choose the first of the set in F. What an opening
movement ! Good, broad music, nothing labored or ob-
scure, but inspiration every where flowing from a full fount.
It is phrased like a symphony, and yet all is fairly within
the compass of the four instruments. The slow movement
— than which nothing more tender and lofty was ever in-
vented— tries the first violin ; and our professional tenor,
who is much dissatisfied with Primo Violino's reading of
the closing bars, kindly fiddles them over in the right way,
to the disgust of first fiddle. But in the trio that pre-
sumptuous fiddle is fairly beaten. He is a good player,
but a scramble is all he can make of it. He masters, how-
ever, the not difficult bravura passage at the end of the
closing movement, and comes in for a compliment from his
friend and mentor the cantankerous tenor. Then there is
448 MUSIC IN ENGLAND.
a general motion in favor of Mozart. It must be one of
those six perfect works dedicated to " Papa Haydn." Aft-
er this, as a complete contrast, we select a solo quartet of
Spoh r, not very hard, although so showy; and then, every
one having got into full swing, we may be able to rattle
through Mendelssohn's canzonet before the lunch-bell rings.
Four hours of it in the morning might seem enough; but
that is nothing to the quartet player. After lunch those
four men will begin again, and work away till dusk. Then
they will go out for a turn in the park or by the sea be-
fore dinner, and will very likely set to again after dinner,
and play from nine till twelve o'clock. In musical coun-
try houses it is not uncommon to have a quartet party
staying in the house, and then woe to the unmusical ! The
best quartet work is no doubt done in the morning; but
the quartet is irrepressible ; it may break out at all times,
and any where — suddenly on the lawn, in summer ; in the
dining-room, after dinner ; in very hot weather, in some
sonorous housekeeper's room ; even in the pantry, all over
the drawing-room, in the library, on the balcony, or up
stairs in any of the bedrooms.
But we must not linger. Converse with these excep-
201. tionably fine amateurs spoils us for the kind of
The Scratch J ...
Quartet. performance which it is now our painful duty to
describe, and which we may call the Scratch Quartet.
Our friend Harmonics, who is rather a good player, has in-
vited three worse than himself. They come with their
wives, and a musical friend is perhaps asked in to listen.
The ladies are not to talk, and the friend is not to talk ;
the}T are to listen. Harmonics leads off with a Haydn.
Our heavy friend, with greasy bow and inferior violin,
stumbles after him, tenor scrapes placidly — flat, of course,
but not unhappy, for he has a bad ear. The neighboring
THE SCR A TCH Q UARTET. 449
organist, rather glad of a little violoncello practice, grins
at the noise, but goes on. It seems a point of honor with
these men not to stop. They are all wrong, and they know
it. But first fiddle pretends he has never got out, second
fiddle declares he was beating time (which he certainly
was, with his foot loud enough to be heard all over the
room), and therefore couldn't be wrong (which does not
follow). Tenor smiles, and has no opinion. 'Cello thought
they would get right somehow if they pulled on through
the breakers into the smooth water, commonly known as
"the place where the subject begins again." After each
double bar there is a regular discussion, in which each per-
former defends himself, and brings counter-charges, and
then the Adagio begins. Second violin now has a chance ;
the theme has come his way at last. He plays them's for-
tissimo;— he rasps the accompaniment, so that Harmonics
can not hear himself; but, of course, if No. 2 will hack and
hew, he must play out. The violoncello will not be out-
done— even the tenor is roused at last — and all seem to rush
headlong upon the music with screams of discordant sound,
until, apparently maddened by their own scraping, they
finish in a sort of wild scrunch, which they call " coming
in all right in the end." The ladies exclaim, "How beau-
tiful !" Musical friend says it's delightful, and, remember-
ing another engagement, is off in a hurry, and then these
infatuated men begin again. At last outraged nature her-
self protests. Even Harmonics is exhausted. No. 2 thinks
they have done enough. Tenor is simply sleepy and pen-
sive. Violoncello can hardly lift what he calls " his strad"
It is late — a glass of wine and a sandwich — a couple of
cabs. The reader heaves a sigh of relief. They are gone,
and may they ne'er come back again !
Out of Quartet Societies, good, bad, and indifferent, comes
450 MUSIC IN ENOLA ND.
202. the Okciiestral Musical Society, or, as it is
Orchestral '
Societies, sometimes called, the Symphony Society. The
theory of these societies seems to be, that a good many
who can not play by themselves can play very well all to-
gether. The amateurs of the band usually supply a few
violins, violoncellos, a flute, perhaps two, let us hope but
one cornet, and any number of volunteers for the drums.
The rest are professionals, who supply a leader on the vio-
lin, brass, clarionet, oboe, as required, and an excellent pro-
fessional gentleman, who conducts with a baton. How
ever the public performances are got through is a wonder,
for the rehearsals can not be said to be got through at all.
Impelled by the noblest aspirations, nothing will daunt
our devoted band ; not Beethoven's C minor, not Mendels-
sohn's Italian Symphony, not Weber's overtures. Haydn's
symphonies, which they might play, are soon voted slow ;
Handel's music is out of date ; even Mozart is too easy a
triumph. A few Italian overtures they could perhaps man-
age, but then they are classical players, and can not stoop
to that sort of thing.
" Seven o'clock punctually, if you please, gentlemen, for
the next rehearsal !" says Mr. Amadeus le Baton, at the
end of the practice; and at seven punctually Amadeus en-
ters a perfectly empty room. There are about twenty or
thirty music-desks waiting. The conductor's desk stands
facing him. Presently in comes a man with a violin case.
Then another, dragging a double bass. In about a quarter
of an hour the leader and one first fiddle have arrived, but
as first fiddle is above playing second, nothing can be done.
Le Baton pulls out his watch, and upbraids those who have
not arrived to those who have. Perhaps by a quarter to
eight they are ready to begin ; but to begin what ? Tun-
ing, of course. Some people admire the tuning of the Han-
del Orchestra ; others have been known to appreciate the
ORCHESTRAL SOCIETIES. 451
tuning at Exeter Hall more than the performance. But for
a dreadful orgie in sound — the very memory of which is cal-
culated to make you start in your dreams for months after-
Avard, under the impression that all the cats and dogs which
have ever been drowned in the Thames have come to life
again, and are howling round your pillow — for a row com-
pared with which the noise of a menagerie about feeding-
time is positively agreeable — commend me to the tuning
of an amateur orchestra. But we have more to hear than
that. In the midst of it all, some violin will play the Car-
naval de Venise, the flute will practice his bits, the violon-
cello tries to do fiddle passages up high on his finger-board,
the cornet has the effrontery to add to the confusion by
playing a waltz, some one behind him is imitating the howl
of a dog or the squeak of a rat on the reed of his clarionet.
Kettle-drums is pretending to tune by alternately thump-
ing the parchment and screwing at the side with a key.
Triangle, when pulled up, solemnly declares he is practi-
cing his part in Q flat !
At last they do seem to be off, every one playing as if
his were the only instrument in the world, for piano is the
last word the amateur learns. Still the conductor does
not complain until Drums (who has two hundred bars rest
and then two little notes very soft) comes down half a bar
too soon with an absolutely deafening roll. The flute is
thrown completely out ; the cornet seems much excited by
that noble " rataplan," and keeps on his note a bar too long.
The violin bows are literally at sixes and sevens, like the
pendulums in a watchmaker's window. Amadeus may
stamp, Amadeus may shout, Amadeus may beat his poor
little baton to bits against the desk, no one heeds him, or
ever thinks of looking at him ; the band took some time
to get ready, but now they are off for better for worse, and
who can stop them ? Even if half the band stops, the other
452 MUSIC IN ENGLAND.
half will go on. Poor Amadeus le Baton ! what can he
do? It is obvious that he can do nothing, and after shout-
ing himself hoarse, and gesticulating wildly, he gives it up,
claps both hands to his ears, and gazes despondingly at the
" score" before him.
The Vocal Association" or Singing-Class, in its various
203. forms, is a more popular and generally a more
ciations. successful affair. All over the country such so-
cieties are now being established, very often on Mr. Hul-
lah's, sometimes also on the Tonic-Sol-Fa system, both of
which enable a very moderate professor to teach the gen-
eral principles of part-singing to large numbers with com-
parative ease. As a part of parochial machinery the sing-
ing-class is most valuable. Since young people wrill have
amusement, what more delightful pursuit could be found
for them than music ? And since they persist in taking a
peculiar delight in each other's society, where could they
better meet than at the music-class in the school-room or
town hall, when their minds are to some extent occupied,
discipline maintained, and a healthy and exhilarating rec-
reation provided for them ?
The parochial aspect of singing societies has hardly been
sufficiently recognized. Literary institutes, popular lec-
tures, elocution, French, arithmetic, or drawing classes, will
all grow naturally out of the musical fount. But of this
we can not speak here more particularly.
We have discussed instrumental and vocal societies sep-
arately, but perhaps amateurs succeed best wThen the two
are combined. A piano, harmonium, or both, will very well
eke out a small but by no means inefficient string band.
The organist will conduct, choruses will be got up at sepa-
rate rehearsals, the prima donna of the neighborhood will
consent to learn the principal solos, and an oratorio will
VOCAL ASSOCIATIONS. 453
be forthcoming about Christmas time. That oratorio is in-
variably "Judas Maccabseus;" and, indeed, it is but anoth-
er proof of the simple and sublime genius of Handel that
he should be welcomed at Exeter Hall, and not out of place
iii a village school-room.
But we have already chatted too long about Amateur
Music in England. As we look back upon the foregoing
pages, truth forbids us to tone down some painful and un-
palatable admissions; but while it can not be said that we
have omitted to point out blots in the existing state of
things, we may be accused of gliding too lightly over
much that is really hopeful and striking in English music-
al taste.
We seem, as a people, to be musically many-sided, unbal-
anced, and, above all, unschooled by the inexorable laws
and conditions of true art. We deal in heights and depths
— we abound in inconsistencies which admit of no recon-
ciliation. We pay our shilling and rush to hear the "Mes-
siah" at the Agricultural Palace, then we go home and sing
Glover. We sit for two hours in St. James's Hall to hear
Beethoven's or Spohr's quartets, and the next day we buy
"God bless the Prince of Wales."
All this is simple fact. But it is fair to add that while,
for want of high national models, English musical taste falls
below that of France or Italy, it rises higher than either
in its honest enthusiasm for the great German masters.
It may be that we are on the eve of a creative period in
the history of English music. This confusion of ideas may
be nothing but the coming together of what will by-and-
by develop into our national school. This eclectic taste,
which at times looks much like chaos, may also be the fer-
ment out of wThich a new and beautiful life is ready to be
born.
As an original artist will be caught and absorbed by one
4 5 4 M l SIC IN ENGLAND.
influence after another, being possessed by his art long be»
fore he learns to possess himself — as he will at times ap-
pear to be swayed to and fro by various distinct impulses,
without being able to bring them into harmonious relation-
ship— as we may watch him year by year melting down
one style after another in the crucible of his genius, until
he has gained fine gold, and stamped it with his own im-
age, even so we seem to see England now calling in the
musical currencies of the world, which she may before long
reissue with the hall-mark of her originality and genius.
vni.
The last sign of our musical times which we feel dis-
204. posed here to dwell upon may be summed up
coraemufe.'and *n tne onrinous words " Street Music." There
Hurdy-gurdy. are many problems in connection with nation-
al music which have never been solved. It would be diffi-
cult to find any country without some kind of popular
music; but why have some nations called in the aid of sci-
ence, and developed national schools of music, like France,
Italy, Germany, while others, like Russia, Spain, and, above
all, Ireland, Scotland, and Wales, have never got beyond
rude national ballads? Again, how strange it is to find
the old popular forms running side by side with the new
scientific forms of modern music without losing their dis-
tinctive features !
Mr. Ap-Thomas tells us that the Welsh harper to this
day preserves his ancient customs. "Xow, as of old, he
may be seen, as soon as the sun rises, in the large oak
chair (which, as a fixture, stands at the entrance of every
neat and tidy Welsh inn), welcoming, harp in hand, the
weary traveler, or solacing the hours of friends never tired
of listening to his national- strains. Many of these harp-
ists are blind and very old."
HAMP, BAGPIPES, CORNEMUSE. 455
The primitive nature of the bagpipes would seem to
need no comment ; but, curiously enough, although the
bagpipes play many of the old national tunes, they are not
the old national instrument of Scotland, nor were the oldest
tunes composed for the bagpipes, as is usually supposed.
Up to the sixteenth century the harp was the national in-
strument of both Ireland and Scotland, and the national
melodies of both countries were not dissimilar. The Irish
and Scotch melodies, reduced to their simplest expressions,
abound in thirds, fifths, and octaves. They were composed
for the harp, which was strung with wire, and very reso-
nant. To avoid discord, it became necessary that every
note should form a concord with the last, and hence the
peculiar and forever pleasing character of Scotch and Irish
melodies.
The abominable characteristics of the bagpipes are not
really Scotch, but French. How the bagpipes superseded
the harp in Scotland has always been considered a mys-
tery. We believe it may be traced to French influence,
and distinctly to the period of Mary Queen of Scots. At
all events, about that time, toward the close of the six-
teenth century, the harp went out of fashion, and the bag-
pipe came in. Is it unlikely that in the foreign train of
Mary Stuart there may have been players of the national
cornemuse, or French bagpipes, who managed to set a fash-
ion which, for some reason or other, took root and has last-
ed ever since? The attempt to graft on Scotland foreign
customs, instead of adopting Scotch ones, is entirely con-
sistent with what we know of the Queen of Scots' policy.
But the cornemuse of southern France is perhaps the
most striking instance of the way in which primitive na-
tional music may continue wholly uninfluenced by modern
culture. The cornemuse has struck the key-note of all
really national French music, and cornemuse forms of mei*
456 M U8IC IN ENGLAND.
ody are not only to be found in the modern popular French
ballads, but abound in the operas of Auber and Gounod;
yet the corncinuse itself remains unchanged, nor are its
melodies ever varied in the direction of modern music.
Madame Sand, in one of her amusing digressions, gives an
account of a conversation she had with a cornernuse play-
er at a French fair. He did not make his tunes — they
were all made by the wood-cutters in the great forest: if
a man wished to excel, he must go into the woods and
catch the melodies from these wild men. The tunes were
handed down from generation to generation, and might be
endlessly varied ; but there was no development, no change
in their structure, nor had there been, as far as she could
ascertain, for centuries.
Now, speaking generally, the state of music in Scotland,
Ireland, Wales, France, Germany, Italy, Russia, and Spain
is not wholly unintelligible. Scotland, Ireland, and Wales
have no schools, but they have national ballads : music
there is a wild germ, that, for some reason or other, has re-
mained undeveloped by civilization. The same thing may
be said of Spain and Russia. In France a regular school
of music has appropriated the rude popular elements (as a
point du depart), which nevertheless remain alongside of
the music-school in all their primitive simplicity. In Italy
the same phenomenon has occurred, only the connection
between the Abruzzi mountaineer, with his pipe stuck into
an inflated goatskin, and the Italian opera, is less obvious
than that between the cornemuse player and modern
French song.
In Germany, however, where music has attained its high-
est and most truly national development, the rude element
will soon have readied the vanishing point; hardly an old
melody of mountain or vale but what has received a new
netting: our idea of a Volkslied is something in two or
THE ORGAN- GBINDEB. 457
three parts by Mendelssohn, or, at all events, a charming
air with a graceful accompaniment. Even the wild airs of
Poland have been remodeled by Chopin. The " yodelling"
of the peasants is generally heard in combination with de-
licious harmonies unknown to their forefathers, and the
Swiss " hurdy-gurdy" is probably the last remnant of bar-
barism to be found in the direction of Germany.
IX.
But what shall be said of England ? We can imagine
205. the nations passing before us, each represented
The Organ- . r ° ' . l
grinder. by its popular form of street music. Germany
comes with a band of singers, followed by a band of men
playing on all kinds of musical instruments. France comes
fresh from the woods with her cornemuse. Italy issues
from the mountains with that tuneful and fascinating goat-
skin and pipe, so finely rendered by M. Gounod in Mirella.
Spain comes with a bandoline ; Scotland with the bag-
pipes ; Ireland and Wales with harps of well-known na-
tional form and proportion. Even Russia sings a good
bass tune, and blows a horn well, and England brings up
the rear with — a policeman requesting an organ-grinder
to move on !
Indeed, that man plays all the favorite tunes. It is true
he is not English, but he represents the popular tastes in
music. Does he play national melodies? Not many —
chiefly the melodies of other countries, or what will pass
for them with the million ; but he does grind certain Eng-
lish ballads too, claptrap sort of jingles — not especially na-
tional, or especially any thing; he can not be said to play
them ; no fancy, or originality, or taste is displayed, except
by the monkey who sits on his shoulder ; the performance
from first to last is a grind. In the streets of other coun-
tries you seldom meet with foreign musicians — at least
U
458 MUSIC IN ENGLAND.
not in France, Germany, and Italy ; but who will deny
that the staple of street music in England is organ-grind-
ing ? And the grinder is a foreigner, who only grinds a
few English tunes under protest. In fact, " He's a Pal o'
mine" and " Jolly Dogs" are used as gold leaf to gild pills
like " Casta Diva" and the " Carnaval de Venise."
But as the organ-grinder is a great fact, and perhaps, in a
survey of street music in England, the most prominent fact,
he deserves a few moments' calm consideration. There are
big organs drawn by a donkey, and little organs carried
by boys ; nondescript boxes with a cradle at the top and
two babies, drawn by a woman ; uprights on a stick with
a little handle, turned by a crazy old man ; chests open in
front and shut at the back, or shut in the front and open
at the back. There are flute organs, with a wonderful sys-
tem of wooden pipes, visible through glass ; great magni-
fied accordions, played somehow with a handle — horrid
things, which grind only the Old Hundredth and a chant
on metal pipes. There are tinkling cupboards, which re-
mind one of Dickens's piano-forte with the works taken
out, so irregular and uncertain is the effect of the handle
upon the tune. There are illustrated organs, with Chinese
mandarins performing conjuring tricks in a row, or Nebu-
chadnezzar's band ; and there are organs with a monkey,
triangle, bones, tambourine, or whistle obligato. Every
man has probably had moments in his life when he has not
been sane upon the question of barrel organs. He has per-
haps been placed in difficult circumstances. Let us say
he occupies a corner house. On one side, at the bottom
of the street, commences the " Chickaleary Bloke ;" on the
other side, at the bottom of another street, is faintly heard
"Polly Perkins:" both are working steadily up to a point
— that point is his corner house — let us say your own cor-
ner house. You are in your study writing poetry ; nearer
THE ORGAN-GRINDER. 459
and nearer draw the minstrels, regardless of each other,
and probably out of each other's hearing, but both heard
by you in your favorable position. As they near the point
the discord becomes wild and terrible ; you rush into the
back study, but the tom-tom man is in the yard ; you rush
out of the front door to look for a policeman — there is
none ; you use any Italian words you can recollect ; at the
same time, pointing to your head, you explain that your
father lies dangerously ill up stairs, and that several ladies
are dying in the neighborhood ; you implore the Italian to
move on, and the scene ends in No. 1 slowly grinding down
the street which No. 2 came up, and number 2 grinding up
the street which No. 1 has just come down. At such mo-
ments we are apt to speak recklessly on the great subject
of barrel organs, and we sometimes — idle employment ! —
write letters to the newspapers, which are pardonably one-
sided. The fact is, the organ question, like all other great
questions, has two sides to it, although we seldom hear but
one.
Let not those who write abusive letters to the newspa-
pers, and bring in bills to abolish street music, think they
will be able to loosen the firm hold which the barrel-or-
ganist has over the British public. Tour cook is his friend,
your housemaid is his admirer ; the policeman and the bak-
er's young man look on him in the light of a formidable
rival.
But, for once, let us speak a good word for him. We
know all that can be said against him, let us now plead
his cause a little. His sphere is large; he conquers more
worlds than one ; his popularity is not only wide, but va-
ried : he enters many clean and spacious squares, and little
chubby faces, well-born and rosy, look out from high-railed
nursery windows, and as they look out he looks up, and
baby is danced at the bars and stops crying directly, and
460 MUSIC IN ENGLAND.
Tommy forgets his quarrel with Johnny, and runs to the
window too, and tears are wiped and harmony is restored
in many and many a nursery, and nurse herself finds the
penny and smiles, and " organ-man" pockets the penny and
smiles, and plays five more tunes in for the money, and lifts
his hat, and waves " ta-ta !" in Italian, and walks off to
"fresh fields and pastures new" — and isn't it worth the
penny ?
And where does he wander to now — that happy, easy-
tempered son of the South ? Ah ! he has no proud looks ;
and, though he has just played to members of the aristoc-
racy, he is willing to turn as merrily for the lowest of the
people.
I meet him in the dingy alleys of the great city — -I meet
him in the regions of garbage and filth, where the atmos-
phere inhaled seems to be an impartial mixture of smoke
and decomposition, and where the diet of the people seems
to consist of fried herrings and potato parings : there is our
organ-man — and there, at least, we may bless him — grind-
ing away to the miserable, sunken, and degraded denizens
of Pigmire Lane or Fish Alley. Let him stay always there
— let him grind ever thus. I confess it does my heart
good to see those slatternly women come to their doors,
and stand and listen, and the heavy, frowning, coal -be-
smeared men lean out of the windows with their pipes,
and, forgetting hunger and grinding poverty, hushing also
the loud oath and blasphemy for a little season, smile with
the pleasure of the sweet sounds. Through that little
black window with the cracked panes you can see the lame
shoemaker look up for a moment, and, as he resumes the
long-drawn-out stitches with both hands, it is with coun-
tenance relaxed, and almost pleasurable energy. The pale-
faced tailor looks out from the top story (yes ; like a beam
of sunshine the music has struck through him) ; he forgets
BANDS. 461
the rent, and the work, and the wages, and the wretched-
ness of life. It is the end of the day ; it is lawful to rest
for a moment and listen, and they do listen — the men and
women clustering in groups on their door-steps, and leaning
from the windows above, and the children — oh ! the chil-
dren ! I look down the alley, and suddenly it is flooded
with the light of the low sun ; it smites the murky atmos-
phere into purple shades, and broad, warm, yellow light
upon the pathway, and glitters like gold leaf upon the win-
dow-panes ; and the children — the children are dancing all
down the alley, dancing in long vistas far down into the
sunny mist, two and two, three and three, but all dancing,
and dancing in time ; and their faces — many poor pale faces,
and some rosy ones too — their faces are so happy, and the
whole alley is hushed, save only for the music and the
dancing of the children.
I bless that organ-man — a very Orpheus in hell ! I bless
his music. I stand in that foul street where the blessed
sun shines, and where the music is playing ; I give the man
a penny to prolong the happiness of those poor people, of
those hungry, pale, and ragged children, and, as I retire, I
am saluted as a public benefactor ; and was ever pleasure
bought so cheap and so pure ?
X.
Toward evening we find the organ-grinder fairlv ex-
206. pelled from some quarters of the town — from the bet-
Bands. ter streets and the more respectable squares. What
we may have striven in vain to accomplish, what there was
no policeman at hand to do, has been triumphantly effect-
ed by the second great fact of street music — The Geeman
Band. The full-blown brass band, with drums, plays fine
music, and is patronized in high places. The men wear
uniforms, and are from six to twelve in number. The head
402 MUSIC IN ENGLAND.
man leads on the clarionet, arranges the music, and is gen-
erally a capital theoretical and practical musician. Every
man carries his own stand of music, and, by an arrange-
ment of strings and weights, can set it up and play through
any moderate hurricane. The hardiness of these men is
astonishing. They stand in cutting draughts at the cor-
ners of the streets ; they will play through any ordinary
shower. The cornet executes variations in the snow, the
drum keeps himself warm in frosty weather by a close ap-
plication to business, the flute chirps and twitters writh the
thermometer at zero, when other people can not even wThis-
tle. The men with the great brass tubes and serpents
pour forth volumes of breath on tropical nights, when oth-
er people can hardly breathe; the triangle man has the
lightest time of it, but then he is expected to walk about
and sue for coppers ; indeed, that appears to be his real
business — the triangle is only his pastime.
As we sit with our windows open in the summer even-
ings, we can hear them playing at the corner of the street.
Now it is Masaniello, dashed off with great fire, and gen-
erally taken too fast ; then a selection from Faust, or the
last new opera chopped up, sometimes very cleverly, for
street use. On these occasions the principal instruments
play the " arias," and one often regrets that men who play
so well have not had more opportunities of hearing the
songs which they are the means of making so widely pop-
ular. The airs are constantly taken at a pace or in a style
which proves that the player has never heard them on the
stage, nor has the faintest notion of what they mean.
Although forced to play chiefly Italian and French over-
tures, opera selections, fire-work quadrilles, cataract waltzes,
etc., to catch the public, the German feeling will creep out,
and is not unkindly received. Homcepathic doses of Haydn,
Mozart, or Beethoven are administered in the shape of a
THE BRASS WITHOUT THE BAND. 453
slow movement, allegretto, or minuet and trio out of some
symphony, and these, inserted, sandwich -like, between a
" Slap Bang" polka and " Fra Diavolo," go down very well.
But as we contemplate the model German band, the scene
changes, and we find ourselves, as in some bad dream, list-
ening to a hideous parody. Four poor fellows have got
together, the sport of a cruel destiny; none of their instru-
ments are in tune ; the public will not hear them nor pay
them ; their own ears have become vitiated ; they have
learned to regard any brass instruments blown together
anyhow as a German band. Of course, they do not long
hang together; some of them get happily drafted into big-
ger bands, others pair off, and we thus have that form of
street music which may be called the Br ass Band dissolved.
This may mean one of two things : it may mean either the
Brass icithout the Band, or the Band without the Brass.
The Brass icithout the Band means generally a cornet
^ J*07- . , and a serpent, who undertake to perform " Su-
The Brass with- x 7 r
out the Band, ono il Tromba Trepido ;" sometimes the ser-
pent does "II Balen," or at least any part of it which hap-
pens to be within the compass of his instrument. On these
occasions the cornet flourishes about wildly, and appears
to be carrying on a kind of guerrilla warfare with his
panting antagonist, which ends in the successful demoli-
tion of the latter, who finally wheezes and puffs himself to
death, while the cornet screams a paean of victory. At
other times the cornet leads off with " Ah ! che la morte,"
while the serpent, coming to life again, gasps in an explo-
sive manner. Before long it usually happens that the ser-
pent, jealous of the cornet's supremacy, absorbs himself
into a band again, and the cornet, if he does not go and dd
likewise, wanders away to enter into a fruitless competition
with the "organ-man" in Fish Alley, or tries to get a preca
464 MUSIC IN ENGLAND.
rious living off "The Blue Bells of Scotland" in front of a
third-rate public house in a deserted quarter of the city.
If the Brass without the Band can fall to a lower depth
still, it is when he seats himself on the top of a van full of
tipsy Foresters, and, after sharing their potations during
the daytime, "joins in" frantically with the chorus of luna-
tics as they drive home through the streets of the city,
making night hideous with bellow and blare. We may
here take leave of the Brass without the Band.
The second part of the Brass Band dissolved is the Band
208. without the Brass* which generally means a
The Band with- . & J
out the Brass, flute or a clarionet solus. Unlike the " brass,"
the "wood" never walk a road together. As they are both
solo instruments, the rivalry would be too bitter; and, find-
ing a lonely life intolerable, they soon join themselves to,
or go to make up, what may be called the third great fact
of street music — the String Band.
The highest form of the string band is too seldom seen.
209- It consists of from six to twelve performers — two
The String . r
Band. violins, tenor, violoncello or double bass, flute, clar-
ionet, or the above doubled, or in such other various pro-
portions as time and circumstances may allow of. We
have met with them at sea-side places in fine weather, and
occasionally in the more retired parts of the city in the
afternoon. But as stringed instruments in any perfection
are delicate things, the expense of keeping them together
in any number and efficiency is great; and the German
bands, both louder and hardier in organization, drive them
out of the field. For some reason, these large string bands
are generally English; they play excellent music, but are
not so popular or so well paid as their German rivals.
Another form of the string band, however, is the most
THE ST1UNG BAND DISSOLVED. 4G5
popular and the best paid of any street music ; but, from
its very delicacy and excellence, its sphere of operation is
restricted as to time and place, and few itinerant musicians
seem to combine the necessary qualifications for success.
Visitors to Brighton have all noticed the great rival to the
excellent German band on the beach in the shape of four
Italian musicians. The leader, Signor Beneventano, is a
fine violin-player out of doors, although the writer discov-
ered that in a room he is somewhat coarse in tone and ex-
ecution, which in great measure accounts for his success in
the open air. He is accompanied by a harp, a second vio-
lin, and a flute. Each man is capital in his department,
and each man knows his place. This little band of accom-
plished players forms the centre for a group of attentive
listeners, who are regaled with charming versions of the
modern opera, the primo violino occasionally playing solos
with excellent pathos and effect. We have seen shillings,
half crowns, and even gold put into the cap, in return for
which regular printed programmes are distributed. But
at the first spot of rain or gust of wind — in the middle of
a passage or "scena," however touching — Signor Beneven-
tano signals to stop, packs up fiddle and bow, a cloth is
hastily flung over the harp, the flute is unscrewed, the mu-
sic folded up, all made " taut," and the artists retire. The
brass band thinks them poor creatures.
But if we seldom hear either what we may call the
210 Orchestral String Band or the Italian Miniature
BanddisD-g Hand, the String Band dissolved is, alas! always
solved. with Us. It is a harp and a fiddle. The harpist
is generally a man with an ear for time, but not for tune ;
the fiddler has an ear for tune, but none for time. The
fiddler can afford to be in tune, because he has only four
strings; but the harpist, who has forty, very naturally can
U2
4GG MUSIC IN ENGLAND.
not. We have heard people wonder how the harpists can
keep their strings from breaking — they don't. Others ask
how it is possible in the open air to have so many strings in
any sort of tune — they never are. The picked Italian band
is fairly in tune, and that is a wonder. But though in the
String Band dissolved there is much to regret, there is
nothing to wonder at, except it be how such people ever
get a living. The sangfroid of the harpist is great — one
accompaniment does for all times and tunes; or, if he has
different accompaniments, he never fits them on to their
right tunes ; and if for a couple of bars he blunders into
the right measure, he does not notice it before he gets
wrong again. A cat might walk over the wires with quite
as much, probably a very similar, effect. But he is outdone
by the determination of the violinist, who is superior to all
accompaniment, and treats the harpist like a lackey. He
does not tell him when he is going to begin, how long he is
going on, or when he means to stop ; indeed, he is generally
much the better man of the two, and might play a respect-
able fourth-rate second violin at a third-class theatre if
he practiced hard, and did not show such overweening
confidence in his variations on the " Carnaval de Venise."
Where will that man end ? Cross the street, and we can
show you. Yonder comes an old blind man with a know-
ing dog who is constantly persuading him that it is neces-
sary to move on whenever he is playing or begins to play a
tune. He has thus got into the habit of walking. He is
weak and old with drink before his time, and does not play
much now except on the open strings. Sometimes it is his
wife who leads him ; now he is blind she keeps the drink
from him, and prolongs his life a little. One day she will
sell his old fiddle ; they will go into the workhouse togeth-
er, and the String Band will be completely dissolved.
MISCELLANEOUS ARTISTS. 46*7
xn.
We must here notice a large class of nondescript street
211. musicians — chiefly self-made men. We may call
Miscellane- . ,
ous Artists, these the fourth great fact in street music, and
treat them under the head of Miscellaneous Artists.
Many of them are men of strong original powers, subjected
to the most eccentric development. We remember one
strange man who bore the appearance of a North American
Indian armed to the teeth. He was hung round, saddled,
propped up, sat upon, wedged in, and stuck all over gener-
ally with some two dozen or more instruments, and boasted
that he could play most of them simultaneously. A drum,
worked with a wire by one foot, rattled above his head ; his
mouth moved round a semicircle, blowing into such things
as Pan-pipes, flutes, clarionets, horns, and other tubes con-
veniently slung to his neck like an ox's cradle ; one hand
moved an accordion tied to his thigh, while a triangle jin-
gled from his wrrist ; the other hand played the bones, while
the elbow clapped a tambourine fixed to his side ; on the
inside of his knees were cymbals, which he kept knocking
together. There was now only one foot and ankle left,
and on that ankle he had bells, which rang with every mo-
tion. We describe from memory, and doubt whether we
have detailed half the instruments. If Julius Csesar had
ever met that man, he would have felt quite ashamed of
himself for not being able to do more than three things at
a time.
Then we have, at the sea-side, the Bohemian dwarfs on
little three-legged stools, with tiny bandolines, strumming
away almost inaudibly, but apparently quite content, and
remunerated out of pity.
Then there is the piano on wheels, which goes about till
one day it gets rained on unmercifully and bursts. And
4 G 8 MUSIC IN ENGLAND.
the harmoDium on wheels, which in a very little time does
nothing but " cipher," and has to retire into private life.
There is the street Picco, who plays cleverly on the penny
whistle, and the street Bonnay, who plays with hammers
on a wooden instrument ; another plays with hammers on
bits of metal, another on bits of glass, another on regular
musical glasses, another on bells, and another on strings ;
but the most original of this class is a man who produces
singularly beautiful effects by using two balls of India-rub-
ber to set in vibration a perfectly tuned system of musical
glasses. The India-rubber is used to rub the edge of the
glass as children rub dessert-bowls with wet fingers, and
the sound elicited is the same. This man plays pathetic
tunes with great taste and extraordinary execution. He
has lately substituted a series of glass tubes.
Having got thus far in my meditations, it occurred to me
that it was time to pass from instrumental to vocal music;
but the transition seemed abrupt : there must be a connect-
ing link. I think I have discovered that missing link in the
person of the " tom-tom" man. He is both vocal and in-
strumental. Many persons who have not studied the ques-
tion may suppose that he only beats the tom-tom ; but this
is an error. On very hot days, if you go close up to him,
you will perceive that he sings what are doubtless the na-
tional melodies of his native land. As far as we can make
out, they are as simple as they are plaintive, and consist
mainly in the constant repetition of
" Yow, vow, aie ! y agger, vow, yow."
Here, then, we may be said to have a link between instru-
mental and vocal street music.
VOCAL STREET MUSIC. 469
xm.
Vocal street music divides itself naturally into ballad
217. and chorus, or solo and part songs. The street
Vocal Street _. ,. _ . . . .. _
Music. ballads emanate from the music-halls and penny
gaffs. And, of all the encouraging facts in connection with
popular music in England, this — our fifth fact — of Ballad
Music is the least. This is the form in which whatever
there is national in English music is uttered, and what ut-
terances we have here ! Every now and then, it is true, a
really graceful ballad, such as, "When other lips," "Jea-
nette and Jeannot," gets into general vogue ; but, as a rule,
the really popular songs are those that minister to the low-
est rollicking tastes, such as " Champagne Charley," or to
the vulgar commonplaces of life, such as the " Postman's
Knock," or to the feeblest sentimental fancies, such as
"Sea Shells." About most of them there is a low affecta-
tion and a sense of unreality that pierces, and the people
that troll them about the streets never sing them with
earnestness or humor, like the Germans or the Italians,
just because music is not to our lower orders a deep need,
a means of expressing the pent-up and often oppressive
emotions of the heart, but merely a noisy appendage to
low pastimes. Even the less objectionable ballads which
concern the most touching affections of our nature are full
of vamped-up and artificial sentiment. What, for instance,
can be more feeble in sentiment and false in taste than "Let
me kiss him for his mother?" And yet, trash like this,
which would be scouted in any other form by every na-
tional school-boy, is considered finely pathetic by the lower
orders when it comes to them in the disguise of a ballad,
for music to them is an artificial thing, having artificial
and unreal standards of propriety, and too often unconnect-
ed with their real interests and genuine emotions. And
470 MUSIC IN ENGLAND.
the consequence is, that our street ballads last but from
year to year, almost from month to month ; they are con-
stantly being replaced, not by songs that enrich the na-
tional stock, but by songs whose chief object seems to be
to extinguish their predecessors, and when they have ac-
complished this., die themselves, like bees after discharging
their sting. Who ever hears " Slap bang" now ? Even
" Old dog Tray," a really pathetic thing, seems dead at
last, while the echoes of " Not for Joseph" seem finally to
have died away.
There is a certain feeble prettiness about the Virginia
Gabriel and Claribel school of ballads, but it is the " Baby
asleep," " Papa, come to tea" style of thing, so eloquently
condemned in the painting of the period, at the Royal In-
stitution, by Mr. Ruskin; and when the ballad is not strict-
ly social, spooney, or domestic, can we imagine any twad-
dle feebler than what is put forward to do duty for thought
and feeling? In one ballad, for instance, the following in-
genious conundrum is propounded : "What will to-morrow
be?" The answer is, "Who can tell?" Of course nobody
can, and this insult to our intelligence is repeated through
several verses, to music nearly as exasperating. From the
mud-heaps of ballads lying around us we may no doubt
pick out some gold nuggets; but the finest ballads are
sure to be the least popular. All honor to Madame Sain-
ton Dolby, Mr. Santley, and a few others, for keeping some
really good ballads before the public. Let us only trust
that Mr. Sullivan, the brightest hope of the young English
school, will keep before him the high ballad ideal of his
Shakspeare songs, and those lyrics which Mr. Tennyson
has written for him, and not be tempted into the "Ever of
thee" style by the tears of sopranos or the solemn warnings
of publishers.
BALLAD SINGERS, MALE AND FEMALE. 471
But if we have for a moment escaped from the streets,
213. we are reminded by the shrill voice of a woman
w-s^Mafeald outside that it is with these, and not with the
Female. drawing-room, that we are now concerned. The
poor creature, meanly clad, is singing " We may be happy
yet," or "My pretty Jane." The crying baby has at last
fallen asleep, but the song is almost more piteous. But
we have only to go down one of the back streets, until we
come to a third-class public house, and we reach at once
the lowest depths to which the English ballad can descend.
Two coarse and grimy ruffians, with greasy slips of thin
paper, printed all over and adorned with villainous wood-
cuts, are tramping stoutly down the reeking alley, and
chanting forth to admiring groups of the unwashed some
account of the latest murder in rhyme, or the interesting
contest between Champion Tommy and the Charcoal Pet.
Let us draw a veil over their proceedings as w^e pass with
a sigh of relief to the sixth fact of street music, which con-
sists of Chorus and Part Song in various forms.
The blind singers, who, with the assistance of a concerti-
214. na, ply through the Avhole of London, are known
Blind Sing- ' r J ° '
ers. to every one. They render their psalm tunes,
soundly harmonized, in a hard canto fermo style, which
has its legitimate attractions, and with that peculiar con-
centration and directness of purpose which characterizes
blind people, and which has a pathos of its own. We fan-
cy that regular bands of accomplished part-singers are less
common now than they were a few years ago. They may
have been driven out of the field by the negro melodists,
and have no doubt found a more congenial sphere in the
various music-halls which have been lately opened in great
numbers all over the country. We must, however, notice
the Praeger family, who are unique in their excellent part-
472 MUSIC IN ENGLAND.
singing and improvisations : we hear that it is not an un-
common thing for them, at the close of the Brighton or
Folkestone season, to deposit several hundred pounds in
the bank previous to their departure for the Continent.
Out of the season the young ladies receive an excellent
general education in one of the first French schools, and
every year the return of the family is anxiously awaited
by many thousands of discriminating admirers.
But there is a foreign band of singers — foreign only in
215. appearance — that never leaves our shores — the
Negro Mel- * L
odists. Negro Melodists. The conquering nigger land-
ed some years ago, and, after capturing this small island,
caught many of the aborigines, blacked them over, and
sent them off to proclaim the glories of Niggerdom through-
out the length and breadth of this benighted land. The
princes of the art sit in royal council at St. James's Hall,
and it is an affecting thing to see the poor white men, who
resort to their levees in crowds, welcomed by them as men
and brethren. It is the fashion to smile at the " Christy
Minstrels," and, indeed, uninterrupted gravity would be
somewhat out of place in their assemblies, but we must not
forget that they furnish one of the most remarkable and
original elements of our street music. From St. James's
Hall, and not from " Old Virginny," come constant supplies
of new melodies. The original melodies, such as " Lady
Neale," " Uncle Ned," some of which were no doubt genu-
ine American negro productions, are almost forgotten, but
from that new source of negro pathos and humor numbers
of songs and choruses continue to flow, some of them good
imitations, and many of them retaining the characteristic
form of the negro melody, viz., nigger solus, niggers tutti,
interludes and brilliant finale by Bones, accompanied by
the whole band. The real negro is passionately attached
NEGRO MELODISTS. 473
to music — his sorrows and joys are both accompanied by
the banjo — and slave-life, in which the present generation
of negroes has been born and bred, is full of touching epi-
sodes and dramatic incidents. The English public were
subdued by the power and beauty of these as depicted, or,
as some say, overdrawn, in Mrs. Stowe's book, and it is not
too much to presume that the lasting popularity and deep
appreciation of negro fun and pathos in England is mainly
due to the genius of "Uncle Tom's Cabin."
The gentlemen who nightly blacken their faces in order
to portray to a sympathetic audience the life and manners
of a hitherto oppressed race have certainly a fair claim
upon our indulgent interest. There is something pathetic
even about these worthy Englishmen themselves, and it is
not without emotion that we gaze at the portraits of the
most successful " Bones1' of the age outside St. James's
Hall, representing above the mighty W. P. Collins, black
as to his face, and otherwise equipped for action, while un-
derneath, the same face, only washed, looks appealingly at
us, and seems to say, " You see the black all comes off. I
am not so bad-looking either. You can hardly see me at
night. But remember P. Collins is white, and, although
his initial is P., he was not christened Pompey."
The street niggers are often excessively clever, but are
forced to pander in a variety of ways to the popular taste.
For the sak® of an undiscerning public, English fun is mixed
up with negro humor. Punch conducts with a baton and a
desk before him ; light and flippant remarks are addressed
to the crowd in good broad English ; capers are cut in sea-
son and out of season, to the dismay of cab horses and om-
nibus drivers ; and even practical jokes are played off on
any who come too near " bones" or " tambourine." But a
state of chronic fun is not without its penalties : the chorus
over and the crowd dispersed, no faces look so downcast
474 3IUSIC IN ENGLAND.
and woe-begone as the faces of the minstrels. They walk
silently two and two, or follow each other, a string of
lonely, dispirited men, down a back street into a public
house. Not even there is rest. Twro go in and imme-
diately recommence, and banjo consumes a solitary pint
outside, while fiddle and bones strike up within to earn
another.
CONCLUSION. 475
CONCLUSION.
We close our survey of music in England with mingled
feelings of hope and discouragement. The influence of
music is every day becoming more widespread ; but is it
an influence which soothes, relieves, recreates, and elevates
the people ? We believe it is so in part ; but, before the
musical art accomplishes this its high mission among us, it
must become a real, not an artificial expression of the emo-
tions as they work in English hearts and English homes.
We must not be content with foreign models, grand as
some of them are — with German music composed in En-
gland, or even with little bits of ballad-music, unlike that
of any other country, and therefore supposed to be English,
but we must aim at forming a real national school, with a
tone and temper as expressive of, and as appropriate to
England, as French music is to France, Italian to Italy,
and German to Germany. And we must do this, first, by
keeping alive and active that love for the art which really
does exist ; secondly, by believing in ourselves ; and, last-
ly, by encouraging native talent wherever it can be found ;
not destroying its independence by any false system of
protection or puffery, but allowing it the freest develop-
ment under the salutary conditions of just criticism and
liberal recognition.
When we have a national school of music, and not before,
we shall have high popular standards, and the music of the
people will then be as real an instrument of civilization in
its way, and as happily under the control of public opinion,
47G
MUSIC IN ENGLAND.
as the Press, the Parliament, or any other of our great na-
tional institutions.
APPENDIX.
The Author desires to acknowledge in the fullest possi-
ble manner his obligations to those writers whose books he
has made most use of. The following should be especially
mentioned :
The History of Modern Music. A Course of Lectures delivered
at the Royal Institution of Great Britain by John Hullah. Parker,
Son, & Bourne, London. 1862.
A Course *of Lectures on the Transition Period of Musical His-
tory, delivered at the Royal Institution of Great Britain by John
Hullah. Longman, Green, Longman, London. 1865.
F. J. Fetis, " Biographie Universelle dea Musiciens. Firmin Di-
dot Freres, Paris. 1862.
The Life of Handel. By Victor Schcelcher. Triibner & Co.,
London. 1857.
Gluck. F. Fleischer, Leipsic.
Biographie des Musiciens. Felix Clement. Hachette et Cie.,
Paris. 1868.
Haydn and Mozart. Translated from the French of L. H. C.
Bombet. Second edition. John Murray, London. 1818.
" Biographie Universelle." F. J. F6tis, Paris. 1862.
Franz Schubert. H. Kreissle von Hellborn,Wien. W.R.Allen,
London. 1865.
Life of Chopin. Liszt. New York. 1863.
Lucrezia Floriani. George Sand. Bruxelles. 1846.
Mozart's Letters. Translated from the collection of Ludwig
Nohl. Longmans, Green & Co., London. 1865.
Beethoven's Letters. Translated from the collection of Ludwig
Nohl. Longmans, Green & Co., London. 1866.
478 APPENDIX.
The Author is also much indebted to Professor Tonnes-
sin, who placed the Louvain University Library at his dis-
posal ; to the Chevalier van Elewyck, who kindly allowed
him to examine many of Van den Gheyn's unpublished
MSS. ; and to M. Severin van Aerschodt, the eminent Bel-
gian bell-founder, who permitted him to inspect every part
of his manufactory, and offered the most valuable and co-
pious information upon the manufacture of bells.
To Mr. George Grove and to Mr. Felix Moscheles I am
also indebted for the use which they have allowed me to
make of the composers' MS. music and signatures in their
possession.
16 Welbeck Street, London, 1871.
\
THE END,
VALUABLE AND INTERESTING WORKS
FOR
PUBLIC & PRIVATE LIBRARIES,
Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New Yoke.
For a full List of Books suitable for Libraries published by Habpeb &
Brothers, see Harper's Catalogue, which may be had gratuitously
on application to the publishers personally, or by letter enclosing Ten
Cents in postage stamps.
Harper & Brothers will send their publications by mail, postage pre*
paid, on receipt of the price.
MACAULAY'S ENGLAND. The History of England from the
Accession of James II. By Thomas Babington Macaulat.
New Edition, from New Electrotype Plates. 5 vols., in a Box,
8vo, Cloth, with Paper Labels, Uncut Edges and Gilt Tops,
$10 00; Sheep, $12 50; Half Calf, $21 25. Sold only in
Sets. Cheap Edition, 5 vols., 12mo, Cloth, $2 50.
MACAULAY'S MISCELLANEOUS WORKS. The Miscella-
neous Works of Lord Macaulay. From New Electrotype Plates.
5 vols., in a Box, 8vo, Cloth, with Paper Labels, Uncut Edges
and Gilt Tops, $10 00; Sheep, $12 50; Half Calf, $21 25.
Sold only in Sets.
HUME'S ENGLAND. History of England, from the Invasion
of Julius Caesar to the Abdication of James II., 1688. By
David Hume. New and Elegant Library Edition, from New
Electrotype Plates. 6 vols., in a Box, 8vo, Cloth, with Paper
Labels, Uncut Edges and Gilt Tops, $12 00; Sheep, $15 00;
Half Calf, $25 50. Sold only in Sets. Popular Edition, 6
vols., in a Box, 12mo, Cloth, $3 00.
GIBBON'S ROME. The History of the Decline and Fall of the
Roman Empire. By Edward Gibbon. With Notes by Dean
Milman, M. Guizot, and Dr. William Smith. New Edi-
tion, from New Electrotype Plates. 6 vols., 8vo, Cloth, with
Paper Labels, Uncut Edges and Gilt Tops, $12 00; Sheep,
$15 00 ; Half Calf, $25 50. Sold only in Sets. Popular Edi-
tion, G vols., in a Box, 12mo, Cloth, $3 00 ; Sheep, $6 00.
i
2 Valuable Works for Public and Private Libraries.
GOLDSMITH'S WORKS. The Works of Oliver Goldsmith.
Edited by Peter Cunningham, F.S.A. From New Electro-
type Plates. 4 vols., 8vo. Cloth, Paper Labels, Uncut Edge<
and Gilt Tops, $8 00; Sheep, $10 00; Half Calf, $17 00.
MOTLEY'S DUTCH REPUBLIC. The Rise of the Dutch Re-
public. A History. By John Lothrop Motley, LL.D.,
D.C.L. With a Portrait of William of Orange. Cheap Edi-
tion, 3 vols., in a Box. 8vo, Cloth, with Paper Labels, Uncut
Edges and Gilt Tops, $6 00 ; Sheep, $7 50 ; Half Calf, $12 75.
Sold only in Sets. Original Library Edition, 3 vols., 8vo,
Cloth, $10 50.
MOTLEY'S UNITED NETHERLANDS. History of the Unit-
ed Netherlands : From the Death of William the Silent to the
Twelve Years' Truce — 1584-1609. With a full View of the
English-Dutch Struggle against Spain, and of the Origin and
Destruction of the Spanish Armada. By John Lothrop Mot-
let, LL.D., D.C.L. Portraits. Cheap Edition, 4 vols., in a
Box, 8vo, Cloth, with Paper Labels, Uncut Edges and Gilt Tops,
$8 00 ; Sheep, $10 00 ; Half Calf, $17 00. Sold only in Sets.
Original Library Edition, 4 vols., 8vo, Cloth, $14 00.
MOTLEY'S JOHN OF BARNEVELD. The Life and Death of
John of Barneveld, Advocate of Holland. With a View of the
Primary Causes and Movements of the " Thirty Years' War."
By John Lothrop Motley, LL.D., D.C.L. Illustrated.
Cheap Edition, 2 vols., in a Box, 8vo, Cloth, with Paper La-
bels, Uncut Edges and Gilt Tops, $4 00; Sheep, $5 00; Half
Calf, $8 50. Sold only in Sets. Original Library Edition, 2
vols., 8vo, Cloth, $7 00.
HILDRETH'S UNITED STATES. History of the United
States. First Series : From the Discovery of the Continent
to the Organization of the Government under the Federal Con-
stitution. Second Series : From the Adoption of the Federal
Constitution to the End of the Sixteenth Congress. By Rich-
ard Hildreth. Popular Edition, 6 vols., in a Box, 8vo,
Cloth, with Paper Labels, Uncut Edges and Gilt Tops, $12 00;
Sheep, $15 00; Half Calf, $25 50. Sold only in Sets.
LODGE'S ENGLISH COLONIES IN AMERICA. English
Colonies in America. A Short History of the English Colonies
in America. By Henry Cabot Lodge- New and Revised
Edition. 8vo, Half Leather, $3 00.
Vl'-£<?
I
One'JU-TWy
Live Music Archive
Librivox Free Audio
Metropolitan Museum
Cleveland Museum of Art
Internet Arcade
Console Living Room
Books to Borrow
Open Library
TV News
Understanding 9/11