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t

1

;

UNIVERSITY
MUSICAL
ENCYCLOPEDIA

CHIEF EDITOR
LOUIS C. ELSON

Keir Ea|la«l Conaemniry of Mwic

In Ten Volumes :
Vol. I. A History of Music: Primitire,
Ancient, Medieval, aod Modem Euro-
I Pe*"

' Vol. II. A Hiatorj' of Music: Muiic in
j AmericR; Special Aniclei

Vol. III. Great Compoien
f, Vol. IV. Great Composers (Continued)
■ Vol. V. Religirius Music ol'ihc World
Vol. VI. Vocml Music and Musiciinj: The
Vocal Art; Great Vocalists; Famous

1
Is

Vol. VII. The Opera: History and Guide
Vol. VIII. The Theory of Music; Piano

Technique
Vol. IX. Univenity Diaionary of Music

and MusicUns
Vol. X. University Dictionary of Music

and Musicians (Continued)

The UNIVERSITY SOCIETY
PUBUSHERS

Copyright, 1912
By The University Society Inc

Copyright, 1910
By The University Society Inc.

100

CONTENTS

PAGE

Introduction i

Beginnings of Modern Music — How Modern Differs
from Medieval Music — Two Musical Channels —
Church Music and Folk-songs — Representative
Composers — Secularization of Music — Origin and
Development of Opera — First Oratorio— Tenden-
cies of Modern Opera.

Giovanni Pierluigi da Palestrina 3

Birth and Early Career — First Volume — Marriage —
Pontifical Singer — Preferments — Great Work for
Musical Art — Penury and Affliction — Continued
Labors — Impressive Death-scene — Palestrina's Place
among Composers.

Claudio Monteverde 25

The Young Violist — First Compositions — Inventor
of New Harmony — Defeat of Polyphonic Schools —
His Operas "Arianna" and "Orfeo" — Later Works
— Influence upon Art

Henry Purcell 39

A Precocious Genius — Meager Biographical Rec-
ords — Purcell's Opera "Dido and iCneas" — His Dra-
matic, Church, and other Music — Early Death —
Critical Estimate of his Work.

Johann Sebastian Bach 53

The Bach Family — Birth and Boyhood of J. S.
Bach — Experience at Arnstadt — Weimar Period —
Years at Kothen — Long Residence and Important
Work at Leipzig — Home Life and Character —
Bach's Religious Views — His Great Compositions
Analyzed — The Famous Passion Music.

V

vi CONTENTS

PAGE

George Frederick Handel 75

A Musician in Spite of his Father's Opposition —
His First Patron — A Prodigy — Handel's Duel —
Hamburg and Italy — First Operas — Kapellmeister
to the Elector of Hanover — Career in London —
Great Works Produced — Successes and Failures —
'The Messiah" and Culmination of Handel's Fame
— Personal Appearance and Character — Critical
Review.

Christoph Willibald Gluck 95

Late Maturity — Youthful Struggles — Finds a Pa-
tron — Composes Operas — In England — On the Con-
tinent — New Operatic Style — Principal Works —
Friendship of Marie Antoinette — Rivalry with Pic-
cinni — Gluck's Victory — His Reform of Opera.

Joseph Haydn 113

Hardships of Childhood — First Musical Studies —
Homeless and Poor — Friends and Good Fortune —
Unhappy Marriage — With Prince Esterhazy — Happy
and Productive Years — With Mozart in Vienna —
Haydn in London — Teaches Beethoven in Vienna —
London Again — "The Creation" and "The Seasons"
— Last Years and Death — Characteristics — What
Haydn Did for Music.

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart 139

An Infant Musician — Charming a Customs Officer —
Court Patronage — Success in Paris and London —
Italian Triumphs — Again in Paris — Sorrows — In-
dustry and Poverty— Domestic Happiness — Friend-
ship with Haydn — "Lc Nozze di Figaro" Creates a
Furor— "Don Giovanni"— ** Die Zauberflote"— Mo-
zart's "Requiem" and his Death — A Pauper's Grave
— His Great Works Critically Considered — Personal
Sketch.

LuDwiG VAN Beethoven 167

The Boy who Came to Mozart — Father and Son —
Successive Instructors — Teacher, Organist, Conduc-
tor — Death of Beethoven's Mother — Supports
Brothers and Sisters — Studies with Haydn — Happy
Days with the Lichnowskis — Growing Fame — Bee-
thoven's Deafness — His Colossal Works — Troubles
with his Nephew — Death and Imposing Funeral —
Survey of Beethoven's Compositions — Personality
and Qiaracteristics.

CONTENTS vii

PAGE

Karl Maria von Werer 201

Son of a Shiftless Musician — Early Acquaintance
with the Stage— Court Secretary — Practical Joke on
Royalty — Vicarious Punishment — Filial Devotion —
Years of Wandering — Many Works Produced —
"Der Freischiitz" and "Euryanthe" — Harassed by
Enemies — ^"'Oberon" in London — Detailed Estimate
of Weber.

GiOACHiNO Antonio Rossini 223

An Extraordinary Popularity — Debut at Seven — A
Composer in his Teens — Successive Productions —
"The Barber of Seville": Unfortunate First Hear-
ing — "Otello" and Later Operas — English and
French Career — "Guillaume Tell" Rossinrs Master-
piece — ^"Stabat Mater" — Strange Ending of his
Activities — Results of his Work.

Franz Schubert 241

A Luckless Artist — Talent Displayed in Childhood
— First Compositions — Shyness — Friendships —
Drudgery and Inspiration — "The Erlking" : Goethe's
Tardy Appreciation — Schubert and Count Esterhazy
— Constant Work and Varied Experiences — Bee-
thoven's Tribute — Liszt's Estimate — Schubert the
Great Song-writer.

Louis Spohr 263

A True Tone-poet — His First Violin — Masters and
Self-instruction — Beginning to Compose — Artistic
Tours — A Musical Wife— -Directorship in Vienna —
A Long Journey — Director at Frankfort — London,
Paris, Cassel — "The Last Judgment" — Death of
Spohr's Wi f e — "Calvary" — Remarriage — Later
Work in England — Man and Artist

NiccoLO Paganini 279

The Boy Violinist — Original Studies — Dissipation
and Illnesses — His Favorite Violin — Compositions
— Travel and Applause — Narrow Escape from
Lynching — First Tours beyond Italy — Triumphs
Everywhere — An Unfortunate Money Speculation
— Death — Large Fortune — Personal Peculiarities —
Weird Appearance— Charlatanism and Genius — His
Technical Art

viii CONTENTS

PAGE

GiAcoMO Meyerbeer 295

Real and Adopted Name — Public Playing at Seven
— Composing — Experience with the Abbe Vogler —
Career Fairly Begun — Many Works Produced —
Great Success of "Robert le Diable" — Later Pro-
ductions — Dealings with Wagner — An Anxious
Worker — Special Features of Meyerbeer's Music

Felix Mendelssohn-Bartholdy 311

A Child of Wealth — First Taught by his Mother —
Later Study — Begins Composition — Sees Cherubini
— "Midsummer Night's Dream*' — London Visits —
Italy— Home Life— "St. Paul"— "Songs without
Words" — Great Popularity of "Elijah" — Character
and Work of Mendelssohn — A Genius Lacking Only
the Influence of Fiery Trials.

Robert Schumann 331

Parentage — First Training — Abandons Law for
Music— Study with Wieck — A Crippled Hand —
Composition and Fame — Signs of Mental Disorder
— The "Neue Zeitschrift fiir Musik" — Five Fruit-
ful Years — Marriage and Happiness — Failing
Health — Attempted Suicide — Death in an Asylum —
Personal Description — Qualities of Schumann's
Music

Frederic Francois Chopin 349

The Man in his Music — Highly Strung Nature —
Polish and French — Childish Performances — In
Many Cities — Headquarters in Paris — Pianist and
Composer — Shuns Notoriety — Secret of Chopin's
Fame — Personality — Relations with George Sand —
Appreciation of his Works.

Hector Berlioz 365

Neglected by his Countr>'men — Inborn Love of
Music — Admitted to the Conservatoire — Misses the
Prix de Rome, but Gains it at Last — Strange Es-
capade in Italy — Romantic Courtship and Marriage
— ^Music and Literature — Features of Principal
Works.

CONTENTS be

PAGE

Franz Liszt 385

A Fortunate Musician — Famous in Early Youth —
Brilliant Tours — Unrivaled Charities — Residence at
Weimar — Personal Fascination — His Transcriptions
and Original Compositions — Wagner on Liszt —
Liszt's Works Considered tmder Four Heads — His
Friendship for Wagner.

Richard Wagner 401

No Musical Precocity — Fond of History, Mythol-
ogy, and Tragedy — First Compositions — Director —
Disappointment in Paris — ^Works Performed — Hos-
tile Criticism — Political Exile — "Lohengrin" —
Liszt's Service to Wagner — Literary Works of
Wagner — ^"Der Rin^ des Nibelungen" and other
Masterpieces — Marriage to Liszt's Daughter — Per-
sonal Appearance — Critical Survey of Wagner's
Achievements — His Influence on Music.

Giuseppe Verdi 425

A Beautifier of Shakespeare — Escapes from Death
in Childhood — Breaking the Spinet — Study at Bus-
seto and Milan — Marriage — First Opera — Affliction
^-Great Works Produced — Over Fifty Years the
Wielder of a Magic Pen — Review of his Career
and its Results.

Charles Francois Gounod 443

A Nocturnal Service — Passion for Music — At the
Conservatoire — Religious Composition in Rome —
Theological Study — First Opera — Conductor and
Teacher — "Faust" and its Successors — Lyric Ele-
ment Predominant in Gounod's Works.

Johannes Brahms 453

Heralded by Schumann — Fortunate Youth and
Early Public Appearance — Tour with Remenyi —
Court Position — Residence in Vienna — Self-isola-
tion — Striking Personality — Opposing Judgments of
his Powers — Lyrical Genius — ParrjPs Estimate of
Brahms.

X CONTENTS

PAGE

Anton Rubinstein 469

A Celebrated Pianist — Musical Education — Re-
minded Moscheles of Beethoven — Friendship with
Mendelssohn — Eight Years' Study at St. Peters-
burg — Spread of his Fame — Imperial Concert Di-
rector — rounder of St. Petersburg Conservatorium
— Henry T. Finck's Appreciation of Rubinstein.

Peter Ilyitcii Tchaikovsky 479

Greatest Russian Composer — Studie»^ Law — State
Official — Pupil of Rubinstein and Zarcmba — Teaches
at Moscow — **The Hermit of Klin" — Unhappy Mar-
riage — Attempts Suicide — An Unknown Benefac-
tress — In America and England — Tchaikovsky's
Great Works — His Art Unites East and West

Edvard Hagerup Grieg •. 491

A National and Individual Figure — "Patriot in
Music" — Scotch Descent — The Boy and his Mother
— First Composition at Nine — "Stuff" to the School-
master — Sent to Leipzig on Advice of Ole Bull —
"The Chopin of the North" — Travel and Work in
Many Lands — Artistic in All that he Produced.

Richard Strauss 499

A Much-debated Musician — Youthful Acquirements
— First Symphony — A "Composer of the Future" —
Travel and Culture — His Works Analyzed and Ex-
tolled by Streatfeild — Henderson's Critique of
"Salome'*^ and "Elektra."

Jean Baptiste Lulli 515

A French Master of Italian Parentage-rScullion
and Violinist — In the Royal Band — Conductor and
Composer — Music for Molicre's Pieces — Defects of
Character — First Rank among Artists — Amasses a
Fortune.

pRANgOIS AdRIEN BoIELDIEU 523

Leaves an Unhappy Home, then Flees from a Cruel
Master— First Operas, Ballads, etc. — Paris — Works
in Rapid Succession — Eight Years in Russia — Paris
Again — Greatest Master of French Comic Opera —
Last Years Full of Trouble.

CONTENTS xi

PAGE

Gaetano Donizetti 535

Imitator of Rossini — European Hearing — Popular
Operas Interpreted by Great Singers — Literary Fa-
cility — Beauties of "Lucia di Lammermoor" — Merits
of "Lucrezia Borgia" — Famous Artists in "La Fi-
glia del Reggimcnto" — More than Sixty Operas
Produced by Donizetti.

ViNCENZo Bellini 543

Sent by a Patron to Naples — -Commissions from
Barbaja — Composing for Rubini, the Great Tenor —
"La Sonnambula" Bellini's Most Popular Work —
A Lyrical and Tuneful Genius — His Own Music at
his Funeral.

Michael William Balfe 553

Born and First Taught in Ireland — Performances
in London — Composition in Rome — Engagement
with Rossini in Paris — Italy Again: Sings and Com-
poses — Writer of English Opera — "The Bohemian
Girl" — In St. Petersburg — Defects and Merits of
Balfe's Works.

F6LICIEN CfssAR David 563

Musical Taste Shown at Two — A Child Composer
— Study in Paris — ^Joins the Saint-Simonians — Resi-
dence in the East — Return to, Paris — "Le desert"
and other Works — ^^Power as Operatic Writer.

Jacques Offenbach 571

Of a Musical Jewish Family — Under Cherubini in
Paris — Improves the Orchestra — Obtains a Theater
— Great Run of his "Orphee" — His Charming Buf-
foonery — Gifts Worthy of Higher Results — His
American Tour.

Sir Arthur Seymour Sullivan 577

Boy Singer and Composer in London — At the Royal
Academy of Musfic — Leipzig — Back to London —
Industrious Years and Many Works — The Gilbert
and Sullivan Operas — Sullivan's Songs and Relig-
ious Compositions — Executive Positions and
Honors.

xii CONTENTS

PAGE

Drawing-room Music and Its Forms 587

By Louis C. Elson

Modern Musical Tendencies 615

By Arthur Elson

Anecdotes of Musicians 637

k

INTRODUCTION

THE BEGINNINGS OF MODERN MUSIC

T N regard to the question, At what point can the his-
'■' tory of modem music strictly be said to begin ? few
authorities, probably, would wholly agree; but one
thing may be taken as certain, that for its beginnings
we must look far back into the mists of the Middle
Ages, when history is barely distinguishable from
romance, and fact and fiction stand side by side.
First of all it is necessary to find out precisely what
we mean by modem as opposed to medieval music,
and in what essential points the one differs from the
other.

In a word, then, the main characteristics of modern
music as opposed to medieval are rhythm, harmony,
and the key system. The evolution of our modem
system of harmony from the weird "organum" of
Hucbald, and of our keys from the ecclesiastical
modes, was so gradual that it is impossible to fix upon
any date as the precise moment when one gave way
definitely to the other.

The idea of rhythm is, of course, as old as the

human race itself. The primitive eflforts of a savage to

•*•

xiv INTRODUCTION

give musical expression to his feelings are rhythmical
without being musical, and the idea of melody is a far
later and more advanced development. Yet, in spite
of the hoary antiquity of rhythm, what we may call its
artistic employment is of comparatively recent growth,
and it is the use of rhythm in this sense that forms
one of the main characteristics of modem as opposed
to medieval music. To the union of rhythm with
harmony modem music owes its birth, and it is to the
first dawn of an attempt to incorporate these two
mighty forces that we must look if we wish to date
the beginnings of modem music.

From the time of St. Ambrose onward the river of
music flowed in two channels, parallel but independ-
ent. The course of ecclesiastical music under the
leaden sway of the Church was so little removed from
actual stagnation that it was not until the tenth cen-
tury that the first feeble attempts at harmony were
made by Hucbald, and it took another five hundred
years to arrive at even such mastery of counterpoint
as is exhibited by the composers of the fifteenth cen-
tury. Meanwhile, the music of the people pursued
its way independent of ecclesiastical influence. Ig-
nored or at any rate despised by the monks, the self-
elected guardians of intellectual development, it flour-
ished wherever men had hearts to feel and voices to
sing.

The folk-songs of the Middle Ages, which happy ac-
cident has preserved to us, have all the freshness,
melody, and rhythmic force that the Church music of
the period is so conspicuously without. Nothing can
express more vividly the narrow outlook upon life of
the medieval Church than the fact that this rich store

INTRODUCTION xv

of music ready to every man's hand should have been
allowed, so to speak, to run to waste. Yet from time
to time some holy brother, less dehumanized than his
fellows, had glimpses of the musical possibilities of
folk-song. In England, for instance, far back in the
thirteenth century, a monk of Reading took the lovely
folk-song, "Sumer is icumen in," and, with a grasp of
the principles of counterpoint which for that period
is nothing short of amazing, made of it a round for
four voices upon a drone bass given to two voices
more. He even went so far as to hallow it to the
service of the Qiurch by fitting sacred words to the
music. Whether it was sung in the choir of Reading
Abbey or not we cannot say, but if it was it ought
certainly to have revolutionized Church music on the
spot, for after singing that liquid and lovely melody,
harmonized with so much charm, to go back to dreary
plain chant and the ear-lacerating harmonies of the
"organum" must have been, one would think, more
than even a thirteenth-century monk could endure.

However, both as an example of folk-song being
used as the foundation of Church music and as a
contrapuntal triumph, "Sumer is icumen in" appears
to have been an isolated phenomenon. Nothing like
it of the same period has been preserved. Certainly
il cannot be taken as typical of any tendency of the
time toward a more natural and truthful method of
expression. In the thirteenth century the epoch of
freedom was still far away. If we compare "Sumer
is icumen in" with the Tournay mass, which was writ-
ten about -a hundred years later, we find ourselves
back once more in the dismal darkness of the Middle
Ages. In this mass, written for three voices by some

xvi INTRODUCTION

unknown Fleming, there is very little advance on the
earliest strivings toward harmonic expression of the
tenth century. Hucbald's system of consecutive
fourths and fifths — ^the so-called organum — ^is still
in full swing, and the result to our ears is indescrib-
ably hideous.

A century later came Willem Dufay, one of the
most important names in the history of early music,
who was a contemporary of the English Dunstable and
of the Burgundian Gilles Binchois. With Dufay the
influence of popular upon ecclesiastical music first
takes definite shape. He wrote masses which are
founded upon melodies associated with popular songs,
a practice which, though it afterward led to strange
and scandalous developments, unquestionably had the
immediate effect of giving life to the dry bones of
Church music. Further, we may note in the music
of Dufay and his period a feeling for definite rhythm
such as could only have been produced by the influ-
ence of popular music. Modern music was now fairly
started upon its career. The generation that suc-
ceeded Dufay, of which Okeghem may be taken as a
typical figure, had an unmistakable feeling for sheer
musical beauty, and we find the composers of his
day actually attempting to describe the sight and
sounds of nature in tones of music. By the side of
these interesting aspirations there was a dishearten-
ing tendency toward cleverness for its own sake.
Okeghem and his fellows were never so happy as
when inventing abstruse "canons" — musical puzzles
which taxed the resources of the most learned to solve.
Nevertheless, these exercises could not but give tech-
nical dexterity, and as a matter of fact during this

INTRODUCTION xvii

period the mechanical side of music was developed
to an astonishing extent.

In the middle of the fifteenth century Josquin des
Pres was bom, the first man who can property be
called a great composer in something like the modem
acceptation of the term. In Josquin's music there is
a beauty which can be appreciated without any refer-
ence to the man's position in the history of music.
Josquin is the first musical composer who gives a mod-
em hearer the impression that he knows how to get the
eflFects at which he is aiming. The purely pioneer
stage of musical development is over. For the first
time we are in the presence of an artist. A glance at
Josquin's music reveals the importance of his position
with regard to the development of modem music. He
shows us for the first time a highly gifted composer
consciously blending popular and ecclesiastical music.
From the popular he gets his freshness of melody and
his sense of rhythm, from the ecclesiastical his knowl-
edge of the principles of harmony and counterpoint.
In his secular music, in the part songs and canzonets
of which he was practically the inventor, we find what
are obviously harmonized versions of popular airs,
little gems of melody such as "Petite Camusette"
which are as entrancing now as on the day he wrote
them. And in his sacred music the popular influence
is scarcely less noticeable. Take, for example, the "Ave
Maria," which has been printed by M. Charles Bordes
in his "Anthologie des maitres religieux primi-
tifs," and compare it with a motet by Dufay or Dun-
stable, written only a generation earlier. Instead of
the long unrhythmical sweep of the Gregorian tunes,
we have short crisp phrases, sometimes treated canoni-

xviii INTRODUCTION

cally, but often harmonized in simple chords^ just in the
modem fashion. The motet, too, is constructed in a
curiously advanced style, the flow of the piece being
broken by a delightful little passage in triple time, in
which the influence of popular music is unmistakable.
The importance of Josquin's work was speedily
proved by the generation that succeeded him. Wil-
laert in Venice, and Jannequin in Paris, to name only
two of his pupils, carried his tradition far and wide.
In England, where general progress was retarded
by the Wars of the Roses, the music of the early part
of the sixteenth century shows little trace of Josquin's
influence, but in other European countries the iron
traditions of Church music began to yield at the touch
of popular song. In Germany folk-tunes, such as
"Innsbruck, ich muss dich lassen," were openly an-
nexed by Luther and the Reformed Church, and used
as hymns, a proceeding akin to that of the Salvation
Army in our day. In Italy the invasion of the Nether-
landers was followed by the establishment of music
schools, that of Goudimel at Rome, where Palestrina
was a pupil, being the most famous. At Venice Adrian
Willaert is said to have introduced antiphonal writing
into Church music, fired thereto by the presence of two
organs in St. Mark's Church, of which he was or-
ganist; but it is only necessary to glance at Josquin's
music, the "Ave Maria," for instance, to which refer-
ence has already been made, to find there the germs of
antiphonal writing, as indeed of much else that is at-
tributed to a later age. The sixteenth century saw
the rise of the madrigal, which with its offshoots, the
canzone, the balletto (the latter designed for dancing
as well as singing), the villancUa, and other delightful

INTRODUCTION xix

forms of unaccompanied vocal music, speedily gained
wide popularity in Italy, and before the end of the
century in England as well.

In music of this kind we find not only the most
brilliant display of technique, but an ever-growing
feeling for musical beauty. Allied to this was a rudi-
mentary taste for realistic effects, taking form in an
attempt to echo the sounds of nature and of human
life, at first purely imitative, as in Gombert's musical
imitation of bird-calls and Jannequin's famous "Ba-
taille de Marignan," and afterward more artistic, as
in Luca Marenzio's lovely madrigal, "Scaldava il sol,"
with its chirping grasshoppers, or his still more beauti-
ful "Strider faceva," with its imitation of shepherds'
pipes, or the numerous "cuckoo" pieces by English
composers, in which the bird's cry is used as a definite
musical motive with admirable effect.

Experiments of this kind led naturally to innova-
tions in harmony, and long before the end of the six-
teenth century composers began to be uneasy in the
fetters of the modal system. The process of develop-
ment which ended in the Church modes being replaced
by our modem key system was very gradual ; in fact,
it was not until the age of Bach that the older system
ceased to exercise some sort of influence upon music,
but by the beginning of the seventeenth century the
battle was practically over. All through the sixteenth
century the composers of Italy and the Netherlands
were continually enlarging the borders of permissible
harmony, and every innovation meant a nail in the cof-
fin of the modal system. The increasing use of acci-
dentals, which in the strict days of the modal system
were only permitted with many restrictions, and the

XX INTRODUCTION

gradual acquisition of the principles of modulation had
the result of effacing the subtle distinctions which ex-
isted between the various modes. The laws of evolution
worked here as consistently as in the animal kingdom.
The fittest of the modes survived and became the
major and minor scales of the new key system ; while
the others, though lingering for a while in Church
music, soon ceased to have any vital influence upon
the development of music.

The English composers of the Elizabethan age were
among the hardiest innovators of the period. Not only
were they continually making experiments in har-
mony, often with hideous if interesting results, but
they appear to have been in advance of their Italian
and Netherlandish contemporaries in their grasp of
the principles of modulation. The attempts of Byrd
and Orlando Gibbons to express the emotions of pity
and terror by crude violations of the accepted rules
of harmony are among the first signs of a revolt
against the laws which governed the polyphonic
school; while in the madrigals of Wilbye we find a
consummate ease of technique and a graceful flow of
modulation such as are rare even in the most accom-
plished Italian writers of the period, and are certainly
not to be found in the productions of the Netherland-
ish school, at any rate before the days of Sweelinck.
But in spite of the beauty of the English madrigals,
it is in the sacred music of the Italian masters that we
find the most perfect utterance of the time, and of
all the Italians the most gifted was Palestrina, whose
name stands for all that is best and purest in the
music of the Church, in whose development he played
so striking and so formative a part.

INTRODUCTION xxi

THE SECULARIZATION OF MUSIC

The opening of the seventeenth century saw a
revolution in music such as has never since been
paralleled. With Palestrina and his school, music, as
it then was known, reached a climax of perfection be-
yond which progress was scarcely conceivable. But
the productions of this school, though perfect in de-
gree, were narrow in kind. The Church musicians of
the sixteenth century, with all their highly wrought
technique, worked in a restricted field. The genius of
their age tended to expansion and discovery. The re-
sult was unavoidable, though it came, as it seems to us,
with strange suddenness. Leaving behind them, as it
were, the gorgeous palace so carefully erected by gen-
erations of earnest workers, the new generation of
musicians set forth boldly upon an unknown and
stormy ocean, in craft ill-built and without rudder or
compass. That in time they arrived at the wished-for
port was due certainly to no care or forethought on
their part, but rather to the happy genius of the Italian
race for adapting itself to circumstances and circum-
stances to itself.

As a matter of fact the revolution was by no means
so sudden or so drastic as it now appears to us. In
spite of the new departure which music took in the
early years of the seventeenth century, the old school
lived on under the wing of the Church for many years,
at first untouched by the revolutionary ideas of secular
composers and afterward only gradually affected by
them. But the rise of opera, of instrumental music,
and in fact of secular music as a separate entity gave

xxii INTRODUCTION

a new complexion to the whole world of music. The
circumstances of the new departure would suq)rise us
were they not repeated in almost every revolution of
the kind. The founders of the secular school were
resolved to make an entirely fresh start. Their primi-
tive efforts owed nothing to the work of their prede-
cessors. They had ready to hand a musica' organiza-
tion of exquisite complexity and consummate finish.
They ignored it altogether.

The little band of Florentines who set themselves
to create the new music worked as if unconscious that
a thousand years of development lay behind them.
They had no science and no experience. Their first
strivings after expression are pathetically ineffective.
By the side of the majestic oratory of Palestrina their
works appear like the incomprehensible gibberish of
childhood. Yet the truth was in them, and from the
humble germ that they planted sprang one of the
noblest developments of music. But before the fa-
thers of opera were justified of their offspring, a
weary path of experiment had to be traversed. Un-
like many sister forms of art, opera had to work out
its own salvation. Printing and oil-painting sprang
full-grown from birth. It is hardly an exaggeration
to say that the first book printed, the Mazarin Bible,
and the first great picture painted in oils, Hubert and
Jan van Eyck's "Adoration of the Lamb," for beauty
of conception and perfection of execution have never
been surpassed; but it was many years before opera
became even articulate; even now, after three hun-
dred years of incessant development, it is easy to be-
lieve that the zenith of its achievement has not yet
been reached.

INTRODUCTION xxiii

Opera, like so many other things, owed its founda-
tion largely to accident. When, late in the sixteenth
century, a small band of Florentine enthusiasts pro-
posed to themselves the task of reviving the lost glo-
ries of Greek drama, nothing was farther from their
thoughts than the creation of a new art-form. They
worked upon what they believed to be antiquarian
lines ; they wrote plays, and because they fancied that
the Greek drama was sung or rather chanted in a
kind of accompanied recitative, they decided to per-
form their plays in the same way. Their first efforts
have very little musical value. They are almost entire-
ly set to a bare monotonous recitative, varied at rare
intervals by simple passages of choral writing and
short instrumental interludes. From beginning to
end there is nothing that can be called a tune, and the
accompaniment merely supports the voice by occasion-
al chords contributed by a harpsichord and three in-
struments of the lute type.

It was in 1600 that Cavalieri produced the first ora-
torio, his "Rappresentazione di anima e di corpo,"
which was performed at Rome in the Oratory of San
Filippo de' Neri. In general structure Cavalieri's work
resembles that of his Florentine contemporaries, but it
has decidedly more musical interest. The solo parts
and the choruses are more expressive, and the instru-
mental sections are considerably more elaborate. Un-
fortunately Cavalieri died in the year in which his
oratorio was produced, and little attempt seems to
have been made to follow up his initial success until
the time of Carissimi, whose oratorios are an interest-
ing attempt to graft the new dramatic style upon the
rich and solid polyphony of past ages. At Florence,

xxiv INTRODUCTION

on the other hand, the seed fell upon good ground,
but no definite advance can be traced until the appear-
ance on the scene of Claudio Monteverde.

Monteverde was the first trained musician who de-
voted himself to the new music. He had been thor-
oughly grounded in the traditions of the contrapuntal
school. Had he fallen upon a dull, pedantic era when
everything that had a tinge of novelty was derided, he
would have accomplished little or nothing. But the
way, in many respects, had been prepared for him, and
his accomplishment, as our sketch of his life shows,
was great. His success soon found him followers,
of whom Cavalli is one of the most famous. In the
matter of form he improved upon Monteverde. In
Cavalli's works, as in the later operas of Monteverde,
we begin to pass from the first merely experimental
stage of opera. Cavalli avoids the pitfalls into which
Monteverde's inexperience had led him, but on the
other hand his music has not the concentrated dramatic
force of his predecessor. Still CavalH is an impor-
tant figure in the history of music. In his operas we
find for the first time a regularly developed aria, vary-
ing the monotony of the interminable recitative. He
had the true Venetian love of color, and he tried to
make his orchestra give musical significance to the
sights and sounds of nature, such as the murmuring of
jl rivers or the sighing of the winds.

Cesti was another of Monteverde's most famous
followers. In his time opera had advanced still farther
on the path of development. Cesti's music is tuneful
and charming, and many of his airs would probably
be as successful now in pleasing public taste as on the
day they were written. In his works we find for the

,

INTRODUCTION xxv

first time the da capo regularly used, that is to say
the repetition of the first part of an air after the end
of the second part. Excellent as this invention was in
giving cohesion to the musical fabric of an opera, it
was much abused by subsequent writers, and is largely
responsible for the degradation of opera in the eigh-
teenth century to the level of a concert on the stage.

In Cesti*s time the rivalry between the various opera
houses of Venice was very keen, and it is easy to be-
lieve that the managers tried to outbid each other in
the favor of the public by staging their pieces in the
most magnificent manner. At any rate the accounts of
the scenery used sound very elaborate. Operas were
still an important feature at court festivals, and here,
as in the court masques in England, gorgeous stag-
ing was a matter of course. Engravings still sur-
vive of the scenery used when Cesti*s opera "II porno
d'oro" was produced at Vienna in 1668, which give
some idea of the elaborate nature of the entertainment.
At Parma the old theater still stands in the Famese
palace, just as it did in the seventeenth century, but in
such a wrecked and dismantled condition that it is not
easy to realize what it looked like in all the splendor
of a court festival. Nevertheless those who have
visited Parma, and have read the accounts that sur-
vive of the magnificent performances given under the
auspices of the Famese family, can well amuse them-
selves by trying to recreate the scene in imagination.

It would serve no good purpose here to enumerate
the composers who, during the seventeenth century,
furnished Italy with operas. Their name is legion.
Throughout the country the musical activity was
amazing. Hardly a town was without its opera house,

XXVI INTRODUCTION

and the libraries of Italian cities furnish convincing
proofs of the enormous quantity of music produced at
this period. What may be called the first period of
ItaHan opera culminated in Alessandro Scarlatti, a
composer of extraordinary genius and fertility, who
definitely established the form of Italian opera which
prevailed during the eighteenth century. Scarlatti
found opera still to some extent in the tentative stage ;
he left it a highly developed art-form of exquisitely
ordered proportion, an instrument capable of express-
ing human emotion with beautiful certainty and force.
Historians, noting the fact that after Scarlatti's day
Italian opera soon degenerated into a concert upon the
stage with little or no dramatic significance, have
found in his works the seeds of decadence, and have
not hesitated to describe Monteverde*s primitive strug-
gles after expression as more "dramatic" than the
ordered beauty of Scarlatti's airs, without seeing that
the germs of all that Scarlatti accomplished are to be
found in Monteverde, though often in so undeveloped
a state as to be barely recognizable.

It is a common error, especially among those whose
knowledge of music is bounded by the works of Wag-
ner, to suppose that the duty of operatic composers is
to give musical expression to the ordinary inflections
of the human voice. This is entirely to misread the
convention upon which opera is founded. When song
has been substituted for speech, realism of this kind
is out of the question. Music like architecture de-
pends for its effect upon the beauty of ordered de-
sign and proportion. The man who built the first log
cabin probably took as his model the cave in which his
ancestors had dwelt, but we do not therefore judge

INTRODUCTION xxvii

houses according to their resemblance to caves. It
probably required a greater effort of creative genius
to build the first log cabin than to build Westminster
Abbey, but that does not prevent us from regarding
Westminster Abbey as the finer work of art. Monte-
verde was a man of extraordinary genius, and the value
of his work in the history of modem music cannot be
overestimated, but to speak of his music as a great
artistic accomplishment is to misunderstand the man
and his aims altogether. He would have written like
Scarlatti if he could. His career shows a constant
striving toward that goal. Any one who compares his
later works with "Orfeo" must see the enormous ad-
vance in form which he made during his lifetime.

The tendencies of modem opera toward formless-
ness and so-called "dramatic tmth" and "realism" have
blinded critics to the main principles upon which opera
is founded, so that a distinguished modern writer ac-
tually talks about Monteverde "regarding his early ef-
forts in the histrionic and dramatic direction as a
forlom hope," and says that Cavalli "drifted away
from his dramatic ideals in the direction of technical
artistic finish and clearness of musical form," as
though a dramatic ideal could be better expressed by
imperfect than by perfect technique, by chaotic con-
fusion than by assured mastery of form.

Scarlatti carried opera in Italy to heights far beyond
the ken of his predecessors, but meanwhile further de-
velopments of the new art were claiming attention
beyond the Alps. LuUi brought Italian traditions to
Paris, where he grafted them upon the masques which
already were popular at the French court. LuUi was
an extremely clever man, and he speedily divined the

xxviii INTRODUCTION

instincts of the French people in musical matters, and
suited his music to their peculiar taste. In Italy the
trend of opera was more and more in the direction of
sheer musical beauty, regardless of the meaning of
the words, but the logical French mind insisted upon
knowing what the music was all about. Thus we find
that recitative retains an important place in LuUi's
operas while set airs are few and far between.

Vocalization was far less cultivated in France than
in Italy, and long after Lulli*s time French singers
were famous for their ugly voices and bad singing.
Dancing, on the other hand, for which the Italians
seem to have cared comparatively little, was much ap-
preciated in France, and elaborate ballets are a promi-
nent feature of Lulli*s operas. Thus in Lulli's hands
French opera soon developed into a distinctive art-
form, very stiff and majestic compared with the melo-
dious and flexible music of Italian writers, but vigor-
ous and intelligent, and lending itself well to the elab-
orate stage display in which the French then as now
delighted. Historically, Lulli is also interesting as
having, if not invented, at any rate perfected what is
known as the French form of overture, a solemn in-
troduction followed by a quick movement in a fugal
style and concluding with a dance, which was after-
ward carried to the highest conceivable pitch of per-
fection by Handel.

In Germany the development of opera was com-
paratively unimportant. The wars of the seventeenth
century interfered with the progress of all kinds of
art, and though performances of opera were occasional-
ly given at German courts, the new art took no real
root in the country, until the opening of the Hamburg

INTRODUCTION xxix

opera house in 1678 and the rise of Keiser. Even then
operas were given mainly in ItaHan, and the style of
the music was for the most part thoroughly Italian,
though occasionally modified by German influence in
minor details.

The development of the new music in England will
be shown in the sketch of Purcell contained in the
present volume, wherein also the biographies of the
great composers of the modern world present to the
reader in practically a chronological order the lives and
works of the masters through whom mainly the tri-
umphs of musical art have been achieved.

Some compilers of works on great composers limit
their lists to a few — less than twenty, perhaps — of the
supreme names in musical history. In the present
series the list has been extended to embrace a much
larger number, to all of whom the word great, which
is a relative term, may be, in one degree or another,
justly applied.

\

PALESTRINA

( i-l59*)

PALESTRINA

( ?-1594)

GREAT COMPOSERS

OIOVAHNI PIERLUIGI DA PALESTRINA

'T'HIS great pioneer among masters of music was
■*■ born of humble parents at Palestrina in the Cam-
pagna of Rome, The exact date of his birth
is unknown. The inscription on an old portrait of
him in the muniment room of the Pontifical Chapel at
the Quirinal states that he died at about eighty years
of age in 1594, and if this were true he would have
been bom in 1514 or 1515. The Abbe Baini inter-
prets a doubtful phrase used by his son Igino, in the
dedication of a posthumous volume of his masses to
Pope Clement VIII, to mean that his father died at
the age of seventy in the year 1594. The truth is that
the exact date of his birth cannot be stated. The pub-
lic registers of Palestrina, which would probably have
certified it, were destroyed by the soldiery of Alva in
1557, and no private documents have been discovered
which make good their loss.

It is certain, however, that at a very early age, and
probably about the year 1540, he came to Rome to
study music. Toward this career the different capitals
of Italy offered many inducements to boys with musi-

4 GREAT COMPOSERS

cal aptitudes, and it is said that Palestrina owed his
reception into a school to his being overheard singing
in the street by the maestro of the Chapel of Santa
Maria Maggiore. The authenticity of this anecdote is
at least doubtful. Palestrina, at all events as a man,
had but a poor voice. The statement, made by many
historians, that Palestrina was a pupil of Qaudio
Goudimel, a Fleming, who had opened a public school
of music in Rome, has been controverted by F. X.
Haberl, who may be considered the most reliable
writer upon the subject of Palestrina and Dufay.

In 1551 Rubino finally retired from the teachership
of music in the Capella Giulia of the Vatican, and in
September of that year Palestrina, who during the
eleven years that had elapsed since his arrival in Rome
must have given good proofs of his quality, was elected
to the vacant post.

In 1554 he published his first volume, containing
four masses for four voices and one for five. These
he dedicated to Pope Julius III. It is worth saying, in
order to show the dominance of the Flemish school in
Italy, that this was the first volume of music that had
ever been dedicated by an Italian to a Pope. It was
printed in Rome by the Brothers Dorici in 1554; a sec-
ond edition of it was published by their successors in
1572, and a third by Gardano of Rome in 1591. In the
last edition Palestrina included a number of his masses.

About this time Palestrina married. Of his wife
we know nothing more than that her Christian name
was Lucrezia, that she bore to her husband four sons,
and that after a long married life, which seems to have
been marked by uncommon affection, she died in the
year 1580.

\

GREAT COMPOSERS 5

In 1555 Julius III, mindful of the dedication of the
book of masses, offered their author a place among
the twenty- four collegiate singers of his private chapel.
The pay was greater than thisit which he was receiving
as maestro in the Vatican. Palestrina was poor, and
he had already four children. On the other hand he
was a layman, he had a bad voice, and he was a mar-
ried man. For each of these reasons his appointment
was a gross violation of the constitutions of the col-
lege, and a high-handed and unwarrantable act upon
the part of Julius. All this Palestrina knew, and to
his credit he hesitated to accept the offer ; but his de-
sire to do his best for his family combined with a fear
of offending his patron to enforce his acceptance. He
resigned his old post, and on January 13, 1555, was
formally admitted as one of the Pontifical Singers.

In the course of this year he published his first
volume of madrigals for four voices. His intention to
dedicate this to Julius was frustrated by the death
of that pontiff, which took place while they were still
in the press. Marcellus II, who succeeded Julius III
in the papacy, died after a reign of twenty-three days,
and was succeeded in his turn by Paul IV. Paul was a
reformer, and one of the first acts of his reign was to
weed the College of Pontifical Singers of those mem-
bers whose qualifications would not bear scrutiny.
Among these was undoubtedly Palestrina, and he was
dismissed accordingly. The Pope tempered his sever-
ity by assigning to each of the dismissed singers a pen-
sion, but not the less did his expulsion seem ruin to the
anxious and oversensitive Palestrina. He straight-
way took to his bed, and for some weeks lay prostrate
under an attack of nervous fever. As might have been

8 GREAT COMPOSERS

as to the necessity of reform in Church music, which
very nearly took the shape of a decree for its abandon-
ment altogether, was solemnly passed in a full sitting
of the Council of Trent.

In 1563 Pius IV issued a commission to eight car-
dinals authorizing them to take all necessary steps to
carry out the resolution of the council. Among these,
two of the most active were the Cardinals Borromeo
and Vitellozzi. At their instance Palestrina was com-
missioned to write a mass as a type of what the music
of the sacred office should be. With a noble mixture
of modesty and energy the great composer declined to
trust the fate of his art to one work. He composed a
series of three masses and sent them without titles to
the Cardinal Borromeo. It is supposed that he feared
to attach names to them lest he should arouse by an
ill-judged choice of words either powerful prejudices
or unfounded fears. They were performed in the first
instance with the greatest care at the house of the
Cardinal Vitellozzi. The verdict of the audience as-
sembled to hear them was enthusiastic and final. Upon
the first two, praises lavish enough were bestowed;
but by the third, afterward known as the mass "Papae
Marcelli," all felt that the future style and destiny of
sacred art were once for all determined. The Pope
ordered a special performance of it in the Apostolic
Chapel ; and at the close of the service the enraptured
Pontiff declared that it must have been some such
music that the Apostle of the Apocalypse heard sung by
the triumphant hosts of angels in the New Jerusalem.
There was a general agreement of prelate and singer
that Palestrina had at last produced the archetype of
ecclesiastical song.

GREAT COMPOSERS 9

The post of composer to the Pontifical Choir was
created for Palestrina by the Pope in honor of this
noble achievement, and so the amends, if any were
needed, from the Vatican to its dismissed chapel
singer, were finally and handsomely made. But the
jealousy of the singers themselves, which had been
evinced upon his original appointment as one of
their number in 1555, was by no means extinct. His
present appointment was received in surly silence, and
upon the death of Pius, in August, 1565, their discon-
tent took a more open and aggressive form. The new
Pope, however, Michele Ghislieri, who had taken the
title of Pius V, confirmed the great musician in his
office, as did the six succeeding pontiffs during whose
reigns he lived.

The production of this series of masses by no means
represents the mental activity of Palestrina during the
period between 1555 and 1571. In 1562, in gratitude
for his monthly pension, he had sent for the use of the
Apostolic Chapel two motetti, "Beatus Laurentius "
and "Estote fortes in bello," and a mass for six voices,
entitled "Ut Re Mi Fa Sol La." To the Cardinal
Pio di Carpi, who had shown him some personal kind-
ness, he had dedicated a volume of graceful motetti,
which were printed in 1563, and were republished in
several other editions.

In 1565 the Cardinal Pacacco, Spanish representa-
tive at the papal court, intimated that the dedication to
Philip II of a work by Palestrina would be pleasing
to that monarch. The musician consulted his friend
Cardinal Vitellozzi, and arranged the dedication of a,
volume which should contain the famous mass, which
he then christened "Papae Marcelli," with four others

lo GREAT COMPOSERS

for four voices, and two for five voices. These, with
an appropriate inscription, were forwarded to the
Spanish king. They were printed as Palestrina's
second volume of masses, in 1569, and in a fresh edi-
tion in 1598. A year or two afterward he pubHshed
a third volume of masses, which he also inscribed to
Philip. It need hardly be said that a message of thanks
was all that he ever received in return for so splendid
a homage from the heartless, wealthy, and penurious
bigot at the Escurial.

In an enumeration of the works of Palestrina, pub-
Hshed during this period of his life, we must not for-
get to mention five secular madrigals of his which Vin-
cenzo Galilei, father of the astronomer, and a musical
virtuoso of no mean order, set for the lute, and in-
cluded in a collection of similar compositions which
he published under the title of "Fronimo," through
Scoto of Venice, in 1568, and again in 1584.

Somewhere about the year 1560 Palestrina had ac-
quired the patronage of the Cardinal Ippolito d'Este,
and for many years subsequently was treated by him
with much kindness. As an acknowledgment of this
he dedicated to this personage his first regular volume
of motetti, which was published at Rome in 1569.
This remarkable volume contains several works of the
very highest class. It was in 1570 that he published
his third volume of masses, dedicated to Philip II. It
contains four masses for four voices.

We have now briefly surveyed the works of Pales-
trina down to the date of his reappointment to the
Vatican. He had accepted the post from a love for the
basilica in whose service his first fame had been gained.
But he suffered what to him must have been a serious

GREAT COMPOSERS ii

loss of income when he left Santa Maria Maggiore.
For this, however, he obtained some compensation in
his appointment as maestro di capella to the new
oratory founded by S. Filippo Neri, his confessor and
intimate friend. But at no time had Palestrina any
large share of worldly prosperity. We never hear
that he derived any profit from the sale of his works ;
nor, indeed, can it be supposed that at that epoch there
was much money to be made by musical publications.
He gave lessons for a short period in the school car-
ried on by Nanini ; but it is not at all likely that he did
so with any other object than to assist his friend, or
that he accepted any payment for his assistance.
Throughout the whole course of his career he only
taught seven private pupils, and three of these were
his own sons. It is probable therefore that, save for a
few exceptional gifts from patrons and a little tem-
porary employment as director of concerts, he had to
subsist upon the very humble salaries attached to the
permanent offices which he held.

In addition to this chronic penury he had to endure
stroke after stroke of the severest domestic affliction.
His three promising sons, Angelo, Ridolfo, and Silla,
all died one after the other, just as they had given
substantial proofs of their intellectual inheritance of
their father's genius; in 1580 his wife died; and his
remaining son, Igino, was a wild and worthless man.
• Yet neither poverty nor sorrow could quench the fire
of his genius, nor check the march of his industry.

No sooner was he reinstated at the Vatican than he
sent a present of two masses, one for five and the
other for six voices, to the Papal Choir. The subject
of the first of these was taken from one of the mo-

12 GREAT COMPOSERS

tetti in his first volume, "O Magnum Mysterium" ; that
of the other from the old hymn, "Veni Creator
Spiritus," of the Libri Corali. They are in his finest
and most matured manner, and were probably com-
posed in the year of their presentation. They have
never been printed, but they may be seen in the Col-
lection of the Vatican. In the following year, 1572,
he published at Rome, probably with Alessandro
Gardano, his second volume of motetti. It was in
this volume that he included four motetti written by
his three sons. It was dedicated to one of the most
persistent of his friends, the Cardinal Ippolito d'Este,
who died that same year.

Inferior, on the whole, to its predecessors, was the
third volume of motetti, which he printed in 1575, with
a dedication to Alfonso II, Duke of Ferrara, and
cousin to his lost friend the Cardinal Ippolito. There
are, however, certain brilliant exceptions to the low
level of the book ; notably the motetti for eight voices,
which are finer than any which he had yet written for
the same number of singers, and include the well-
known and magnificent compositions "Surge illumi-
nare Jerusalem" and "Hodie Christus natus est."

In this year, 1575, the year of the Jubilee, an inci-
dent occurred which must have made one of the bright-
est passages in the cloudy life of Palestrina. Fifteen
hundred singers from his native town, belonging to
the two confraternities of the Crucifix and the Sacra-
ment, came to Rome. They had divided themselves
into three choruses. Priests, laymen, boys and ladies
went to form their companies ; and they made a solemn
entry into the city, singing the music of their towns-
man, with its great creator conducting it at their head.

GREAT COMPOSERS 13

In the following year, Gregory XIII commissioned
Palestrina to revise the "Graduale" and the "Anti-
fonario" of the Latin Church. This was a work of
great and somewhat thankless labor. It involved little
more than compilation and rearrangement, and on it
all the finer qualities of his genius were thrown away.
Uncongenial as it was, Palestrina, with unwavering de-
votion to his art, and to the Church to which he had
so absolutely devoted both himself and it, undertook
the task. Well aware of its extent, he called to his aid
his favorite pupil, Guidetti, and intrusted to him the
correction of the "Antifonario." Guidetti carried this
part of the work through under the supervision of his
master, and it was published at Rome in 1582 under
the title "Directorium Chori." The "Graduale,"
which Palestrina had reserved to himself, he never
completed. There is a limit to the perseverance of the
most persevering; and the most loving of churchmen
and the most faithful of artists fell back here. He
seems to have finished a first instalment, but the rest
he left less than half done, and the whole was found
after his death among his abandoned manuscripts.

The loss of his patron Ippolito d'Este was to some
extent made up to Palestrina by the kindness of Gia-
como Buoncompagni, nephew (or son) of Gregory
XIII, who came to Rome in 1580, to receive nobility
at the hands of his relative. He was a great lover of
music, and proceeded at once to organize a series of
concerts, under the direction of Palestrina. To him
Palestrina dedicated a volume of twenty-six madrigals
for five voices. Eight of these were composed upon
Petrarch's "Canzoni" to the Virgin Mary; the rest
were set to miscellaneous sacred words. The publica-

14 GREAT COMPOSERS

tion of these was followed by that of another volume
of motetti for four voices only. Several editions of
both works are extant. The madrigals call for no
comment ; but the volume of motetti is unusually beau-
tiful. They were probably composed in the year of
their publication, during the first force of his grief
for the loss of Lucrezia; and to this the intensity of
their pathos and the choice of the words to which they
are written may be ascribed, some of which may well
have represented to himself the heart-broken composer
mourning by the banks of the Tiber for the lost wife
whom he had loved so long.

Upon these, in 1562, followed the fourth in the
series of masses for four and five voices, a volume
by no means remarkable, save that it was written and
dedicated to Gregory at his own request. Palestrina
seems to have been aware of its inferiority, and to
have resolved to present the Pontiff with something
more worthy of them both. He accordingly conceived
the idea of composing a series of motetti to words
chosen from the Song of Solomon. The execution of
these, with the doubtful exception of the Great Mass,
was the happiest effort of his genius. In them all his
critics and biographers unite to say that he surpassed
himself. Flushed with the glorious sense of his suc-
cess, he carried the book, when completed, in person
to Gregory, and laid it at the foot of his chair. It was
printed by Gardano in 1584, and so great was its re-
nown that in less than sixty years from the date of its
composition it had passed through ten fresh editions
at the hands of various publishers.

Palestrina had now arrived at the last decade of his
life. In it we can trace no diminution of his industry,

GREAT COMPOSERS 15

no relaxation in the fiber or fire of his genius. In
^ 1584 he published, and dedicated to Andrea Battore,
nephew of Stephen, King of Poland, who had been
created a cardinal, his fifth volume of motetti for five
voices. It is a volume of unequal merit, but it con-
tains one or two of the rarest examples of the master.
Baini, his biographer, admired these so extravagantly
as to say that in writing them Palestrina must have
made up his mind to consider himself the simple
amanuensis of God !

Palestrina had intended to dedicate the last-men-
tioned volume to the Pope ; but the arrival of Battore,
and his kindness to him, made him change his mind.
In order, however, to atone for such a diversion of
homage, he sent to Gregory three masses for six voices.
Of these the two first were founded on the subjects
of his motets *'Viri Galilaei" and *'Dum complerentur."
They had all the beauties of the earlier works, with
the result of the maturity of the author's genius and
experience superadded. The third, "Te Deum lauda-
mus," Baini states to be rather heavy, partly owing,
perhaps, to the "character of the key" in which it is
written, but more, probably, from too servile an ad-
herence to the form of an old Ambrosian hymn on
which it is founded.

About this time we notice traces of a popular desire
to get hold of the lighter pieces of Palestrina. Fran-
cesco Landoni possessed himself, for instance, of
copies of the two madrigals "Vestiva i colli" and
"Cosi le chiome mie," which Vincenzo Galilei had ar-
ranged for the lute. He printed them in a miscel-
laneous volume, entitled "Spoglia Amorosa," through
Scoto of Venice, in 1585. Gardano of Rome, too,

i6 GREAT COMPOSERS

published a collection of madrigals by sundry com-
posers, under the name of "Dolci Affeti." Among
these there was one of Palestrina's, and two or three
other stray pieces of his were published in like man-
ner about the same time.

In April, 1585, Gregory died, and was succeeded
by Sixtus V. Palestrina made somewhat too much
haste to pay his homage to the new Pontiff. A motetto
and a mass which he sent to him were so hurriedly
composed that on the performance of the mass on
Trinity Sunday, Sixtus commented unfavorably.
These regrettable productions would have been well
lost to sight but for the reckless brutality of Igino, who,
looking only to what money they would fetch, pub-
lished them after his father's death with a bold-faced
inscription to Qement VIII. Palestrina atoned for his
misdeed by writing forthwith the beautiful mass "As-
sumpta est Maria in Ccelum." This masterpiece he
had just time to get printed off without date or pub-
lisher's name — ^there was no time to make written
copies of it — ^before the Feast of the Assumption. It
was performed before Sixtus in Santa Maria Mag-
giore on that day (August 15). The delight of the
Pontiff was unbounded ; but his good will took a form
which led to the last unpleasant occurrence in Pales-
trina's life.

It will be remembered that Palestrina had for many
years held the position of composer to the Apostolic
Chapel. The Pope now conceived the idea of invest-
ing him with the title and duties of maestro. He com-
missioned Antonio Boccapadule, the actual maestro, to
bring about the change. At first sight this seems a
strange selection of an agent ; for it was Boccapadule

GREAT COMPOSERS 17

who of all others would have to suffer by his own suc-
cess. It IS of course possible that a promise of some
higher preferment may have purchased his assistance.
Be that as it may, he seems to have set to work with
a will. Taking Tommaso Benigni, one of the junior
singers, into his confidence, he employed him to sound
his brethren. Benigni in a short time announced that
there was a respectable number of the college who fa-
vored the Pope's views. The event proved that Benigni
either misled his employer, or was himself purposely
deceived by those to whom he spoke, or else that he
augured too freely from one or two stray expressions
of half good will. In any case, his report was so en-
couraging that Boccapadule called a meeting of the
college, at which he broached the subject. He was
astonished to find an opposition so strong, and ex-
pressed with so much warmth, that he not only de-
sisted, but to shield himself he disingenuously laid the
whole responsibility of his overtures upon Palestrina.
The singers probably knew better than either to believe
or to pretend to disbelieve him. But they gave vent
to their displeasure by imposing a fine upon the un-
fortunate Benigni.

At a subsequent meeting Boccapadule, remorseful
that his emissary should be made a scapegoat, begged
him off, telling his comrades that they had not pos-
sessed themselves of the true story. Benigni was ac-
cordingly excused his fine ; but the Pope, who had be-
come highly incensed at the independent action of his
choir, was not appeased by their clemency. He im-
mediately struck off the list of singers four of the
more prominent members of the opposition. Two of
these he subsequently restored; but the other two re-

i8 GREAT COMPOSERS

mained permanent victims to their expression of a
jealousy the vitaHty of which was a disgrace, not only
to themselves, but to the whole body to which they
belonged. Palestrina, in order to show a generous
content with his old position of compositore to the
choir, immediately dowered it with three new masses,
two for five voices and another for six; and so drew
honor upon himself by an act of courtesy to those by
whom a well deserved honor had been so churlishly
denied to him. This was characteristic of the master,
as we may easily understand.

In the same year, 1586, he paid to Cesare Colonna,
Prince of Palestrina, the homage of a dedication. It
was of his second volume of madrigals for four voices.
Some of these are the best of his secular works. Not
so is his contribution to a volume of sonnets by Zuc-
carini, written in honor of the marriage of Francesco
de' Medici and Bianca Cappello and put to music by
different composers. Whether or not he set himself
deliberately to write down to the level of the poet-
aster's words, as Baini suggests, or whether, as was
natural, they only failed to inspire him, it is not worth
while to inquire. The fact is sufficient that Zuccarini
and the occasion got all that they deserved but no
more.

From this time to his death the materials for his
biography resolved themselves into a catalogue of pub-
lications and dedications, among which, however, are
several of his greatest works — his setting of the "Lam-
entations of Jeremiah," a notable Magnificat, and
the "Stabat Mater,*' both for eight voices, the "Offer-
toria totius anni,*' the "Hymni totius anni," and the
masses "Aeterna Christi munera" and "Iste Confes-

GREAT COMPOSERS 19

sor." With these and numerous other works the aged
master busily employed himself in his last years.

But at the beginning of 1594 the end of this inde-
fatigable life was at hand. In January of that year
he issued his last publication. It was a collection of
thirty "Madrigali spirituali," for five voices, in honor
of the Virgin, dedicated to the young Grand Duchess
of Tuscany, wife of Ferdinand de' Medici. Of this
volume Baini says that it is in the true style of his
motetti on the Song of Solomon; and Dr. Burney
echoes the praises of his Italian biographer. He had
also begun to print his seventh volume of masses to be
dedicated to Clement VIII, the last of the Popes who
had the honor of befriending him. But while the work
was still in the press he was seized with a pleurisy,
against the acuteness of which his constitution had no
power to contend, and the malady rapidly wore away
his physical vitality.

He took to his bed on January 26, and died on Feb-
ruary 2. When he felt his end approaching he sent for
Filippo Neri, his friend, admirer, counselor, and con-
fessor of many years, and for Igino, the sole and
wretched inheritor of his name. As the saint and the
scapegrace stood by his bed, he said simply to the lat-
ter, "My son, I leave behind me many of my works
still unpublished; but thanks to the generosity of my
benefactors, the Abbot of Baume, the Cardinal Al-
dobrandini, and Ferdinand the Grand Duke of Tus-
cany, I leave with them money enough to get them
printed. I charge you to see this done with all speed,
to the glory of the Most High God, and for the wor-
ship of His holy temple." He then dismissed him
with a blessing which he had not merited, and spent

20 GREAT COMPOSERS

the remaining twenty- four hours of his life in the
company of the saintly Neri. It was in his arms that
he breathed his last, true, even upon the brink of
death, to that sympathy with piety and purity which
had drawn him during half a century to devote to
their illustration and furtherance all the beauties of
his fancy and all the resources of his learning.

Palestrina lived before the day of biographies and
interviews, and barely a tradition remains to us of the
man in his habit as he lived. But his character is writ-
ten in his music in unmistakable terms. His works
proclaim him a man of exquisite tenderness and of
childlike simplicity. In the time of Palestrina the
Church of Rome was the chief patron of painting and
music, and painters and musicians alike were sum-
moned to devote their principal energies to her glorifi-
cation ; but it is only necessary to compare, let us say,
the works of Palestrina and Perugino to realize the
difference between work done for the glory of God
and work done for the glory of man. Even if we
knew nothing whatever of the men it would be im-
possible not to recognize the fact that Palestrina was
working with his heart and Perugino with his head.
Both had the same mastery of technique, but the one
wrote with an overflowing enthusiasm bom of love
to God and man, and the other painted for the purpose
of making money and of exhibiting his own executive
ability to the best advantage.

In the history of music Palestrina represents the
culmination of the polyphonic school of vocal music.
He wrote no instrumental music, no music for a solo
voice. He had not a touch of that revolutionary im-
pulse which drives men upon new paths. He worked

GREAT COMPOSERS ai

only with existing materials, but he brought music as
he knew it to the highest conceivable point of per-
fection. As his powers developed he found the secret
of the true balance between science and expression.
In Palestrina we first find the melodious suavity which
has since become typical of Italian music.

From a modem point of view Palestrina worked
within very narrow limits, but within those limits his
command of expression was extraordinary. Such dis-
cords as he employed are of the mildest description,
and are always carefully prepared, but the effect that
they make is extraordinary. It is hardly an exaggera-
tion to say that no more poignantly pathetic setting of
the "Stabat Mater" than Palestrina's has ever been
written, yet the harmonies employed are almost child-
like in their simplicity. It is the perfect proportion
of part to whole that is one of the secrets of Pales-
trina's power, and the perfect adjustment of means
to end.

Nothing is more difficult than to describe music and
the impressions produced by music in terms of plain
prose, and the music of Palestrina in particular is of
so delicate a fiber that it is almost impossible to find
words in which to paint its distinctive charm. The pre-
vailing note of it is its intense spirituality. Not a
touch of earth degrades its celestial rapture. It voices
the highest and purest mysticism of the Catholic faith
as it never has been voiced before or since. Palestrina
seems to view the mysteries of the Christian religion
through a golden haze. Its external aspects were noth-
ing to him, its inner meaning everything. The gross
materialism of a later day, which emphasizes the physi-
cal side of Christ's passion, would have been inex-

22 GREAT COMPOSERS

pressibly repugnant to him could he have conceived it.
His music is inextricably bound up with the words
to which it is allied and the acts of adoration which
it illustrates. Apart from the services of the Church
it loses its essential meaning, but in its proper
sphere it still stands as the exemplar of ultimate per-
fection.

MONTEVERDE

(1568-1643)

CLAUDIO HONTEVERDE

TV/r ONTEVERDE, the originator of the modem
■^"^ style of composition, was bom at Cremona, Italy,
in the year 1568. At a very early period he entered the
service of the Duke of Mantua as a violist, showing,
from the first, unmistakable signs of a talent which
gave good promise of future excellence, and which,
before long, met with cordial recognition, not only at
the ducal court, but from end to end of Europe.

The youthful violist was instructed in counterpoint
by the Duke's maestro di capella. Marc Antonio Inge-
gneri, a learned musician, and a composer of some
eminence, who, if we may judge by the result of his
teaching, does not seem to have been blessed, in this
instance, with a very attentive pupil. It is, indeed,
difficult to believe that Monteverde can ever have taken
any real interest in the study of scholastic music. Con-
trapuntal excellence was not one of his strong points ;
and he never shines to advantage in music in which
it is demanded. His first published work — a book of
"Canzonette a tre voci" — printed at Venice in 1584,
though clever enough for a youth of sixteen, abounds
in irregularities which no teacher of that period could
have conscientiously indorsed. And the earlier books
of madrigals, by which the canzonette were followed,
show no progressive improvement in this respect, but
rather the reverse.

26 GREAT COMPOSERS

The beauty of some of these compositions is of a
very high order; yet it is constantly marred by un-
pleasant progressions which can only have been the
result of pure carelessness; for it would be absurd
to suppose that such evil-sounding combinations could
have been introduced deliberately, and equally absurd
to assume that Ingegneri neglected to enforce the rules
by the observance of which they might have been
avoided.

We must, however, draw a careful distinction
between these faulty passages and others of
a very different character, which, though they
must have been thought startling enough at the
time they were written, can only be regarded now as
unlearned attempts to reach per saltum that new and
as yet unheard-of style of beauty for which the young
composer was incessantly longing, and to which alone
he owes his undoubted claim to be revered, not only
as the greatest musician of his own age, but as the in-
ventor of a system of harmony which has remained
in uninterrupted use to the present day. Among pro-
gressions of this latter class we may instance the
numerous suspensions of the dominant seventh, and its
inversions, introduced into the cadences of "Stracciami
pur il core" — an extremely beautiful madrigal, pub-
lished in the Third Book (1594). Also an extraordi-
nary chain of suspended sevenths and ninths, in the
same interesting work: which, notwithstanding the
harshness of its effect, is really free from anything
approaching to an infraction of the theoretical laws of
counterpoint, except, indeed, that one which forbids
the resolution of a discord to be heard in one part
while the discord itself is heard in another — and ex-

GREAT COMPOSERS 27

captions to that law may be found in works of much
earlier date.

In his Fifth Book of madrigals, printed in 1599,
Monteverde grew bolder and, thrusting the time-hon-
ored laws of counterpoint aside, struck out for him-
self that new path which he ever afterward unhesi-
tatingly followed. With the publication of this
volume began that deadly war with the polyphonic
schools which ended in their utter defeat, and the
firm establishment of what we now call modern music.
In "Cruda AmarilH," the best known madrigal in this
most interesting series, we find exemplifications of
nearly all the most important points of divergence be-
tween the two opposite systems, not excepting the
crucial distinctions involved in the use of the dimin-
ished triad, and the unprepared dissonances of the
seventh and ninth.

Some modern writers, including Ulibishev and
Pierre Joseph Zimmermann, have denied that these
passages exhibit any novelty of style — ^but they are in
error. Up to this time, sevenths had been heard only
in the form of suspensions, or passing-notes, as in
"Stracciami pur il core.'* The unprepared seventh —
the never-failing test by which the ancient school may
be distinguished from the modem, the strict style from
the free — was absolutely new, and was regarded by
contemporary musicians as so great an outrage upon
artistic propriety that one of the most learned of them
— Giovanni Maria Artusi, of Bologna — ^published, in
the year 1600, a work, entitled "Delle imperfezioni
della moderna musica," in which he condemned the
unwonted progressions found in "Cruda Amarilli," on
the ground that they were altogether opposed to the

28 GREAT COMPOSERS

nature of legitimate harmony. To this severe critique
Monteverde replied by a letter addressed "Agli stu-
diosi lettori," which he prefixed to a later volume of
madrigals.

A bitter war now raged between the adherents of
the two contending schools. Monteverde endeavored
to maintain his credit by a visit to Rome, where he
presented some of his ecclesiastical compositions to
Pope Clement VIII. But, much as his Church music
has been praised by the learned Padre Martini and
other well known writers, it is altogether wanting in
the freshness which distinguishes the works of the
great masters who brought the Roman and Venetian
schools to perfection. Labored and hard where it
should have been ingenious, and weak where it should
have been devotional, it adds nothing to its author's
fame, and only serves to show how surely his genius
was leading him in another and a very different di-
rection.

Monteverde succeeded Ingegneri as maestro di ca-
pella at the ducal court, in the year 1603. In 1607
the Duke's son, Francesco di Gonzaga, contracted an
alliance with Margherita, Infanta of Savoy; and, to
grace the marriage festival, the new maestro produced,
in emulation of Peri's "Euridice," a grand serious
opera, called "Arianna," the text of which was sup-
plied by the poet Rinuccini.

The success of this great work was unprecedented.
It could scarcely have been otherwise; for all the
composer's past experience was brought to bear upon
it. The passionate dissonances which had corrupted
the madrigal, and were destined, ere long, to prove
the destruction of the polyphonic mass, were here

GREAT COMPOSERS 29

turned to such good account that, in the scene in
which the forsaken Ariadne laments the desertion of
her faithless lover, they drew tears from every eye.
No possible objection could be raised against them
now. The censures of Artusi and his colleagues, just
though they were, would have lost all their force, had
they been directed — which, happily, they were not —
against vocal music with instrumental accompaniment.
The contrapuntal skill necessary for the successful de-
velopment of true Church music would have been
quite out of place on the stage.

Monteverde's bitterest enemies could scarcely fail
to see that he had found his true vocation at last.
Well would it have been for polyphonic art, and for
his own reputation also, had he recognized it sooner.
Had he given his attention to dramatic music, from
the first, the mass and the madrigal might perhaps ha/e
still been preserved in the purity bequeathed to them
by Palestrina and Luca Marenzio. As it was, the ut-
ter demolition of the older school was effected before
the newer one was built upon its ruins: and Monte-
verde was as surely the destroyer of the first as he
was the founder of the second.

"Arianna" was succeeded, in 1608, by "Orfeo," a
work of still grander proportions, in which the com-
poser employs an orchestra consisting of no less than
thirty-six instruments — an almost incredible number
for that early age. As no perfect copy of "Arianna"
has been preserved to us, we know little or nothing of
the instrumental effects by which its beauties were en-
hanced. But, happily, "Orfeo" was published in a
complete form in 1609, and was reissued in 1615; and
from directions given in the printed copy we learn that

30 GREAT COMPOSERS

the several instruments employed in the orchestra were
so combined as to produce the greatest possible variety
of effect, and to aid the dramatic power of the work
by the introduction of those contrasts which are gener-
ally regarded as the exclusive product of modern
genius.

"Orfeo," indeed, exhibits many very remarkable
affinities with dramatic music in its latest form of de-
velopment — affinities which may not unreasonably lead
us to inquire whether some of our newest conceptions
are really so original as we suppose them to be. The
employment of certain characteristic instruments to
support the voices of certain members of the dramatis
personae is one of them. The constant use of a species
of mezzo recitativo — so to speak — in preference either
to true recitative or true melody, is another. But
what shall we say of the instrumental prelude, formed,
from beginning to end, upon one single chord, with one
single bass note sustained throughout? No two
compositions could be less aUke, in feeling, than this
and the introduction to **Das Rheingold" — ^yet, in con-
struction, the two pieces are absolutely identical.

Monteverde produced only one more work of any
importance, during his residence at Mantua — a mytho-
logical spectacle, called "II Ballo delle Ingrate," which
was performed at the same time as "Orfeo." Five
years later he was invited to Venice by the procuratori
of Saint Mark's, who, on the death of Giulio Cesare
Martinengo, in 1613, elected him their maestro di ca-
pella, promising him a salary of three hundred ducats
per annum — half as much again as any previous
maestro had ever received — ^together with a sum of
fifty ducats for the expenses of his journey, and a

GREAT COMPOSERS 31

house in the canons' close. In 1616 his salary was
raised to five hundred ducats, and from that time for-
ward he gave himself up entirely to the service of the
Republic, and signed his name "Claudio Monteverde,
Veneziano."

The new maestro's time was now fully occupied in
the composition of Church music for the cathedral, in
training the singers who were to perform it, and in di-
recting the splendid choir placed tmder his command.
His efforts to please his generous patrons were
crowned with complete success; and his fame spread
far and wide. On May 25, 1621, some Florentines
resident in Venice celebrated a grand Requiem, in the
Church of SS. Giovanni e Paolo, in memory of Duke
Cosmo II. Monteverde composed the music, which
produced a profound impression; but, judging from
Strozzi's extravagant description, it would seem to
have been more fitted for performance in the theater
than in the church.

A happier opportunity for the exercise of his own
peculiar talent presented itself in 1624, in connection
with some festivities which took place at the Palace
of Girolamo Mocenigo. On this occasion he composed
the music to a grand dramatic interlude, called **I1
Combattimento di Tancredi e Clorinda,'* in the course
of which he introduced, among other novel effects, an
instrumental tremolo, used exactly as we use it at the
present day — 3. passage which so astonished the per-
formers that at first they refused to play it.

But Monteverde's will was now too powerful to be
resisted. He was the most popular composer in Eu-
rope. In 1627 he composed five intermezzi for the
court of Parma. In 1629 he wrote a cantata — "II

32 GREAT COMPOSERS

Rosajo fiorito" — for the birthday festival of the son
of Vito Morosini, governor of Rovigo. In 1630 he
won new laurels by the production of "Proserpina
rapita," a grand opera, to a libretto written for him
by Giulio Strozzi, and represented at the marriage
festival of Lorenzo Giustiniani and Giustiniana Moce-
nigo.

Soon after this event Italy was devastated by a
pestilence, which within the space of sixteen months
destroyed fifty thousand lives. On the cessation of the
plague, in November, 163 1, a grand thanksgiving serv-
ice was held in the Cathedral of Saint Mark, and for
this Monteverde wrote a mass, in the Gloria and Credo
of which he introduced an accompaniment of trom-
bones. Two years later he was admitted to the priest-
hood, and after this we hear nothing more of him for
some considerable time.

In the year 1637 the first Venetian opera-house, II
Teatro di San Cassiano, was opened to the public, by
Benedetto Ferrari and Francesco Manelli. In 1639
the success of the house was assured; and Monte-
verde wrote for it a new opera, called "L'Adone." In
1641 "Arianna" was revived, with triumphant success,
at another new theater — that of Saint Mark. In the
same year the veteran composer produced two new
works — "Le Nozze di Enea con Lavinia" and "II
Ritorno d'UHsse in Patria." Finally, in 1642, appeared
"L'Incoronazione di Poppea" — the last great effort
of a genius which, in less than half a century, proved
itself strong enough to overthrow a system that had
been at work for ages, and to establish in its place
another, which has served as the basis of all the great
works produced between the year in which the domi-

GREAT COMPOSERS 33

nant seventh was invented and that in which we are
now living.

Monteverde died in 1643, and was buried in the
Chiesa dei Frari, where his remains still rest, in a
chapel on the gospel side of the choir. Of his printed
works, we possess eight books of madrigals, published
between the years 1587 and 1638; the volume of can-
zonette, published in 1584; a volume of scherzi; the
complete edition of "Orfeo"; and three volumes of
Church music. A manuscript copy of "II Ritomo
d'Ulisse" is preserved in the Imperial Library at
Vienna ; but it is much to be regretted that the greater
number of the composer's manuscripts appear to be
hopelessly lost — a kind of misfortune too frequent in
musical history.

We shall never be able to say the same of his in-
fluence upon art — ^that can never perish. To him we
owe the discovery of a new path, in which no later
genius has ever disdained to walk; and, as long as
that path leads to new beauties, he will maintain a
continual claim upon our gratitude, notwithstanding
the innumerable beauties of another kind which he
trod under foot in laying it open to us.

While various attempts had already been made in Italy
at finding a new method of musical expression, and not
without considerable results, Monteverde was the first
trained musician who devoted himself to the work. He
was equipped for conquest in a manner to which his
predecessors in the new field could lay no claim, and
when his chance came he was able at once to put a
fresh complexion upon the prospects of opera. It is
only necessary to glance at the score of "Orfeo," the
principal work of his which is available for study in an

34 GREAT COMPOSERS

edition accessible to English students, to realize how
great was the step that he made from the first tentative
efforts of the Florentine amateurs. Their few tinkling
lutes have given place to an orchestra of viols, con-
trabassi, organ, harpischord, chitarroni, flutes, cometti,
and trumpets — in fact, strings, wood and brass com-
plete — used with a surprising instinct for instrumental
effect; their shapeless dialogue is transformed into
often highly expressive recitative rising at times al-
most to the dignity of an aria ; their childish harmonies
are superseded by novel and daring experiments in
discord, which, though they may sound ordinary
enough to ears trained upon Richard Strauss, must
have made the hair of conservative musicians in those
days stand upon end.

When we consider what Monteverde actually ac-
complished, how, working with practically no models,
he produced a new art-form, founded upon a conven-
tion till then unknown to the world, how he equipped
it with a new theory of harmony, a new method of
vocal writing, and a new system of orchestration,
we cannot but admit that this was one of the greatest
creative intellects that the world of art has ever known.
But something must be said for the people of his own
day, for the audiences which made his success pos-
sible. Fortunately for him, he was bom into an age
of Hfe and movement, an age when men's minds
turned lightly to things new and beautiful. The
Renaissance and the Reformation had struck blows
effective. Old links were shattered, old formulas cast
aside. The air throbbed with the passion of revolt.
A new springtime had burst upon the world. Just at
the right moment a fortunate appointment drew Mon-

GREAT COMPOSERS 35

teverde to Venice, of all the cities in Italy the most
favorable for his work. The Venetians, among whom
his lot was cast for the last thirty years of his life»
were the Athenians of their time. In music and paint-
ing they had been the leaders of Italy for the best
part of a century. Their quick wit, their restless in-
genuity, their love of variety were proverbial. They
welcomed the new art with open arms. Monteverde's
definite secularization of music had no terrors forthem.
They had loved color in painting and architecture;
they loved it no less in music. Monteverde's strange
new harmonies, so passionate in their beauty com-
pared to the placid flow of sexless spirituality in mass
and motet, his wonderful orchestration with its ever-
changing combinations of instruments, opened fresh
worlds of enchantment to their delighted ears. Venice
speedily became the home of opera. At first Monte-
verde's works were given only at festivals celebrated
by princely houses, but the people had not long to
wait. Before the century closed, the city possessed
no fewer than eleven theaters devoted to the per-
formance of opera alone. The continuance of Monte-
verde's influence was assured, for his success soon
found him followers.

^

PURCELL

(1658?-1695)

^

BACH

(1685-1750)

JOHANN SEBASTIAN BACH

T^OR nearly two centuries the genealogy of the Bach
^ family presents an almost unbroken series of Ger-
man musicians; but it is in Johann Sebastian Bach,
whose magnificent gifts made its name immortal, that
the genius of the race is concentrated as in a focus, to
be diminished and dispersed through the line of his
descendants. His great-great-grandfather, Veit Bach,
miller and baker of Wechmar in Thuringia, was a man
of musical tastes, of whom the legend survives that
he enlivened the monotony of watching the grinding of
his com by playing to himself upon the cithara. His
son Hans was a violinist, whose musical instruction
was undertaken by another Bach who was then town
piper at Gotha ; and so on, through the widely spread-
ing family, the talent for music spread and was fos-
tered, till in the quiet Thuringian valleys the Bachs
formed almost a musical guild among themselves.

This closeness of the family tie among the various
branches not only afforded opportunity for mutual en-
couragement in their art, but was of even more value
as a moral safeguard at such times as lawlessness and
corruption raged unchecked. To these predisposing
influences, no doubt, was due the patriarchal simplicity
of character which distinguished the greatest of their
line, his uprightness and devotion to his art.

Johann Sebastian Bach was born at Eisenach,

53

54 GREAT COMPOSERS

Saxe-Weimar, Germany, March 21, 1685. His father,
Johann Ambrosius Bach, was one of twin brothers;
a violinist; twice married, and blessed with a large
family — two conditions in which his son was destined
to follow his example. Both he and his wife died when
Sebastian was ten years old ; and the boy, who had al-
ready acquired from his father the rudiments of the
violin, was taken into the house of Johann Christoph,
the eldest son of the family, who was then organist at
Ohrdruf. Here the young Bach lived for five years,
learning the clavier under his brother's tuition, and
showing so marked an ability for music as to bring
upon himself his instructor's jealous severity, to the
point of injustice and hardship. A manuscript collec-
tion of contemporary music, belonging to his brother,
was especially coveted by him, but was relentlessly
kept from his sight. His pertinacity was, however, not
to be daunted; he succeeded at night in dragging the
precious manuscript out through the latticed door of
the cupboard in which it was locked, and surrepti-
tiously made a copy of its contents by moonlight, a task
which took him six months. Discovery followed, and
his copy, the result of so much labor, was ruthlessly
taken from him; nor did he see it again until after
his brother's death.

It must have been a welcome escape from this
jealous supervision when, at the age of fifteen, his
fine treble voice gained him admission to the choir
of the Convent of St. Michael at Liineburg. As a
consequence he received free schooling, as well as a
training in vocal music; he perfected his studies in
the clavier and violin, and, what was dearest to him
of all, became a proficient performer upon the organ.

GREAT COMPOSERS 55

During the three years that ensued his attention was
mainly centered upon organ music, practical, and theo-
retical, his idol being Reinken, who was then organist
at Hamburg.

After his voice broke he held for a few months (in
1703) the post of court violinist at Weimar, in the
service of the brother of the reigning duke ; but a visit
paid by chance to the town of Arnstadt, in the autumn
of the same year, resulted, to his great joy, in his ap-
pointment as organist to the "new church*' there. Here
the reputation he acquired gained for him, although
but a boy of eighteen, indulgences which are a proof
of the estimation in which his skill was held. Various
irregularities — such as laxity in his training of the
church choir, and a too close devotion of unduly ex-
tended leisure to his theoretical studies — reached their
climax in the unauthorized protraction (into an ab-
sence of three months) of a one month's leave granted
to him to study the organ under the famous master
Buxtehude at Liibeck.

On his return to Arnstadt his reprimand from the
Consistory, besides laying stress upon his neglect of his
duties, maintained that "the organist Bach" had, in
his conduct of the church services, "made sundry per-
plexing variations and imported divers strange har-
monies, in such wise that the congregation was thereby
confounded." The upshot of the matter was that in
the autumn of 1707 he accepted an invitation to fill the
vacant post of organist at Miihlhausen on his own
terms. These he made modestly low, stipulating
merely for the same sum that he had received at Arn-
stadt. He remained a year at Miihlhausen, during
which time he was married to Maria Barbara, daugh-

56 GREAT COMPOSERS

ter of another Bach who was at that time organist at
Gehren.

His first position of real distinction was reached in
1708, when, at the age of twenty-three, he was elected
organist to the Ducal Chapel at Weimar, a town al-
ready famous as a musical center. Six years later he
was appointed Hof-concertmeister to the Duke. At
the time of his going to Weimar Bach's musical studies
were complete, and he was already famous as one of
the first organists of his day. Now began his activity
as a composer, the finest of his organ works being writ-
ten during the nine years at Weimar. His composi-
tions fall, roughly speaking, into three divisions, cor-
responding with the three chief episodes in his life:
the organ works belonging to the Weimar period, the
instrumental works to the six years subsequently spent
at Kothen, and the choral works to the last twenty-
seven years of his life, passed at Leipzig. He seems
to have had but little direct instruction in composition,
and to have arrived at the fullness of his powers by
means of diligent study of the best existing models.
Upon the result of this his original genius worked in
such a manner as to win for him from posterity the
title of the "Father of music," and to justify Schu-
mann's saying that "to Bach music owes almost as
great a debt as a religion owes to its founder."

Of the details of Bach's life at Weimar little is
known. Its sober routine, eminently acceptable to one
so essentially bound up in his home life, was broken
by yearly visits to other towns — Halle, Cassel, Leipzig,
and Dresden. In his double official capacity as or-
ganist and master of court music he was required, be-
sides directing secular performances, to provide a cer-

GREAT COMPOSERS 57

tain number of Church compositions; to this we owe
the magnificent series of organ works, as well as a few
of his finest Church cantatas.

The last of his annual expeditions from Weimar
was made to Dresden, where he was challenged to a
trial of skill by a famous French harpsichord-player,
Marchand. The challenge was accepted, and Bach
duly presented himself for a contest which was awaited
with eager anticipation by the musical world at Dres-
den. At the last moment, however, no Marchand ap-
peared; and inquiry ascertained that he had hurriedly
left Dresden that morning, tacitly according the vic-
tory to Bach. To the credit of Bach it is recorded
that the incident in no way affected his generous ap-
preciation of the graceful compositions of the French
master.

What caused Bach to leave Weimar is not very
clear, save that real or imaginary grievances as to his
treatment at the Duke's hands seem to have irritated
his naturally quick temper. In any case, he accepted
in 1717 the post of master of music to Prince Leopold
of Anhalt-Kothen, who had been a frequent visitor at
the court of Weimar. At Kothen Bach remained for
six years. Being no longer organist, but director of
the Prince's court music, his attention during this
period was mainly directed to instrumental composi-
tions; and to the period between 171 7 and 1723 be-
long his concerti, sonatas, and suites for the clavier, as
well as the first part of "Das wohltemperirte Clavier,"
the most masterly collection of preludes and fugues in
existence.

In 1719 Bach was at Halle, whither he had traveled
in the hope of making the acquaintance of Handel,

S8 GREAT COMPOSERS

who was there on a visit to his family. He unfor-
tunately arrived just after Handel had left; a second
attempt, ten years later, to meet his famous contem-
porary was equally unsuccessful.

It was while Bach was with his princely patron at
Carlsbad that news reached him of the death of his
wife, whom he had left in perfect health. He re-
turned to Kothen to find her already buried. Only
four of her seven children had survived their infancy,
and to these their father's care was now mainly di-
rected. Of the musical ability of his eldest son, Wil-
helm Friedmann, Bach had great hopes, and his
"Clavier-Biichlein," "Inventions" for clavier, and the
first part of "Das wohltemperirte Clavier" were de-
signed as a progressive course of instruction for the
youth.

Two years after his first wife's death. Bach mar-
ried Anna Magdalena Wiilkens, daughter of a court
musician at Weissenfels. He was again entirely happy
in his marriage. His wife, who bore him thirteen chil-
dren, was a fine singer and a musician of cultivated
tastes. In many details of his work, such as the copy-
ing out of his scores, she was of immense assistance
to him.

While at Kothen, Bach had applied for the post of
organist to the Jacobi Kirche at Hamburg, but was
unsuccessful; the appointment was given to an en-
tirely unknown musician who, as afterward transpired,
had gained it through flagrant bribery. Pleasant as
was his intercourse with his patron. Bach seems to
have felt the need of a wider public and a wider sphere
of work than was attainable at the Kothen court.
Moreover, the Prince had followed his kapellmeister's

GREAT COMPOSERS 59

example and taken to himself a wife. She had no
taste for music, a fact which inevitably tended to breed
indifference to Bach's efforts in that direction; and a
year later Bach returned to the welcome atmosphere
of Church music as successor to the famous Kuhnau,
cantor to the Thomasschule at Leipzig.

This position, which he occupied for the rest of his
life, Bach took up in May, 1723. His duties at Leipzig
were not those of organist; but he had sole direction
of the musical instruction, theoretical and practical,
in the school, and also of the music at the four chief
churches in the town. Despite the importance of his
post, he seems to have enjoyed ample leisure for com-
position; and to these last twenty-seven years of his
life the world is indebted for the greatest of his works,
including the Passions, the mass in B minor, the
Christmas Oratorio, the Magnificat, and upward of
two hundred Church cantatas.

In common with nearly all great minds. Bach was in
many respects in advance of his age. We are now able
to appreciate the extent to which he anticipated (in
elementary fashion, it is true) many of the develop-
ments which his art was afterward to undergo. To
take a single instance: a suite, written at the time of
the departure of a favorite brother from home, is one
of the earliest examples of what is now known as
"programme music." The united laments of the
family are heard in protestation at the traveler's fare-
well, but their efforts are useless, and the music
changes to a bustling finale of departure through
which is heard the call of the postilion's horn. In the
Passions — even in the great Mass — occur what one is
tempted to call operatic effects ; and it may have been

6o GREAT COMPOSERS

this tendency to descriptiveness (engendered, no
doubt, by Bach's close study of contemporary opera)
that led to his being obliged, before entering upon his
duties as cantor at Leipzig, to subscribe to a variety
of conditions, one of which required him not to make
the music in church too long, nor "too operatic," but
rather "such as to encourage the hearers to devotion."

Bach's years at Leipzig, full as they were of musi-
cal activity, were also full of feuds and friction with
the authorities, who seem to have been incapable of
understanding the greatness of the man with whom
they were dealing ; while he adopted toward them an in-
dependent attitude little calculated to smooth away
points of difference. At the time of his going to the
Thomasschule, affairs in that institution were falling
from bad to worse. Bach threw himself heart and soul
into the task of reorganization, but neither his work
in that quarter nor his attempts to widen his musical in-
fluence in Leipzig met with their due recognition.

Whatever were Bach's relations with the outside
world, his own home continually furnished him with
consolation and content. With the aid of the musical
talents of his wife and children he had made of his
house a renowned musical center, and there amidst
his family and his friends he found an encouragement
ever ready to counteract any external disappointment.
Nor was he without formal honors. He was presented
with honorary court appointments by the Elector of
■ Saxony and the Duke of Weissenfels, and three years
•before his death received and accepted a flattering invi-
tation to visit the court of Frederick the Great at
Berlin, where his son Emanuel held a musical post.
The King, who held no mean opinion of his own musi-

GREAT COMPOSERS 6i

cal powers, received Bach with marked respect and
kindness, as a return for which Bach subsequently
worked out in considerable elaboration a theme given
him by the King, and dedicated it to him as a "Musi-
calisches Opfer."

From the little we know of his personality, Bach's
character seems to have been, like his genius, the con-
centration of those of his ancestors — deeply religious,
of marked probity, simplicity and singleness of pur-
pose, contented with his lot, genial and encouraging to
his pupils, and happy in his large family and the quiet
blessings of his home circle. The combined firmness
and sweetness of his nature is closely reflected in his
music, where the severest regard for beauty of form
is tempered by an unerring instinct for emotional
effect.

During the later years of his life Bach withdrew a
great deal from society. His eyesight, always weak,
was becoming defective; indeed, so much did this in-
capacitate him for the discharge of his duties that in
the year before his death the municipal council seri-
ously considered the advisability of appointing a suc-
cessor to him at the Thomasschule. His eyes were
operated upon, but unsuccessfully, by an English ocu-
list of the name of Taylor, who, by a curious coinci-
dence, some years later operated (also unsuccessfully)
upon Handel.

Bach died quietly in his sleep July 28, 1750. We
hear nothing of his funeral, of musicians and friends
flocking to the grave to do honor to the great master
who was gone from them; all we are told is that he
was buried in St. John's churchyard at Leipzig, but
no cross or monument marks his resting-place. His

62 GREAT COMPOSERS

end was like that of Mozart, who lies in an unknown
grave in the churchyard of St. Marx at Vienna. Men
cared very little then for the memory of one whose
fame has in after days gone out into all the earth. The
only record that we have is in the register of deaths
preserved in the Leipzig Town Library, which runs as
follows: ''A man, age 67, Johann Sebastian Bach,
musical director and singing master of the Thomas-
schule, was carried to his grave in the hearse, July 30,

1750"

His death attracted but little notice, his family be-
ing unable to afford the expense of the customary
funeral oration at the grave. The master of the
Thomasschule made no reference to the event in his
annual speech, nor was mention of it made in any
Leipzig newspaper. The Musical Society of the town,
however, did not let it pass quite unnoticed, and one of
its members communicated to the Berlin press a para-
graph to the effect "that the loss of this extraordinarily
gifted man will be regretted by all true musicians."

Ninety-three years after his death, Felix Mendels-
sohn-Bartholdy, to whom we are so much indebted tor
the study of Bach at the present day, erected a monu-
ment to the memory of the grand old cantor of Leip-
zig, opposite the house in which he had lived, and under
the windows of the study where he had worked so
long.

Bach's widow died ten years later in complete
poverty. Several of his children managed to make
their way in the world unaided; but his youngest
daughter was eventually compelled to accept the assist-
ance of a fund to which Beethoven was proud to sub-
scribe, but toward which the Leipzig authorities con-

GREAT COMPOSERS 63

tributed nothing. Though the name of Bach was still
held in reverence by a few admirers, his works gradu-
ally dropped out of performance, and it was not until
nearly a century had passed that the world of music
once more awoke — ^thanks chiefly to the efforts of
Mozart, Mendelssohn and Schumann abroad, and Wes-
ley in England — to a recognition of the supremacy of
his genius.

Bach's range of thought was relatively narrow, but
by its very restriction it gained in intensity and con-
centration. His mind was typical of his time and place.
He had imbibed to the full the Lutheran view of the
relations between God and man. The thing seen to
him had no glory, save as it shadowed the truths of
his creed. A primrose by a river's brim he valued
not as a thing of beauty, but as a symbol of his Crea-
tor's beneficence. This view of things permeates his
music. He was more a moralist than an artist. His
music was not to him an end in itself, so much as an
engine for the saving of men's souls. He sings his
Maker's praise, not for the joy of singing, but as an
act of thankfulness due from man to God. He tells the
story of the Passion not as the most tragic and mov-
ing episode in the world's history, but as the means of
grace to lost sinners.

The moral view of life colors Bach's music as it has
colored that of no other great composer, and it is the
complete and entire sincerity of that view which gives
to his music its piercing poignancy of appeal. The
story of Haydn praying before beginning to compose
may or may not be true of Haydn, but it would be
much truer of Bach. Never did composer take him-
self and his mission in deeper earnest. The tenets

64 GREAT COMPOSERS

of Christianity were hard facts to him, not subjects
for elegant musical embroidery. Life was a bitter
struggle against definite powers of evil, heaven a place
of splendor to be attained only by ceaseless warfare.
Beauty for its own sake seemed to him an unworthy
object for a Christian to pursue.

Springing from this view of life, or at any rate
closely allied to it, is the curiously vivid realism of
Bach's music. Never has composer visualized his sub-
ject with such intensity. There are no half-lights,
no subtle effects of chiaroscuro in Bach; he saw his
subject with extraordinary definiteness and gave it
musical realization. We talk lightly of the incomplete
means of expression at the command of old com-
posers. Incomplete they would probably be in the
hands of modem musicians, but they were amply suffi-
cient for the men of their day. A man like Bach,
gifted as he was with unequaled clearness of mental
vision, coupled with complete command of his ma-
terial, could often do more with a few strings and
hautboys than our modem composers can accomplish
with all the paraphernalia of a Wagnerian orchestra.
There has probably never been a musician more adept
than Bach at picturing a scene in music. It would
be easy to quote a hundred instances of his masterly
command of the picturesque, but a few will suffice.

Let us take the opening of the cantata "Sie wer-
den aus Saba alle kommen," the words of which are
read by the faithful as prophetic of the journey of
the Magi to Bethlehem. With a touch Bach gives us
the whole scene, the long procession passing over the
desert, the solemn march of the caravan, the tinkling
of the camels* bells. Or let us turn to the instrumental

GREAT COMPOSERS 65

movement in another cantata, "Wachet auf," which
describes the wise virgins going forth to meet the
bridegroom. See how the train of girls dances out
into the night, swaying hither and thither to the sound
of strange Eastern music, while their lamps twinkle
in the darkness! How is it done — with a few
violins and an organ ? Ah, that is Bach's secret !

This gift of Bach's, of extracting the utmost con-
ceivable amount of picturesque expression from the
words he had to set, was one which sometimes led him
perilously near the verge of disaster. He inherited
from his German predecessors a taste for quaint musi-
cal devices, which he sometimes indulged unduly. Oc-
casionally he condescended to something very like a
musical pun, as in the song "Ach mit gedampft und
schwachen Stimme," where the fact that the word
"Dampfer" happens to be the German for a mute led
him to adorn the song with an obbligato for muted
violin, or in the **Crucifixus" of the B Minor Mass,
where he pictures Christ hanging on the Cross by a
series of suspensions! There is a suggestion of pro-
vinciality in this, which a wider knowledge of the
world would probably have corrected.

If Bach, like Dante, shrank from no touch, how-
ever grotesque, that he thought would heighten the
impressiveness of his picture, he could also, like
Dante, soar to regions of such imaginative splendor
as few composers have ever attained. Curiously
enough for a composer so essentially German in feel-
ing and attitude, we find Bach at his greatest in music
written to Latin words, such as the B Minor Mass and
the Magnificat, where the associations of the text
drew him for the moment from his favorite chorales

66 GREAT COMPOSERS

toward a more Italian form of thought and expression.
It is one of the most signal proofs of Bach's musical
genius that in setting the words of the Latin Mass he
put oflF to a great extent the narrower Protestantism
which colors so strongly his Gennan sacred works.
There is nothing in the Mass that could not have
been written by a Catholic. There is hardly a trace
in it of the love of dwelling on the physical aspect
of things.

More striking proof of Bach's genius than this
modification of his usual mental attitude could not
be desired, but though the Mass unquestionably repre-
sents the climax of his achievement, it cannot for this
reason be taken as a typical work. It is rather in the
Passion according to St. Matthew that we find Bach's
normal view of things represented in its fullest and
most transcendent development. The Passion Music
as treated by Bach is a typically German art- form,
but like most other musical developments it can be
traced to an Italian source. The recitation of the
history of the Passion by three priests, representing re-
spectively the narrator, Christ, and the other per-
sonages of the sacred drama, was an ancient custom in
the Roman Church. During the palmy days of the
polyphonic period the service was further developed
by setting the cries of the crowd as short choral move-
ments. The Lutheran Church borrowed the form of
the service from Rome, and characteristically added
to it reflective and explanatory passages designed to
impress upon the congregation the spiritual meaning
of the story, and hymns which gave the congregation
an important share in the service. The result, how-
ever admirable as a religious exercise, was artistically

GREAT COMPOSERS 67

deplorable, the unity of the action being disturbed no
less by the moralizing solos introduced at every turn
than by the devotional hymns of the congregation.

Despite Bach's moralizing habit of mind, however,
in his settings of the Passion, of which two out of
five survive (for it is not easy to accept the feebly
sentimental Luke Passion as his), we find his genius
displayed with consummate dignity and splendor. Of
these two works, the verdict of the ages has chosen
the Matthew Passion as incomparably the greater,
great as the John Passion unquestionably is. A com-
parison of the two works is deeply interesting, and
has a special value to the student of Bach's character.
No one who has studied that character will be sur-
prised to find Bach in keener sympathy with St. Mat-
thew's version of the Passion story than with that of
St. John. To a man of Bach's markedly realistic ten-
dencies the dramatic value of St. Matthew's version
made a special appeal. The agony in the Garden of
Gethsemane, the sleep of the disciples, the servant's
recognition of Peter by his Galilean accent, the death
of Judas, the dream of Pilate's wife, the bearing of
the cross by Simon of Cyrene, the mocking of Christ
on the cross by the scribes and people, the darkness,
the rending of the veil of the temple, the earthquake,
and the apparition of the dead — all these incidents
appear only in St. Matthew's version ; and it is these,
illustrated as they are by the poignant realism of
Bach's music, that give to his Matthew Passion its
amazing vitality of expression.

It is worth noting that the rending of the veil of
the temple appeared to Bach so important a feature in
the history of the Crucifixion that he actually in-

68 GREAT COMPOSERS

corporated it into his setting of St. John's version,
though it does not, of course, appear in St. John's
gospel. The John Passion is earlier than the Matthew,
and apart from its widely different treatment of the
sacred story, the highly colored narration of St. Mat-
thew being replaced by a far profounder conception
of the character of Christ, which obviously appealed
less potently to Bach's precise and realistic genius, its
treatment is in many ways more experimental and
less successful than that of the later work. The vocal
writing of many of the solos is crabbed and harsh to
a degree rarely surpassed in the history of music, and
the utterances of the crowd are treated more in the
manner of oratorio, that is to say they are epic rather
than dramatic in style, and lack the vivid force of the
Matthew choruses.

It is therefore in the Matthew Passion that we find
the completest and most typical expression of Bach's
genius. It is necessary in considering the work to re-
member that it is essentially a religious service. As
a narrative it would be improved by the excision of
all but the words of the gospel; the different points
of view introduced by the chorales and the reflective
solos are fatal to its unity as a work of art, but re-
garded as a service they take the place of the sermon
and the hymns in the modem office. The work is a
complete exposition of the Lutheran view of the Pas-
sion, and it must be confessed that Bach has expressed
it with a completeness and a fervor of conviction that
make his work one of the most overwhelming master-
pieces in all the history of music.

The qualities displayed in the Matthew Passion are
found in a greater or less degree throughout the long

GREAT COMPOSERS 69

series of cantatas which Bach wrote for performance
in church during his sojourn as organist in Leipzig and
other towns. Another striking feature of the cantatas,
and one which is also found in Bach's organ music, is
the splendid use made of the chorales or hymn-tunes
which played so important a part in Lutheran worship.
We can form but a faint idea of the effect upon a
devout congregation which Bach's magical treatment
of the well known melodies must have exercised. To
hear a tune familiar from childhood enriched and
varied by new and wondrous harmonies according to
the sentiment of the words, as is done repeatedly in
the two settings of the Passion Music and in the can-
tatas, must have brought home to those who heard it
the meaning of what they were singing in a novel and
irresistible fashion.

Sometimes a whole cantata, such as "Christ lag in
Todesbanden," is in effect a series of variations upon
one well-known tune, each variation corresponding in
its treatment to the special sentiment of each verse.
A cantata such as this resolved itself into a series of
devout meditations upon a familiar theme. The
beauty and ingenuity of the thing delights us still.
Bach's nature inclined to seriousness if not to gloom,
and this particular cantata is a strangely somber one
for Easter. In another cantata the famous tune "Ein'
feste Burg" is treated with amazing wealth of resource
and imagination. One of the verses beginning, "If
all the earth with fiends were filled," is an astonish-
ingly vivid piece of realism, the orchestra giving a
highly colored picture of an orgy of demons, while the
splendid old tune is thundered out by trumpets
through all the tempestuous confusion — a curious an-

70 GREAT COiMPOSERS

licipation, by the way, of the general scheme of the
"Tannhauser" overture.

One of the surest tests of a man's mental fiber is
his attitude toward death, and here the nobility of
Bach's nature is manifested in the most incontro-
vertible manner. He lived in a sturdy age. The
Lutherans of his time had none of that horror of
death characteristic of a later epoch. Many of their
hymns, a legacy no doubt from times of persecution,
speak of death as a friend. In all of them breathes
an air of pious resignation and sometimes of that curi-
ous rapture, an echo of which occurs in Walt Whit-
man's wonderful lament for President Lincoln. Bach's
treatment of the subject is always dignified and ex-
alted, one of his earliest cantatas, "Gottes Zeit ist die
allerbeste Zeit," being conspicuous in this respect. At
times his imagination carries him toward a more defi-
nitely picturesque handling, as in the cantata "Liebster
Gott, wann werd' ich slerben," the opening chorus of
which has been likened to a peaceful country church-
yard, blossoming in the spring, through which a funeral
procession winds to the accompaniment of the little bell
ringing throughout the movement in the upper register
of the flutes. More imposing and no less truthfully
realized is the ceremonial splendor of death, as pic-
tured in the "Trauer Ode," a work written for the
funeral of a patroness.

Bach's imagination was often exercised by visions
of the Judgment Day, a subject specially dear to the
Lutheran mind. In his two cantatas on the tune "O
Ewigkeit, du Donnerwort," he uses the contrast be-
tween the terror of sinners and the faith of the right-
eous with tremendous musical eflfect; and in the

GREAT COMPOSERS 71

shorter setting, which is a curious dialogue between
Fear and Hope, the mysterious voice of the Holy
Spirit uttering from heaven the words, "Blessed are
the dead who die in the Lord," is employed with a
sudden beauty that has hardly a parallel in music.
But for concentrated imagination and sheer power of
expression nothing in Bach's works surpasses the pas-
sage in the B Minor Mass, which describes the sleep
of the dead and their awaking at the sound of the
trumpet.

Many critics have said that Bach is greatest in
his organ music, as he was likewise the supreme or-
ganist; and there, it is true, we fmd him more of an
artist and less of a preacher than in any of his choral
works. Freed from the trammels of a set subject,
his genius here soars aloft with incomparable majesty
and splendor. No one has ever understood the organ
as Bach did. It is in a sense the foundation of all his
music, and in his hands it speaks with the tongues of
angels. Abstract music has nothing grander and more
dignified to show than some of his "mountainous
fugues," as Browning calls them, and the soul of man
has never been poured forth in tones of purer or more
exalted rapture than in such a work, to quote but one
of many, as the great Fantasia in G.

Bach spoke through music as few have spoken. It
is a commonplace to say that every man lives in his
work, but Bach lives in his as hardly another musician
has done. His personality was tremendously power-
ful, and we feel it in every bar that he wrote. If his
range of vision was not wide, what he saw he saw
steadily and saw it whole.

HANDEL

(1685-1759)

GEORGE FREDERICK HANDEL

/~\ F Handel, Haydn once said, "He is the
^^ master of us all." He was born at Halle,
in Prussian Saxony, February 23, 1685, His father
was a surgeon, and sixty-three years old at the time
of Handel's birth — a severe old man, who almost be-
fore his son was bom had determined that he should
be a lawyer. The little child was never allowed to go
near a musical instrument, and the father even took
him away from the public day-school because the
musical gamut was taught there.

But his mother, or his nurse, managed to procure
for the boy the forbidden delights ; a small clavichord,
or dumb spinet, with the strings covered with strips
of cloth to deaden the sound, was found for the child,
and this he used to keep hidden in the garret, creeping
away to play it in the night-time when every one else
was asleep, or when his father was away from home.

When George Frederick was seven years of age,
the old man was compelled to change his views. He
set out one day on a visit to the court of the Duke of
Saxe-Weissenfels, where another son by a former
marriage was a page. George Frederick had been
teasing his father to let him go with him to see his
elder brother, whom he had not yet met. but this was
refused. When old Handel started by the stage-coach

76 GREAT COMPOSERS

the next morning, the little fellow was on the watch
and ran after it, and the father stopped the coach and
took him in. So the child was allowed to go on to
Saxe-Weissenfels. When there the chapel, with the
beautiful organ, was the great attraction, and George
Frederick found his way into the organ-loft, and
when the regular service was over, contrived to take
the organist's place, and began a performance of his
own; and, strange to say, though he had not had the
slightest training, a melody with chords and the cor-
rect harmonies was heard.

The Duke, who had not left the chapel, had the boy
brought to him and soon discovered his passion for
music. The Duke told the father it would be wrong
to oppose the inclination of the child, and old Handel
promised to procure him regular musical instruction.

On Handel's return to Halle he became the pupil
of Zachau, organist of the cathedral there. Before the
pupil was nine years old, his instructor used to set
him to write fugues and motets as exercises, and soon
he allowed him to play the organ at the cathedral
services on Sunday, whenever Zachau himself wished
to take a holiday. When Handel was only nine years
old, the master confessed that his pupil knew more
music than he himself did, and advised that he should
be sent to Berlin, and thither he went in 1696.

In Berlin the boy was soon recognized as a prodigy.
There he met two Italian composers of established
reputation, Bononcini and Attilio Ariosti, both of
whom he was to encounter in after life, though under
very different circumstances, in London. Bononcini
soon conceived a dislike for the little fellow, and at-
tempted to injure him by composing a piece for the

GREAT COMPOSERS 77

harpsichord full of great difficulties, and then asking
him to play it at sight. The boy, however, at once
executed it without a mistake, and the schemer was
foiled by his own device.

Attilio was of a different disposition ; he praised the
young musician, and was never weary of sitting by
his side at the organ or harpsichord, and hearing him
improvise. The Elector of Brandenburg also con-
ceived a great admiration for the boy*s talents, and of-
fered to send him to Italy. But the elder Handel
pleaded that he was now an old man, and wished his
son to remain near him. Consequently the boy was
brought back to Halle to work again under Zachau.

Soon after this return his father died (in 1697),
leaving hardly anything for his family, and young
Handel had now to bestir himself to make a living.
He went to Hamburg, where he obtained a place as
second violin in the Opera-house. Soon the post of
organist at Lubeck became vacant, and Handel was a
candidate for it. But a peculiar condition was at-
tached to the acceptance of the office ; the new organist
must marry the daughter of the old one! and as
Handel either did not approve of the lady, or of matri-
mony generally (and in fact he never was married),
he promptly retired from the competition.

At first no one suspected the youth's talents, for he
amused himself by pretending to be an ignoramus,
until one day the accompanist on the harpsichord
(then the most important instrument in an orchestra)
was absent, and young Handel took his place, astonish-
ing everybody by his masterly touch. Probably this
discovery aroused the jealousy of some of his brother
artists, for soon afterward a duel took place between

78 GREAT COMPOSERS

him and Mattheson, a clever composer and singer, who
one night in the midst of a quarrel, on leaving the
theater, gave him a box on the ear: swords were
drawn, and the duel took place there and then under
the portico of the theater. Fortunately Mattheson's
weapon was shivered by coming in contact with a
metal button on his opponent's coat. Explanations
were then offered, and the two adversaries became
friends afterward. "Almira, Queen of Castile," Han-
del's first opera, was brought out in Hamburg in 1705,
and was followed by "Nero" and ^'Daphne,*' all re-
ceived with great favor and frequently performed.

But the young musician determined to visit Italy,
and after staying in Hamburg three years he was able
to set off on the journey. He visited Florence,
Venice, Rome, and Naples, in almost every city writ-
ing operas, which we are told were produced with bril-
liant success. At Venice an opera was sought for
from him, and in three weeks he had written "Agrip-
pina." When produced it was received with wild en-
thusiasm, the theater resounding with shouts of "Viva
il caro Sassone !" ( Long live the dear Saxon ! )

The following story illustrates the extraordinary
fame he so quickly acquired in Italy. He arrived at
Venice during the middle of the Carnival, and was
taken to a masked ball, and there played the harpsi-
chord, still keeping on his mask. Domenico Scarlatti,
the most famous harpsichord-player of his age, on
hearing him, exclaimed, **Why, it's the devil, or else
the Saxon whom every one is talking about!" In 1709
he returned to Hanover, and was appointed by the
Elector George of Brunswick, afterward King George
I of England, his court kapellmeister.

GREAT COMPOSERS 79

The next year Handel paid a visit to London, and
there Aaron Hill, director of the Haymarket Theater,
engaged him to compose the opera of "Rinaldo,"
which was written in a fortnight, and was marvelously
successful. Some morceaux from it, such as the lovely
"Lascia ch'io pianga," "Cara sposa," and the March,
are still performed. This opera was put on the stage
with a magnificence then, and even now, unusual ; and
a flight of real birds in the scene of the gardens of
Armida is given as an example of the clever devices
of stage management, though the "Spectator," in re-
ferring to it, hints that the birds, by knocking over
the candles and flying all over the place, were little
else than a nuisance. Welsh, the music publisher,
made £1500 by publishing the airs of the opera, and
Handel, who possessed a considerable vein of dry hu-
mor, remarked on this, "My dear sir, as it is only right
that we should be upon an equal footing, you shall
compose the next opera, and / will sell it !"

After returning for a short time to Hanover, Han-
del was in England again in 1713, when the grand
"Te Deum" and "Jubilate" composed by him on the
occasion of the Peace of Utrecht, were performed in
St. Paul's Cathedral before Queen Anne and the
Houses of Parliament, and the Queen was so enrap-
tured with these compositions that she bestowed upon
the composer a pension of £200 a year for life.

Handel was in no hurry to return to Hanover; in
fact he remained in England and ignored his engage-
ment across the sea. But retribution was at hand.
The Elector of Hanover, on the death of Queen Anne,
came to England as the new king, and his delinquent
kapellmeister could hardly expect to receive royal

8o GREAT COMPOSERS

favor in future. He determined, however, if possible,
to conciliate the King, and wrote twenty-five short
concerted pieces and had them performed by musi-
cians in a boat following the royal barge on the
Thames one day when the King went up the river for
a picnic. The King recognized the composer by his
style, spoke in praise of the music, and the news was
quickly conveyed to the anxious musician. This is the
story of the origin of the famous "Water Music."
Soon afterward the King allowed Handel to play be-
fore him, and finally peace was made between them,
Handel being appointed music-master to the royal
children, and receiving an additional pension of £200.
In 1726 a private Act of Parliament was passed mak-
ing George Frederick Handel a naturalized English-
man.

Handel was for some years director of the music at
Cannons, the magnificent residence of the Duke of
Chandos, where he composed the "Chandos Anthems'*
and the ''Harmonious Blacksmith." The last piece is
one of "Suites de pieces pour le clavecin," and the
story connected with it, though much doubted, is about
as well established as most musical anecdotes are.

One day, it is said, Handel was overtaken by a
shower while passing on foot through the village of
Edge ware, and took refuge in the house of one
Powell a blacksmith. Under shelter in the smithy he
watched Powell at his work. As he labored at the
anvil, the blacksmith sang an old song, while the
strokes of his hammer resounded in regular cadence
with the notes, and Handel perceived that the sounds
from the anvil were in the same key as those of the
song, and formed a sort of continuous bass to it. The

GREAT COMPOSERS 8i

song, with its accompaniment, lingered in his memory,
and the same evening he composed "The Harmonious
Blacksmith."

In 1720 a number of noblemen formed themselves
into a company for the purpose of reviving Italian
opera in England at the Haymarket Theater, and sub-
scribed a capital of £50,000. The King himself sub-
scribed £1000, and allowed the society to take the
name of the Royal Academy of Music. Handel was
appointed director of the music. Bononcini and At-
tilio Ariosti, his old acquaintances in Berlin, were at-
tracted by this new venture to London, and a very
novel competition followed. The Hbretto of a new
opera, "Muzio Scevola," was divided between the
three composers. Attilio was to put the first act to
music, Bononcini the second, and Handel the third.
We need hardly wonder that the victory is said to
have rested with the last and youngest of the trio,
although the cabals against him, which afterward did
him such grievous harm, had already commenced. In
connection with this rivalry a clever epigram is often
quoted, sometimes as Swift's, though it really was by
John Byrom, the Lancashire poet:

Some say, compared to Bononcini,
That Mynheer Handel's but a Ninny;
Others aver that he to Handel
Is scarcely fit to hold a Candle;
Strange all this difference should be
'Twixt Tweedledum and Tweedledee.

Of the many operas written for the Royal Academy
of Music, all, except in name, have long been forgot-
ten. As might have been expected, the noblemen's
enterprise did not succeed, and in eight years they

82 GREAT COMPOSERS

had spent the whole of their £50,000, and then had to
close the theater. But Handel was not dismayed. He
had saved £10,000, and on the collapse of the noble-
men's company he took the theater himself. The
speculation, however, proved a terribly losing one.
But if he had not at last lost confidence in his labors
of tricking out Italian insipidities in music far too
good for them, he might not so soon have discovered
where lay his real strength — as a composer of sacred
music. The year 1732 was memorable for the per-
formance at the Haymarket Theater of his first great
English oratorio, "Esther," and this, having proved a
great success, was followed by the cantata "Acis and
Galatea," and the oratorio "Deborah."

Handel still clung to his operatic speculation; and
when he had to leave the Haymarket Theater, which
was given up to another Italian company, he changed
to the Lincoln's Inn Fields Theater and began again.
More unsuccessful operas were produced, and at last,
in 1737, having lost the whole of his hard-earned
money, Handel was compelled to close the theater and
suspend payment for a time. He now again turned
his thoughts to oratorio. "Saul" and "Israel in Egypt"
were composed in quick succession ; the last gigantic
work being written in twenty-seven days. These works
were followed by his fine setting of Dryden's "Ode on
St. Cecilia's Day," and Milton's "L'Allegro" and "II
Penseroso"; but it cannot be said that his pecuniary
affairs were materially improved by their production.

A journey to Ireland, in 1741, will always be remem-
bered in connection with his immortal work "The
Messiah," which was first performed for the benefit
of charitable institutions in Dublin in the following

^

GREAT COMPOSERS 83

spring. The performance took place at Neale's Music
Hall on April 18, 1742, at midday, and, apropos of the
absurdities of fashion, it may be noticed that the an-
nouncements contained the following request: *That
ladies who honor this performance with their pres-
ence, will be pleased to come without hoops, as it will
greatly increase the charity by making room for more
company." The work was gloriously successful, and
£400 was obtained the first day for the Dublin chari-
ties.

Handel seems always to have had a special feeling
with regard to this masterpiece of his — as if it were
too sacred to be merely used for making money by,
Hke his other works. He very frequently assisted at
its performance for the benefit of the Foundling Hos-
pital, and he left the score as a precious gift to the
governor of that institution. This work brought £10,-
299 to the funds of the hospital. In this connection a
fine saying of his may be repeated. Lord Kinnoul had
complimented him on the noble "entertainment" which
by "The Messiah" he had lately given the town. "My
lord," said Handel, "I should be sorry if I only en-
tertained them — / wish to make them better." And
when some one questioned him on his feelings when
composing the Hallelujah Chorus, he replied in his
peculiar English, "I did think I did see all heaven be-
fore me, and the great God himself." What a strik-
ing remark that was of poor old George HI, in de-
scribing the "pastoral symphony" in this oratorio — "I
could see the stars shining through it !"

The now constant custom of the audience to rise
and remain standing during the performance of this
chorus, is said to have originated in the following

84 GREAT COMPOSERS

manner. On the first production of the work in Lon-
don, "the audience were exceedingly struck and af-
fected by the music in general ; but when that chorus
struck up, Tor the Lord God Omnipotent,' in the
'Hallelujah,' they were so transported that they all
together, with the King (who happened to be present),
started up and remained standing till the chorus ended.
This anecdote I had from Lord Kinnoul." So says
Dr. Beattie, the once famous poet, in one of his letters.

"The Messiah" was commenced on August 22^ 1741,
finished on September 12, and the orchestration filled
up two days afterward — ^the whole work thus being
completed in twenty-three days. Handel was fifty-six
years old at the time.

The next ten years of the life of the "Goliath of
Music," as he has been called, are marked by some
of the most splendid achievements of his genius.
"Samson," the "Dettingen Te Deum," "Joseph," "Bel-
shazzar," "The Occasional Oratorio," "Judas Macca-
boeus," "Joshua," "Solomon," and "Theodora" being
composed during this time, when, already an old man,
it might have been thought that he would have taken
some repose after the labors of so toilsome and
troubled a life. But, as in the case of Milton, his
greatest works were those of his old age. "Judas Mac-
cabaeus" was perhaps the most successful at the time.
It was commissioned by Frederick, Prince of Wales,
to celebrate the victory of his brother, the Duke of
Cumberland, at Culloden, over the Pretender and his
forces. The words were compiled by a poetaster
named Morell, who fulsomely dedicated the work to
the conqueror. This Duke of Cumberland was in
reality a very imherolike leader, and had sullied his

•%

GREAT COMPOSERS 85

victory with cold-blooded butchery of prisoners taken
in war ; but Handel probably thought very little about
the man whose name was to be inscribed on the work,
when he wrote the sublime music celebrating the deeds
of the great Jewish liberator. "The Messiah," "Israel
in Egypt," "Samson," and "Judas" may be said to be
his grandest works.

But a terrible misfortune was approaching — ^his eye-
sight was failing. The "drop serene," of which Milton
speaks so pathetically, had fallen on his eyes, and at
the time when, in February, 1752, he was composing
his last work, "Jephthah," the effort in tracing the lines
is in the original manuscript painfully apparent. Soon
afterward he submitted to three operations, but they
were in vain, and henceforth all was to be dark to him.
His sole remaining work was now to improvise on the
organ, and to play at performances of his oratorios.

One night on returning home from a performance
of "The Messiah" at Covent Garden, Handel was
seized with sudden weakness and retired hurriedly to
bed, from which he was never to rise again. On April
14, 1759, he quietly passed away, at the age of seventy-
four. His remains were laid in Poets' Comer in
Westminster Abbey, and the place is marked by a
statue by Roubilliac, representing him leaning over
a table covered with musical instruments, his hand
holding a pen, and before him is laid "The Messiah,"
open at the words "I know that my Redeemer
Hveth."

Handel is described as being of large and portly
figure, with a countenance full of fire and dignity, eyes
remarkably bright, short and prominent eyebrows, and
finely marked and handsome features. "Handel's

86 GREAT COMPOSERS

general look," says Bumey, "was somewhat heavy and
sour, but when he did smile it was like his sire the sun
bursting out of a black cloud. There was a sudden
flash of intelligence, wit, and good humor beaming
in his countenance which I hardly ever saw in any
other."

He was a man of honor and integrity, and of an
uncompromising independence of character. "In an
age when artists used to live in a sort of domesticity to
the rich and powerful, he refused to be the dependent
of any one, and preserved his dignity with a jealous
care." This, no doubt, irritated those great people
whose vanity was gratified when men of genius lived
by their patronage ; but, on the other hand, it must be
admitted that his temper was naturally irascible and
even violent, and his fits of passion, while they lasted,
quite ungovernable. Even when he was conducting
concerts for the Prince of Wales, if the ladies of the
court talked instead of listening, "his rage was un-
controllable, and sometimes carried him to the length
of swearing and calling names, whereupon the
gentle Princess would say to the offenders, *Hush,
hush ! Handel is angry.' " Handel was plain-spoken,
and would not give in to any one if he knew he was
in the right.

HandeFs life-work falls naturally into two divisions.
In each of these he was during his lifetime admittedly
preeminent; but while opera since his day has de-
veloped with extraordinary rapidity, oratorio has
tended to advance but little upon specially characteris-
tic lines; therefore even to the casual hearer of to-day
Handel's oratorios still represent the highest human
achievement in this particular department of music,

GREAT COMPOSERS 87

while his operas are as a rule summarily dismissed as
being too old-fashioned in structure to merit more than
a passing word.

It is commonly said that Handel's operas are merely
a string of solos and duets with a chorus to bring
down the curtain. A cursory examination of the
works in question reveals that this is not the case.
Handel used the chorus in his operas more freely than
is usually stated, and when occasion demanded he
wrote concerted numbers for solo voices in a manner
ordinarily looked upon as the invention of a much
later age. It is noticeable, too, that as Handel ad-
vanced in years and experience he used the chorus
more freely. But at no time did he permit the rules
and conventions that governed opera in his day to
override his own judgment.

It would be useless to try to review Handel's operas
in detail. By reason of their subjects perhaps even
more than their intrinsic musical value some of them
appeal to a modern audience far less than others.
Many of the librettos which he set are inane rubbish,
but no one who turns their pages can fail to be struck
by the amazing force with which he gave realization to
any spark of human interest which the situation con-
tained.

Apart from the majestic and impeccable form of
Handel's oratorios, the point in them that must in-
fallibly strike the most casual observer is their im-
mense range of thought. Handel's imagination was ir-
repressible, his sympathy was boundless. Nothing was
strange to him ; he could take every point of view. He
who, when writing the Hallelujah Chorus, "did see all
heaven, and the great God himself," was equally at

88 GREAT COMPOSERS

home in the high places of heathendom. Whatever
his own rehgious views may have been — ^and his con-
temporaries beHeved him to be a sincere Christian —
he had a most subtle appreciation of pagan rites. His
heathens never repeat themselves. Compare, for in-
stance, the briUiant festivities of the Philistines in
"Samson" with the "dismal dance around the furnace
blue" in "Jephthah"; the frozen elegance of Roman
ritual in "Theodora" with the barbaric raptures of the
worshipers of Mithra in "Alexander Balus." But re-
ligion is only a fraction of the field he covered. He is
equally at home in the far-away patriarchal life of the
Old Testament as pictured in Caleb's song, "Shall I
in Mamre's fertile plain," in "Joshua," in the pomp
and glitter of Solomon's court, in the insolent splendor
of Belshazzar's feast, in the clash and din of battle in
Deborah," in the cold raptures of martyrdom in
Theodora," in the sunny sparkling Hfe of old Greece
in "Semele," in the innocent revels of nymph and
shepherd in "Acis." Nothing came amiss to him ; the
passions and aspirations of the human race are writ-
ten in his oratorios for all to read.

When we leave Handel's operas for his oratorios
we ccwne to more familiar ground. The operas are
practically unknown to modern musicians, but though
the popularity of "The Messiah" has tended to cast the
other oratorios into the shade, the latter, with few
exceptions, are still occasionally performed.

It is commonly said of Handel by those whose
knowledge of his works is bounded on the one hand
by "The Messiah" and on the other by the celebrated
"Largo," that he had but one style for every subject.
It is true that his style is strongly marked and indi-

te
«

GREAT COMPOSERS 89

vidual, and it may well be that a man — even a mu-
sician — whose experience has been confined entirely
to modern music, would derive an impression of
monotony from Handel's works, largely because the
methods of expression common to all eighteenth-cen-
tury composers differ so widely from those now in
common use as to constitute almost a different musical
language.

It is a grave injustice to Handel that fate has fixed
on "The Messiah" as the one work by which he should
be known to the general public of to-day; for "The
Messiah," incomparable as it is, represents the many-
sidedness of his genius singularly ill. His unerring in-
stinct bade him in "The Messiah" adopt a severer and
a more reticent mode of expression than he employed
in any of his other works. He felt that in treating a
subject of this character the noblest of all instruments,
the human voice, should be supreme, and he volun-
tarily denied himself the assistance of those orchestral
devices which in his other oratorios he employed with
such admirable effect. The orchestration of "The
Messiah" is simpler and less ornate than in any of
Handel's other oratorios, and over the whole work there
breathes an air of gravity and solemn restraint, ad-
mirably in keeping with the tremendous subject, but by
no means typical of the composer, whose feeling for
picturesque detail, and whose knowledge of its appli-
cation were consummately acute. Yet as an expression
of Handel's attitude to life in general and to Chris-
tianity in particular "The Messiah" is a doctunent of
extreme value. Nevertheless, it cannot be repeated too
often that a knowledge of "The Messiah" is very far
from connoting a knowledge of Handel. A man who

90 GREAT COMPOSERS

knows Handel only by "The Messiah" can have no
conception of his passionate love for outdoor Nature
and of his inimitable gift of recording her various
phases in music.

Before concluding we must refer to the question
of Handel's borrowings from other composers. That
he did borrow is undeniable. But if he had borrowed
or adapted or stolen far more than he did he would
only have done what every great man has done to his
heart's content. Chaucer translated freely from Ja-
cobus de Voragine, Boccaccio, and many others.
Shakespeare borrowed nearly all his plots and often
versified Plutarch when it suited his purpose. MoHere
boasted that he took what he liked from whom he
liked. The sources of "Paradise Lost" are notorious.
Handel is in good company at any rate, and no one
seriously pretends that the question of his debts to
other men can affect our ultimate estimate of his
genius.

"Handel," says R. A. Streatfeild, "is the Shakespeare
of music; but he has left us no such record of him-
self as Shakespeare did in the sonnets, if, that is to
say, Mr. Sidney Lee's latest published opinion permits
us to regard them as autobiographical. . . . Handel's
personality is elusive. He took delight in his work
for its own sake. He never preaches; he never
moralizes. Handel is always an artist. . . . Never-
theless, to those who know his works intimately, the
nature of Handel and his attitude to life are revealed
in what he has written. Handel was an incurable opti-
mist. He had that worship of beauty for its own sake
that is inevitably allied to optimism. There are cer-
tain phases of modem thought which arc not repre-

HAXDEL

GREAT COMPOSERS 91

sented in his music, and it is partly from their absence
that his appeal to the world of to-day is less potent
than formerly. He loved life and drank deep of it;
he looked upon death and was not afraid. There is
nothing morbid in Handel. He was as blind to the
beauty of decay as was the sculptor of the Elgin
marbles. His view of life was simple, but it was
magnificently sane. His music has a tonic force which
it is not. for our good that we neglect."

GLUCK

(1714-1787)

CHRISTOPH WILLIBALD GLUCK

TN contrast with the work of many great composers,
^ the best of Gluck's was done late in life. In fact,
before fifty he produced little that was of lasting value.
Of the operas written when he was between thirty and
forty, and produced at the Haymarket Theater in Lon-
don, Handel said, and with a good deal of justice,
"Sir, they are detestable ! The fellow knows no more
counterpoint than my cook !" But it is not too much
to say that no works have had more effect in reform-
ing the lyric stage than the magnificent productions
which followed them, all written when he was in ad-
vanced middle age.

Christoph Willibald (afterward Ritter von) Gluck
was bom at Weidenwang, near Neumarkt, Germany,
July 2, 1714. His parents were in a humble position
in the household of Prince Lobkowitz, at Eisenberg,
and he seems at first to have been left to pick up what
education he could in the kitchen and the fields, no
very satisfactory training-school for him. When he
was twelve years of age, however, he was fortunate
enough to be sent to the Jesuit School at Komotau, in
Bohemia, and here the good fathers gave him his first
instruction, not only in ordinary school lore, but also
in playing the violin and organ.

After he had been there a few years his father died,
and the poor youth was left entirely to his own re-

95

96 GREAT COMPOSERS

sources. He went to Prague, and having acquired
some knowledge of the violin and violoncello, he used
to earn a scanty living as an itinerant musician, sing-
ing, when he could get an engagement, in the churches
and, like Haydn, playing the violin at fairs and the vil-
lage dances of the peasants. The life was hard, and
the pay poor enough ; but on one thing the lad had al-
ready resolved — ^ musician he would be and nothing
else. In his ramblings he at last reached Vienna, and
as he was not quite forgotten in Prince Lobkowitz*s
household, he was allowed to play there, and the
Prince, with his friends, listening after dinner to the
youth's playing, nodded approvingly, and said, "Really,
not so bad ! There is talent, decidedly some talent, in
the fellow!"

In those days the great thing was to have a patron ;
and Gluck, who, thanks to his own energy, self-reli-
ance, and study of human nature, was always success-
ful in securing wealthy friends, soon gained an influen-
tial patron in the person of Prince Melzi, who gave
him a place in his own private band. Soon afterward
the Prince took him to Milan, and placed him under the
instructions of Sammartini, a learned theorist.

Before long he began to compose operas, which were
produced at the theaters of Milan, Venice, and Turin.
These, like Handel's early operas, quickly caught the
melody-loving ear of the populace, and were immensely
successful. So great, indeed, was their success, that
Lord Middlesex thought he was doing a good stroke of
business in securing him as composer-in-chief for the
King's Theater in London.

When Gluck arrived in England, in 1745, the times
were unpropitious. The Scotch Rebellion then ab-

GREAT COMPOSERS 97

sorbed the public interest, and people were too busy
discussing the political situation in their coffee-houses
and drawing-rooms to have inclination or time to go to
the theater. What was this new piece, "The Fall of
the Giants" (La Caduta de' Giganti) by Mr. Gluck, to
them, at a time when the fall of the English ministry,
and even of the reigning sovereign, was possible?
And, truth to tell, the new opera was poor stuff; and
neither did "Artamene," an old opera touched up again,
or "Piramo e Tisbe," a pasticcio, or compilation of
pretty airs from his other works, succeed any better.
Indeed, if Gluck had finished his artistic career at this
time, HandeFs criticism would have been a sufficiently
fair judgment on it.

Though discomfited and sorely mortified by his fail-
ure in London, Gluck was able calmly to ponder over
his defeat and learn its lesson. Shortly before he left
London, he appeared at the theater in a very unex-
pected character. Consoling himself with the idea that
if people would not listen to him as a composer they
might as a performer, he played, as the "General Ad-
vertiser" of the day says, "at the little theater in the
Haymarket, a concerto on twenty-six drinking-glasses
tuned with spring-water, accompanied by the whole
band, being a new instrument of his own invention,
upon which he performs whatever may be done on a
violin or harpsichord."

From London he went to Paris, and thence to
Vienna, where for some time he lived in retirement,
quietly studying that vexed question of music and the
drama, which, in later days, Wagner again made
prominent. The Abbe Amaud had said, "Italian opera
is only a concert for which the play is the pretext."

98 GREAT COMPOSERS

Gluck began to find out that this was true, and that
art had been forgotten in the too eager desire to please,
no matter how. He resolved to make a change, and to
begin his work again on an entirely new basis.

But in the meantime he must live ; so, being invited
to Rome and Naples, he composed "Telemacco," "La
Clemenza di Tito," and other operas, which, in form
at least, differed little from the ordinary florid Italian
operas of the day. At Florence he met Ranieri di Cal-
zabigi, and in collaboration with him as librettist Gluck
wrote his first opera in the reformed style, "Orfeo ed
Euridice." This was produced in Vienna in 1762, and
created a great sensation, having a run of twenty-eight
nights — then almost unprecedented.

But Gluck was not able at once to release himself
from the fetters of the still fashionable florid style, for
he always took great pains to pose as the courtier, and
having princes and archduchesses among his pupils, he
had to supply them with the musical fare that they
could appreciate. One of the unsubstantial Italian
operas written by him about this time, "II Parnasso
confuso," received the extraordinary honor of being
acted with four archduchesses in the cast, and the
Archduke Leopold playing the accompaniment on the
clavecin.

In the same style as "Orfeo" were "Alceste" and
"Paride ed Elena," which followed it. Poet and musi-
cian were here of one accord. Both discarded the
foolish, tasteless superfluity of ornament in diction
and music, and aimed at truthful expression of the
emotions rather than at the brilliant display of tropes,
trills, cadences, and pretty conceits. The reception
given to "Alceste" did not please the composer, al-

GREAT COMPOSERS 99

though it was frequently performed, and obtained a
considerable share of the popular favor. The critics
fell foul of it, and Gluck took an opportunity of very
savagely castigating them in a dedicatory letter writ-
ten by him on the publication of "Paride ed Elena."
Like Wagner, Gluck was no mean hand with his pen.

Of the new style of operatic composition introduced
by him, he wrote the following memorable words, the
lesson of which is as valuable now as it was when they
were first written: "My purpose has been to restrict
the art of music to its true object — that of aiding the
effect of poetry by giving greater expression to the
words and scenes, but without interrupting the action
of the plot, and without weakening the impression by
needless instrumentation."

Whatever the cause, Gluck began to meditate a
change of scene, and an invitation sent to him from
the French Academie Royale to visit Paris made him
decide to remove to that capital. In this purpose he
was warmly encouraged by the Bailli du Rollet, an at-
tache of the French embassy, an enthusiastic supporter
of Gluck's new musical theory. Du Rollet was also
something of a poet, and in conjunction with the com-
poser he put together the libretto of a new opera which
was to be bestowed on the Parisians, "Iphigenie en
Aulide," founded on Racine's play. In 1773 Gluck,
then being fifty-nine years of age, set out for Paris,
where the most important part of his life was to be
lived.

Gluck found a potent patroness in his former pupil,
Marie Antoinette, now the dauphiness of France; in
fact, she soon was at the head of an organized party
in his favor. When "Iphigenie" was first performed,

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she led the applause, which, as the opera proceeded, be-
came spontaneous enough — soldiers and courtiers wav-
ing their swords, and the multitude, carried away by
the beauty and dramatic truth of the music, vehemently
applauding. Sophie Arnould, the witty and charming
actress, was an admirable Iphigenie, and a M. Lar-
rivee, who was accustomed to sing so much through
his nose that the people in the pit, when applauding
him after a song, used to say, "That nose has really a
magnificent voice," forgot for that evening his nasal
twang and was a magnificent Agamemnon. Marie An-
toinette was in ecstasies over this success.

Then came "Orphee et Eurydice," adapted from the
Vienna setting of the same piece. Sutherland Ed-
wards, in his "History of the Opera," relates some
amusing incidents in connection with its production.
Gluck's artistic soul was greatly vexed by the obsti-
nate pretensions of the male dancer, Vestris (who
maintained that there were only three great men in
Europe — Voltaire, Frederick the Great, and himself).
When the rehearsals were going on, this great man in-
dulgently said to the composer, "Write me the music
of a chaconne, Monsieur Cluck!" "A chaconner was
the indignant answer ; "do you think the Greeks, whose
manners we are endeavoring to depict, knew what a
chaconne was?" "Did they not?" Vestris imperturb-
ably replied. "Then they are indeed much to be pitied."
This was the man who once said, "If the god of the
dance [a title he had given himself] touches the
ground from time to time, he does so in order not to
humiliate his comrades."

It was not easy to drill the actors into the proper ex-
pression and style of acting. Here is a story of an at-

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tempt which an actress, Marthe le Rochois, made to im-
prove the acting of another one, Desmatins, who took
the part of Medea deserted by Jason : "Inspire yourself
with the situation," she said; "fancy yourself in the
poor woman's place. If you were deserted by a lover
whom you adored, what would you do?" "I should
look out for another," was the reply of the practically-
minded girl.

Gluck at rehearsal must have been an interesting
sight, and it is not to be wondered at that the rehear-
sals of "Orphee" were crowded; it became quite the
fashionable thing for the courtiers to attend them. On
sitting down in the orchestra his invariable plan was
to take his coat off; he then removed his wig, and
substituted for it a cotton nightcap of the most primi-
tive fashion, and thus at his ease, in his shirt-sleeves
and nightcap, he comfortably conducted. At the end,
it is said, he had never any trouble in resuming these
articles of dress, as dukes and marquises used to con-
tend for the honor of handing them to him.

The dauphiness was again so delighted with Gluck's
work, that after the success of "Orphee" she granted
him a pension of 6,000 francs, and the same sum in
addition to be received by him for every new work
that he bestowed on the French stage.

After "Alceste," rearranged for the French stage,
and produced with the utmost success, Gluck set to
work on the composition of a new opera, "Armida,"
which he intended should be his answer to all his de-
tractors — his chcf-d'ccuvrc. To the dauphiness he said,
in a burst of self-satisfaction, **The opera will soon be
finished, and indeed it will be superb." And to his old
friend Du RoUet he writes, "I have put forth all the

I02 GREAT COMPOSERS

little strength still left in me in order to finish
*Armida.' I must confess I should like to finish my
career with it." But he did not then anticipate the
stirring times and the hard fighting still before him.
Marie Antoinette was not the only female potentate
in France; there was another, less respectable, but
equally powerful, the notorious Madame du Barry. As
the dauphiness had her pet musician, Madame du
Barry must have hers too, and so she sent to Rome
and ordered a musician! In due time Piccinni, who
was really a talented composer, appeared in Paris, and
the famous war of the Gluckists and Piccinnists soon
began. "Sir, are you a Gluckist or a Piccinnist?" be-
came a shibboleth, on the answer to which almost life
or death depended ! It was known that Piccinni*s "Ro-
lando" was to be produced a few months after Gluck's
"Armida," and expectation ran high. Marie Antoi-
nette, now Queen of France, still staunchly stood by
her protege, and Cluck cannot be said to have ne-
glected any means of retaining her friendship.

Greatly as Gluck prized his own "Amiida," and im-
mense as was the popularity it afterward attained, the
first production in 1777 does not seem to have been
attended with great eclat. Perhaps the public were
too much excited just then with the prospect of the ap-
proaching performance of Piccinni*s "Rolando." This
had taken some time to compose, for Piccinni labored
under the disadvantage of not knowing a word of
French, and Marmontel, the author of the libretto, had
to write down under each French word its Italian
equivalent, a labor which made Marmontel say that he
was not only Piccinni 's poet, but also his dictionary.
When it was produced, its graceful melodies and

GREAT COMPOSERS 103

smooth, sparkling music produced an extraordinary
success, and it could not be denied that in the first en-
counter the Italian had the best of it. Even Marie
Antoinette appears to have swerved from her fidelity
to Gluck; for soon after ^'Rolando" was given, she
appointed Piccinni her singing-master.

This rivalry was taken advantage of, though cer-
tainly not in the most honorable way, by Devismes, the
astute manager of the Opera. What an exciting con-
test it would be — what an amusing affair for every-
body — if Gluck and Piccinni could both be set to work
on the same piece, and so fight out the ^'battle of the
styles'* under the same conditions ! Only the worst of
it would be, that the first piece performed, if success-
ful, would destroy any chance of the other having a
fair hearing. This Piccinni, who had a far higher
opinion of Cluck's merits than his supporters had, rep-
resented plaintively to Devismes, and the latter ear-
nestly assured him that his own opera should be given
first, and Gluck*s second. Probably an assurance ex-
actly similar was given to Gluck, and the two com-
posers, taking the libretto given them, **Iphigenie en
Tauride," set to work upon their rival labors.

When Piccinni had completed two acts of his piece,
he was horror-struck to hear that Gluck's was already
finished and had been put in rehearsal at the Opera.
He of course rushed off to Devismes, demanding to
know the meaning of this; but the manager very
coldly informed him that it could not be helped; he
had received a royal command to produce the opera
at once ; he profoundly regretted, etc., etc. The poor
Italian was completely outmaneuvered and had to sub-
mit to this situation as well as he might.

104 GREAT COMPOSERS

Unluckily for the Italian, Gluck's "Iphigenie"
proved to be a masterpiece, and then and ever since
it has been acknowledged to be his greatest work.
Piccinni was filled with such consternation on hearing
this magnificent music, and comparing it with his own,
that he begged to be allowed to withdraw from the
bargain to produce his own "Iphigenie." But the cruel
Devismes was inexorable, and soon after Gluck*s, Pic-
cinni's piece was played. The first night the pubHc
seemed to reserve their opinion upon it, and the second
night another incident in the chapter of accidents be-
fell the unlucky Italian. Mademoiselle Laguerre, who
took the principal character, was most indubitably
drunk. She staggered and stammered, made eyes at
the pit, and altogether disgraced herself.

"This is not Iphigenia in Tauris," said Sophie Ar-
nould, her witty and malicious rival ; "it is Iphigenia in
Champagne !"

King Louis happened to be present that night, and
in exercise of the despotic power which he wielded
for his subjects' good, he consigned the young lady
to prison for a couple of days. On her reappearance
she sang so well, and so cleverly gave a special mean-
ing to some lines expressive of remorse that the public
forgave her, and she was restored to favor, but Pic-
cinni's "Iphigenie en Tauris" was not so fortunate.
The composer had lost, and this time the victory rested
with the German.

After writing "Echo et Narcisse," which was some-
thing of a failure, Gluck set to work upon another
opera, "Les Danaides,'* but an apoplectic stroke com-
pelled him to give up the work, which he handed over
to his pupil Salieri (Mozart's crafty rival) to -finish.

GREAT COMPOSERS 105

Gluck had made an ample fortune — about 700,000
francs by his four operas — and in 1780 he wisely de-
termined, being then sixty-six years of age, to retire
to spend his last days in quiet at Vienna. He left the
field where still Gluckists and Piccinnists wrangled
over the merits of their champions, and tranquilly
spent his few remaining years in retirement, where,
nevertheless, he was frequently visited by the great
and illustrious of the world, among others the Emperor
and Empress of Russia, and found some consolation in
the knowledge that he was not yet forgotten. And
indeed in his works there was that imperishable stuff
that even yet preserves Gluck's music fresh in the re-
membrance and love of all who care for art. He was
struck down by a second attack of apoplexy in 1787,
and died on the 15th of November.

If Cluck's achievements as a reformer have been
overestimated by some musical historians, his value
as a composer can hardly be exaggerated. He is the
principal spokesman of a period of reaction, and it is
to his eternal credit that his profound realization of
the hollowness and artificiaHty of the older school of
opera drove him into no excesses by way of counter-
acting the abuses which he strove to combat. His
career is a picture, perhaps unequaled in the history
of music, of a constant striving toward a pure ideal
of art, a perfect blending of the lyrical and dramatic
elements of opera, which he attained by a balanced
power of intellect such as few musicians have pos-
sessed.

For years after his visit to England Gluck con-
tinued to write in the accepted style of the day. It is
likely that a visit to Paris, which followed his un-

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lucky expedition to London, opened his eyes to the
possibility of reform in operatic treatment. In Paris
he heard the music of Rameau, a composer whose in-
fluence in the formation of his later style was very
important. French opera had never followed Italian
taste in its worship of purely lyrical to the exclusion
of dramatic expression, and Rameau carried the de-
parture still further. In Gluck's case, the direction
that new paths were to take was revealed to him by
his introduction to Rameau*s music. Gluck's genius,
however, was infinitely greater than Rameau*s; where
Rameau is cold and formal, Gluck vibrates with hu-
man passion.

The history of opera is a continual struggle be-
tween the two opposing forces of dramatic and lyrical
expression, and Gluck*s career is to a certain extent
a miniature reproduction of the same struggle. We
may look on it perhaps as a contest between instinct
and theory. His instinct led him to lyrical expression,
but his theories on opera compelled him to pay due
respect to dramatic truth. The struggle is interesting
to trace; first one force g'ains the upper hand, then
the other. In "Orfeo," largely, no doubt, because of
its subject, the lyrical element is all-important. "Al-
ceste" is more dramatic in subject, and the result is
that, as Gluck had not yet fully succeeded in getting
his theory into working order, or rather did not handle
it with the command that he subsequently gained,
there is a good deal in it that is merely arid declama-
tion with very little musical value at all. In "Paride
ed Elena" the lyrical element is again supreme, but in
"Iphigenie en Aulide" the dramatic once more asserts
itself. "Armide*' and "Iphigenie en Tauride" repre-

GREAT COMPOSERS 107

sent the culmination of Gluck's career, and in these
two works we find what may justly be called a perfect
balance between the two contending influences.

"Iphigenie en Aulide" differed widely in some re-
spects from Gluck's previous works. The canvas is
more crowded with figures, the emotions treated are
more varied in their range. The work lacks the large
simplicity of motive of "Orfeo" and "Alceste"; it is
more minute in its psychological analysis, and subtler
in its play of passion. In "Iphigenie en Aulide" Gluck
has moments of supreme grandeur and beauty, such as
the noble monologue of Agamemnon and the wonder-
ful scene in which Clytemnestra pours forth her soul
in tempest ; but in much of it the treatment is too con-
sciously dramatic rather than operatic.

Cluck's theory as to the raison d'etre of opera led
him into strange passes, but his natural instinct was
sound. He told his contemporaries that the musician's
duty was to follow the words of the libretto, heighten-
ing their force by a discreet accompaniment; but his
greatest triumphs were won when he forgot about the
poor, cold words that he had to set, and went behind
them to the feeling and emotions that underlay them.

In "Armide" Cluck's instinct took its revenge upon
his reason. He told a friend that he had written it
more in the spirit of a poet and a painter than of a mu-
sician. However that may be, it is of all his works the
richest in musical beauty. It has a voluptuous charm
such as no music of Cluck's had previously possessed ;
in fact, such as was practically new to music alto-
gether. The curious thing about "Armide" is that the
libretto was one originally written by Quinault for
Lulli some hundred years before Cluck took it in hand.

io8 GREAT COMPOSERS

Gluck, no doubt, was attracted by the romantic na-
ture of the subject ; but it is strange that he, who was
so particular about his libretti, should have been con-
tent with so dreary and frigid a piece of work as this.
However, his triumph was the greater, for he cer-
tainly owed nothing to the bald diction and conven-
tional sentiments of his libretto.

"Armide" stands alone among Cluck's works, a
strangely romantic figure in its sternly classical sur-
roundings. In "Armide" Gluck shook himself free for
once of his theories about opera and art and expres-
sion, and wrote as his natural instinct prompted him.
There is little dramatic interest in "Armide" ; it is con-
cerned almost entirely with emotion, which is as much
as to say that it is an ideal subject for opera. Had
the libretto been worthy of the subject, there is no say-
ing what Gluck might not have made of it. As it is, he
produced a work which curiously anticipates the ro-
mantic triumphs of a later day, and has a peculiar
value of its own to the student of Gluck's musical
character.

"Iphigenie en Tauride" is usually spoken of as
Gluck's masterpiece, and so in a sense it is, though the
almost total absence of love-interest robs it of a natural
source of enchantment. In form it certainly is more
perfect than any other work of Gluck's, the balance
between lyrical and dramatic expression being pre-
served with singular justness. Though it can hardly
be said to represent that ideal at which Gluck had
been aiming all his life, it is a work of the utmost no-
bility and beauty.

Whether that union of music and drama at which
Gluck aimed can be counted among the possibilities

GREAT COMPOSERS 109

of art IS a question that still awaits a satisfactory an-
swer. It is certain that Gluck did not attain it, but,
like so many other pioneers, while missing the goal at
which he aimed, he did perhaps more for the world
than if he had achieved his wished- for end. His operas
are certainly not music-dramas in the modern sense
of the word, but as a practical protest against the slip-
shod fashions of the time they accomplished a most
valuable work.

Gluck is an interesting figure in other ways. He
gives musical expression to the great idea that was
animating the world at his time — the return to Nature,
so fervidly preached by Rousseau. In an art so es-
sentially conventional as opera, it is obvious that the
"return to Nature" could only be effected in a very
modified form ; and in this respect, as in many others,
Gluck often did his best work rather in spite of his
theories than because of them. It is significant, in-
deed, that the one opera of his which still retains a wide
popularity, "Orfeo," holds its place on the stage almost
entirely by its lyrical qualities, while those in which the
dramatic element is especially prominent have passed
into something very like oblivion.

On the whole, the most important legacy that Gluck
bequeathed to posterity was his conception of an opera
as an artistic unity, not as a mere string of songs and
dances often connected by the slightest of threads. He
had the gift of suffusing each of his works in an at-
mosphere peculiar to itself, and this, with the noble
dignity of his style, and his unfaltering worship of the
loftiest artistic ideals, makes him a figure of singular
importance in the history of opera.

HAYDN

(17S8-1B09)

HAYDN

(1732-1809)

JOSEPH HAYDH

'T'HE story of Haydn's early life is the record of a
^ triumph of determination and enthusiasm over
opposing circumstances. It has been said of him that
his childhood ended with his sixth year. Certain it is
that almost from that time began a struggle with hard
fortune ; but an indomitable cheerfulness and devo-
tion to his art carried Haydn safely through troubled
waters.

His father, who was a wheelwright, and a typical
hard-working, independent Austrian peasant, lived in
the village of Rohrau, where on March 31, 1732, Franz
Joseph Haydn was born. The father had learned to
play the harp by ear, and was fond of singing the old
peasant Lieder to its accompaniment.

Gradually he noticed that his little Joseph was at-
tracted by musical sounds ; and when one day he came
upon him sitting outside the schoolhouse window
scraping two pieces of wood together in imitation of
the schoolmaster, who was playing the violin within,
he made up his mind that his son was to be a musician.
In time he might even become a choir-master, like his
cousin Johann Mathias Frankh at Hainburg! Frau
Haydn had cherished the idea of his becoming a priest,
and was at first bitterly opposed to her husband's
plans, but her scruples were gradually overcome. The

114 GREAT COMPOSERS

boy was delighted at the prospect before him ; and the
matter was decided by a visit from Cousin Frankh,
who tested his voice and offered to take him with him
to Hainburg and train him with his other choristers.

From Frankh the young Haydn received, as he
afterward wrote to a friend, **more blows than vict-
uals," and he mentions how distressed he was "to
find himself becoming a dirty little urchin" for want
of his mother's care. But he had inherited a stock of
common sense, and his buoyancy of disposition,
coupled with his fixed resolve to become the best
singer in the choir, helped him to struggle on.

It was to the sweetness of his voice that Haydn
owed his first advancement; for when he was eight
years old his singing attracted the attention of Reutter,
the choir-master at the Church of St. Stephen in
Vienna, who was recruiting for trebles. His offer
to admit the boy into his choir obtained the ready con-
sent of his parents, and Joseph went off hopefully to
Vienna with his new master. The work there was
very hard, but worse than that was the fact that
though he had more than enough of vocal training, he
could get from Reutter no instruction in composition,
his longing for which was fast becoming a passion.

He covered with attempts at masses and anthems
every piece of paper upon which he could lay his
hands, but his timid endeavors to induce Reutter to
look at them were only met with ridicule. He was not
to be daunted, and a small gift of money from his
father was laid out in the purchase of some text-books
of musical composition. "The talent was in me," he
afterward wrote, "and by dint of hard work I
managed to get on." For ten years this state of things

GREAT COMPOSERS 115

continued, Haydn always persevering with his music,
and even deserting the games of his companions for it.

Unfortunately for Haydn, Reutter took a strong
dislike to him, and lost no opportunity of showing it.
Haydn's mischievous spirit no doubt led him to adopt
an attitude which, though commendable, was impolitic ;
and eventually, in 1749, after some boyish escapade
of Haydn's, Reutter seized upon the pretext for dis-
charging him.

Haydn was now only in his eighteenth year, and
found himself turned out into the streets of Vienna
on a winter's night, with nothing to call his own ex-
cept his beloved books. He would not go back to his
parents; for, if he did, unless he wefe to become a
mere burden upon them he must given up all idea of a
musical career. Fortunately he found a friend in
need, in the person of another poor musician ; and with
his help, and a share in his wretched garret, Haydn
struggled through the winter, gaining a slender pit-
tance by playing the fiddle at balls and entertainments,
and giving music-lessons for miserable pay. At last he
enlisted the sympathies of a good-natured tradesman
of the name of Buchholz, who lent him 150 florins;
and with this sum, which seemed to him a fortune,
Haydn made a start.

He was able to hire a room to himself — only an
attic, but in the same house where dwelt the Italian
poet Metastasio, who became interested in him and in-
troduced him to Porpora, the most eminent master of
singing of his time, and from this day Haydn's for-
tunes began to mend. Porpora was a surly old fellow,
and at first little inclined to bestow any attention upon
Haydn. Indeed, it was only when he found that the

ii6 GREAT COMPOSERS

young enthusiast was ready to perform the most
menial offices for an occasional crumb of instruction,
that he treated him kindly and gave him a few regular
lessons in composition. This episode in Haydn's life
is introduced in a charming manner by George Sand
in her romance "Consuelo," the "best story of artistic
life that has ever been written."

Haydn was now in the way of obtaining more profit-
able introductions, and by the time he was five-and-
twenty he was to be seen at some of the best houses
in Vienna in the capacity of accompanist at musical
soirees. For his services he received a small sum
and a meal at the servants' table. Music was at this
time the fashionable craze at Vienna, and a private
concert the form of entertainment most affected; but
the social position of the artist was that of an upper
servant. However, at these houses Haydn made the ac-
quaintance of musicians — among others of Gluck, who
had been attracted by his performances; and after a
time he found that his position not only enabled him
to obtain what seemed to him magnificent payment
for his lessons, but also — and this was a matter nearer
his heart — to induce publishers to accept his composi-
tions. Slowly but surely his genius raised him above
the level of his fellows, and influential people began
to interest themselves in him; the happy result of all
being an appointment (in 1759) as kapellmeister, or
master of music, in the establishment of a wealthy
Bohemian noble. Count Morzin.

Connected with Haydn's early years in Vienna is
the unhappy story of his first love. Its object was a
beautiful girl who was his pupil; but she, unfortu-
nately for Haydn, did not in any way reciprocate his

GREAT COMPOSERS 117

affection, and was bent upon a life in a cloister. She
was the younger of two sisters, and her father, de-
termined to secure this young genius as his son-in-law,
spared no effort to induce Haydn tp turn his attention
to the scornful lady's elder sister. Haydn, in an evil
moment, consented to marry the elder girl, a decision
of which he bitterly repented when it was too late.
Her slight infatuation for him soon wore off, and her
nature was wholly ill-suited to his. After some years
of domestic wretchedness spent with this woman —
with whom no sympathy was possible, and to whom,
as he said, it was all the same whether he were an artist
or a cobbler — Haydn made an arrangement which vir-
tually amounted to a formal separation.

Soon after Haydn's marriage, which took place in
November, 1760, the Morzin household was broken
up, but the Count found his protege another post, that
of kapellmeister to Prince Anton Esterhazy, the repre-
sentative of one of the oldest and noblest Hungarian
families. Prince Anton died about a year after the
appointment was made, and was succeeded by the
Prince Nicolaus Esterhazy, whose lavish patronage of
the arts has made his name famous.

Now began for Haydn that prolific period — more
than thirty years — of restful and congenial happiness
to which the musical world owes so much. Many
of his best symphonies, several small operas, much
Church music and a mass of chamber music of every
description, were the outcome of his activity during
this time. Add to this his duties as sole controller of
a large orchestra, manager of all the concerts, and in-
structor of the vocalists, and we may well believe that
his time never lay heavy on his hands; albeit the Hfe

ii8 GREAT COMPOSERS

at Eisenstadt and Esterhaz, his patron's two seats,
was sometimes irksome to him from its very quiet.
Haydn was very loyal to his patron, and refused more
than one proposal that he should throw up his post
and accept lucrative concert engagements; for his
compositions liad come by this time to be widely known
and admired. Whatever irksomeness he may have felt
in his life of service to the Prince vanished when he
was asked to leave him. "My dearest wish," he wrote
to a friend, "is to live and die with him."

The original form of agreement between Haydn and
Prince Esterhazy gives us an idea of the position held
in such a household by the kapellmeister, at a time
when the artist was the dependent of the great man,
and, as often as not, on a social level very little higher
than that of a lackey. "The said Joseph Haydn," runs
one clause, "shall be considered and treated as a mem-
ber of the household. Therefore his Serene Highness
is graciously pleased to place confidence in his con-
ducting himself as becomes an honorable official of a
princely house." He is "to appear in the antechamber
daily, and inquire whether his highness is pleased to
order a performance of the orchestra." It is also en-
joined upon him that he is "to abstain from undue
familiarity, and from vulgarity in eating, drinking and
conversation; not dispensing with the respect due to
him, but acting uprightly and influencing his subordi-
nates to preserve such harmony as is becoming in them,
remembering how displeasing the consequences of any
discord or dispute would be to his Serene Highness."

In common with his orchestra, Haydn wore a pre-
scribed dress; and it is specially noted in his instruc-
tions that, when playing before company, all the per-

GREAT COMPOSERS 119

formers are to appear "in white stockings, white linen,
powdered, and either with a pigtail or a tie-wig." For
his services Haydn received 400 florins (about $200)
annually, and his board at the "officers' table." This
salary was eventually almost doubled by the Prince's
generosity.

Haydn*s works were now selling well, and his repu-
tation had spread far beyond the narrow sphere to
which his duties were confined. His musical methods
were much discussed ; for while the beauty of his work
was freely admitted, evidences of unusual power were
recognized in its unconventionality. A Viennese jour-
nal of the year 1766, in a notice of various prominent
musicians, speaks of "Herr Joseph Haydn, our nation's
favorite, whose geniality speaks through all his work.
His music has beauty, style, purity, and a delicate and
noble simplicity which commends it to every hearer."

Till he was fifty-nine Haydn remained faithful to
his post with the Prince at Eisenstadt, in Vienna, and
at Esterhaz — the miniature Versailles built by the
Prince on the banks of the Neusiedler See. The re-
tirement in which much of his life was spent, rather
than any unusual rapidity of composition, explains
the remarkable number of Haydn's works. In the
symphonic form alone he completed sixty-three works
during this period. The extent of his industry will
appear if we realize that he found time for original
work without any neglect of his official duties, com-
prising the complete arrangement of the daily music,
two operatic performances and two or three concerts
weekly, besides fetes given in honor of distinguished
visitors.

On September 28, 1790, Prince Nicolaus died — a

I20 GREAT COMPOSERS

great loss for Haydn, who really loved him. He left
his kapellmeister, on condition of his retaining the
title, an annual pension of looo florins, as a mark of
esteem and affection. To this sum his successor,
Prince Anton, added another 400 florins, but deprived
Haydn of his occupation by dismissing the whole
chapel, except the few members necessary to
keep up the services in church. Haydn now fixed his
abode in Vienna, but had hardly done so before Johann
Peter Salomon, a German-English musician, appeared
on the scene. He had heard of the Prince's death at
Cologne, on his way to England, and immediately re-
turned, hoping, now that Haydn was free, to persuade
him to visit London. Haydn gave way and began to
make preparations for the journey. His last hours in
Vienna were enlivened by the company of Mozart,
who had come to see him off.

Leaving Vienna on December 15, 1790, Haydn and
Salomon proceeded to London. Haydn first put up
at the house of Bland, the music-seller, but soon re-
moved to rooms prepared for him at Salomon's. Here
he found himself the object of every species of atten-
tion; ambassadors and noblemen called on him, invi-
tations poured in from all quarters, and he was sur-
rounded by a circle of the most distinguished artists.
All the musical societies eagerly desired his presence
at their meetings. His quartets and symphonies were
performed and he was enthusiastically noticed in all
the newspapers.

Before leaving Vienna Salomon had announced his
subscription concerts in the "Morning Chronicle," for
which Haydn was engaged to compose six symphonies,
and conduct them at the pianoforte. The first of the

GREAT COMPOSERS 121

series took place on March 11, 1791, in the Hanover
Square Rooms. The orchestra, led by Salomon, con-
sisted of 35 or 40 performers. The "Morning
Chronicle" gave an animated description of the con-
cert, the success of which was most brilliant, and in-
sured that of the whole series.

About this time Haydn was invited to the annual
dinner of the Royal Society of Musicians, and com-
posed for the occasion a march for orchestra, the auto-
graph of which is still preserved by the society. He
also attended the Handel Commemoration in West-
minster Abbey. He had a good place near the King's
box, and never having heard any performance on so
grand a scale, was immensely impressed. When the
"Hallelujah Chorus" rang through the nave, and the
whole audience rose to their feet, he wept like a child,
exclaiming, "He is the master of us all."

In the first week of July he went to the Oxford
Commemoration, for the honorary degree of Doctor of
Music, conferred at Dr. Bumey's suggestion. Three
grand concerts formed an important feature of the en-
tertainments ; at the second of these the "Oxford"
symphony was performed, Haydn giving the tempi at
the organ ; and at the third he appeared in his doctor's
gown, amid enthusiastic applause. He sent the Uni-
versity as his "exercise" a composition afterward used
for the first of the "Ten Commandments," the whole
of which he set to canons during his stay in London.

Haydn was in great request at concerts, and
at these many of his own compositions were
performed, some of them being "received with an
ecstasy of admiration." The concerts over, he made
excursions to Windsor Castle, Ascot Races, and

122 GREAT COMPOSERS

Slough, where he stayed with Herschel, of whose do-
mestic life he gives a particular description in his
diary. The only son, afterward Sir John Herschel,
was then a few months old. He went also to the
meeting of the Charity Children in St. Paul's Cathe-
dral, and was deeply moved by the singing. "I was
more touched," says he in his diary, **by this innocent
and reverent music than by any I ever heard in my
life."

During his absence his wife had had the offer of a
small house and garden in the suburbs of Vienna
(Windmiihle, 73 Kleine Steingasse, now 19 Haydn-
gasse), and she wrote asking him to send her the
money for it, as it would be just the house for her
when she became a widow. He did not send the
money, but on his return to Vienna bought it, added
a story, and lived there from January, 1797, till his
death.

Haydn left London toward the end of June, 1792,
and reached Vienna at the end of July. His reception
was enthusiastic, and all were eager to hear his Lon-
don symphonies. In December, 1792, Beethoven came
to him for instruction, and continued to take lessons
until Haydn's second journey to England. The rela-
tions of these two great men have been much misrep-
resented. That Haydn had not in any way forfeited
Beethoven's respect is evident, as he spoke highly of
him whenever opportunity offered, usually chose one
of Haydn's themes when improvising in public, scored
one of his quartets for his own use, and carefully pre-
served the autograph of one of the English symphonies.
But whatever Beethoven's early feeling may have
been, all doubts as to his latest sentiments are set at

GREAT COMPOSERS 123

rest by his exclamation on his deathbed on seeing a
view of Haydn's birthplace, sent to him by Diabelli:
"To think that so great a man should have been bom
in a common peasant's cottage !**

Again invited by Salomon, under special stipulation,
to compose six new symphonies, Haydn started on his
second journey on January 19, 1794, and arrived in
London on February 4. Playdn's engagement with
Salomon bound him to compose and conduct six fresh
symphonies; and besides these, the former set was
repeated.

Among the numerous violinists then in London we
must not omit Giardini. Though nearly eighty years
of age, he produced an oratorio, "Ruth," at Ranelagh,
and even played a concerto. His temper was fright-
ful, and he showed a particular spite against Haydn,
even remarking within his hearing, when urged to
call upon him, "I don't want to see the German dog."
Haydn retorted by writing in his diary, after hearing
him play, "Giardini played like a pig."

After the exertions of the season Haydn sought re-
freshment in the country. An anecdote of this time
shows the humor which was so native to him, and so
often pervades his compositions. He composed an ap-
parently easy sonata for pianoforte and violin, called
it "Jacob's Dream," and sent it anonymously to an
amateur who professed himself addicted to the ex-
treme upper notes of the violin. The unfortunate per-
former was delighted with the opening; here was a
composer who thoroughly understood the instrument!
but as he found himself compelled to mount the lad-
der higher and higher, without any chance of coming
down again, the perspiration burst out upon his fore-

124 GREAT COMPOSERS

head, and he exclaimed, "What sort of composition
do you call this ? The man knows nothing whatever of
the violin !"

During the latter months of his stay in London
Haydn was much distinguished by the court. At a
concert at York House the programme consisted en-
tirely of his compositions, he presided at the pianoforte,
and Salomon was leader. The King and Queen, the
princesses, the Prince of Wales, and the Dukes of
Clarence and Gloucester were present, and the Prince
of Wales presented Haydn to the King, who, in spite
of his almost exclusive preference for Handel, ex-
pressed great interest in the music, and presented the
composer to the Queen, who begged him to sing some
of his own songs. He was also repeatedly invited to
the Queen's concerts at Buckingham House; and both
King and Queen expressed a wish that he should re-
main in England and spend the summer at Windsor.
Haydn replied that he felt bound not to desert Prince
Esterhazy, and was not inclined entirely to forsake
his own country. As a particular mark of esteem the
Queen presented him with a copy of the score of
Handel's Passion Music to Brockes's words.

The second visit to London was a brilliant success.
He returned from it with increased powers, unlimited
fame, and a competence for life. By concerts, lessons,
and symphonies, not counting his other compositions,
he had again — as before — made £1200, enough to re-
lieve him from all anxiety for the future. He often
said afterward that it was not till he had been in Eng-
land that he became famous in Germany, by which he
meant that though his reputation was high at home,
the English first gave him homage and liberal reward.

GREAT COMPOSERS 125

Haydn left London August 15, 1795, for Vienna.
Soon after his return a pleasant surprise awaited him.
He was taken by Count Harrach and a genial party
of noblemen and gentlemen, first to a small peninsula
formed by the Leitha in a park near Rohrau, where he
found a monument and bust of himself, and next to his
birthplace. Overcome by his feelings, on entering the
humble abode Haydn stooped down and kissed the
threshold, and then, pointing to the stove, told the com-
pany that it was on that very spot that his career
as a musician began. On December 18 he gave a con-
cert in the small Redoutensaal, at which three of his
London symphonies were performed, and Beethoven
played either his first or second clavier concerto.

Haydn had often envied the English their "God save
the King," and the war with France having quickened
.his desire to provide the people with an adequate ex-
pression of their fidelity to the throne, he determined
to compose a national anthem for Austria. Hence arose
"Gott erhalte Franz den Kaiser," the most popular of
all his Lieder. Haydn's friend, Freiherr van Swieten,
suggested the idea to the Prime Minister, Graf von
Saurau, and the poet Haschka was commissioned to
write the words, which Haydn set in January, 1797.
On the Emperor's birthday, Febniary 12, the air was
sung simultaneously at the National Theater in Vienna,
and at all the principal theaters in the provinces. This
strain, almost sublime in its simplicity, and so devo-
tional in its character that it is used as a hymn-tune,
faithfully reflects Haydn's feelings toward his
sovereign. It was his favorite work, and toward the
close of his life he often consoled himself by playing it
with great expression.

126 GREAT COMPOSERS

High as his reputation already was, it had not
reached its culminating point. This was attained by
two works of his old age, "The Creation" and "The
Seasons." Shortly before his departure from London,
Salomon offered him a poem for music, which had
been compiled by Lidley from Milton's "Paradise
Lost" before the death of Handel, but not used. Haydn
took it to Vienna, and when Freiherr van Swieten sug-
gested his composing an oratorio, he handed him the
poem. Van Swieten translated it with considerable
alterations, and a sum of 500 ducats was guaranteed
by twelve of the principal nobility. Haydn set to
work with the greatest ardor. "Never was I so pious,"
he says, "as when composing The Creation.' I knelt
down every day and prayed God to strengthen me
for my work." It was first given in private at the
Schwarzenberg palace, on the 29th and 30th of April,
1798; and in public on Haydn's name-day, March 19,
1799, at the National Theater. The noblemen previ-
ously mentioned paid the expenses, and handed over
to Haydn the entire proceeds, amounting to 4000.
florins (about $1600). The impression it produced
was extraordinary; the whole audience was deeply
moved, and Haydn confessed that he could not de-
scribe his sensations. "One moment," he said, "I was
as cold as ice, the next I seemed on fire. More than
once I was afraid I should have a stroke." Once only
he conducted it outside Vienna — March 9, 1800, at a
grand performance in the palace at Ofen before the
Archduke Palatine Joseph of Hungary. No sooner
was the score engraved ( 1800) than "The Creation"
was performed everywhere. Choral societies were
founded for the express purpose, and its popularity

GREAT COMPOSERS 127

was for long equaled only by that of "The Messiah."
As soon as **The Creation" was finished, Van Swie-
ten persuaded Haydn to begin another oratorio, which
he had adapted from Thomson's "Seasons." He
consented to the proposition with reluctance, on the
ground that his powers were failing; but he began,
and in spite of his objections to certain passages as
unsuited to music, the work as a whole interested him
much, and was speedily completed. Opinions are now
divided as to the respective value of the two works, but
at the time the success of "The Seasons" fully equaled
that of "The Creation," and even now the youthful
freshness which characterizes it is very striking. The
strain, however, was too great ; as he often said after-
ward, " *The Seasons' gave me the finishing-stroke."
On December 26, 1803, he conducted the "Seven
Words" for the hospital fund at the Redoutensaal, but
it was his last pubHc exertion. In the following year
he was asked to conduct "The Creation" at Eisenstadt,
but declined on the score of weakness; and indeed he
was failing rapidly. His works composed after "The
Seasons" are very few, the chief being some vocal
quartets, on which he set a high value.

Haydn's last years were passed in a continual strug-
gle with the infirmities of age, relieved by occasional
gleams of sunshine. When in a happy mood he would
unlock his cabinet, and exhibit to his intimate friends
the souvenirs, diplomas, and valuables of all kinds
which it contained. He also received visitors, who
cannot have failed to give him pleasure, and who came
to render homage to the old man. Mozart's widow
did not forget her husband's best friend, and her son
Wolfgang, then fourteen, begged his blessing at his

128 GREAT COMPOSERS

first public concert, on April 8, 1805, for which he had
composed a cantata in honor of Haydn's seventy-third
birthday.

After a long seclusion Haydn appeared in public for
the last time at a remarkable performance of "The
Creation" at the University on March 2^, 1808. He
was carried in his armchair to a place among the first
ladies of the land, and received with the warmest
demonstrations of welcome. Salieri conducted. At
the words "And there was light" Haydn was quite
overcome, and pointing upward exclaimed, "It came
from thence." As the performance went on his agita-
tion became extreme, and it was thought better to take
him home after the first part. As he was carried out
people of the highest rank thronged to take leave of
him, and Beethoven fervently kissed his hand and
forehead. At the door he paused, and turning round
lifted up his hands as if in the act of blessing.

To one who loved his country so deeply, it was a
sore trial to see Vienna twice occupied by the enemy —
in 1805 and 1809. The second time the city was bom-
barded, and the first shot fell not far from his resi-
dence. In his infirm condition this alarmed him
greatly, but he called out to his servants, "Children,
don't be frightened ; no harm can happen to you while
Haydn is by." The last visit he received on his death-
bed (the city being then in the occupation of the
French) was from a French officer, who sang "In na-
tive worth" with a depth of expression doubtless in-
spired by the occasion. Haydn was much moved, and
embraced him wannly at parting. On May 26, 1809,
he called his servants round him for the last time, and
having been carried to the piano solemnly played the

GREAT COMPOSERS 129

Emperor's Hymn three times over. Five days after-
ward, at one o'clock in the morning of the 31st, he ex-
pired. As soon as his death was known, funeral
services were held in all the principal cities of Europe.

On June 15 Mozart's "Requiem" was performed in
his honor at the Schottenkirche. Among the mourners
were many French officers of high rank; and the
guard of honor round the catafalque was composed of
French soldiers and a detachment of the Burgerwehr.
He was buried in the Hundsthurm churchyard, out-
side the lines, close to the suburb in which he lived, but
his remains were exhumed by command of Prince
Esterhazy, and solemnly reinterred in the upper parish
church at Eisenstadt on November 7, 1820. A simple
stone with a Latin inscription is inserted in the wall
over the vault — to inform the passerby that a great
man rests below.

It is a well-known fact that when the coffin was
opened for identification before the removal, the skull
was missing; it had been stolen two days after the
funeral. The one which was afterward sent to the
Prince anonymously as Haydn's was buried with
the other remains; but the real one was retained in
the possession of the family of a celebrated physician.

During his latter years Haydn was made an hon-
orary member of many institutions, from several of
which he also received gold medals. Poems without
end were written in his praise; and equally numerous
were the portraits, in chalk or oils, engraved, and
modeled in wax. Of the many busts the best is that
by his friend Grassy.

A few remarks on Haydn's personal and mental
characteristics, and on his position in the history of

I30 GREAT COMPOSERS

art, will conclude our sketch. We learn from his
contemporaries that he was below the middle height,
with legs disproportionately short. His features were
tolerably regular; his expression, slightly stem in re-
pose, invariably softened in conversation. His aquiline
nose was latterly much disfigured by a polypus; and
his face deeply pitted by smallpox. His complexion
was very dark. His dark gray eyes beamed with
benevolence ; and he used to say himself, "Any one can
see by the look of me that I am a good-natured sort
of fellow." The impression given by his countenance
and bearing was that of an earnest, dignified man, per-
haps a little overprecise. Though fond of a joke, he
never indulged in immoderate laughter. His broad
and well- formed forehead was partly concealed by a
wig with side-curls and a pigtail, which he wore to the
end of his days. A prominent and slightly coarse
under-lip, with a massive jaw, completed this singular
union of so much that was attractive and repelling, in-
tellectual and vulgar. He always considered himself
an ugly man, and could not understand how so many
handsome women fell in love with him. "At any
rate," he used to say, "they were not tempted by my
beauty," though he admitted that he liked looking at a
pretty woman, and was never at a loss for a compli-
ment.

He habitually spoke in the broad Austrian dialect,
but could express himself fluently in Italian, and with
some difficulty in French. He studied English when in
London, and in the country would often take his gram-
mar into the woods. He was also fond of introducing
English phrases into his diary. He knew enough
Latin to read Fux's "Gradus," and to set the Church

%

GREAT COMPOSERS 131

services. Though he lived so long in Hungary, he
never learned the vernacular, which was only used by
the servants among themselves, the Esterhazy family
always speaking German. His love of fun sometimes
carried him away; as he remarked to Dies, "A mis-
chievous fit comes over one sometimes that is perfectly
beyond control." At the same time he was sensitive,
and when provoked by a bad return for his kindness
could be very sarcastic. With all his modesty he was
aware of his own merits, and liked to be appreciated,
but flattery he never permitted. Like a true man of
genius, he enjoyed honor and fame, but carefully
avoided ambition.

He has often been reproached with cringing to his
superiors, but it should not be forgotten that a man
who was in daily intercourse with people of the high-
est rank would have no difficulty in drawing the line
between respect and subservience. That he was quite
capable of defending his dignity as an artist is proved
by the following occurrence. Prince Nicolaus (the
second of the name) being present at a rehearsal, and
expressing disapprobation, Haydn at once interposed —
"Your Highness, all that is my business." He was
very fond of children, and they in return loved "Papa
Haydn" with all their hearts. He never forgot a
benefit, though his kindness to his many needy rela-
tions often met with a poor return. The "chapel"
looked up to him as a father, and when occasion arose
he was an unwearied intercessor on their behalf with
the Prince. Young men of talent found in him a gen-
erous friend, always ready to aid them with advice and
substantial help. His intercourse with Mozart was a
striking example of his readiness to acknowledge the

132 GREAT COMPOSERS

merits of others. He was the first to recognize the
genius of Mozart, whom he warmly loved, and whose
death he bitterly lamented. Throughout life he was
distinguished by industry and method; he maintained
a strict daily routine, and never sat down to work or
received a visit until he was fully dressed. This cus-
tom he kept up long after he was too old to leave the
house. His uniform, which the Prince was continually
changing in style, he wore only when at his post.

He was a devout Christian, and attended strictly to
his religious duties. His genius he looked on as a gift
from above, for which he was bound to be thankful.
This feeling dictated the inscriptions on all his scores,
large and small : **In nomine Domini" at the beginning,
and "Laus Deo" at the end.

He sketched all his compositions at the piano — a
dangerous proceeding, often leading to fragmentari-
ness of style. When an idea struck him he sketched it
out in a few notes and figures ; this would be his morn-
ing's work; in the afternoon he would enlarge this
sketch, elaborating it according to rule, but taking
pains to preserve the unity of the idea. "That is
where so many young composers fail," he says ; *'they
string together a number of fragments ; they break off
almost as soon as they have begun ; and so at the end
the listener carries away no definite impression." He
also objected to composers not learning to sing: "Sing-
ing is almost one of the forgotten arts, and that is why
the instruments are allowed to overpower the voices."
The subject of melody he regarded very seriously. "It
is the air which is the charm of music," he said, "and
it is that which is most difficult to produce. The in-
vention of a fine melody is a work of genius."

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GREAT COMPOSERS 133

Like many other creative artists, Haydn disliked
estheticism, and all mere talk about art. He had
always a bad word for the critics with their "sharp-
pointed pens," especially those of Berlin, who used
him very badly in early life. He had, of course, plenty
of detractors, among others Kozeluch arid Kreibig,
who represented him to the Emperor Joseph H as a
mere mountebank. Even after he had met with due
recognition abroad he was accused of trying to found
a new school, though his compositions were at the same
time condemned as for the most part hasty, trivial, and
extravagant. He sums up his own opinion of his
works in these words: "Sunt mala mixta bonis; some
of my children are well-bred, some ill-bred, and here
and there there is a changeling among them." He was
perfectly aware of how much he had done for the
progress of art. "I know," he said, "that God has be-
stowed a talent upon me, and I thank him for it; I
think I have done my duty, and been of use in my
generation by my works ; let others do the same."

Haydn's position in the history of music is of the
first importance. When we consider the poor condi-
tion in which he found certain important departments
of music, and, on the other hand, the vast fields which
he opened to his successors, it is impossible to overrate
his creative powers. Justly called the father of in-
strumental music, there is scarcely a department
throughout its whole range in which he did not make
his influence strongly felt. Starting from Karl
Philipp Emanuel Bach, he appears forced in be-
tween Mozart and Beethoven. All his works are char-
acterized by lucidity, perfect finish, studied modera-
tion, avoidance of meaningless phrases, firmness of

134 GREAT COMPOSERS

design, and richness of development. The subjects
principal and secondary, down to the smallest episodes,
are thoroughly connected, and the whole conveys the
impression of being cast in one mold. We admire his
inexhaustible invention as shown in the originality of
his themes and melodies; the life and spontaneity of
the ideas ; the clearness which makes his compositions
as interesting to the amateur as to the artist ; the child-
like cheerfulness and drollery which charm away
trouble and care.

Of the symphony he may be said with truth to have
enlarged its sphere, stereotyped its form, enriched and
developed its capacities with the versatility of true
genius. His later symphonies have completely ban-
ished those of his predecessors. The quartet he also
brought to its greatest perfection. The life and fresh-
ness, the cheerfulness and geniality which give the
peculiar stamp to these compositions at once secured
their universal acceptance. "It was from Haydn,"
said Mozart, "that I first learned the true way to com-
pose quartets." Haydn's symphonies encouraged the
formation of numerous amateur orchestras; while his
quartets became an unfailing source of elevated pleas-
ure in family circles, and thus raised the general
standard of musical cultivation. Haydn also left his
mark on the sonata. His compositions of this kind
exhibit the same vitality, and the same individual
treatment; indeed in some of them he seems to step
beyond Mozart into the Beethoven period.

His first collections of songs were written to trivial
words, and can only be used for social amusement ;
but the later series, especially the canzonets, rank far
higher, and many of them have survived, and are still

^

GREAT COMPOSERS 13S

heard with delight, in spite of the progress in this par-
ticular branch of composition since his day. His
canons — some serious and dignified, others overflow-
ing with fun — strikingly exhibit his power of combi-
nation. His three-part and four-part songs are ex-
cellent compositions, and still retain their power of
arousing either devotional feeling or mirth.

His larger masses are a series of masterpieces, ad-
mirable for freshness of invention, breadth of design,
and richness of development, both in the voice-parts
and the instruments. The cheerfulness which per-
vades them does not arise from frivolity, but rather
from the joy of a heart devoted to God, and trusting
all things to a Father's care. He told Carpani that "at
the thought of God his heart leaped for joy, and he
could not help his music doing the same.'* And to this
day, difficult as it may seem to reconcile the fact with
the true dignity of Church music, Haydn's masses and
offertories are executed more frequently than any
others in the Catholic churches of Germany.

Frequent performances of his celebrated oratorios
have familiarized every one with the charm and fresh-
ness of his melody, and his expressive treatment of the
voices, which are invariably supported without being
overpowered by refined and brilliant orchestration. In
these points none of his predecessors approached him.

When we consider what Haydn did for music, and
what his feelings with regard to it were — the willing
service he rendered to art, and his delight in minister-
ing to the happiness of others — we cannot but express
our love and veneration, and exclaim with gratitude,
''Heaven endowed him with genius — he is one of the
immortals."

MOZART

(1756-1791)

WOLFGANG AHADEUS MOZART
I

' I 'HE extraordinary precocity of Mozart's genius has
■^ passed into a commonplace of biographers; but
there is nothing, even among the anecdotes told of his
early feats, that impresses tliis so vividly upon the
mind as does the sight of the little manuscript music-
book preserved in the Mozart Museum at Salzburg,
Austria. Its first few pages are filled with minuets and
trios by various composers. At the end of one of these
Mozart's father has written; "The preceding minuets
were learned by my little Wolfgang in his fourth
year"; and further on: "This minuet and trio Wolf-
gang learned in half an hour, on the day before his
fifth birthday"; while a few pages later we come to
a short piece of music, complete and workmanlike in
form, against which is written : "By Wolfgang Mozart,
nth May, 1762," i.e., when he was just six years
old.

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, as he preferred to style
himself,* was born January 27. 1756, at Salzburg, His
father, a musician of considerable repute in his day,
held for a time the post of master of court music,
which he resigned in order more completely to devote

" He was christened Johannes Chrysostomus Wolfgangus
Thcophilus. Instead of Theophilus his father wrote Gottlieb
—in Latin, Amadeus.

I40 GREAT COMPOSERS

himself to his family, and especially to the training of
the young Wolfgang. One hardly knows whether to be
more astonished at the rapidity with which the boy's
musical sense developed or at the ease with which he
overcame every difficulty connected with the art. Be-
fore he was four years old he used to try to imitate
upon the harpsichord everything he heard his sister
play; and when his father began to teach him some
minuets, he found to his surprise that half an hour's
instruction was all the little prodigy needed for each.
Before he was six he composed music — sonatas and a
concerto — for the harpsichord, and in his seventh year
one or two small sonatas of his were published. He
seems scarcely to have needed any teaching in the use
of the violin, but to have been able to play it by a kind
of intuition. It was as though a knowledge of music
had come to him, as the enthusiastic Italians after-
ward declared his operas must have come, "from the
stars, ready-made." Like most musicians, he had as a
boy a taste for mathematics.

We have it on the authority of an intimate friend
of the elder Mozart that the ordinary games of children
had but little attraction for Wolfgang unless accom-
panied by music. "If his playthings were to be moved
from one room to another, the one who went empty-
handed must sing or play a march on the violin all the
time." Though very happy in these early years, he
often appeared (as his father afterward wrote to him)
rather earnest than childlike, at any rate when music
was concerned. When he sat at the harpsichord or was
otherwise busied with music, no one ventured to jest
with him. Indeed, some fear was felt for his health,
so serious and thoughtful did he sometimes appear

GREAT COMPOSERS 141

beyond his years. Many and astonishing are the stories
told of the wonders performed by this baby virtuoso,
all serving to emphasize a precocity which becomes the
more remarkable when we remember how amply Mo-
zart's later years fulfilled the promise of the first,
instead of adding another to the many instances of a
brilliant youth followed by a lapse into mediocrity.

But, with all this, Mozart was no hotbed plant.
Though, when it was a question of his beloved music,
he could be so serious, he was a thoroughly boyish
boy, with a nature bright and lovable. He was
blessed with a keen sense of fun, as appears throughout
his letters, and a happy contentment which rendered
him very attractive, while nothing in his character, all
his life long, is more delightful than his unaffected
simplicity and his modesty.

When the boy was six years old, his father, full of
wonder and gratitude for his son's gifts, determined
to take him to Vienna, where music was in high favor
with the court. He used to relate how at one point in
the journey, when a custom-house examination of the
luggage promised a tedious delay, the little Wolfgang
at once made up to the customs officer and began to
play to him on his violin, thereby so charming the
official heart that the examination was but slightly
insisted on. In Vienna the Emperor and Empress,
both accomplished musicians, received the Mozarts
very kindly, and could not do too much to show their
admiration for the wonderful boy. With such patron-
age as this, he was naturally feted everywhere. He
was allowed to join the young princesses in their
games, and soon became quite at home with them.
Marie Antoinette, the ill-fated future Queen of France,

142 GREAT COMPOSERS

was his special favorite. She had, in the first days of
their acquaintance, helped him up from a fall on the
polished floors; whereupon he had gravely said to her:
'* You are good ; some day I will marry you."

The following year (1763) the Mozarts went to
Paris. At a concert they gave on the way, at Frank-
fort-on-the-Main, Goethe was among the audience that
listened to Wolfgang's playing. As the poet afterward
told a friend, he was about fourteen years old himself
at the time, and "could still distinctly remember the
little man with his wig and sword."

At the court of Versailles another kind reception
awaited the Mozarts, and the royal favor was of no
small service in directing public attention to their con-
certs. Evidence regarding the impression produced by
the boy*s playing is found in the following extract from
a notice of one of his concerts, printed in the "Avant-
coureur," a leading Paris newspaper, of March 5, 1764.
"This boy, who is only seven this month, is a true
prodigy. He has all the talent and science of a mature
musician. Not only does he give surprising perform-
ances of the works of the most celebrated masters in
Europe, but he is also a composer. Guided by the in-
spiration of his genius he will improvise, for hours
together, music which combines the most exquisite
ideas with an exhaustive knowledge of harmony.
Every musical connoisseur is lost in amazement at the
child, who performs feats such as would do credit to
an artist possessed of the experience of a long career."
It was while Mozart was in Paris that his first com-
positions — four sonatas for the harpsichord — were
published.

Warm as had been Mozart's welcome to the French

GREAT COMPOSERS 143

capital, it was surpassed by the enthusiasm of which he
was the object a month or two later in London. Four
days after his arrival in England he was invited with
his father to Buckingham Palace, and had the honor
of playing for three hours to the King and Queen.
"We could not have supposed," wrote the father in
naive fashion, "from their friendly manner that they
were the King and Queen of England. We have met
with extraordinary kindness at every court, but what
we have experienced here surpasses all the rest."
Brilliant success attended the first London concert,
and the boy*s performances aroused an altogether un-
usual amount of interest. It was at this time that he
made his first essay in the composition of symphonies
for the orchestra — and this before he was nine years
old ! These symphonies, though naturally immature in
style, give evidence of a remarkable sense of musical
form and discrimination in the use of the various in-
strtunents.

A tour through Holland, France, and Switzerland
brought the Mozarts home again to Salzburg. In spite
of all his triumphs, Wolfgang happily had lost none of
his naturalness of disposition. His delight at getting
home was unbounded; and when he was not occupied
with his music the little genius would romp with his
sister and tease the family cat in the most childish
manner.

He had still to win his spurs in Italy, the seal of
Italian approval being at that time almost indispensable
to a musician. Accordingly in the winter of 1769
father and son set oflF once more on their travels,
bound this time for the south. Through the good
offices of some admiring patrons Mozart's reputation

144 GREAT COMPOSERS

had preceded him, and concerts given at Milan, Verona,
and Florence more than confirmed it. In Milan
especially his performances created unwonted excite-
ment, and at the age of fourteen he received a com-
mission to write an opera to be produced in this city.
In Rome, Naples — in short, wherever he went — ^he was
received with the same enthusiasm.

One of his first visits in Rome was to the Sistine
Chapel, in Passion Week, to hear the famous
"Miserere" of Allegri, the music of which was so
jealously guarded that the members of the choir were
threatened with excommunication should they dare to
copy or convey out of the chapel any portion of it.
After a first hearing of the "Miserere," Mozart went
home ana wrote down the whole from memory; and
after being present at a repetition of it on Good Friday
was able to correct the few mistakes he had made.
This marvelous tour de force attracted much attention,
and luckily inspired more admiration than resentment
at the Vatican. A month or two later he was granted
an audience by the Pope, who decorated him with the
cross of an order to which the composer Gluck had a
short time before been admitted. "He has a splendid
golden cross to wear," wrote his proud father, "and
you can imagine how amused I am every time I hear
him called 'Signor Cavaliere* !" For a while his new
dignity tickled Wolfgang's fancy, and on the title-pages
of his compositions he would write, half in fun, "Del
Sign. Cavaliere W. A. Mozart"; but after a year we
hear no more of it.

The following characteristic letter written from
Rome by the "Sign. Cavaliere" to his sister, shows
that success and honor had not changed him :

GREAT COMPOSERS 145

"I am well, thank Heaven, and fortunate in every-
thing except this wretched pen, and send a thousand
kisses to you and to our mother. I wish you were in
Rome; you would like it. Papa says I am ridiculous,
but that is nothing new ! Here we have but one bed,
and you can understand that when Papa is in it there
is not much room left for me. I shall be glad when
we get into new quarters. I have just finished draw-
ing St. Peter with his keys and St. Paul with his
sword. I have had the honor of kissing St. Peter's toe,
but because I am too small to reach it, they had to lift
me up. Your same old

Wolfgang.^

At the end of the year the travelers returned to
Milan, and Mozart set to work upon an opera, **Mitri-
date.*' In a letter to his mother he writes; •*! cannot
work for long at a time, for my fingers ache with
writing so much recitative. I beg Mamma to pray for
me that it may go well with the opera." The work
was finished in two months, and on its completion
Leopold Mozart wrote to his wife: "As far as I can
say without a father's partiality, it seems to me that
Wolfgang has written the opera well, and with much
spirit. The singers are good. It is now only a ques-
tion of the orchestra and, finally, of the caprice of the
audience. Consequently much depends on good luck,
as in a lottery." The result was a striking success. At
the first representation, which Mozart conducted, the
audience were excited to great enthusiasm, which they
expressed in shouts of "Evviva il Maestro! Evviva il
Maestrino!" One of the arias was encored, a great
and unusual compliment in those days.

146 GREAT COMPOSERS

The Italian tour was followed, after an interval of
four years, by a third visit to Paris, on which occasion
Leopold Mozart remained at Salzburg, while Wolf-
gang was accompanied by his mother. During the in-
tervening years he had worked hard, the result being
the composition of several symphonies, concertos, and
masses, together with a variety of chamber music. His
arrival in Paris was deferred by several circumstances.
In the first place there were his successes en route at
Munich and Mannheim, which he represented to his
father as ostensible reasons for the delay; but there
was a still more powerful agent at work in the shape
of an ill-advised attachment which he had formed for
the beautiful daughter of one of his father's penniless
friends in the latter city. Leopold Mozart's letters to
his son, when he realized the true state of aflfairs, were
full of the greatest kindness as well as the soundest
common sense; and it was not in vain that he pointed
out to Wolfgang that to allow himself to be drawn
away from his Parisian project would be seriously to
endanger his chances of a brilliant public career. "Off
with you to Paris," he writes, "and that soon ; get the
great folks on your side. *Aut Caesar aut nihil.' The
mere thought of Paris should have preserved you from
all fleeting fancies. From Paris the name and fame
of a man of great talent goes through the whole
world."

Mozart's reception in the French capital was at first
a disappointment to him ; but the altered attitude of
the impressionable Parisians is easily explained if we
reflect that, whereas on his previous visits it was as
a charming boy and a marvelous prodigy that he came,
he was now a young man of two-and-twenty, practi-

GREAT COMPOSERS 147

cally unknown to Paris except by foreign reputation.
Moreover, all Paris was at this time absorbed in the
artistic duel in which the rival musicians Gluck and
Piccinni were engaged.

Mozart's genius, however, soon found its level.
After feeling his way with some lighter compositions,
he induced Legros, the director of the best concerts in
Paris, to produce his new symphony, that in D major.
So unsatisfactory was the performance of it at re-
hearsal that Mozart had not the courage to appear
among the audience on the night of the first public
performance, but crept into the orchestra to be ready,
if necessary, to take the instrument out of the hands
of the first violin and lead the work himself. Happily,
all went well, and the symphony was much applauded.
**I went in my joy at once to the Palais Royal, ate an
excellent ice, said my rosary — which I had promised
to do — ^and went home,'* he wrote to his father. This
symphony was soon afterward followed by another,
with equally gratifying results. His happiness in
Paris was brought to a mournful end by the death of
his mother ; and very soon afterward, when he was on
his way back to Salzburg, he was confronted by an-
other sorrow, this time that of bitter disappointment.
At Mannheim he found his first love, from whom his
heart had never wavered, entirely changed, and now as
cold to him as she had been ardent before. She was at
the height of a brilliant career as a singer, and success
had spoiled her.

It was a sad home-coming, but Mozart had always
his art to comfort him ; and after a year of quiet work
at Salzburg he received, to his great delight, a com-
mission to write an opera for production at Municli.

148 GREAT COMPOSERS

The opera in question, "Idomeneo," was the starting-
point of his career as a great German master; for,
having come under the influence of Gluck's music, he
here laid the foundation of an operatic school destined
to play an important part in the revolutionizing of the
lyric stage.

During the time he lived in Munich, finishing "Ido-
meneo*' and superintending its rehearsal, he had some
hard struggles with poverty. Like most artists, he
possessed a strange inability to keep his money when
he had made it, though — ^again like many artists, to
their credit be it said — it was through his reckless
generosity that he so constantly found himself strait-
ened. Still he was not depressed. "I have only one
small room," he writes from Munich, "and when my
piano, table, bed and chest of drawers have been
squeezed in, there is very little space left for me !"

The success of "Idomeneo" in 1781 was followed,
a year later, by the production at Vienna of an opera,
"Die Entfiihrung aus dem Serail," which has not re-
ceived the attention it deserves considering that high
authorities — including Cluck and Weber — have con-
sidered it to contain much of Mozart's best and most
characteristic work. At its first representation, in
spite of the fact that its methods indicated a distinct
departure from the familiar Italian models, it made a
great impression, and several numbers were encored.
On the Emperor's saying to Mozart on the following
day, half in jest, "Too fine for our ears, my dear
Mozart, and a great deal too many notes," the com-
poser replied, "Exactly as many notes as are neces-
sary, your Majesty."

The same year was marked by Mozart's marriage.

GREAT COMPOSERS 149

By a curious freak of fortune he married the sister of
the disdainful beauty who had inspired his first passion.
Her homelier attractions had at first stood no chance
beside the brilliant charms of her elder sister, but
eventually her sweetness of character won its way
into Mozart's heart. Their short married life was
very happy, in spite of the shifts to which the com-
poser's chronic impecuniosity frequently reduced them.
His concerts were too often artistic instead of finan-
cial successes, and then the shoe pinched. It was under
the strain of anxieties of this description, mainly felt
on his wife's behalf, and from the ceaseless energy of
mind which seemed to be wearing out his body, that
his health began to give way. The amount of work he
crowded into the last eight years of his life would
make it seem as though he had a presentiment that his
time was to be short.

It was in Vienna, shortly after his marriage, that he
first met Haydn, and entered upon that brief but de-
voted friendship which was to Haydn one of his chief
pleasures. After looking through several of Mozart's
compositions, Haydn took the composer's father apart,
and said to him : "I tell you, on the word of an honest
man, that I consider your son to be the greatest com-
poser I have ever known. He has rare taste, and a
most thorough knowledge of composition."

"Le Nozze di Figaro," the "greatest musical comedy"
ever written — a true "dramma giocoso," as Rossini
called it — was produced at Vienna on May i, 1786.
Its reception is described in the "Reminiscences" of
Kelly, the singer, who performed in it. "Never was
anything more complete," he says, "than the triumph
of Mozart and his *Nozze di Figaro.' . . . Even at the

I50 GREAT COMPOSERS

final rehearsal, all present were roused to enthusiasm;
and when Benucci came to the fine passage, *Cheru-
bino, alia vittoria, alia gloria militar!* which he gave
with stentorian lungs, the eflFect was electric. The
whole of the performers on the stage and those in the
orchestra vociferated *Bravo! Bravo Maestro! Viva,
viva! Grande Mozart!* And Mozart? I shall never
forget his little countenance when lighted up with the
glowing rays of genius; it is impossible to describe it,
as it would be to paint sunbeams." Encores became
so frequent that the Emperor had to forbid them ; and
on his saying that he believed that in this he had done
the singers a service, Mozart replied, to the Emperor's
amusement : "Do not believe it, your Majesty ; they all
like to have an encore. I, at least, can certainly say so,
for my part."

**Don Giovanni" followed, in October, 1787; and
"Die Zauberflote" four years afterward, only six
months before Mozart's death. His health was rapidly
giving way — the result of combined anxiety and over-
work — and, though he would never admit that he was
ill, he became a prey to fits of the deepest melancholy.
It was during this period of distress that he composed
his two greatest symphonies — those in G minor and C
major — of which Richard Wagner wrote that in them
"he seemed to breathe into his instruments the passion-
ate tones of the human voice . . . and thus raised the
capacity of orchestral music for expressing the emo-
tions to a height where it could represent the whole
unsatisfied yearning of the heart."

In the summer of 1791 Mozart received a mysterious
commission to compose a "Requiem," on condition that
he made no attempt to discover for whom it was in-

GREAT COMPOSERS 151

tended. He accepted the task, but with an uncon-
querable presentiment that the "Requiem" would also
be his own. The foreboding was only too true. He
never lived to finish it ; indeed he was actually at work
on it when he was seized by the final attack of the ill-
ness which proved fatal to him. At one o'clock on the
morning of December 5, 1791, he died.

Infinitely sad is the epilogue to his life. So poor was
he at the last that his wife could not afford even the
humblest ceremony of funeral ; and though there were
more than enough who, after his death, lamented the
loss of so great a genius, none was found to provide
him with the scant honor of a decent burial. So died
Mozart, if not the greatest, the most brilliant musician
the world has seen; and this man, who had been the
friend of emperors and princes, and a prince himself
in the realm of his art, was allowed to find his last
resting-place in a pauper's grave in the churchyard of
St. Marx at Vienna.

His widow, when she had recovered from the first
shock of grief, went to visit the cemetery; but the
grave-digger was unable to point out to her under
which of the nameless mounds lay all that was mortal
of the great Mozart.

II

Mozart is Mozart by virtue of the exquisite tender-
ness and charm of his nature, which breathes from
every bar of his music. Never has a more delicate
soul been cast upon the tender mercy of a cruel world.
There is something in the childlike freshness of
Mozart's nature, in his beautiful sympathy not only for

152 GREAT COMPOSERS

the nobler aspirations of humanity, but also for its
weaknesses and foibles, which has a pathos that is be-
yond tears. That this man should have been buffeted
through life by boors and hounded at last into a name-
less grave is one of the tragedies of musical history.

Mozart's facility of composition was unequaled, and
the amount of work that he got through during the
thirty-six years of his life was prodigious. We must
remember how much of his music was written when
he was a boy — ^a boy of genius, it is true, but still of an
age when nothing but clever reproduction of the ideas
of others could be expected from him — and that an-
other considerable fraction was produced to order, and
to the order of a man whom he hated. This too may
be conveniently neglected in summing up his life's
work. There remains a body of work of such mar-
velous strength and beauty and exhibiting such varied
gifts that the world is still in doubt as to whether
Mozart is greatest in orchestral or chamber music, in
sacred music or in opera. One thing is certain, that
the composer of the six quartets dedicated to Haydn,
the symphonies in E flat, G minor, and the "J^P^^^^/*
the "Requiem," "Figaro," "Don Giovanni," and "Die
Zauberflote," whatever branch of music be under con-
sideration, must stand in the very front rank of the
world's musicians.

Mozart's position in the history of the quartet, and
even more so in that of the symphony, is rather a curi-
ous one. He found the form perfected by Haydn;
he took it and infused into it a power of thought and
a vigor of expression that were far beyond Haydn's
reach, and handed it back to his master, who profited
so far by Mozart's achievements that, as regards his

GREAT COMPOSERS 153

symphonies at any rate, he now lives chiefly by the
works that he produced under the influence of the
younger man. Haydn's symphonies express, so far as
they express anything, his honest, good-humored ac-
ceptance of hfe as it is, untinged by any complexity of
thought or profundity of emotion.

Mozart first touched music with what we may brief-
ly call the modern spirit. He made it the vehicle of
direct emotional expression, not necessarily the ex-
pression of personal emotion, for his range of thought
was so wide and his sympathies were so universal
that he seems to be the spokesman of the world at
large rather than to be lifting the veil from his own
private feelings. It is impossible to hear, let us say,
the G minor symphony without feeling that once for
all instrumental music had been emancipated from its
old-time condition of mere "Tafel-Musik," a pleasing
concourse of sounds put together to aid the digestion
of a dyspeptic nobleman. For better, for worse, it
must henceforth rank with other art-forms as a means
of expressing all that is highest and noblest in the
soul of man.

We have spoken chiefly of Mozart's symphonies,
but we would not have it thought that in his other
orchestral works there are not treasures of beauty
and grandeur, in fact it rarely happens that one of his
minor works is revived without impressing its hearers
with new wonder at the limitless range of the com-
poser's genius. Recently his little "Maurerische Trau-
ermusik," a piece written for the funeral of a brother
freemason, has been repeatedly played in many cities.

In Mozart's chamber music the same emancipating
influence is felt. He clothed the Haydnesque form

154 GREAT COMPOSERS

with new and marvelous raiment, not merely in his
string quartets, but in the works written for novel
combinations of instruments, such as the clarinet
quintet, the quintet for wind and piano, and his many
works for various groups of wind instruments. In
the latter he enlarged the borders of chamber music in
an extraordinary manner, his marvelous knowledge of
the special quality of each instrument guiding him with
unerring certainty. His works for wind instruments
are totally different in style from those written for
strings. There is something colossal, something al-
most superhuman (to take one instance) about his
great serenade in C minor for hautboys, clarinets,
horns, and bassoons. It moves with a deliberate so-
lemnity that seems to belong to a different world from
that of his works for strings with their quick play of
checkered feeling. In Mozart's day the clarinet was a
new instrument, but he divined its capabilities with in-
spired sagacity. No one has written for it as he has ;
but his mastery of orchestration has passed into a
proverb, and though modern composers with their far
more extended resources may call his scores slight,
they dare not call them monotonous or ineffective.

r>om the modern point of view, Mozart's piano-
forte works are not so interesting as much that he has
left us, tliough their place in the history of music is
none the less important. The development of tech-
nique has helped to slielve them, though pianists still
say that, in spite of its apparent simplicity, a Mozart
concerto is as severe a test of good playing as can be
found. Still more have they been affected by the im-
provement in the manufacture of pianofortes. Mozart
wrote for an instrument which, though bearing the

GREAT COMPOSERS 155

same name, really belonged to a different world from
that of our modern pianos. On a "concert grand*' it
is practically impossible to realize the delicate effects
that Mozart had in view.

Mozart's sacred music, if viewed as a whole, must
be relegated to a lower place in the catalogue of his
works than perhaps any other branch of his composi-
tion. A great deal of it was written at Salzburg in
compliance with the orders of the hated Archbishop,
and it is not surprising that in this situation his heart
was not in his work. It is in the sacred music of his
later years that we find the true Mozart, in works like
the "Requiem," the mass in C minor, which he left un-
finished at his death, and which has recently been
published with the missing movements supplied by
adaptation from Mozart's other works, and, perhaps
most beautiful of all, the exquisite little "Ave Verum,"
a work as pure and tender in inspiration as a motet by
Palestrina. These are the works to which we must
turn if we want to know what Mozart could do in the
field of sacred music. In the "Requiem" Mozart
measures himself against the great masters of an
earlier generation, and comes gloriously from the en-
counter. His music has a breadth and dignity of style
worthy of Bach or Handel, allied to a poignancy of
expression that suggests a later age. Simple as are
the means he employs compared with the elaborate
resources of modern composers, such as Verdi and
Gounod, his picture of the unearthly terrors of the
Judgment Day remains unequaled in its thrilling in-
tensity, while the human elements of the scene are
treated with that tenderness and divine sympathy of
which only such as he have the secret.

156 GREAT COMPOSERS

Great as Mozart proved himself in everything he
touched, it is in his operas that he makes the surest
appeal to modern hearers. No lapse of time nor
change of fashion can dim the luster of these marvel-
ous works. We find him first as a mature artist in
"Idomeneo" (1781), and for the next ten years he
gained steadily in range of vision and in power of ex-
pression, until his career culminated in "Die Zauber-
flote." In Mozart's operatic career two influences
work side by side, the Italian and the German. We
find him in his childish days writing first an Italian
operetta, "La Finta Semplice," for Salzburg, and then
a German one, "Bastien und Bastienne," for Vienna.
So having idealized Italian opera in "Idomeneo," and
endowed it with a wealth of orchestral color and a
richness of concerted music of which Italy had never
dreamed, he turned to his native tongue, and in "Die
Entfiihrung aus dem Serail" practically laid the foun-
dation upon which the imposing edifice of modem Ger-
man opera has been constructed. In this work we find
the first suggestion of what was one of Mozart's
greatest gifts, his unequaled power of characterization.
Mozart's characters live in their music like the crea-
tions of one of our great novelists. In music he reveals
to us every thought as plainly as if we were reading a
printed page.

If this is true of "Die Entfiihrung,'* much more is
it true of "Le Nozze di Figaro," in which Mozart's art
exalted a tale of artificial and at times unpleasant in-
trigue into one of the great music dramas of the world.
Here for the first time we find Mozart with his pan-
oply complete. What a set of puppets the characters
in "Figaro" are! Hardly one of them merits our af-

GREAT COMPOSERS 157

fection, certainly not our esteem. Yet the enchanter
breathes life into them, and we follow the mazy en-
tanglements of their plots and counterplots with a
delight that never tires. If there is one quality more
than another in which Mozart excels other composers,
it is his power of characterization. Each one of his
people stands out perfect and distinct, a type realized
with infinite knowledge of humanity, and drawn with
unfailing certainty of touch.

Mozart is never a caricaturist. It is in his sym-
pathy with the faults and follies of human nature that
the supreme charm of his personality lies. Behind the
dancing puppets one sees the sad-eyed enchanter with
his wan face and pitying smile. Greater even than
"Figaro" is "Don Giovanni," for here the canvas is
broader and the passions are nobler. The libretto of
"Don Giovanni" is not dramatic in the usual theatrical
sense, but for operatic purposes it has rarely been sur-
passed. It deals almost entirely with emotion, which
music interprets so well, and hardly at all with incident,
which music interprets so badly or at times cannot in-
terpret at all. "Don Giovanni" ranges over the whole
gamut of human feeling. From the buffoonery of
Leporello to the supernatural terrors of the closing
scene is a wide step, but Mozart's touch never falters.
One can hardly say the cTiaracterization is more per-
fect than in "Figaro," but in "Don Giovanni" the con-
trasts are more striking and the master's brush takes
a wider sweep. What, for instance, could be finer than
his differentiation of the three women: Anna, the
noble virgin, strong in the ardor of her passionate
chastity; Elvira, the loving, trusting wife, with whom
to know all is to pardon all ; and Zerlina, an embodi-

158 GREAT COMPOSERS

ment of rustic coquetry? Never for a moment does
Mozart lose his grip of the initial conception of his
characters, though his inimitable art blends their dif-
ferent idiosyncrasies into a dramatic whole of perfect
beauty. In **Cosi fan tutte*' we are again in the world
of "Figaro"; this gay and brilliant little work, after a
period of unmerited neglect, is now on the way to re-
gain the favor that it deserves.

In "Die Zauberflote" Mozart produced what many
distinguished persons, including Beethoven and Goethe,
have pronounced to be his masterpiece. The libretto,
which is a curious compound of fantastic imagination
and buffoonery, is usually taken to be an allegorical
presentment of the triumph of freemasonry. Un-
doubtedly the masonic element counts for a good deal,
but behind this the discerning hearer will perceive the
outlines of an allegory nobler in substance and loftier
in scope, the ascent of the human soul, purified by
trial, to the highest wisdom. Mozart's music is amaz-
ing in its many-colored beauty, and in the imaginative
splendor by means of which it clothes scenes and situa-
tions of all kinds with a garment of romance.

"Die Zauberflote" is in a sense a summing up of
Mozart's genius. The range of thought is tremendous,
and whatever the nature of the scene, Mozart paints
it with unerring touch. The lighter parts of the opera
are the very incarnation of irresponsible gaiety, and in
the solemn scenes the composer rises to heights of sub-
limity. Over all the work hangs a mysterious atmos-
phere of poetical imagination, through which we dis-
cern figures walking, as it were, in a golden haze.

We know not if "Die Zauberflote" has ever been
compared to 'The Tempest," but to us it seems that

GREAT COMPOSERS 159

the two crowning works of Mozart and Shakespeare
have much in common. Not only is Sarastro a toler-
ably close counterpart of Prospero, while Tamino and
Pamina may stand for Ferdinand and Miranda, but
the attitude to life, if we may call it so, of the two
works is curiously alike. Both deal with a tale of the
most fantastic imagination, under cover of which the
author wrestles with the profoundest problems of
human existence. In both there is that breadth of view
that comes from a mind risen above the petty troubles
of earth, that serene wisdom born of ripe experience
and a knowledge of good and evil, and that supreme
mastery of craftsmanship to which only the greatest
can attain. In each the master magician of his time
bade farewell to the scene that his genius had enriched.
"Die Zauberflote" fitly closed Mozart's career.
What that career was, and what its value has been to
the world at large, may best be summed up in Gounod's
eloquent words: "O Mozart, divine Mozart! How
little do they know thee who do not adore thee — thee,
who art eternal truth, perfect beauty, inexhaustible
charm, profound yet ever limpid, all humanity with the
simplicity of a child — who hast felt everything and
expressed everything in a musical language that has
never been and never will be surpassed!"

Ill

We cannot better conclude this sketch than by mak-
ing liberal use of a chapter on Mozart written by Herr
C. F. Pohl of Vienna, in which, among many interest-
ing observations, the following appear especially ap-
propriate for citation here.

i6o GREAT COMPOSERS

Mozart's handwriting was small, neat, and always
the same, and when a thing was once written down he
seldom made alterations. "He wrote music as other
people write letters," said his wife, and this explains
his apparently inexhaustible power of composing, al-
though he always declared that he was not spared that
labor and pains from which the highest genius is not
exempt. His great works he prepared long before-
hand ; sitting up late at night, he would improvise for
hours at the piano, and "these were the true hours of
creation of his divine melodies." His thoughts were
in fact always occupied with music. "You know," he
wrote to his father, "that I am, so to speak, swallowed
up in music, that I am busy with it all day long —
speculating, studying, considering." But this very
weighing and considering often prevented his working
a thing out ; a failing with which his methodical father
reproached him: "If you will examine your conscience
properly, you will find that you have postponed many
a work for good and all." When necessary, however,
he could compose with great rapidity, and without any
preparation, improvising on paper, as it were. Even
during the pauses between games of billiards or skittles
he would be accumulating ideas, for his inner world
was beyond the reach of any outer disturbance. Dur-
ing his wife's confinement he would spend his time be-
tween her bedside and his writing-table. When writing
at night he would get his wife to tell him stories, and
would laugh heartily.

He considered the first requisites for a pianist to be
a quiet steady hand, the power of singing the melody,
clearness and neatness in the ornaments, and of course
the necessary technique. It was the combination of

GREAT COMPOSERS i6i

virtuoso and composer which made his playing so at-
tractive. His small well-shaped hands glided easily
and gracefully over the keyboard, delighting the eye
nearly as much as the ear. dementi declared that he
had never heard anybody play with so much mind and
charm as Mozart. Dittersdorf expressed his admira-
tion of the union of taste and science, in which he was
corroborated by the Emperor Joseph. Haydn said
with tears in his eyes, that as long as he lived he should
never forget Mozart's playing, **it went to the heart."
No one who was fortunate enough to hear him impro-
vise ever forgot the impression. "To this hour, old
as I am," said Rieder, "those harmonies, infinite and
heavenly, ring in my ears, and I go to the grave fully
convinced that there was but one Mozart." His biog-
rapher Niemetschek expresses himself in similar
terms: "If I might have the fulfillment of one wish
on earth, it would be to hear Mozart improvise once
more on the piano ; those who never heard him cannot
have the faintest idea of what it was."

As a teacher (in Vienna) he was not in much re-
quest. He was neither methodical nor obsequious
enough; it was only when personally attracted by
talent, earnestness, and a desire to get on, that he
taught willingly. Many people preferred to profit by
his remarks in social intercourse, or took a few lessons
merely to be able to call themselves his pupils.

He gave lessons in composition to a few ladies, a
cousin of Abbe Stadler's among the number. The
manuscript book he used with her is in the Imperial
Library at Vienna, and is interesting as showing the
cleverness with which, in the midst of jokes and play-
ful remarks, he managed to keep his lady pupils to

i62 GREAT COMPOSERS

their grammar. With more advanced pupils he, of
course, acted differently. Thomas Attwood began by
laying before him a book of his own compositions, and
Mozart looked it through, criticising as he went, and
with the words, "I should have done this so," rewrote
whole passages, and in fact recomposed the book.

Mozart was short, but slim and well-proportioned;
as a young man he was thin, which made his nose look
large, but later in life he became stouter. His head
was somewhat large in proportion to his body, and
he had a profusion of fine hair, of which he was rather
vain. He was always pale, and his face was a pleasant
one, though not striking in any way. His eyes were
well formed, and of a good size, with fine eyebrows
and lashes, but as a rule they looked languid, and his
gaze was restless and absent. He was very particular
about his clothes, and wore a good deal of embroidery
and jewelry; from his elegant appearance Clementi
took him for one of the court chamberlains. On the
whole he was perhaps insignificant-looking, but he did
not like to be made aware of the fact, or to have his
small stature commented upon. When playing the
whole man became at once a different and a higher
order of being. His countenance changed, his eye
settled at once into a steady calm gaze, and every move-
ment of his muscles conveyed the sentiment expressed
in his playing.

He was fond of active exercise, which was the more
necessary as he suffered materially in health from his
habit of working far into the night. At one time he
took a regular morning ride, but had to give it up, not
being able to conquer his nervousness. It was re-
placed by billiards and skittles. He even had a billiard-

GREAT COMPOSERS 163

table in his own house. When no one else was there
he would play with his wife, or even by himself. His
favorite amusement of all, however, was dancing, for
which Vienna afforded ample opportunities. He was
particularly fond of masked balls, and had quite a
talent for masquerading in character.

In society Mozart found amusement of the highest
kind, and inspiration, as well as affection and true
sympathy. One can quite understand that the refresh-
ment of social intercourse was a real necessity after
his hard brain-work. On such occasions he was full of
fun, ready at a moment's notice to pour out a stream
of doggerel rhymes or irresistibly droll remarks; in
short, he was a frank open-hearted child, whom it was
almost impossible to identify with Mozart the great
artist. His brother-in-law Lange says that he was
most full of fun during the time he was occupied
with his great works.

His religious sentiments, more especially his views
on death, are distinctly stated in a letter to his father
at first hearing of his illness : "As death, strictly speak-
ing, is the true end and aim of our lives, I have for
the last two years made myself so well acquainted with
this true, best friend of mankind, that his image no
longer terrifies, but calms and consoles me. And I
thank God for giving me the opportunity of learning
to look upon death as the key which unlocks the gate
of true bliss. I never He down to rest without think-
ing that, young as I am, before the dawn of another
day I may be no more ; and yet nobody who knows me
would call me morose or discontented. For this bless-
ing I thank my Creator every day, and wish from my
heart that I could share it with all my fellowmen."

i64 GREAT COMPOSERS

Mozart has often been compared with other great
men, Shakespeare, Goethe, Beethoven, Haydn, etc., but
the truest parallel of all is that between him and
Raphael. In the works of both we admire the same
marvelous beauty and refinement, the same pure har-
mony and ideal truthfulness; we also recognize in the
two men the same intense delight in creation, which
made them regard each fresh work as a sacred task,
and the same gratitude to their Maker for his divine
gift of genius. The influence of each upon his art was
immeasurable; as painting has but one Raphael, so
music has but one Mozart.

BEETHOVEN

(1770-1887)

LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEM

I
/~\ NE day in the summer of 1787, when Mozart was
^-"^ busy with "Don Giovanni," which was to be pro-
duced at Prague in October, he was asked by a friend
to hear a young pianist who had come to Vienna from
Bonn in the hope of gaining a footing in what was
then the German metropolis of music.

Mozart's time was precious, but he was too good-
natured to refuse, and he went to his friend's house
at the time appointed. Tlie aspirant to musical fame
was an ugly, shock-headed boy of seventeen, ill-dressed
and awkward in manner. Mozart asked him to play
something, which he did. The great man listened po-
litely, waiting for the signs of genius which he had been
told to expect, but he had much to think about just
then, and his attention wandered. Frankly, he was
bored, and probably a little annoyed with his friend
for wasting his time in this way. The pianist stopped,
and Mozart rose to go, probably saying a few words
of kindly encouragement and advice. But the boy
was not to be put off so. He knew that he had not
done himself justice, and he was determined to show
what was in him. He took his courage in both hands
167

i68 GREAT COMPOSERS

and begged Mozart to give him a subject to improvise
upon. Mozart, who was amiability itself, did as he
was asked, and the boy began. This was a very dif-
ferent story. The boy was on his mettle, and all his
shyness and nervousness disappeared as if by magic.
He played Hke one inspired, and at the end of the
seance Mozart, completely won, said to his friend:
"Pay attention to him; he will make a noise in the
world some day or other." Mozart never saw the
boy again, but his prophecy came true, for the boy
was Ludwig van Beethoven.

Beethoven was born December i6, 1770, at the
lovely town of Bonn, on the Rhine, in Germany, where
his father, Johann van Beethoven, was tenor singer
in the Elector of Cologne's private chapel. Very little
is known authentically of Beethoven's infant years,
except that they were passed in the midst of poverty
and misery, the result of the wretchedly small income
which his father received, and of the drunken and
dissolute habits to which he was a victim. However,
this sad deficiency was to some extent counterbalanced
by the kindness and liberality of Ludwig's grand-
father, who was spared to behold the first three years
of Ludwig's existence.

On his father's death, Johann had to confront mat-
ters, and consider how he could best make up the defi-
cit it caused in his income. This, no doubt, led him
to form a plan respecting Ludwig, who had already
evinced a liking for the clavier. Urged by the poverty
staring him in the face, now more deplorably than
ever, and also by the glowing accounts of the successes
of Mozart as an infant prodigy, Johann resolved to
make a similar wonder of the infant Ludwig, and at

GREAT COMPOSERS 169

once commenced his musical education. At first the
lessons were given in play, but were soon made sad
and wearisome, for the poor child was kept at the
piano day and night. Often, when his father and
his companion Pfeiffer returned from the tavern, the
child was called from bed to sit at the instrument till
daybreak. Of course, with this kind of tuition, he
made but little progress, and it soon became evident
that if he was to become as wonderful as Mozart and
others had been, a change must be made in the mode
of instruction. Fortunately for the world, it took
place in time to save the first sparks of genius in the
baby boy from being extinguished by the inhuman
Johann, and Ludwig was placed under the care of
Pfeiffer, an excellent pianist. Under his kind instruc-
tion the child made wonderful and astonishing prog-
ress, and acquired a most passionate love for music.
But when Ludwig was nine years old, Pfeiffer ob-
tained an appointment as bandmaster in one of the
Bavarian regiments, and was compelled to leave Bonn.
Before doing so, however, he generously saw the
young genius provided for and handed over to the
court organist, Van den Eeden.

This change was of very short duration, for Eeden
dying soon after, the boy once more changed hands,
and this time fell into those of Eeden's successor.
Christian Gottlob Neefe, a masterly musician, and at
one time cantor at the Thomasschule at Leipzig.
From what Beethoven afterward said, he does not
appear to have been on very harmonious terms with
Neefe; and he also relates that he did not profit by
his instruction. Whether this be so or not, the master
seems to have been proud enough of his pupil, for,

I70 GREAT COMPOSERS

writing in "Cramer's Magazine" of that time, he says
of him : "Louis van Beethoven, son of the court tenor
singer of that name, a boy of eleven years old, pos-
sesses talent of great promise. He plays the piano
with wonderful execution, and reads very well at sight
— in short, he plays almost the whole of Sebastian
Bach's 'Wohltemperirte Clavier/ which Herr Neefe has
put into his hands. All who know this collection
throughout all the keys (which might almost be called
the ne plus ultra) will understand what this implies.
Herr Neefe has also given him, so far as his other en-
gagements will permit, some instruction in thorough-
bass. He also exercises him in musical composition;
and, to encourage him, has had his nine variations on
a march published at Mannheim. This young genius
deserves help, that he may travel. He will certainly
be a second Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, if he con-
tinues as he has begun."

Under Neefe, Ludwig remained till 1787. During
that time, though he was chiefly engaged in teaching,
he filled the post of assistant organist at the church
of St. Remigius — to which he was appointed by the
Elector Max Franz, at a salary of a hundred thalers
a year — and conducted the rehearsals of the Gross-
man Operatic Troupe, in the room of Neefe.

It was in this year, as we have seen, that Beethoven
made his memorable visit to Vienna and won Mozart's
prophetic commendation. Ludwig, however, did not
remain long in Vienna, for, receiving information that
his mother's health was in a very precarious state, he
at once returned home, and arrived there only in time
to see his loving parent breathe her last. She died
July 17, 1787. This was a heavy blow to him. How

BEETHOVEN

GREAT COMPOSERS 171

his sensitive spirit received it is best told in his own
words. Writing to a friend, Dr. Schaden, he says:
"She was, indeed, a kind mother to me, and my best
friend. Ah! who was happier than I when I could
still utter the sweet name of mother, and it was heard ?
To whom can I now say it? Only to the silent form
whom my imagination pictures to me."

Once more was our young genius surrounded with
disheartenings which would have daunted the courage
of many. Yet not so with him. He fearlessly and
nobly looked matters in the face, and more earnestly
than ever set about a task to which he never could, to
the end of his days, inure himself — ^that of teaching.
Still, teach he must to provide for his younger brothers
and sisters, who were now dependent on him for sup-
port, for the father was getting more extravagant than
ever in his habits. For years was Beethoven com-
pelled to succumb to this distasteful alternative. But
he had his reward; for it was in the pursuance of
that which he disliked so much, that he made such ac-
quaintances as Count Waldstein, the Archduke Ru-
dolph, and the Breuning family. His associations
with them were of the pleasantest kind, and especially
with the Breunings, with whom he was as one of the
family, and they were proud of him. It was at their
house that he first became acquainted with that litera-
ture of his country which afterward he so much de-
lighted to read, and to which he wedded some of his
most splendid music. In this cheerful society he lived
till 1792, with but little to break the everyday round
of teaching.

In 1792 Beethoven again started for Vienna, which
he had so suddenly quitted some five years previously,

172 GREAT COMPOSERS

and with a somewhat similar object as before. It was
not, however, to see Mozart, but Haydn, and to re-
ceive the benefit of his instruction. Arrived in Vienna,
Beethoven soon procured lodgings, and enrolled him-
self among the list of Haydn's pupils. Haydn in-
stantly perceived his marvelous talent. Before long
Beethoven felt dissatisfied with Haydn's instructions,
and placed himself under the tuition of Albrechts-
berger, for the purpose of thoroughly grounding him-
self in the mysteries of counterpoint and fugue.

It was during this time that the young maestro made
the acquaintance of another among the great dilettanti
who flocked to hear and to see him. This was Prince
Karl Lichnowski, who, together with his wife, took
such an interest in Ludwig that they wished him to
reside with them at the Lichnowski palace. This kind
offer Beethoven accepted, on condition that he should
not be compelled to observe court etiquette, and for
about ten years this sort of friendly intercourse con-
tinued. So great a favorite did he become, that he
used afterward to say that "the Princess Christiane
would have put a glass case over me, so that no evil
might come nigh me." Many were the happy days
passed in the Lichnowski palace, and many were the
works penned within its walls. It was there that the
three wonderful and unsurpassed trios for violin,
violoncello, and pianoforte were first performed; also
many of his quartets, the appealing Pathetique sonata,
his first concerto in C major, for piano and orchestra,
and other works. He remained a resident at the
palace till 1795, when we find him appearing in public,
as a virtuoso, for the first time. Hitherto he had con-
fined his performances to palaces and private man-

GREAT COMPOSERS 173

sions. His fame, however, had spread so far and
wide that the public would see him, and the curiosity
of the Viennese was at length gratified on the occasion
of his appearing at the ''annual concert for the widows
and orphans of musicians." From that time to the
year 1827, when he died, he never quitted for more
than a day or so the town in which he made his debut.

Behold this colossal genius, but twenty-five years
old, the greatest virtuoso of the day, and already over-
stepping the summit which others had reached as com-
posers. He was now sought after by the highest and
noblest in Vienna. What a contrast to the time when
he came there to see Mozart!

But what is this cloud before him? Beethoven
has forebodings of a fearful nature. His hearing oc-
casionally fails him. Gradually the cloud creeps
nearer and nearer, till, in 1800, his fears culminate —
Beethoven is deaf! How heavy a burden was now
laid upon him! Other misfortunes he had got over;
how was he to shake off this heaviest of them all?
Such thoughts as these must have passed through his
mind. And what was his reply ? "Resignation ! what
a miserable refuge, and yet the only one left for me."
How keenly Beethoven felt his affliction will be best
perceived by a few extracts from his letters. Writ-
ing to a friend, he says :

"If I had not read that man must not of his own
free will end this life, I should long ago have done so
by my own hands. ... I may say that I pass my life
wretchedly. For nearly two years I have avoided so-
ciety, because I cannot shout 'I am deaf !'...! have
often already cursed my existence."

In his "will," also, he refers to his fearful calamity.

174 GREAT COMPOSERS

"Thus, with a passionate, lively temperament, keenly
susceptible to the charm of society, I was forced early
to separate myself from men, and lead a solitary life.
If at times I sought to break from my solitude, how
harshly was I repulsed by the renewed consciousness
of my affliction; and yet it was impossible for me to
say to people, *Speak louder — shout — I am deaf !' Nor
could I proclaim an imperfection in that organ which
in me should have been more perfect than in others.
. . . What humiliation, when some one near me hears
the note of a far-off flute, and I do not ; or the distant
shepherd's song, and I not/'

Gradually was Beethoven compelled to give up his
piano-playing and conducting, for he could not hear
sufficiently what he or others played, and in 1802 he
settled down to composition for the remainder of his
life.

The first great work to which he directed his at-
tention after his affliction, was the Third symphony,
in E flat major, better known as the "Sinfonia
Eroica."

After this massive work, Beethoven published a
few piano sonatas, trios, and songs; then we come
to that grand form of writing in which he has left us
but a solitary specimen — "Fidelio." On November
20, 1805, this opera was given to the world, under
the title of "Leonore, or Conjugal Affection," and
met with quite an indifferent reception! After three
representations, Beethoven withdrew it from the stage,
but it was brought forward again in the following
year, with one act completely taken out, and a new
overture. Still his enemies at the theater would not
have it, and succeeded in preventing its performance.

GREAT COMPOSERS 175

Thus it was put aside for some years. In 1814, with
several alterations, and another overture in E — ^the
most beautiful and vigorous of the four Leonore over-
tures — it was again presented, under the title of "Fi-
delio." Since then it has found a place on every stage
in Europe, and Leonore, the heroine, has supplied
the part in which some of the greatest singers have
earned their laurels — Schroder-Devrient, Milder-
Hauptmann, Pasta, Malibran, and, to come nearer the
present day, Mme. Titiens.

Although this is the only opera Beethoven wrote, it
is sufficient to prove his aptness for this branch of
composition. The music to "Fidelio" stands supreme
in the estimation of some critics, and it is to this alone
that its success can be attributed; for, from a dra-
matic point of view, the opera possesses but little in-
terest beyond that of the heroine Leonore.

This brings us to what some writers regard as the
"matured period" of Beethoven's life, 1804-14; the
period when his writings bear unmistakably the stamp
of his individuahty and genius, and to this period
belongs a list of colossal works which cannot in this
brief sketch be treated of singly. Among the most
important are the music to Goethe's "Egmont" — alone
sufficient to place its composer in the first rank, had
he written nothing more — ^the Fourth symphony, in
B flat major, and the Fifth, in C minor.

The Sixth symphony followed immediately after
the Fifth. It is in F major, and may be better known
by the title given to it by the composer himself — ^the
"Pastoral." This symphony was followed by the mass
in C, in which the composer made such a deviation
from the path that Haydn and Mozart had trodden be-

176 GREAT COMPOSERS

fore him. It was first performed in 1810, at the
palace of Prince Esterhazy, at Eisenstadt, where the
Prince, his kapellmeister Hummel, and a host of ar-
tists and dilettanti were assembled to hear this new
mass, so different from those of the Mozart school to
which they were accustomed.

Five years elapsed between the "Pastoral" sym-
phony and the Seventh, during which a long list of
somewhat smaller works flowed without intermission
from his prolific pen. These included sonatas, trios,
and songs, the music to Kotzebue's "Ruins of Athens"
and "King Stephen"; till, in 1813, the Seventh sym-
phony in A major, which he dedicated to Count Fries,
was given to the world. It was first performed — ^to-
gether with the "Battle of Vittoria," composed by
Beethoven in honor of Wellington's victory — ^at a con-
cert given for the benefit of Austrian and Bavarian
soldiers wounded in the battle of Hanau. At this
concert Beethoven himself wielded the baton, Schup-
panzigh led the first violins, Spohr the seconds ; Salieri
marked the time for the cannonades and drums, while
Hummel and Sivori occupied subordinate places. In
a circular Beethoven afterward wrote concerning it,
he says:

"It was a rare assemblage of distinguished artists,
every one of whom was anxious to employ his talents
for the benefit of the Fatherland; and without any
thought of precedence or merit, they all took their
places in the orchestra. The direction of the whole
was intrusted to me, but only because the music was
of my composition. If any one else had written it, I
would as cheerfully have taken my place at the big
drum ; for we had no other motive but the serving of

GREAT COMPOSERS 177

our Fatherland and those who had sacrificed so much
for us."

The next year (1814) brought with it **Der Glor-
reiche Augenblick," a cantata for voices and orchestra,
composed at the request of the authorities of Vienna,
upon the occasion of the great congress of kings and
princes in that year. In recognition of his compo-
sition, Beethoven was presented with the freedom of
the city of Vienna, and received also other marks of
esteem from the gay throng of visitors who crowded
the city.

But this joyous time came to an end, and Beethoven
was doomed to have further burdens to bear. His
brother Karl died, and left him his only child to sup-
port. Beethoven cheerfully undertook this charge,
and the first thing he did was to place the boy out of
the reach of his mother — the Queen of the Night, as
he called her — who was considered by Beethoven an
unfit person to train up the child. But this "the queen"
would not submit to, and the result was that for four
years a lawsuit was pending between her and the
great maestro as to who should possess the boy.

Eventually, Beethoven gained the day, and at once
sent his young relative to the university. But Karl
was soon expelled; for the mother's character was
rooted in him, and he had chosen to walk in the steps
of his shiftless father. Yet after this, Beethoven got
his ungrateful nephew admitted to a school where
his coguardian was supervisor. It was, however,
of little use. Karl went from bad to worse; till
after attempting self-destruction, he was placed in an
asylum.

During the years of the lawsuit, the composer pub-

178 GREAT COMPOSERS

lished and wrote but little. The Eighth symphony,
however, made its appearance in 1817; but it is most
probable that it was composed some time before it
was published.

In the latter part of 1819 Beethoven sat himself down
to the mass in D major, intended for the occasion of
the installation of his friend the Archduke Rudolph
as Archbishop of Olmutz, in 1821 ; but so engrossed
did the composer become in this colossal work for
solo voices and chorus, full orchestra and organ, that
he did not complete it till two years had passed be-
yond the event it was intended to celebrate. By
Beethoven it was regarded as his most successful
effort. It was first performed on April i, 1824.

The next and last great work with which Bee-
thoven's name is associated is the Ninth symphony,
better known, perhaps, as the "Choral symphony'* (it
employs voices), which the composer dedicated to Fred-
erick William III of Prussia. It was first performed
in Vienna, under the composer's own direction, and met
with unprecedented success. Such was the delight of
the vast concourse "assembled to hear it, that at times
their shouts of joy completely overwhelmed the or-
chestra and singers. But Beethoven could not hear
this !

About this time, he received an intimation that his
nephew was in a fit state to be restored to him; and
accordingly, Beethoven made a journey to the asylum,
and brought Karl away with him. From the asylum
they went to the house of Johann van Beethoven,
where they were to reside during the arrangements
that were pending for Karl to join Baron Stutter-
heim's regiment. A few days of his brother's com-

GREAT COMPOSERS 179

pany proved sufficient for Beethoven. He could not
put up with his taunts, and on a wet and miserably
raw day in December, 1826, Beethoven, with his
nephew, started for Vienna in an open conveyance,
for his brother would not lend him his close one. This
exposure to the cold and rain brought about an at-
tack of inflammation of the lungs from which he
never recovered.

On reaching his home at Vienna, he laid himself
on the bed which he was never again to leave. His
friend Dr. Wawruch was in constant attendance, and
performed several operations, which gave Beethoven
partial relief; but dropsy set in, and made his case
more than ever precarious. Still, his naturally strong
constitution enabled him to linger on till March in
the next year, 1827. It then became evident that he
could not long battle against his disease, which was
fast gaining the mastery over him; and on the morn-
ing of the 24th his friend Schindler visited him, and
found him with a distorted face, sinking, and unable
to speak more than a few words. His bedside gather-
ing, which included Hummel. Schindler, Herr Ferdi-
nand Hiller,Stephan Breuning, and A. Hiittenbrenner,
saw that he could bear up but little longer ; and on the
doctor arriving, they begged Beethoven that he would
allow the holy sacrament to be administered to him,
to which he calmly replied, "I will."

The pastor came, and the holy office was per-
formed with the greatest solemnity. Beethoven then
requested his friend Schindler not to forget to thank
Herr Schott and the Philharmonic Society for the
assistance they had rendered him during his illness;
and in a few minutes afterward he lost all conscious-

i8o GREAT COMPOSERS

ness. He continued gradually to sink, till, on the
evening of the 26th, Nature sang her requiem over
him. Amid a fearful storm of thunder and lightning,
his spirit took its flight.

His remains were followed to their resting-place by
over twenty-five thousand persons — ^kings, princes,
poets, painters, artists, composers, and the public of
Vienna — all anxious to pay their last tribute of re-
spect. A simple stone was all that was deemed
necessary to mark the spot where his ashes lie; but
when time shall have swept that and all his associa-
tions away, his sublime music will still preserve his
name in every home, and in every heart.

n

It is deplorably commonplace to speak of Beethoven
as a colossus, but so in truth he is, standing with one
foot on the old world of music and one on the new.
His early works are essentially of the eighteenth cen-
tury. Many of them might have been written by
Haydn. His latest works are so modem that we have
hardly got abreast of them yet. What Beethoven did
for music obviously cannot be summed up in two
words. His extension of the forms of music, his
breaking of the fetters in which his predecessors
loved to dance were enormously important, but per-
haps more far-reaching still was his introduction of
the personal element into music.

Before Beethoven*s day men had pictured them-
selves in their music — no one can write music or any-
thing else without doing so — ^but they did so uncon-
sciously and we perceive them as in a glass darkly.

GREAT COMPOSERS i8i

Beethoven mirrored his soul in music of set purpose.
Music was to him just as much a means of expressing
his feelings as poetry was to Shelley. Sometimes he
has told us in words what he is writing about it, as in
the Pastoral symphony, the "Adieux" sonata, and the
"Canzone di ringraziamento" in the posthumous
quartet in A minor, and then even the most stiff-necked
critics of the classical school have to admit that he is
writing programme music. But in the truest and best
sense of the word all Beethoven's music, all at least
that was written after he reached maturity, is pro-
gramme music. All of it is a musical expression of
ideas or feelings. As to what these ideas were people
will differ. One man will read a symphony or a
sonata in one way, and one in another, but read them
we must, or if we cannot we call them obscure, as for
generations the world did, and still does, in the case
of the posthumous quartets.

Programme music is now a term of abuse in the
mouths of many men, partly because of the excesses
of modem composers, who in default of ideas of their
own have been reduced to tell in music stories in-
trinsically incapable of musical expression. But when
Beethoven in his "Eroica" paints for us his ideal hero
in all the changing scenes of life, or when in the
symphony in A he sings the praises of the dance,
from the dance of the spheres when the morning stars
sang together and all the sons of God shouted for
joy to the dance of happy peasants in the riotous
joy of life, he is putting music to its noblest use, he
is lifting music from being merely an agreeable enter-
tainment, and using it for a noble ethical purpose, as
Wordsworth used poetry and Watts used painting.

1 82 GREAT COMPOSERS

The value of Beethoven's music and of all good
music is a moral value. Great musicians are great
teachers and great educators, and it is only when we
realize this, and can understand the lessons that they
teach, that music begins to have that educational value
of which we hear so much and know so little.

Beethoven's method of working was entirely
different from that of Mozart. He had nothing of the
latter's inspired facility. His method was painstaking
and laborious. His sketch-books, some of which are
preserved in the British Museum, show plainly the
extraordinary amount of pains he took to elaborate
his ideas. It was his habit to carry one of these always
with him, and to jot down anything that occurred to
him during his walks or meals. Then he would work
at these ideas with the most minute care, writing and
rewriting until the original idea took the shape that
satisfied him. He hardly wrote a bar that was not
submitted to this process of revision, while in some
cases he would rewrite a passage, such as the great
air "Komm* Hoffnung" in "Fidelio," some twenty
times.

Another interesting fact is proved by these priceless
sketch-books ; namely, that it was his habit to work at
three or four things at the same time, consecrating to
each and all of them the same loving and conscien-
tious care. A mind that worked in this way was
bound to be slow in developing, and as a matter of
fact it was not until he reached his thirtieth year that
Beethoven really found himself. In his earlier works,
among much that he inherited directly from Haydn
and Mozart there are passages of thoroughly char-
acteristic originality; his first two symphonies are

GREAT COMPOSERS 183

precious to students of his development, but it is not
until we reach the period of the "Eroica" that we find
Beethoven in possession of a style of mature individ-
uality.

With that noble work he broke forever with the
traditions of the past, and soared into realms un-
known before. The story of its dedication is well
known, but it is too characteristic to be omitted. The
work was written as a tribute of admiration to Napo-
leon; it was finished in the spring of 1804, and the
fair copy was inscribed with the words "Sinfonia
grande Napoleon Bonaparte." Beethoven was think-
ing of sending it to Paris, when the news reached
Vienna that Napoleon had assumed the title of em-
peror. Beethoven's idol was shattered; his hero, the
savior of France, was an ambitious tyrant. In the
passion of his disappointment he tore the title from
his symphony and trampled it under foot. Later the
symphony was rechristened an "Heroic Symphony to
celebrate the memory of a great man." After the pro-
duction of the "Eroica" Beethoven may be regarded
as fully emancipated from the bondage of the eigh-
teenth century.

Here Beethoven on his own showing has painted
the portrait of a great man. The symphony is not,
like Strauss's "Heldenleben," a connected story.
Beethoven's respect for symphonic form was too great
for him to compel it to subserve whatever programme
he had in view. His symphony is a series of scenes
and impressions, not necessarily connected but all
illustrating one main idea. The opening movement
with its heroic ardor, its noble enthusiasm, and its
magnificent joy in life, is followed by the funeral

i84 GREAT COMPOSERS

march, to which Beethoven referred when he said on
receiving the news of Napoleon's death: "I have al-
ready written music for this event." In this noble
movement he ushers his hero to his last rest with all
the pomp and solemnity of which music is capable.
What the scherzo signifies has been often debated.
But whatever the scherzo may be, there is no doubt of
what Beethoven means by the finale. Here the
"eternal feminine" makes its appearance, and in the
union of the masculine and feminine elements, won-
derfully typified in the two subjects, he shows us the
marriage of two minds, each exalted and ennobled by
the other to heights of celestial beauty. Beethoven
never surpassed the accents of divine purity in which
this union of human souls is sung. We seem to have
here a musical realization of that burning desire which
in his own case was never to be fulfilled: "O that at
the last I may find her who is destined to be mine, and
who shall strengthen me in virtue!"

The Fourth and Fifth symphonies are far more
immediately autobiographical than any of the others,
for in them we have the tale of Beethoven's unhappy
passion for the Countess Theresa. The Fourth is the
paean of joy and triumph sounded over their betrothal ;
the Fifth is a picture in brief of that stormy and
passionate episode in Beethoven's career which wrung
his heart and tried his manhood more profoundly than
any of the troubles that darkened his life. Never did
poet sing of his love in strains nobler and more heart-
stirring than these.

The Fourth symphony is the gayest and brightest
that Beethoven ever wrote. It is pleasant to think that
even that much-enduring soul had its moments of

GREAT COMPOSERS 185

sunshine, and in such a moment was this symphony
written. The slow movement is a love-song of pro-
found and tender feeling, but the rest of the work is
joyous and frolicsome, even rollicking in its humor.
There is hardly a touch of the rough horse-play which
characterizes the lighter movements in some of his
later works, but the symphony — ^and particularly the
finale — suggests irrepressible life and vigor, abundant
health and high spirits. Rarely in after life was
Beethoven to know this radiant mood of happiness.

Very different is the world into which we are
plunged in the C minor symphony. Here all is storm
and tempest, and the tide of passion sweeps along
with resistless fury. Sir George Grove, in his most
sympathetic and illuminating book upon Beethoven
and his symphonies, has pointed out how strikingly
the first movement is illustrated by a passage in the
work entitled "Beethoven's unsterbliche Geliebte,"
which is an account of the relations between Beethoven
and the Countess Theresa. Few of the contemporary
descriptions of the composer that have come down to
us give a more lifelike impression of his stormy and
imperious nature, and we cannot forbear quoting sortie
passages from it. The story, it should be explained,
is told by the Countess Theresa herself.

"One stormy winter's day in 1794, while the snow
stood deep in the streets of Vienna, Countess Theresa
Brunswick, then a girl of fifteen, was waiting for
Beethoven to come and give her her pianoforte lesson.
Weather never stopped him, but when he appeared it
was plain that as fierce a storm was raging in his soul
as in the streets. He entered with hardly a movement
of his head, and she saw that everything was wrong.

i86 GREAT COMPOSERS

"'Practised sonata?' said he, without looking at
her. His hair stood more upright than ever, his splen-
did eyes were half-closed, and his mouth— oh, how
wicked it looked ! She stammered a reply : *Ycs, I
have practised it a great deal, but — ' 'Let's see/ She
sat down to the piano, and he took his stand behind
her. The thought crossed her mind, *If only I am
lucky enough to play well!' But the notes swam
before her eyes, and her hands trembled. She began
hurriedly. Once or twice he said 'Tempo/ but it made
no difference, and she felt that he was getting more
impatient as she became more helpless. At last she
struck a wrong note. She knew it at once, and could
have cried. But then the teacher himself struck a
wrong note, which hurt his pupil both in body and
mind. He struck — not the keys, but her hand, and
that angrily and hard; strode like a madman to the
door of the room, and from thence to the street-door,
through which he went, banging it after him."

Such are the man and woman, and such are the
scenes depicted in the Fifth symphony. No words of
ours can make clearer the contrast between the first
and siecond subjects of the opening movement, the one
tremendous in its overbearing passion, the other meek,
yearning, and tender. Beethoven has here painted
hiinself and his beloved in colors that can never fade.
Like the story of their love, the music whirls upon its
tumultuous course, fierce and terrible, at times almost
incoherent for all its strict form, rising and falling in
waves of passion, yet with touches of ineffably pathetic
tenderness — surely never was the tragedy of a man's
love told in accents of such irresistible sincerity an'l
force. But the course of their love, if it did not rua

GREAT COMPOSERS 187

smooth, was not all storm and tempest. In the slow
movement we have its calmer and more dignified side,
when hope blessed the composer with visions of peace
and happiness, here set forth in the form of variations
upon a noble and beautiful melody such as only he
could write. Between the composition of this move-
ment and the next came the rupture of the engage-
ment, and the final shattering of all Beethoven's
dreams. In the scherzo, that embodiment of inde-
scribable mystery and horror, he treads the valley of
the shadow of death, relieved only by the grim and
cynical humor that peeps out in the trio. But
Beethoven was a man of heroic mold; he was not to
be crushed by sorrows that would have driven a
weaker man to destruction, and after a passage of un-
utterable weirdness, in which the pulse of life is at its
lowest, he bursts forth into a magnificent song of
triumph. God is still God, and the world is fair, he
seems to say. For a moment the shadows of the
scherzo gather again, but his manhood triumphs once
more, and the symphony ends in the radiant splendor
of a glorious day.

We hear a great deal nowadays of the educational
value of music, and a very definite educational value
it undoubtedly has. But its educational value depends
entirely upon the manner in which we listen to it, and
upon what it means to us. Viewed only as a clever
and ingenious development of certain themes, we do
not think that the C minor symphony will educate any
one to a very serious extent, but viewed as a record
of Beethoven's struggle with misery and despair, and
of his ultimate victory, it will educate any one who is
susceptible of education much more than the average

i88 GREAT COMPOSERS

lecture or sermon. It would be impossible for any
one in whom the moral sense was not completely dead
to rise from hearing it without feeling that his faith
in himself and in mankind was strengthened.

Very different is the Sixth symphony, the "Pas-
toral," a lovely picture of the sights and sounds of
out-of-door life. Beethoven was a passionate lover of
the country. His summers were always spent in one
or other of the villages near Vienna, where he passed
whole days in the open air, wandering in the fields or
sitting in the fork of a tree, sketch-book in hand. In
the Pastoral symphony his worship of nature is trans-
muted into music, but it is music that is something
more than merely picturesque. As he said himself, he
dealt with impression rather than with painting. It
is the emotion engendered by nature rather than nature
herself that he describes, and this reaches its highest
point in the glorious song of thankfulness that suc-
ceeds the marvelously realistic picture of the storm.

Different as the Seventh and Eighth symphonies are
in scope and general character, they are alike in giving
us an insight into one feature of Beethoven's person-
ality, which it is impossible to ignore if we wish to
know what the man really was. While comparatively
few of Beethoven's contemporaries seem to have
realized the grandeur of his moral nature and the
towering force of his intellect, all of them agree in
recording the rougher and more uncouth traits of his
character. Hundreds of stories have come down to
us illustrating his boorish manners and his fondness
for the broadest and most obvious form of joking.
Perhaps he inherited a taste for intellectual horse-
play from some remote Flemish ancestor, but at any

GREAT COMPOSERS 189

rate it must be admitted that if from one point of
view he appears as the Michael Angelo of music,
from another he is certainly its Teniers.

In the finales of both of these symphonies we find
him in the guise of the latter. Here his love of riotous
fun bursts forth in uncontrolled vivacity. Here he
gives himself up whole-heartedly to a boisterous humor
that can be paralleled in the works of no other great
composer. His music teems with quaint surprises and
whimsical tricks. It is the incarnation of practical
joking, very different in character from the rippling
merriment of the Fourth symphony, and though less
engaging it is nevertheless profoundly interesting as a
revelation of a curious corner of Beethoven's mind.
In other ways the symphonies are utterly different,
the Seventh being one of the most romantic of
Beethoven's inspirations, while the Eighth is intimate
and personal in character and conceived on a much
smaller scale than its predecessor.

Wagner's description of the Seventh s)rmphony as
an apotheosis of the dance gives the key to its mean-
ing, but we must take the word dance in its widest
signification. In the majestic introduction we seem
to be ascending a mighty staircase, and when the gates
of the palace are flung open the scenes that pass be-
fore our eyes seem to embrace all earth and heaven
in their scope. In the first movement the rhythm of
the universe is set to music, from the ordered beauty
of the rolling spheres of heaven to the voices of nature
and the wild music that burdens every bough. The
allegretto suggests the dim mysterious rites of some
ancient religion, with strange processions in the
shadow of rock-hewn temples; while in the scherzo

I90 GREAT COMPOSERS

we are in the primeval forest with fauns and dryads,
and in the finale with boisterous peasants in a rustic
merrymaking.

The Eighth symphony, even to Sir George Grove,
who disliked programmes, suggested a conscious piece
of autobiography. He calls it the picture of a day in
the composer's life. Such it may well be. It is a
genre picture of the Dutch school, curiously indoor
in feeling compared with most of Beethoven's works,
and elaborated with the most delicate nicety of detail.
Beethoven's peculiar aflPection for this work, which
was little understood by his contemporaries, suggests
its strongly personal nature, and in it we seem to come
closer to Beethoven the man than in almost anything
that he has left us.

In the Choral symphony we are in a world far re-
moved from the intimate subjectivity of the symphony
in F. Before that last and greatest of his symphonies
was written the clouds had gathered heavily over
Beethoven's head. His deafness isolated him entirely
from the world of men. He was poor and ill-cared
for, neglected if not actually deserted by the friends
whom his suspicions had estranged. Bitterest of all
was the grief caused by the behavior of his scoundrelly
nephew, who repaid the more than paternal love
lavished upon him by his uncle with the blackest in-
gratitude and deceit. Yet from this abyss of sorrow
arose the voice that was to sing for all time the song
of human joy.

The Choral symphony is in one sense the easiest
and in another the most difficult of Beethoven's works
to grasp. By using some stanzas of Schiller's "Ode to
Joy" in the finale, he makes plain what is the general

GREAT COMPOSERS 191

aim of the work. It is the quest of the human soul
for joy, which in this marvelous and unequaled finale
finds its goal. But what the various stages of that
quest are, what Beethoven intended by the first three
movements of the work, is a question that is not yet
satisfactorily settled. It is this doubt, this difficulty
that has earned for the Choral symphony, as for cer-
tain others of his later works, the title of obscure.
So long as the hearer feels that the music to which he
listens has a definite meaning, which he fails to grasp,
so long will he have that sense of baffled endeavor
which will not be dismissed by all the assurances of
programme- writers that he should regard music
simply as music, and not to trouble to look behind the
mere notes of the work for the secret of the com-
poser's inspiration. Wagner once wrote a programme
for the Ninth symphony, illustrated by numerous
quotations from Goethe, of which the gist is that the
first movement expresses the titanic struggle of the
soul, athirst for joy, against the veto of that hostile
power which rears itself between us and earthly hap-
piness ; the second a feverish flight from old ideals to a
new and unknown bliss; the third a memory of purest
happiness from early days. In the last movement, in
a series of variations on a tune of unsurpassable
nobility and beauty, Beethoven gives us his conception
of joy in all its manifestations, thus crowning his
career as a composer with a sublime picture of the
possibilities of human nature.

The personality of Beethoven is revealed no less
clearly in his sonatas and quartets, some would say
even more clearly than in his more elaborate orches-
tral works. In the pianoforte sonatas particularly,

192 GREAT COMPOSERS

we seem to come almost nearer to the composer than
in anything that he wrote, and there are certain move-
ments in Hstening to which one can almost fancy that
one is hearing with the ear of faith one of those
marvelous improvisations in which the composer
poured forth his soul in music, oblivious of all save
the passionate emotions that burned within him.

To describe the marvelous series of his chamber
works and to record the impressions which they pro-
duce would take a volume in itself, and we dare not
linger over the too fascinating task. Yet we will
venture to say something about one of them — ^the
Kreutzer sonata — ^not because it is one of the most
famous things that Beethoven ever wrote, but because
it has been the subject of most unsympathetic and
unjust criticism in Tolstoi's celebrated novel, called by
its name. If it were necessary to prove that Tolstoi
is totally without the power of appreciating music, a
reference to his "Kreutzer Sonata" would be quite
enough. Surely the fact that he speaks of Beethoven's
inspired work as sensual, and as having been written
to arouse sensual feelings, brands Tolstoi forever as
a Philistine of the Philistines. No man's music is
freer from the taint of sensuality than Beethoven's,
and no work of his moves in an atmosphere of more
radiant purity than the Kreutzer sonata. If we may
venture to propose a reading in mere words of that
incomparable masterpiece, we would term it the story
of the adventures of a soul. In the first movement
we seem to see the soul of man, a newly arrived guest
moving about in a world not realized. Confronted by
the glitter and splendor of life she halts, timid and
uncertain. How self-satisfied and complacent is the

GREAT COMPOSERS 193

theme that typifies the marshaled orderliness of
modem society ! "See my riches, my power," it seems
to say; "how compact is my organization, how firm
my foundations; there is no joint in my armor, I am
perfect and complete." But the soul asks timidly,
"Is this all? Has life no more to give?" and to all the
boasts of the triumphant colossus she still replies, "Is
this all?" In the next movement the soul turns to
Art — ^Art in her myriad phases, radiant in beauty,
gleaming with the thousand hues of the palette of
romance. The soul wanders through scene after
scene of ever-changing delight, each one more enchant-
ing than the last. But still satisfaction comes not. In
the last movement comes the answer to her often-
repeated question. Nature rises before her like a
tree springing from the soil, throwing aloft a thous-
and arms and rushing to the sun. Rapture crowds
upon rapture, climax is hurled upon climax. The
horizon widens, the air grows purer, till in the end the
mighty symbol of growth and strength and purity
covers the heavens and fills the earth.

The soul of Beethoven is mirrored no less clearly
in his choral and dramatic works than in those for
instruments alone. In all that he wrote, in "Fidelio"
and the "Missa Solemnis" as much as in his sym-
phonies and sonatas, we feel the man's heart beating
behind his music more unmistakably than in the
works of any other composer. In the "Missa
Solemnis" mass Beethoven put into music his deepest
feelings on religion, which were all the more profound
and sincere because they had soared beyond the world
of dogma. In the "Credo" he set the words of the
Catholic creed, but there is nothing Catholic in his

194 GREAT COMPOSERS

music. Behind the mere words we seem to see that
mighty symbol of growth and strength and purity
and death, trammeled by no priestly doctrines or worn-
out formulas. The tremendous accents of the "Credo,"
in their veiled and mysterious majesty, recall very
strikingly that curious confession of faith, if so it can
be called, which Beethoven copied out himself and
kept constantly before him:

I am that which is.

I am all that is, that was, and that shall be.
No mortal man hath lifted my veil.
He is alone by Himself, and to Him alone do all
things owe their being.

Beethoven's faith was one that, as the poet sings,
"had center everywhere, nor cared to fix itself to
form." In the "Sanctus," no less than in the "Credo,"
we feel the grandeur of the religious instinct that is
here clothed in music. There is very little Christian
feeling in that awful vision of Deity. It recalls rather
some vast image of Buddha, tremendous in its eternal
tranquillity, lifting its marble forehead far above the
clouds of warring sects and systems. The mass is
throughout, like all Beethoven's music, curiously per-
sonal in tone. It is no world-hymn of prayer and
praise, like Bach's mass in B minor. It is the voice of
one man, the record of a personality, molded in un-
dying bronze. It is not the greater music for that,
but as a human document it stands alone among the
many famous settings of the Roman service. This in
fact sums up Beethoven's musical legacy to the world.
He made music definitely a vehicle of personal
emotion — not that the great men who had gone before
him had not written themselves, their thoughts, feel-

GREAT COMPOSERS 195

ings and aspirations, large upon their works. They
had done so, but as it were unconsciously. With
Beethoven music took its stand, as a means of per-
sonal expression, by the side of painting and poetry.
It is scarcely too much to say of him, so considered,
that he found music a science and left it an art.

Ill

The following description of Beethoven, with its
illustration of certain of his personal traits, is taken
from the writings of Sir George Grove.

He was below the middle height — not more than
five feet five inches; but broad across the shoulders
and very firmly built — "the image of strength." His
hands were much covered with hair, the fingers strong
and short (he could barely span a tenth), and the tips
broad, as if pressed out with long practising from
early youth. He was very particular as to the mode
of holding the hands and placing the fingers, in which
he was a follower of Emanuel Bach, whose "Method"
he employed in his earlier days. In extempore play-
ing he used the pedal far more than one would expect
from his published sonatas, and this made his quick
playing confused, but in adagios he played with divine
clearness and expression.

His attitude at the piano was perfectly quiet and
dignified, with no approach to grimace, except to bend
down a little toward the keys as his deafness increased.
This IS remarkable, because as a conductor his motions
were most extravagant. At a pianissimo he would
crouch down so as to be hidden by the desk, and then

196 GREAT COMPOSERS

as the crescendo increased, would gradually rise,
beating all the time, until at the fortissimo he would
spring into the air with his arms extended as if wish-
ing to float on the clouds. When, as was sometimes
the case after he became deaf, he lost his place, and
these motions did not coincide with the music, the
effect was very unfortunate, though not so unfortu-
nate as it would have been had he himself been aware
of the mistake.

In the orchestra, as at the piano, he was urgent in
demanding expression, exact attention to piano and
forte, and the slightest shades of nuance, and to tempo
rubato. Generally speaking, he was extremely cour-
teous to the band, though to this rule there were now
and then exceptions. Though so easily made angry,
his pains as a teacher must have been great. "Un-
naturally patient," says one pupil, "he would have a
passage repeated a dozen times till it was to his mind ;
"infinitely strict in the smallest detail," says another,
"until the right rendering was obtained." "Compara-
tively careless as to the right notes being played, but
angry at once at any failure in expression or nuance,
or in apprehension of the character of the piece;
saying that the first might be an accident, but that the
other showed want of knowledge, or feeling, or at-
tention." What his practice was as to remuneration
does not appear, but it is certain that in some cases he
would accept no pay from his pupils.

His simplicity and absence of mind were now and
then oddly shown. He could not be brought to under-
stand why his standing in his nightshirt at the open
window should attract notice, and asked with perfect
simplicity "what those boys were hooting at." At

GREAT COxMPOSERS i97

Penzing in 1823 he shaved at his window in full view,
and when the people collected to see him, changed his
lodging rather than forsake the practice. Like Newton
he was unconscious that he had not dined, and urged
on the waiter payment for a meal which he had neither
ordered nor eaten. He forgot that he was the owner
of a horse until recalled to the fact by a long bill for
its keep. In fact he was not made for practical life;
never could play at cards or dance, dropped everything
that he took into his hands, and overthrew the ink into
the piano. He cut himself horribly in shaving. "A
disorderly creature" was his own description, and
"an addlepate" that of his doctor, who wisely added
the saving clause "though he may still be the greatest
genius in the world."

His ordinary handwriting was terrible, and supplied
him with many a joke. "Yesterday I took a letter
myself to the post-office, and was asked where it was
meant to go to. From which I see that my writing is
as often misunderstood as I am myself." It was the
same twenty years before — "this cursed writing that
I cannot alter." Much of his difficulty probably arose
from want of pens, which he often begs from Zmeskall
and Breuning; for some of his manuscripts are as
clear and flowing as those of Mozart, and there is a
truly noble character in the writing of some of his
letters.

John Russell, a traveler in Germany, presents a
vivid picture of Beethoven at about the age of fifty,
and with an extract from that writer's account we
close our sketch of "the greatest master of the classical
school."

"I have heard him play, but to bring him so far re-

198 GREAT COMPOSERS

quired some management, so great is his horror of be-
ing anything like exhibited. Had he been plainly asked
to do the company that favor, he would have flatly re-
fused ; he had to be cheated into it. Every person left
the room except Beethoven and the master of the
house. . . . The gentleman, as if by chance, struck
the keys of the open piano beside which they were
sitting, gradually began to run over one of Beethoven's
own compositions, made a thousand errors, and
speedily blundered one passage so thoroughly that the
composer condescended to stretch out his hand and
put him right. It was enough; the hand was on the
piano; his companion immediately left him, on some
pretext, and joined the rest of the company, who, in
the next room, from which they could see and hear
everything, were patiently waiting the issue of this
tiresome conjuration.

"Beethoven, left alone, seated himself at the piano.
At first he only struck now and then a few hurried
and interrupted notes, as if afraid of being detected
in a crime; but gradually he forgot everything else,
and ran on during half an hour in a phantasy, in a
style extremely varied, and marked, above all, by the
most abrupt transitions. The amateurs were enrap-
tured; to the uninitiated it was more interesting to
observe how the music of the man's soul passed over
his countenance. He seems to feel the bold, the com-
manding, and the impetuous, more than what is
soothing or gentle. The muscles of the face swell,
and its veins start out ; the wild eyes roll doubly wild ;
the mouth quivers, and Beethoven looks like a wizard
oveipowered by the demons whom he himself has
called up."

WEBER

(1786-1886)

KASL HASIA VON WEBBR
I
T^HE life of Karl Maria von Weber falls easily into
two divisions — the first represented by the period
in which, instigated partly by the extravagancies and
vagaries of an unprincipled father, and partly by an
inherited carelessness of disposition, the composer
was living a nonchalant life in the easy-mannered
courts of Southern Germany ; the second, dating from
his twenty-fifth year, being the time of the develop-
ment of his individuality and of his genius.

His father, Franz Anton Weber, was originally in
the army, from which he had retired wounded and
entered the civil service. He knew nothing of
finance and httle of law, but his position enabled him
to secure an appointment as financial councilor and
district judge to the Elector of Cologne. He was a
nobleman, and played the violin exquisitely, qualities
which at that time sufficed to compensate for the
neglect of his duties. When the Elector died, his
successor had no fancy for this extraordinary judge
and councilor, most of whose time was spent behind
the scenes at the Opera HoUsc, and dismissed him
with a small pension. In the course of years of strug-
gle, now as impresario of a traveling operatic com-
pany, now fulfilling the duties of kapellmeister at

202 GREAT COMPOSERS

various small courts, Franz Weber squandered away
all that was left of the fortune of his wife, whom want
and anxiety soon brought to her deathbed. In 1785,
being now fifty years of age, he married a pretty and
delicate girl of sixteen, who at Eutin, Germany, on
December 18 of the next year gave birth to a weakly
infant suffering from a disease of the hip which re-
sulted in incurable lameness. This child was Karl
Maria Weber, the future composer of "Euryanthe"
and "Der Freischiitz.**

In common with a host of other musical children,
both then and since, Weber suffered indirectly in con-
sequence of the brilliant career of the boy Mozart.
His father was determined to have a musical prodigy
in the family, and as poor little Karl showed an
aptitude which none of his brothers had possessed, he
was doomed to singing-lessons and lessons on the
piano almost before he could talk. His father re-
sumed his wanderings at the head of an operatic
troupe, taking his delicate wife and child with him.
Injurious as it must have been to his health, it must
be admitted that the mode of his early life proved of
service to the boy in many ways. In the first place,
his father was wise enough, although insisting stren-
uously upon the paramount importance of music, not
to neglect the other branches of 'education ; and more-
over, while he acquired a certain self-reliance from
this roving mode of life, early intimacy with the stage
gave him a knowledge of theatrical effect of the great-
est value to one destined to become a composer of
dramatic music.

His mother died before he was twelve years old,
and he was thus entirely given over to the influence

■%

GREAT COMPOSERS 203

of an unscrupulous father whose chief merit was that,
in his way, he was fond of his son and gave him a
thoroughly good musical education. At the same time
this was largely neutralized by his forcing the boy to
write music of all kinds at an age when his talents
were immature.

Still, more than one musician of influence was at-
tracted by his exceptional abilities; among others he
secured the patronage of the Abbe Vogler, a Viennese
composer — ^a musical charlatan, perhaps, but a man of
keen insight. To his influence Weber owed his ap-
pointment, in his seventeenth year, as conductor of
the opera at Breslau. The young enthusiast managed
with great spirit to overcome the difficulties of his
position, that of a lad in his teens set as director over
the heads of men two or three times his age; but his
strict discipline made him many enemies, whose ma-
levolent tactics compelled him after two years to
throw up his post. It was about this time (1807) that
he wrote his first compositions of importance, the two
symphonies in C.

In his twenty-first year Weber was suddenly trans-
ferred from solitary insignificance into the midst of a
brilliant and dissipated court. At the instance of one
of his patrons he was made secretary to the Duke
Louis, brother of the King of Wiirtemburg. He was
expected entirely to regulate the Duke's private affairs,
and to act as mediator between him and the King
when necessary, which was often. His Majesty,
whose temper was none of the sweetest, grew to hate
this persistent secretary, who in his turn smarted
under the indignities heaped upon him by the King.
On one occasion, as Weber was leaving the royal

204 GREAT COMPOSERS

presence after a stormy interview in which the com-
poser had been more than usually insulted, he per-
petrated a practical joke which might have resulted in
very serious consequences. Limping angrily through
the anteroom adjoining the apartments where he had
left the King fuming, he was accosted by an ill-favored
dame, who inquired where she could find the royal
washerwoman. "There!" cried the exasperated
Weber, pointing to the door of the King's private
room. The old lady unsuspectingly entered, and was
met with a violent torrent of abuse from the King,
and it was with difficulty that she could stammer out
an explanation of her intrusion. The King at once
guessed who was responsible for the trick, and ordered
Weber to be thrown into prison. The Duke*s inter-
cession procured his release, but the King's animosity
was relentless in seeking an opportunity for revenge.

This was not long in coming. Weber discovered
that his father had for some time been misappropriat-
ing money which the Duke had intrusted to his
secretary to pay oflF a mortgage on his estates. To
shield his father, Weber took all the blame upon him-
self. After a mock trial, at which the King presided,
he was sentenced to exile; and so in February, 1810,
father and son were ignominiously conducted to the
frontier by the police. They took refuge at Mann-
heim, a city in which Weber could hope to devote
himself entirely to his art.

The elder Weber lived for two years longer; and
nothing does more credit to his son's disposition than
the tender care with which he surrounded this father,
who had been the cause of endless trials and troubles
borne without a reproach. On hearing of his father's

H

GREAT COMPOSERS 205

death, he wrote in his diary: "He fell asleep tran-
quilly, it is said. May God grant him above that
peace which he had not below! It is beyond measure
painful to me that I could do no more to procure his
happiness. May God bless him for all the great love
he bore me, which I did not deserve, and for the
education he bestowed on me."

Weber*s artistic career may be said to have begun
on the day in 1810 when he settled in Mannheim.
The example of his friend Meyerbeer — ^who, though
not yet twenty, was already one of the first pianists
of his day — stimulated him to higher flights in compo-
sition; and before the year was out he had produced
his first pianoforte concerto, six sonatas for piano
and violin, and several songs. In the same year, too,
the idea of "Der Freischiitz" had its birth. Weber
happened, when in company with a young poet friend,
to come across a new book of "Gespenster Geschich-
ten*' (Ghost Stories) by Apel, one of the tales in
which, entitled "Der Freischiitz," so struck the fancy
of both as an ideal subject for romantic opera that
they spent the greater part of the night in sketching
out the plan of a libretto. Weber's friend was very
anxious to undertake the writing of this, but press of
work prevented him, and the task was set aside, as it
proved, for ten years — a lucky accident, for the com-
position of the opera was thus deferred until Weber's
powers had reached their fullest development.

For the next four years Weber was a wanderer.
His activity was untiring. Concerts were given in
almost all the principal towns of Germany, and at the
same time he worked hard at composition, producing
some of the most successful of his orchestral works.

2o6 GREAT COMPOSERS

He visited Prague, Leipzig, Dresden, Berlin — where
his first important attempt at opera, "Silvana," was
performed with some success — Weimar, Got ha,
Vienna, and eventually in 1814 returned to Berlin.

At this time patriotic feeling ran very high among
the Germans. Paris had fallen, the dreaded French
invader was repulsed, and Napoleon exiled to Elba.
Men would listen to no songs but those which told of
war and the heroic deeds of German patriots. Among
the vast number of such poems the finest and the most
popular were those given to the world by Theodor
Korner under the title of *'Lyre and Sword." Weber
procured these, read and re-read them, and wedded
them to music so appropriate and so inspiring that
they became at once the national songs of the day,
raising their composer's popularity to an unpre-
cedented height.

This visit to Berlin was paid during a leave of ab-
sence from Weber's duties as conductor at the Prague
opera, where he was endeavoring to overcome the
prejudice of the public with regard to German, as
opposed to Italian, opera. A taste vitiated by the
music of a degenerate Italian school could not be ex-
pected at once to appreciate the beauties of this newer
and higher form of the art ; still it must have been a
cruel disappointment to Weber that a faultless per-
formance of Beethoven's *'Fidelio," upon which he
had spent infinite pains, should be received with com-
plete coldness. "I brought out on the 26th," he wrote
to a friend, "Beethoven's *FideHo,' which went splen-
didly. The music is indeed full of beautiful things,
but they don't understand it; it is enough to make
one frantic. Punch and Judy would suit them better !"

GREAT COMPOSERS 207

A fresh access of popularity came to him in Prague
as a consequence of the performance of his great
patriotic cantata, "Kampf unci Sieg," in 1815; but
Weber felt that he was justified in seeking for a
position more worthy of his fame, and in the course
of the following year sent in his resignation as kapell-
meister. By good fortune the corresponding post in
the opera at Dresden fell vacant just at this time. The
director of the Opera House was very anxious to
establish German opera there in place of what had
usually occupied the boards, and in Weber he found
the very man to carry out such a plan. The King of
Saxony, who owed his position entirely to Napoleon
and was a declared ally of the French, cherished no
kindly feelings toward his neighbors the Prussians,
and was thoroughly opposed to this German operatic
project. His objections were, however, overcome,
and in 1816 Weber accepted the important post that
was offered to him. In the next year he was married
to Caroline Brandt, a famous singer, the modesty and
innocence of whose character had acted as a charm in
exorcising the effect of a previous regrettable en-
tanglement of Weber's. The young couple, whose
happiness seemed unclouded, took up their abode in
Dresden, where they soon became universally popular.

It was in Dresden that Weber made the acquaint-
ance of Johann Friedrich Kind, whose literary ability
and intimate knowledge of the stage strongly recom-
mended him to Weber as a collaborator. In casting
about for an operatic subject, the composer came upon
the forgotten sketch of "Der Freischiitz." Kind was
delighted with the story, and in two months delivered
over to Weber a complete libretto, which elicited a

2o8 GREAT COMPOSERS

ready response from the musician. From this time
until the summer of 1820 the composition of this opera
was Weber's chief thought.

Happy as his prospect at first appeared, Weber
before long found himself assailed on all sides by
covert attacks and slights. The source of these was
the King's prime minister, who had taken a strong
dislike to Weber and lost no opportunity of increasing
the King's rancor against this upholder of German
opera, this composer of such emphatically German
songs as those from "Lyre and Sword." But, in face
of the marked advance in completeness and brilliancy
shown by the performances at the Opera House, the
King was obliged to defer to public sentiment, and to
confirm Weber's appointment for life. By this means
Caroline Weber was enabled to fulfill her husband's
wish and leave the stage, to devote all her sweetness
to the task of creating happiness in her home. Against
this had to be set the fact that the influence of Weber's
friends at court was waning, and that anonymous in-
sults from his enemies and marked slights from the
King were producing their effect upon the composer's
delicate constitution.

A distinguished pupil of Weber's gives an account
of his first meeting with him about this time. "As-
cending the by-no-means-easy staircase which led to
his modest home on the third story of a house in the
Alt-Markt, I found him," he says, "sitting at his desk
occupied with the pianoforte arrangement of his
'Frcischiitz.* The dire disease which all too soon was
to carry him oflf had made its mark on his noble
features ; the projecting cheek-bones, the general
emaciation, told their sad tale ; but in his mighty fore-

I

GREAT COMPOSERS 209

head, fringed by a few straggling locks, in the sweet
expression of his mouth, in the very tone of his weak
but melodious voice, there was a magic power which
irresistibly attracted all who approached him."

At last arrived the memorable evening of the pro-
duction of "Der Freischiitz," and with it the climax
of Weber's life. The day chosen, June 18, 1821, was
the anniversary of the battle of Waterloo. After the
dress rehearsal on the preceding day many of Weber's
friends were full of gloomy anticipations ; for, though
the singers and orchestra had been at their best, some
of the most important accessories had been in any-
thing but good working order. It was feared, more-
over, that the music might prove to be over the heads
of the audience. Weber was perhaps the only one
who was confident and undisturbed. He knew the
value of his work, and he judged rightly. At the per-
formance everything went smoothly, and the result was
a triumph so brilliant as to exceed his fondest hopes.

Two years later he achieved what appeared to be
an even greater success with his opera "Euryanthe";
but it was not long before the venomous attacks of his
enemies again began to harass him. Too generous to
retaliate in kind, Weber, with his sensitive nature, suf-
fered terribly under the injustice and rancor of which
he was the mark — the more so as some of those whom
he had most benefited, including the composer Spohr,
were among the most bitter against him.

In the following year Weber was gratified by re-
ceiving from Charles Kemble, the lessee of Covent
Garden Theater, an invitation to write the music for
an opera, which should have an English libretto, to
be produced at that house. The great popularity in

2IO GREAT COMPOSERS

England of "Der Freischiitz'* (which was given in
three London theaters simultaneously) and the com-
poser's strong sympathy with the English inclined him
to accept the proposal. The remuneration offered him
would be most acceptable, as nearly all his paltry
salary and all the profits from his previous operas
had been swallowed up by his honorable determination
to discharge the debts his father had left behind him
at his death.

In his doubt as to whether his impaired health
would now stand the strain of the effort, he consulted
his doctor, who told him that his only chance of five
or six years more of life lay in absolute cessation
from work and a long visit to the South. Failing
this, a few months might be all that was left to him.
Recognizing the terrible position in which his death
would leave his wife and children were he not able to
make some provision for them, he resolutely answered
the doctor: "As God will. From what you say, I
cannot hope to secure a future for my wife and family
by dragging on a useless life for a few years.
In England I may expect a return for my labors which
will leave them in possession of means that I could not
otherwise procure them ; thus it is better I should ac-
cept the task." He bound the doctor to the strictest
secrecy as to what had passed between them, and at
once set to worjc to study the English language, and
make himself master of the libretto of the new qpera,
the subject of which was "Oberon.**

By the beginning of 1826 the opera was ready. In
spite of the consuming pain of which he was perpetu-
ally the victim, Weber was able to produce a work
of great delicacy and beauty, under the music of

GREAT COMPOSERS 211

which there seems to He a vein of happiness that is
almost incomprehensible. Notwithstanding his friends*
remonstrances he was determined to go to London in
time to superintend the rehearsals of the opera. His
answer to those who would dissuade him was always
the same : "It is all one ! Whether I go or remain, in
one year I am a dead man. But if I go, my children
will have bread when their father dies; if I remain,
they will starve."

This, his last triumph, was undisputed and com-
plete. "Oberon" created at its first performance at
Covent Garden, on April 12, 1826, an almost unpre-
cedented eflfect. Weber, elated, though physically
prostrated by excitement, wrote after the performance
to his wife: "By God's grace and help I have to-night
had such a perfect success as perhaps never before.
It is quite impossible to describe the dazzling and
touching effect of such a complete and cloudless tri-
umph. God alone be praised for it !"

In two months from this time Weber was dead.
Once the excitement of the "Oberon'' production had
passed over, he was seized with a passionate yearning
for home. "I am a shattered machine," he said to his
friends; "would to God it could be held together till
I might once more embrace my Lina and my boys!"
Sustained by his purpose of procuring provision for
the future of his dear ones, he still persisted in at-
tempting to appear at public performances, and to give
concerts, until this was imperatively forbidden by the
doctors. Then, although he knew the desperate na-
ture of his case, he became happier at the thought that
he was free to leave England and might perhaps live
long enough to see his wife again. His letters to her

212 GREAT COMPOSERS

were full of a tender playfulness at the thought ; every-
thing was duly arranged, and the 6th of June had been
fixed for his start on his homeward journey. On the
morning of the jth, when his servant entered his
room, he found his master lying lifeless on the bed,
his face tranquil and bearing no trace of pain.

When, eighteen years later, Weber's remains were
transferred to Dresden, Richard Wagner, in pronounc-
ing a eulogium upon his memory, struck the right
chord in laying particular emphasis upon the greatness
of Weber's genius as that of an essentially German
composer ; and upon the beauty of his character, in its
simple manliness, its tenderness, and its generosity.

II

Weber's career, as pictured in his music, is the story
of the gradual development of a beautiful and even
noble character in the teeth of untoward circumstances.
That he was a man of the strength and individuality of
Beethoven cannot be maintained. He was too easily
influenced by his surroundings, and the better part of
his genius was of slow growth, so that the history of
his earlier days is at best unsatisfactory. He had
everything to contend against that was likely to injure
a character of singular gentleness and pliability. Alone
of the great composers he had the misfortune of aristo-
cratic birth, a misfortune not accompanied in his case
by affluence or even moderate wealth.

Courts and princes had done their best to ruin
Weber, but to his lasting credit he came unhurt from
the ordeal. After such trying experiences he began
a new life. He was no longer a parasite, dancing at-

GREAT COMPOSERS 213

tendance in the antechambers of royalty, but a mu-
sician, enthusiastic for his art and eager to perfect
himself in all that could assist the development of
his genius. He himself realized what an escape he
had had. In his diary at the close of 1810 he wrote:
"God has sent me many sorrows and disappointments,
but he has also thrown me with good people, who
have made life worth living. I can honestly say that
within the last ten months I have become a better
man."

In regard to Weber's position as a master, certain
things seem to be clear. It is to be feared that he
and his works are traveling fast in the direction of
that honorable oblivion in which so many of the build-
ers of modem music are shrouded. Even now he is
greater by reason of his influence on the men who
followed him than in his own actual achievement. A
great name in musical history he must always be. His
influence has been too far-reaching for him ever to
miss the respectful homage of the student, but on the
changing fashion of musical taste his hold is already
but slight. In our own country he is known to-day
chiefly by the "Freischiitz" and "Oberon" overtures
and a few grand arias for coloratura. In Germany the
strong national color of "Der Freischutz" endears it
to the popular heart, and the taste for male-voice choral
singing preserves some of Weber's part-songs. But
with these exceptions his position in his native land is
very much the same as it is with us. It was inevitable
that this should be so. For all the great work he did,
for all his influence upon subsequent composers,
Weber's music has not the qualities that make for im-
mortality. Imagination, picturesqueness, charm — ^these

214 GREAT COMPOSERS

he has, but not that force, moral, emotional and intel-
lectual, which animates the music of his great con-
temporary Beethoven, and through it speaks as plainly
to us as it did to our forefathers, perhaps more plainly
to us than it ever did to them.

What Weber has to say he says delightfully; it is
his misfortune that what he has to say is for an age
but not for all time. While Beethoven writes in music
the emotions that are the common lot of man, Weber
represents a passing phase, an attitude of mind sincere
enough in itself but of necessity evanescent. That
phase passes, another arises, and the poet speaks to
deaf ears. Weber is primarily the musician of the
romantic movement. He represents in music what his
German contemporaries Tieck, Holty and their coterie
represent in poetry. It is not to be thought that ro-
mance had not touched music before; indeed music is
in itself so essentially romantic that it seems absurd to
tie the phrase down to a special period of musical his-
tory. The romantic movement, however, aimed defi-
nitely at certain things that were already the common
property of art and literature, but had only appeared
in music as it were by accident. It was a revolt against
the tyranny of man and his emotions. It demanded a
larger stage and an ampler air. Human passions were
not to be the only subject for artistic treatment.
Heaven and hell, nature and her mighty forces, the
forests with their fauns and dryads, the ocean with its
Nereids and Tritons, the demons of earth and air — all
these were pressed into the service of art. The magi-
cal glory of landscape, the wonders of the setting sun,
the horror of tempests, the glory of the dawn — all
these the romantic movement taught men to regard not

GREAT COMPOSERS 215

as merely the accessories of a scene in which man was
the predominant figure, but as subjects intrinsically
worthy of artistic treatment.

Of the musical side of this movement Weber is the
leading figure. His genius found its truest expression
not in abstract music, though even here his work was
valuable in the enlargement of the boundaries of classi-
cal form, but in opera. His early operas are com-
paratively unimportant; it was in "Der Freischiitz*'
that his genius burst into full flower. The subject,
carefully chosen by himself, lent itself well to roman-
tic treatment. The mighty forest in the recesses of
which the action passes is as it were the protagonist of
the drama. Its solemn shadows lie over every page
of the work. The opening notes of the overture breathe
forth its mysterious charm. The voice of nature had
never sounded like this in music before. In Bee-
thoven's Pastoral symphony we have rather the emo-
tion of man in contemplating nature. Weber gives us
nature independent of any human interest.

More typical still of the romantic movement is
Weber's handling of the supernatural element of the
story. Demons and spirits were common enough in
opera before his day, but their picturesque possibilities
had scarcely been reaHzed. Weber's incantation in the
Wolf's Glen was something absolutely new to music;
the conception of the scene is a proof of his imagina-
tive audacity; its execution immortalizes his genius.
There is another element in **Der Freischiitz" that is
scarcely less important than its opening of the treasure-
house of romance, and that is its national flavor.
Weber has been called the founder of national opera
by reason of the designedly German color of much of

2i6 GREAT COMPOSERS

the music of "Der Freischiitz.'* So in a sense he is,
but he is almost more important as the inventor of the
use of local color in music. Before his day opera had
been a very cosmopolitan entertainment. Wherever
the scene was laid the characters expressed them-
selves in much the same terms, and composers cared
but little to give a distinctive flavor to their different
works. Mozart cared so little about local color that
though the action of "Don Giovanni" passes at Seville
there is not a suspicion of Spanish coloring in the
score, and the Don actually accompanies his serenade
upon so characteristically Italian an instrument as the
mandolin, instead of the national instrument of Spain,
the guitar. In "Le Nozze di Figaro'' it is true that
there is a fandango, but there Mozart's experiments in
nationalizing his music seem to have ended. Weber
was the first composer to give realism to the scenes he
was illustrating by infusing local color into his music.
By so doing he has influenced the later developments
of music perhaps even more profoundly than by his
more definitely romantic tendencies.

In Weber's other works for the stage his romantic
tendencies are no less plainly exhibited. The incidental
music which he wrote in 1821 for "Preciosa" is a
wonderful musical picture of Spanish gypsy life, while
his overture to Schiller's "Turandot" is a curious at-
tempt to convey a suggestion of Chinese coloring.
"Euryanthe" and "Oberon," Weber's two last operas,
both suffer from poor librettos, which have prevented
them from retaining the place in popular affection to
which their noble music entitles them. In "Euryanthe"
he worked on a wider canvas than in "Der Freischiitz.".
"Euryanthe" has none of the popular element which

4

GREAT COMPOSERS 217

counted for so much in the earlier opera. It is a tale
of court and chivalry, of passion and intrigue, full of
pomp and splendor, and painted with wide sweeps of
the brush. Weber*s music is perhaps the finest thing
he ever did. It has less freshness and charm than "Der
Freischiitz," but it is far loftier and more ambitious in
style, and there is hardly a touch of weakness in it
from beginning to end. The influence of "Euryanthe"
on later composers has been scarcely less far-reaching
than that of "Der Freischiitz." Wagner in his early
days drew much on Weber; the idea of the "Tann-
hauser" finale, with its contrast between one woman's
voice and a chorus of men, was probably suggested by
"Euryanthe," and the scene between Ortrud and Telra-
mund in "Lohengrin" owes much to the music of
Eglantine and Lysiart.

Planche cast his "Oberon" libretto into the form
which was then popular in England, and it is rather a
play with incidental music than a real opera. This is
now much against its popularity, but it has recently
been revived in Germany with a revised libretto, and
perhaps in this form it may win more permanent suc-
cess. It certainly is not Weber's fault that it has
dropped out of the repertory. His music, though writ-
ten when the hand of death was upon him, shows no
failure in power. The fairy scenes in particular are
exquisitely delicate and charming. Weber practically
invented fairies in music, and no one — not even Men-
delssohn, who copied him most faithfully — has ever
treated them so sympathetically. The oriental scenes
are admirable also. They must have appealed specially
to Weber, who loved to introduce exotic as well as
coloring into his music, and here used several Arabian

2i8 GREAT COMPOSERS

and Turkish melodies with capital effect. But
"Oberon" is throughout a bewildering succession of
lovely scenes, sometimes not very closely connected,
but always entrancing in themselves. It shows the
range of Weber*s genius perhaps more than any other
of his works, and particularly his marvelous power of
transmuting into music the sights and sounds of
nature.

Weber's writings for the pianoforte are valuable his-
torically for their enlargement of the boundaries of
form and for the importance they assign to technique,
though in the latter respect they but faintly foreshadow
the astounding developments of modem times. The
"Concertstiick" marks an interesting stage in the his-
tory of programme music. It differs no less widely
in form from all earlier concertos than in its illustra-
tion of a definite programme, confided by the com-
poser to his pupil Benedict, without which it would
be incomprehensible. It is thus something quite dis-
tinct from mood-pictures, such as Beethoven's orches-
tral works often are, in which the "programme" is, as
a rule, entirely subservient to the musical form.

Weber's independent works for orchestra — his two
symphonies and numerous concertos for various in-
struments — are not permanently valuable, but in the
development of the science of orchestration his work
can hardly be overrated. His extraordinary feeling
for orchestral color was closely allied to the general
romantic tendency of his genius. Not merely did he
grasp the innate possibilities of each instrument and its
special power of suggestion, but he used certain in-
struments and groups of instruments throughout his
operas to indicate certain phases of feeling in a way

GREAT COMPOSERS 219

with which we are now familiar in the works of Wag-
ner, but which then was something absolutely new to
music. How large a part his mastery of orchestration
played in his wonderful pictures of nature it is scarcely
necessary to point out. With Weber the coloring was
as integral a part of the picture as the design itself.
It is possible that opinion may be divided upon the
intrinsic value of his works, but it is unquestionable
that he left opera something entirely different — in aim
as much as in form — from what he found it.

ROSSINI

(1792-1868)

GIOACHINO ANTONIO ROSSINI

TT may be safely asserted that no composer ever en-
■*■ joyed in his lifetime sucli a degree of popularity as
did Rossini. At one time his music solely occupied
nearly all the operatic stages of Europe, and none other
would be 'listened to. His music appeals to the million,
not alone to the educated class. It is perfectly natural,
and in keeping with Rossini's character. Full of mel-
ody, sweet and beautiful, it never fails in its purpose of
captivating. No one. probably, could listen to the
"Stabat Mater" without becoming an admirer of
Rossini, or without experiencing a feeling of enjoy-
ment, as page after page of its music glides on, grati-
fying the listener with its suavity, and leaving the
mind impressed with the sense of the pleasure which
such agreeable music has aroused. Ulibishev once
declared that when listening for the first time to one of
Rossini's operas, he forgot, for the time being, all that
he had ever known, admired, played, or sung — it
seemed as though he had never heard music before.

It was on February 29, 1792, that Gioachino Antonio
Rossini first saw the light, at the small town of Pesaroi
Italy, where his father, Giuseppe Rossini, was herald,
or town-crier. He could also play the horn; and in

224 GREAT COMPOSERS

Signora Rossini the old man had married a singer of
some pretensions, so the two were to be frequently met
with at fairs and other musical gatherings — she sus-
taining small parts on the stage, while he played the
horn in the orchestra. Their little son was to be
brought up as a musician, and the parents soon com-
menced to train him. At seven years of age he made
his debut at Bologna. Paer's "Camilla" was produced
there in 1799. and Gioachino was chosen to fill the
part of the child. Beyond this incident little more is
known of Rossini's early life, save that while a boy he
joined his parents in their musical excursions, when he
generally played second horn in the orchestra.

Soon he came under the notice of Tesei, of Bologna,
who gave him lessons in pianoforte playing and sing-
ing, and put him in the way of earning money by
singing solos at churches. It was this latter which led
to the Countess Perticari's patronage. She had heard
young Rossini sing, and loved his voice, so she sent
him to the Lyceum at Bologna, there to study counter-
point and fugue at the feet of the strict Padre Mattel.
A year's study, and he was chosen, at the age of six-
teen, to write the cantata which was annually expected
from the best pupil at the Lyceum. The result was
"II Pianto d'armonia per la morte d'Orfeo," which, on
its production at Bologna, met with the greatest
success. Passing over various juvenile efforts which
followed it — such as "La Cambiale di Matrimonio,"
"L'equivoco stravagante," "L'Inganno felice," "L'oc-
casione fa il Ladro," "Ciro in Babilonia," "La Scala
di Seta," and "La Pietra del Paragone" — we come
upon the first opera which made Rossini's name cele-
brated throughout Europe, that is, "Tancredi.**

GREAT COMPOSERS 225

"Tancredi" was written for the Fenice Theater in
1813, and it at once laid hold of the Venetians. Its
airs were sung everywhere, the gondoliers shaped
them into serenades, and they even crept into the law
courts, so that the judges had more than once to forbid
their being hummed. To this opera belongs the ex-
quisite cavatina "Di tanti palpiti," far better known
than is the little anecdote which gave to it the title of
"aria de' rizzi." The day before the opera was to be
given, Madame Malanotte took it into her head to
dislike her opening air, insisting that Rossini must
write another. He returned home from the rehearsal,
and it is said that while the servant was preparing a
dish of rice which he had ordered, Rossini noted down
this beautiful air.

**L'Italiana in Algeri," written for the San Bene-
detto Theater at Naples, also came to light this year,
and is important as being the first essay in that style
which reached perfection in "II Barbiere di Seviglia"
(The Barber of Seville). It never met with any very
great success. It was followed by "Aureliano in Pal-
mira," which saw one representation and was with-
drawn.

In the year of its production Rossini was visited by
the famous impresario Barbaja, which led the com-
poser to make a journey to Naples, where he shortly
afterward made his debut at the San Carlo, having
signed a contract with Barbaja for several years, to
conduct at his theaters, to write two new operas an-
nually, and to rearrange the music of any old works to
be produced ; in return for which he was to receive 200
ducats a month, and a share in the profits of the San
Carlo gaming-tables.

226 GREAT COMPOSERS

"Elisabetta" was the first opera composed here, and
when it was produced in the autumn of 1815, found
great favor with the warm Neapolitans ; but, notwith-
standing this and its beautiful music, it never traveled
much farther than Naples.

Soon after this Rossini went to Rome, where he
was engaged to write two works for the carnival of
1816, and thus were created "Torvaldo e Dorliska"
and "II Barbiere di Seviglia." Of "Torvaldo" nothing
need be said but that it was not successful; but the
immortal "Barber of Seville," his happiest effort, de-
serves much more attention.

Years before Rossini thought of "The Barber of
Seville," Beaumarchais' subject had been set to music
by Paisiello and had become celebrated throughout
Italy, so that there was no small stir when it became
known that the young Rossini had applied to Paisiello
for permission to reset it. He was accused of presump-
tion, but had no choice in the matter, having agreed
to compose music to whatever text was supplied him.
Paisiello having granted permission, Sterbini wrote a
new libretto, and it was as different from Paisiello*s as
possible. It took Rossini but thirteen days to compose
this masterpiece, during which time he never left the
house of Zamboni (the original Figaro), where the
work was done. As Sterbini handed him over the wet
pages of the libretto, they were wedded to the joyous
music, and then passed on to the copyists. "Not even
did I get shaved," said Rossini to a friend. "It seems
strange," was the reply, "that through *the Barber' you
should have gone without shaving." "If I had shaved,"
explained Rossini, "I should have gone out, and if I
had gone out I should not have come back in time."

GREAT COMPOSERS 227

Donizetti, who wrote with even greater facility than
Rossini, and is said to have composed the finest act of
"La Favorita" in an evening after dinner, when told
that Rossini had written "II Barbiere" within this time,
remarked, "Ah, possibly — he is so lazy!"

Every one knows the story of Rossini's so-called
laziness, though it strikes one as being really a peculiar
form of activity — how one day when he was writing in
bed, and having finished a duet, let it drop on the floor.
Rather than get up to recover it, he wrote another in
its place. A friend came in, and Rossini asked him to
fish for the sheet of paper under the bed. "I've writ-
ten another," he said; "just listen and tell me which
you think best." The composer sang the two, and as
they both agreed that the first was the best, Rossini
at once turned the second into a trio, then got up,
dressed, and went out to breakfast with his friend.

On the night of the first representation of "The
Barber" the Argentina Theater was crammed with
friends and foes, the latter not hesitating to declare
openly what they hoped and intended should be the
fate of Rossini's "Barber." In his "History of the
Opera" Sutherland Edwards gives an account of this
first performance, and says the composer was weak
enough to allow Garcia to sing beneath Rosina's bal-
cony a Spanish melody of his own arrangement.
Garcia maintained that, as the scene was in Spain,
the Spanish melody would give the drama an appro-
priate local color; but unfortunately tlie artist forgot
to tune his guitar before appearing on the stage as
Almaviva. He began the operation in the presence of
the public. A string broke. The vocalist proceeded to
replace it, but before he could do so, laughter and

228 GREAT COMPOSERS

hisses were heard from all parts of the house. The
Spanish air, when Garcia was at last ready to sing it,
did not please the Italian audience, and the pit listened
to it just enough to be able to give an ironical imitation
of it afterward.

The introduction of Figaro's air seemed to be liked ;
but when Zamboni entered also with a guitar in his
hand, a loud laugh was set up, and not a phrase of
**Largo al factotum'* was heard. When Rosina made
her appearance in the balcony, the public were quite
prepared to applaud Madame Giorgi-Righetti in an air
which they thought they had a right to expect from
her; but only hearing her utter a phrase which led
to nothing, expressions of disapprobation were again
shouted out. The duet between Almaviva and Figaro
was accompanied throughout with hissing and hoots.
The fate of the work seemed now decided. At length
Rosina came on, and sang the cavatina which had so
long been looked for. Giorgi-Righetti was young, had
a fresh, beautiful voice, and was a great favorite with
the Roman public. Three long rounds of applause
followed the conclusion of her air, and gave some hope
that the opera might yet be saved. Rossini, who was at
the orchestral piano, then turned toward the singer,
and whispered his delight. This happy moment did
not last, and the hisses recommenced with the duet
between Figaro and Rosina. The noise increased, and
it was impossible to hear a note of the finale.

When the curtain fell, Rossini turned toward the
public, shrugged his shoulders, and clapped his hands.
The audience were deeply offended by this open con-
tempt for their opinion, but they made no reply at the
time; the vengeance was reserved for the second act,

GREAT COMPOSERS 229

of which not a note passed the orchestra. The hubbub

was so great that nothing like it had ever been heard
at any theater. Rossini meanwhile remained perfectly
calm, and afterward went home as composed as if the
work, received in so insulting a manner, had been the
production of some other musician. After changing
their clothes, Giorgi-Righetti, Garcia, Zamboni, and
Botticelli went to his house to console him in his mis-
fortune. They found him fast asleep. But there were
other troubles. Don Basilio, on entering, stumbled
over a trap, which had been left open, bruising his face
terribly, and appearing on the stage with his handker-
chief up to his nose. The letter-duet miscarried in
some way; and, to crown all, a cat appeared on the
stage while the grand finale was going on, and in the
attempts to drive it off, got so bewildered as to excite
the laughter of the artistes themselves.

Such was the reception accorded to Rossini's
happiest work on its first hearing. A week afterward
it was applauded to the skies, and it was speedily
played on every operatic stage in Europe.

This same year (1816) saw the production of an-
other grand opera, "Otello," first brought out at
Naples. Apart from its capital music, it is celebrated
for Rossini's reforms in opera seria, which it marks.
Its orchestration shows what strides the "innovations"
were making. Moreover, in "Otello'' there were other
reforms, among which was the banishment of the
pianoforte as an orchestral instrument, the accompani-
ments being played instead by the orchestra, and the
increased importance given to the chorus. This opera
much pleased the Italians, who considered it the
chef-d'oeuvre of lyric tragedy.

230 GREAT COMPOSERS

"La Cenerentola," another of Rossini's most suc-
cessful operas, followed closely upon "Otello." It
was written for the Teatro Valle, at Rome, where it
was not very successful, though soon it became a
favorite in all the capitals of Europe.

No sooner did Rossini get "La Cenerentola" off his
hands than he fell to work upon "La Gazza ladra." It
was written for the frequenters of La Scala, Milan,
who were somewhat displeased at "II Turco in Italia,"
their last opera from the maestro (1814). "La Gazza
ladra" removed all this. Directly the overture was
played, the whole of the Scala audience rose and
greeted Rossini in the most enthusiastic fashion, calling
out, "Bravo, maestro T "Viva Rossini T This was
continued throughout the opera.

Next came "Armida," written for the opening of the
San Carlo, Naples, after it was rebuilt, and notable as
being the only one of Rossini's Italian operas contain-
ing ballet music; "Adelaida di Borgogna," for the 1817
carnival at Rome; and "Adina," for a Lisbon theater,
all of which are now forgotten.

We now pass on to two far more important works —
"Mose in Egitto" and "Donna del Lago."

"Mose" appeared in 181 8 at the San Carlo, and
proved a success, except at the crossing of the Red
Sea, which nightly moved the audience to laughter,
instead of producing the totally different effect Rossini
had anticipated. Undoubtedly this scene spoiled the
conclusion of the opera, and the maestro was at his
wit's end to know how to remedy it ; till one morning
the librettist presented himself in Rossini's bedroom
and suggested a prayer for the Israelites before and
after the passage of the sea. Rossini at once saw the

GREAT COMPOSERS 231

use of it, and on looking over the words with which
Tottola had provided him, exclaimed, "I will get up
and write the music," and instantly jumping up, and
sitting down in his shirt, he finished the piece in eight
or ten minutes.

The same evening it was played with the opera,
"when," says Stendhal, "the audience were delighted
as usual with the first act, and all went well until the
third, when the passage of the Red Sea being at hand,
the audience as usual prepared to be amused. The
laughter was just beginning in the pit, when it was
observed that Moses was about to sing. He began his
solo, 'Dal tuo stellato soglio' (To thee, great Lord).
It was the first verse of a prayer which all the people
repeat in chorus after Moses. Surprised at this
novelty, the pit listened and the laughter entirely
ceased. ... It is impossible to imagine the thunders
of applause that resounded throughout the house ; one
would have thought it was coming down. The spec-
tators in the boxes standing up and leaning over to
applaud called out at the top of their voices, 'Bcllo,
bello! O che bcllof I never saw so much enthusiasm
nor such a complete success."

"La Donna del Lago" was brought out at the San
Carlo, Naples, in October, 1819. It proved a signal
failure on the first night, owing to its further new
effects and innovations. Rossini went the same night
to Milan, informing every one along the route that the
new opera had quite delighted the Neapolitans ! This
proved to be true by the time he reached Milan, where
upon his arrival he learned that at its second per-
formance the San Carlo frequenters were in ecstasies
over it.

232 GREAT COMPOSERS

Following "La Donna del Lago" came two works,
"Bianca e Faliero" and "Matilda di Shabran," neither
of which met with any fresh degree of success at their
first representations. Of their after receptions Rossini
did not stay to acquaint himself, but, with Mdlle.
Colbran, took himself off to Bologna, where they were
married by the archbishop in his palace. After a short
stay at Bologna, Rossini and wife went to Vienna,
where they met with a flattering reception. In this
city Barbaja had an opera house; and it was for the
purpose of conducting one of his new operas that
Rossini visited the capital.

"Zelmira" was the title of the new work, and by
some critics it is considered as the most satisfactory of
his compositions with regard to invention and the in-
genious manner in which the ideas are developed. It
was successfully produced at Naples, and afterward
at Vienna.

After the Vienna season Rossini returned to Bologna
and produced "Semiramide,'* the last of his Italian
operas. This was first performed at the Fenice
Theater, Venice, February 3, 1823. It was not much
liked, but the Venetians were wrong in their estimate
of it. Time has declared it to be one of the finest of
his works.

We now reach a new phase in Rossini's Hfe — ^his
English and French career. His first appearance in
London was at the King's Theater, January 24, 1824,
when he stood in the orchestra to direct "Zelmira.'*
"When Rossini entered," says a writer of the time, "he
was received with loud plaudits, all the persons in the
pit standing on the seats to get a better view of him.
He continued for a minute or two to bow respectfully

GREAT COMPOSERS 233

to the audience, and then gave the signal for the over-
ture to begin. He appeared stout, and somewhat below
the middle height, with rather a heavy air, and a coun-
tenance which, though intelligent, betrayed none of the
vivacity which distinguishes his music; and it was
remarked that he had more the appearance of a sturdy
beef-eating Englishman than a fiery and sensitive
native of the South.*' No one could have received
more attention upon his arrival than did Rossini. He
was presented to his Majesty (George IV) at the
Pavilion at Brighton, where he found this monarch
playing at ecarte with a lady. Taking his arm the
King walked with him to the concert-room to hear his
band, which in compliment to Rossini had been ordered
to play "The Barber" overture. The next piece his
Majesty left to Rossini's selection, to which he replied
with his natural good breeding, "If I might take the
liberty of selecting the next piece it must be 'God
save the King.' "

Rossini was a guest at the most fashionable houses,
where his talents as a singer and performer on the
pianoforte were always called into action. He had a
fine tenor voice and sang with much taste, and was
also a remarkable pianist. Auber once saw him play
and said, "I shall never forget the effect produced by
his lightning-like execution. When he had finished I
looked mechanically at the ivory keys; I fancied I
could see them smoking."

After one London season Rossini, with his wife,
went to Paris. He soon perceived that the French
were a more artistic people than the English ; and one
of the first proofs of this was his appointment as
director of the Italian opera. With this and the

234 GREAT COMPOSERS

Academic, Rossini was associated till the year 1830^
when the Revolution put an end for a time to all
musical arrangements. For Paris Rossini wrote "II
Viaggio a Reims," "Le Siege de Corinthe," "Le Comte
Ory," and "Guillaume Tell" — of which only the latter
need be referred to.

"Guillaume Tell," Rossini's masterpiece, was first
produced at the Academic Royale of Paris on August
3, 1829. It was partly successful, but after fifty-six
representations it ceased to draw. Rossini had wedded
his fine dramatic music to a somewhat imperfect
libretto. The music had saved it for a time, but
necessary revision was made. In its new form it soon
blazed into great popularity. Fetis, the eminent Bel-
gian critic, writing immediately after its performance,
said: "The work displays a new man fn an old one,
and proves that it is in vain to pretend to measure the
action of genius. This production opens a new career
to Rossini."

This opera is full of melody. Whether in its solos, or
its massive choral and ballet music, we meet alike with
that fine stream of melody which runs through the
whole. Its overture is a magnificent work of art. The
opening andante carries the listener away to the peace-
ful regions of the snowy Alps. We see that nature is
waking, and the hazy atmosphere clears off for the
new-born day. In the next movement, this solitude is
dispelled; a storm with thunder and lightning bursts
upon us. But its fury is soon spent ; the clouds clear
away, and all is bright again. The shepherds are astir
— ^and from the mountain sides come the peculiar notes
of the "Ranz des Vaches" from their pipes. Suddenly
all is changed. Trumpets sound a call to arms. Troops

GREAT COMPOSERS 23s

are mustering, and the music cleverly marks their
quick step as the soldiers and shepherd patriots march
off to protect their country. A brilliant use of the
instruments depicts the exultation of the victors upon
their return, and their joyous shouts effectively close
this grand tone-picture.

With this work Rossini's prolific career may almost
be said to have ended — and this at the age of thirty-
seven, when most great careers have but begun. Not-
withstanding that he lived almost forty years longer,
a few songs and small pieces, his "Stabat Mater" and
the "Petite messe solennelle," are all he wrote. Why
he sank into this retirement remains a mystery which
may never be solved.

The "Stabat Mater" was originally written for a dis-
tinguished Spaniard, Senor Valera, but after his death
Rossini secured it, and in 1842 it was publicly per-
formed, bringing him fame as a Church composer.
That it is a great work no one will doubt, nor would
any one question the beauty and tenderness of the
melodious music in it ; but that there is a lack of de-
votional feeling and solemnity few would deny.
Rossini's fame will rest on his operas, not on his con-
tributions to Church music.

The "Petite messe solennelle" first came to light in
1864, when it was played at Paris before Auber,
Meyerbeer, and other private friends. As a sacred
composition it has not as much interest as the
"Stabat," and can never become as popular as that
favorite work.

The forty years of Rossini's retirement were spent
partly in Italy, and in 1855 he returned to Paris to end
his days. He had long been ailing before his death, but

236 GREAT COMPOSERS

it was only a fortnight or so prior to that event that
his mortal illness began to show itself seriously. "The
Swan of Pesaro," as his compatriots delighted to style
him, died, after intense sufferings, November 13, 1868.
After a grand funeral mass had been sung, his remains
were borne from the Church de la Trinite to their
resting-place in the cemetery of Pere Lachaise, fol-
lowed by an immense concourse of mourners of all
ranks. Many celebrated musicians and singers were
present. The most impressive part of the ceremony
was the singing of the "Quis est homo," from the
"Stabat Mater," by Adelina Patti and Alboni. To
hear that beautiful music rendered by two such voices,
and in the presence of such artists, over the grave of
the composer, was to feel in the deepest sense the
genius of Rossini, and to realize the part he had played
in the musical history of his time.

Music, and especially operatic music, owes
much to Rossini for the reforms that he
made both in opera buffa and opera seria. He
substituted singing for the endless recitatives of which
Italian opera before him chiefly consisted; he brought
the bass voice prominently to the front, and gave it a
leading part; he banished the pianoforte from the
Italian orchestras ; he laid down the principle that the
singer should sing the notes the composer had given
him, without any flowery additions of his own ; and he
gave the chorus a much more important place in opera
than it had ever held.

Rossini brought about a real orchestral advance in
his own country. Every new instrument that was in-
vented he found room for in his brilliant scores, de-
spite the indignation of the Italian musicians. Hitherto

GREAT COMPOSERS 237

their orchestras had consisted almost solely of strings ;
what must have been their astonishment to see wind
instruments added to such an extent! This is best
conceived, perhaps, by Sigismondi's behavior on one
occasion, when young Donizetti, then a student, pleaded
to look at the Rossini scores at the Neapolitan Con-
servatory. That of "Otello" was selected, and the two
sat down to examine it; but instantly old Sigismondi
began raving about the "monstrous" score and its
"buffooneries/' Every instrument employed was
severely commented upon; but when he came to the
"wind" his indignation was terrible. Clarinets,
bassoons, trombones, first, second, third, and fourth,
had all been employed to swell a crescendo in one
part ; but when the fortissimo was reached, Sigismondi,
it is said, uttered a cry of despair, struck the score
violently with his fist, upset the table which young
Donizetti had loaded with the productions of Rossini,
raised his hands to heaven, and rushed from the room,
exclaiming, "A hundred and twenty-three trombones !
A hundred and twenty-three trombones!'* Donizetti
followed the enraged musician, and endeavored to
explain the mistake. "Not a hundred and twenty-
three trombones, but first, second, and third trom-
bones," he gently observed. Sigismondi, however,
would not hear another word, and disappeared from
the library, exclaiming to the last, "A hundred and
twenty-three trombones !"

Finally, it should be added that Rossini's music has
been very differently estimated by various critics.
Ingres, in whose view honesty in art held almost as
high a place as genius or originality, has called it "the
music of a dishonest man." Berlioz would gladly have

238 GREAT COMPOSERS

burnt it all, and Rossini's followers with it. On the
other hand, Schubert — ^though fully alive to his weak-
nesses, as his caricatures of Rossini's overtures show,
and with every reason to dislike him from the fact that
the Rossini furor kept Schubert's own works off the
stage — contrasts his operas most favorably with the
"rubbish" which filled the Vienna theaters at that time,
and calls him emphatically "a rare genius." "His in-
strumentation," he continues, "is often extremely
original, and so is the voice writing, nor can I find any
fault with the music [of 'Otello'] if I except the
usual Italian gallopades and a few reminiscences of
Tancredi." Mendelssohn too, as is well known, would
allow no one to depreciate Rossini. Even Schumann,
so intolerant of the Italian school, is enthusiastic over
one of his operas, and calls it "real, exhilarating, clever
music." Such exaggerations as those of Ingres and
Berlioz are as bad as intentional injustice. It is
necessary to recollect the difficult circumstances which
surrounded an Italian composer in Rossini's day, and
thereby to discover why so much of the music which
was once so widely worshiped went out of fashion.

Rossini, as our sketch has shown, effected a com-
plete revolution in the style of Italian opera. His ac-
companiments were richer than any that had ever been
previously heard in Italy, and in their masterly instru-
mentation rivaled some of the most notable achieve-
ments of German art. His overtures are by far the
most masterly and complete compositions of the kind
that the Italian school has ever produced. In contrast
with the dramatic art of Wagner, Rossini's work
maintains for him a distinct position in the history of
musical development.

■^

SCHUBERT

(1797-188S)

FRANZ SCHUBERT
I
T N the central cemetery of Vienna there are two
■'■ graves side by side. Over the one may be read
the inscription "Beethoven," over the other "Schu-
bert." And little as tho.=c among whom he lived
believed it, we now know that there is not one of all
the great musicians of the past to whom a place by the
side of the great Beethoven could so fitly have been
given as to poor Schubert.

Certainly he was one of the most luckless of all great
artists, though the race has never been celebrated for
good fortune. He was miserably poor, ugly, and un-
interesting-looking. His finest compositions were
utterly disregarded during his lifetime. He was never
able to hear even an orchestral rehearsal of his grand-
est symphony, and after his death large bundles of his
manuscripts were stuffed away and left to rot in a dark
cupboard for many years, until discovered by Messrs.
Schumann and Grove. He hved an utterly obscure life,
his genius only recognized by a few faithful friends;
and at the early age of thirty-one he passed away from
the life that to him had been so weary and sorrowful.

The records of that life are very scanty; he wrote
few letters, he did not move even to the extent to which

242 GREAT COMPOSERS

Beethoven did in those circles of society where a genius
is talked about and his admirers treasure the recollec-
tion of his slightest word and deed; a few torn pages
from his diary, two or three letters, the list and dates
of his works, and above all, the works themselves —
these are all.

Schubert's father was the parish schoolmaster at
Lichtenthal, Vienna. He was twice married, and had
a large family, of whom ten survived. Franz Peter, a
child by the first marriage, was bom January 31, 1797.
As every child in Germany learns at school something
of music, he very early picked up the rudiments of it,
and at eight years of age his father began to teach
him the violin. Singing he learned from Michael
Holzer the choirmaster, whose testimony to the early
display of talent by him is almost comically straight-
forward. He says : "Whenever I wished to teach him
anything new, I found that he had already mastered it.
Consequently I cannot be said to have given him any
lessons at all. I merely amused myself and regarded
him with dumb astonishment."

At the age of eleven a small piece of good fortune
fell to him, for in a competition for the post of choir-
boy in the Imperial Chapel, he was the selected candi-
date, and this position entitled him to a free education
in the Stadtconvict school. Soon afterward we find
traces of his first compositions. In 1810 he wrote a
pianoforte piece for four hands, bearing the remark-
able title of "Leichenfantasie," or Corpse fantasia, and
the next year he had ventured on an overture, a
quinet, quartet, and other instrumental works, besides
a long cantata-like pieoe, "Hagar's Klage." The last
composition was seen by Salieri, who detected the

GREAT COMPOSERS 243

talent in it and sent the boy to Ruczizka for lessons in
harmony. Ruczizka soon sent him back, saying, "He
has learned everything, and Goil has been his teacher."

We know little of Schubert's home life at this time,
but however straitened by poverty it was, it can hardly
have been altogether unfavorable to the development
of his musical powers. His father and brothers joined
with him in quartets; his two brothers Ferdinand and
Ignaz played first and second violins, Franz took the
viola, and his father the violoncello.

The year 181 3 was his last year at school, for, his
treble voice breaking, he had to leave the Imperial
Chapel and the school attached to it. In this year he
wrote his first symphony in D, which was performed
by the orchestra composed of members of the choir.
A large number of songs, already showing the true
Schubert style, were also produced about this time.
After five years of training he was adrift again, and
as he could obtain no other more congenial occupation
he was compelled to spend the next three years as his
father's assistant, teaching the poor children in the
school the alphabet and a little arithmetic. But a long
list of musical compositions is assigned to these years.

Schubert was throughout life exceedingly shy, and
in general society was the reverse of brilliant, but he
appears to have had rather a talent for forming inti-
mate friendships with other young men, artists like
himself. Mayrhofer, a poet, clever and hypochon-
driacal (who afterward committed suicide by throw-
ing himself out of a window), many of whose poems
Schubert set to music ; Schober, an intense admirer of
his friend's musical genius, and at whose house
Schubert lived for a number of years ; Johann Michael

244 GREAT COMPOSERS

Vogl, a celebrated baritone singer, who was of great
use in introducing his songs to the public ; Josef Hiit-
tenbrenner — these and others formed an enthusiastic
band of kindred spirits, who, over such potations as
their scantily filled purses would permit of at the tavern
in the evening, used to discuss art, philosophy, and
life.

Some of Schubert's finest works were written dur-
ing these three years of drudgery with the spelling-
book and birch rod. His mass in F, which, with the
exception of the one written in the last year of his
life, is his best, was composed in 1814, and first pro-
duced at the centenary festival of his own parish
church at Lichtenthal. Schubert himself conducted,
and for once in his life must have tasted some of the
sweets of triumph. Salieri, his old master, was
present, and after the performance embraced him,
sa)dng, "Franz, you are my pupil, and will do me
great honor*'; — ^and old Schubert, the schoolmaster,
was so proud of his son's work that he made him a
present of a five-octave piano on the occasion. During
the same year, the music of a comic opera, "Des
Teufels Lustschloss," was composed, but of this only
the overture and first and third acts remain, as, with
the same ill luck that befell so many others of his com-
positions, the second act of the unpublished score was
afterward used by an ignorant servant of Josef Hiit-
tenbrenner to light fires with.

The next year, 181 5, while still engaged as the
parish "dominie," Schubert wrote an almost incredible
quantity of music. Two symphonies and six operatic
works, two masses, nearly 150 songs, and a large
amount of choral and chamber music were then com-

GREAT COMPOSERS 245

posed. The operas are hardly known at all, and in-
deed a great part of the score perished by the hands
of the undiscriminating domestic of Hiittenbrenner's
together with the one already mentioned.

One day Joseph Spaun, a friend of Schubert's,
happened to call upon him, and found him in a state
of the greatest excitement, muttering wildly to himself
and pacing restlessly round the narrow circle of his
room. He had been reading Goethe's magnificently
weird "Erlking"; the idea of that terrible night-ride
had taken possession of him, and the same day he
wrote his famous setting of the song. It is rather
provoking to think that Goethe himself never in the
slightest degree acknowledged, or indeed had any
idea of, the services which the then obscure Viennese
composer rendered him. Schubert had an unbounded
veneration for Goethe, and after setting a number of
his finer songs to music, he sent these settings to the
poet himself. But Goethe did not vouchsafe to take
the slightest notice of this oflFering. It was only late
in his life, when Schubert had been a long time dead
and buried, that he at all was brought to change his
mind. Madame Schroder-Devrient then sang the
"Erlking" to him, and he had to confess its grandeur,
saying, "I once heard this composition in my earlier
life, and it did not agree with my views of the subject,
but executed as you execute it, the whole becomes a
complete picture." Surely, of all the strange reversals
that "the whirligig of time" brings us, this is not the
least strange — that many of Goethe's songs are now
far better known as of Schubert's setting than as of
Goethe's writing!
In 1818 Schubert's first opportimity came to him in

246 GREAT COMPOSERS

the shape of an offer from Count Johann Esterhazy —
a member of a family always famous for its patronage
of the arts — that the composer should be installed as
master of music to the Count's family at a salary
which, to Schubert, seemed princely, while he was to
have the additional privilege of living in the Count's
house. The latter part of this arrangement seems in
some way to have fallen through, for in the following
year we find Schubert living in Bohemian fashion with
his friend Mayrhofer, the poet, in a small room in
Vienna. One of the greatest advantages to Schubert
from the Esterhazy connection was an intimacy formed
with Baron Karl von Schonstein, the finest amateur
singer of his day. He was very enthusiastic over
Schubert's compositions, and made a point of singing
them everywhere. This, at a time when publishers
were exceptionally timid, was naturally of immense
assistance to a young composer's reputation.

Save in the music that he constantly poured forth,
there is little eventful to record in his life for the next
few years. A comic opera, "Die Zwillingsbriider,"
was accepted at the Kamthnerthor Theater, and pro-
duced with moderate success ; but the critics treated it
rather contemptuously, as wanting in melody, and
written in an old-fashioned style. Another opera,
"Alfonso und Estrella," to a weak libretto by his
friend Schober, was written in 1822. The year before,
he wrote his seventh symphony in E, a work that,
though fully sketched out, was for some reason that
cannot now be ascertained never completed. Yet his
memoranda for it are so full, that even now it would
be an easy task for a competent musician to complete
it. At one time Mendelssohn is said to have intended

GREAT COMPOSERS 247

doing this. Schubert's grandest unfinished symphony,
however, was that in B minor, commenced in 1823.
Of this only two movements are completed, and the
work was not performed for many years after his
death. It was first produced in Vienna in 1865, and
soon afterward at the Crystal Palace in England, and
since then has been frequently performed. All
musicians now acknowledge it as one of the grandest
and most lovely musical creations of the century.

In 1823 Schubert was asked to write the incidental
music to a play by Helmine von Chezy, the eccentric
and half-mad lady who wrote the stupid libretto of
Weber's opera "Euryanthe." The overture, entr'actes,
and ballet music to the piece, "Rosamunde, Princess of
Cyprus," were written by Schubert; but exquisite as
his music was, the piece fell utterly flat, and was only
twice performed. The critics again wrote with con-
temptuous indulgence. Every musician now knows
and loves the exquisite "Rosamunde" music; and,
even if Sir George Grove had done nothing else for
music, his rescue of the forgotten manuscripts from
a dusty cupboard at Dr. Schindler's, in Vienna, is
enough to entitle him to lasting and grateful remem-
brance. Two more operas, composed about this time,
"Fierabras" and "Der Hausliche Krieg," are very
little known. The first was never performed or
printed, the second has been occasionally performed;
but, like all of Schubert's other operatic works, though
full of melody, it is wanting in the dramatic symmetry
required for successful stage representation.

Depressed and lonely as he was, as time went on,
Schubert found the secret of happiness in himself — ^in
work, by means of which he forgot and was raised far

248 GREAT COMPOSERS

above his troubles. In 1824 he writes to his brother
Ferdinand : "Certainly the happy, joyous time is gone,
when every object seemed encircled with a halo of
youthful glory; and that which has followed is a miser-
able reality, which I endeavor, as far as possible, to
embellish by the gifts of my fancy (for which I thank
God). ... I am now, much more than formerly, in
the way of finding peace and happiness in myself. As
a proof of this, I shall show you a grand sonata and
variations upon an original theme, which I have lately
composed." His exquisite set of songs, "Die Schone
MiiUerin," many other songs, and sonatas, marches,
and quartets, were written during this time of sadness
and depression. There is also a strange "dream-
story," found after his death among his papers, with-
out any other writing to give a clew to its meaning.
It is difficult to understand it all, though that it is
meant to depict his own life, many touches, as, for
instance, the pathetic allusion to his "Lieder," appear
to indicate. Apart from its interest as a revelation of
the musician's inner life, it has been said to be a frag-
ment of wonderful beauty, worthy of Novalis or Jean
Paul Richter.

In March, 1825, Schubert accompanied his friend
Vogl, the singer, on an excursion through the Tyrol.
His letters at this time are full of gaiety. Some of
his most beautiful compositions, for example, the
"Hymn to the Virgin," date from this holiday; and
Vogl and he seem to have met appreciative people, to
whose delight Schubert, shy as he was, was quite ready
to minister by his playing.

From the Tyrol the two friends wandered on to
Salzburg, and Schubert in his letters very graphically

GREAT COMPOSERS 249

describes the quaint old town, girt by the glorious
mountains. He describes a visit to Michael Haydn's
tomb, but, strangely enough, says nothing of Mozart,
though Mozart was, next to Beethoven, his greatest
favorite, and was born and had lived for many years
in this town.

This journey was the last holiday among the
mountains that he enjoyed, for though afterward we
find him longing for another tour, his pecuniary means
did not allow of it. Many as were his pieces that had
now been published, he made little profit by them, and
he was never successful in obtaining any of the posts
as conductor or organist for which he on several
occasions applied. Whether the latter failure was his
own fault or not it is hard to decide; but, if a story
told by Schindler, Beethoven's biographer (and not the
most veracious of men, be it said), is to be believed, it
was mainly attributable to his own obstinate opiniona-
tiveness. Schindler says that in 1826 the post of con-
ductor to the Karnthnerthor Theater at Vienna was
vacant, and that Schubert, strongly supported by his
friend Vogl, was a candidate. Some operatic scenes
had to be set to music as a proof of the applicants'
capacity. This Schubert had done, and Nanette
Schechner was to sing the soprano part. "During the
rehearsals," says Schindler, "the lady called the atten-
tion of the composer to some insurmountable dif-
ficulties in the principal air, and requested him to make
curtailments and to simplify the accompaniment,
which Schubert flatly refused to do. At the first
orchestral rehearsal the artist endeavored in vain to
master the air, and Schubert's friends begged him to
make the required modifications, but without result

250 GREAT COMPOSERS

He persisted in his determination. At the last re-
hearsal everything went smoothly until the air, when it
happened as every one anticipated. The singer strug-
gled hard with the weighty accompaniments, especially
with the brass, but was fairly overpowered. She sat
down on a chair by the proscenium quite exhausted.
No one spoke, and despair was on every countenance.
Meanwhile Duport, the manager, went from group to
group and whispered mysteriously.

"As for Schubert, he sat motionless during this most
unpleasant scene like a statue, his eyes fixed upon the
score lying open in front of him. At length Duport
advanced to the orchestra, and said very politely,
*Herr Schubert, we should like to postpone the per-
formance for a few days, and I must request that you
will make the requisite alterations in the aria, so as to
render it easier for Fraulein Schechner.' Several
members of the orchestra now entreated Schubert to
yield; but his anger was only intensified by Duport's
observations and these added entreaties, and exclaim-
ing in a loud voice, *I alter nothing!' he closed the
book with a bang, put it under his arm, and strode
away quickly. All hope of his appointment was of
course abandoned."

It is right, in fairness to Schubert, to mention that
Josef Hiittenbrenner, on the contrary, says that the
singer was delighted with the air, and that Schubert's
failure to obtain the appointment was solely due to
intrigues at the theater.

Not long after this Schubert paid a last visit to
Beethoven. He had previously called upon the great
master with some of his own compositions, but though
Beethoven had received him kindly, Schubert's great

\

GREAT COMPOSERS 251

nervousness and the awkwardness of writing every-
thing in consequence of Beethoven's deafness, had
prevented any close intimacy. We are told, however,
that during his last illness Beethoven had perused a
number of Schubert's songs with great delight, and
had said of him, "Truly Schubert possesses a spark
of the divine fire!"

When he heard of Beethoven's serious illness,
Schubert once more mustered up courage to call upon
the master whom he venerated so much, and it is said
that as the dying man was then unable to speak,
Schubert stood for some time in silence beside his bed.
And when the funeral took place Schubert was one of
the thirty-eight torch-bearers who stood beside the
grave. Afterward he went with two of his friends to
the Mehlgrube tavern, and wine was called for three.
First they drank to the memory of the great departed
genius, and then Schubert called upon his friends to
drink to the one who should next be laid in the grave.
The glasses were again filled, and Schubert, exclaim-
ing, "Myself!" hastily drained his own and left the
place. It may be that already he knew of the malady
that in less than two years was to remove him.

Of these two years, save a few letters written at
the time of a pleasant visit to some friends, almost the
only record is in the catalogue of his works, but during
this period some of his grandest compositions, the
symphony in C, the mass in E, many of his most
beautiful "Lieder," the "Winterreise," and others, and
the exquisite pianoforte impromptus were written. He
was never able during his life to gain a hearing for
his great symphony ; but it appears that public interest
had by this time to some extent become aroused in his

252 GREAT COMPOSERS

favor, and we hear of a private concert on March 26,
1827, at a Musikverein, where the programme, en-
tirely composed of his own compositions, was ex-
ceedingly successful.

But already symptoms of the illness destined to be
at last fatal were exhibiting themselves ; nervous head-
aches and rush of blood to the head, from which for
some time he had occasionally suffered, were now more
frequent and affected him more severely; yet to the
very end he continued working. He had removed to
his brother Ferdinand's house, and, this being new and
damp, his health was unfavorably affected by the
change. But he still was ardently contemplating
future work, and indeed, on November 3, a few days
before his death, he paid a visit to Sechter, a learned
contrapuntist, to arrange for taking lessons from him.

A few days after this he began to complain of
weakness and depression ; he was not able to take food,
and soon could not rise from his bed. But even then
he continued his work. On the 17th he became de-
lirious, and piteously supplicated his brother Ferdi-
nand to help him. "What is going to happen to me?
What are they doing to me?" When his brother and
the doctor tried to inspirit him by speaking of his re-
covery, "No, no, here is my end!" he said. Then
horrible fancies came to him ; he thought he was being
put in the tomb. "Oh! I entreat you to carry me to
my room; don't, don't leave me in this hole in the
earth ! What ! don't I deserve a place above ground ?"
They tried to assure him he was indeed in his own
room, but his mind was wandering again. In a frenzy
he cried out, "No, no, it's not true; Beethoven is not
laid here !" But soon the last remnant of his strength

GREAT COMPOSERS 253

was gone, and very quietly he breathed his last, at
three o'clock on the afternoon of November 19. His
illness had only lasted a week.

The next day his friends came to the house and
covered his coffin with wreaths, and placed a laurel
crown upon his brow. On the 21st the funeral took
place in the Wahring churchyard, and Schubert was
laid in his last resting-place, only separated by three
graves from that of Beethoven. A concert was soon
afterward given by his friends to raise the money to
pay for a monument over his grave. Three hundred
and sixty florins were realized, and with this sum was
erected the monument that may now be seen with the
first lines of Franz Grillparzer's poem engraved be-
neath the name of Schubert : "Here lies buried a rich
treasure, and yet more glorious hopes."

But Schubert's greatness does not consist, as Grill-
parzer and his friends of the Viennese clique probably
imagined, in the promise of great things that might
have been accomplished in the future. He left work
already done, symphonies, masses, chamber music,
sonatas, and, above all, songs of imperishable worth,
to which the world has long since accorded an assured
place among the noblest of musical classics. Writing
in 1838, Liszt, the greatest of modern pianists, said:
"In the salons I have heard with the keenest pleasure,
and often with an emotion bordering on tears, an
amateur, the Baron Schonstein (a friend of the Ester-
hazy family, and always an admirer of Schubert), sing
the 'Lieder' of Schubert — the musician most truly
poet that ever lived!"

Years after his death Schumann discovered his
great symphony in C, dusty and utterly forgotten, at

254 GREAT COMPOSERS

Vienna, and prevailed upon Ferdinand Schubert to
send it to Mendelssohn at Leipzig, under whose baton
it was first performed at the Gewandhaus concerts in
that city. Other treasures have been since then un-
earthed from dusty cupboards and old lumber-rooms
in Vienna, and Schubert's music is now played and
sung everywhere at concerts and in drawing-rooms.

Schubert and song ! These must ever be associated,
and who, indeed, would wish to sever the tie? Song
was the lifelong object of this true tone-poet; for it
he strove, and, above all, he accomplished. Many
may know him by other music, but the world at large
knows him only by those inspiring melodies which
enkindle all the emotions appertaining to human nature
— love and hatred, joy and sorrow, hope and despair,
consolation, resignation, and the like. His six hun-
dred songs form a unique and precious bequest to
music. Well has his work taken its place with the
stately and strong columns on which the vast edifice
of modern musical art rests — the symphonies and
sonatas of Beethoven, the operas of Mozart, the
oratorios of Handel, the chamber music of Haydn, and
the songs of Schubert.

Schubert himself said, "For many many long years
I sang my *Lieder.* If I would fain sing of love, it
turned to pain; if I would sing of pain, it turned to
love." But from the sorrow of that obscure and lonely
life has gone forth such music of consolation and
gladness as the world can never tire of; from Schu-
bert, the poor neglected musician whom so few knew
and cared for while he lived, have come the many
songs now piped or sung in Germany and in other
lands, sweeter and more lovely than any known before.

GREAT COMPOSERS 255

II

Schubert was, to borrow the phrase used by
Tennyson of A. C. Swinburne, "a reed through which
all things blow into music." Music was his Hfe-blood.
He thought in music, felt in music, as no other com-
poser has ever done. It was to him not merely a
means of expressing emotion, it took the place of
emotion itself. His fertility in musical ideas is un-
paralleled in the history of music. He had but to
read a poem and its musical complement burst full-
grown from his brain. He wrote music as other men
write a letter — like Shakespeare, rarely blotting a line.
As Ben Jonson said of Shakespeare, it would have
been better for him had he blotted thousands. His
very fertility was a snare. Had it been less easy to
him to write music, he would have taken more pains
to master the principles of technique, in which he was
always deficient. Toward the close of his life he
seems to have realized this himself. It appears that
his friends had often held up Beethoven's laborious
methods of composition before him as an example, and
after Beethoven's death he studied the manuscript of
"Fidelio" closely, comparing the different versions of
various passages and tracing the gradual development
of the composer's ideas. A short time before his
death he became possessed of the scores of some of
Handel's oratorios. A close study of these showed
him how much he had to learn in the matter of
counterpoint, and the result was his determination to
take lessons with Sechter. While in his songs he is
supreme, Schubert's lack of technical musicianship is
often felt in his instrumental and choral works.

256 GREAT COMPOSERS

In his song work Schubert was far more than a
mere melodist, though in this respect few composers
have equaled him. Modulation was one of his favorite
devices. Occasionally he carries his use of this device
to extravagant lengths, but as a rule he uses it with
exquisite discretion and with thrilling beauty and
force. His accompaniments are individual and orig-
inal, and are always adapted to the subject of the
song in a masterly manner. In his earher years he was
addicted to romantic and picturesque subjects, but as
he grew older he inclined more to songs of an intimate
and personal character, such as his two great song-
cycles "Die Schone Miillerin" and **Die Winterreise,"
which deal in the subtlest fashion with the play of
varying emotions and the development of feeling.

Apart from the intrinsic beauty of his songs, they
are historically important as being practically the
foundation of the school of modern German song-
writing. In this respect Schubert's position has been
admirably defined by Sir George Grove: "Songs there
were before him, those of Schulz, for instance, and of
Zumsteeg, which he so greatly admired, and of Haydn
and Mozart — touching, beautiful expressions * of
simple thought and feeling. But the song, as we
know it in his hands, full of dramatic fire, poetry, and
pathos, set to no simple Volkslieder, but to long com-
plex poems, the best poetry of the greatest poets, and
an absolute reflection of every change and breath of
sentiment in that poetry, with an accompaniment of
the utmost force, fitness, and variety — such songs were
his and his alone."

The Schubert whom we find in his songs is a nature
of exquisite sensibility, responsive to every poetical

GREAT COMPOSERS 257

suggestion, alive to every claim for sympathy. This
is the man viewed in relation to external circum-
stances; the inner man is pictured for us in his in-
strumental works, in which, unfettered by the claims
of poetry, he poured forth his soul in music. And the
picture is one of singular charm and attraction. We
must not expect from Schubert the serene wisdom of
Mozart nor the soaring imagination of Beethoven.
Schubert had a gentle and childlike spirit, alert with
noble impulses but restricted in its range. Schubert
was not, like Beethoven, a great intellectual force. He
died young, it is true, but his development was so
rapid that his best work cannot be called immature,
and there is nothing even in his latest productions
that warrants us in assuming the probability of any
further intellectual development. By a kind of super-
human instinct he divined in other men ideas foreign
to his own nature and clothed them in fitting music.
There is something almost miraculous in his setting of
some of Goethe's lyrics, in the manner in which he
keeps pace with the marvelous conceptions of that
great poet; but his own music shows no attempt to
face the baffling problems of life.

The charm of Schubert lies in his eternal youthful-
ness. He is the musician of springtime ; the generous
ardor of budding manhood bubbles in his strains. His
greatest and most characteristic work, the symphony
in C, is an Odyssey of youth. It pictures for us the
feelings of a young man starting upon the pilgrimage
of life. The spirit of romance hovers over the opening
notes — ^that mysterious call which seems to summon
man to put away childish things. The allegro is in
very truth a "Song of the Open Road," with its gay

258 GREAT COMPOSERS

marchlike rhythm and the full-blooded enthusiasm
that animates every note of it. The andante takes us
further afield. We seem to follow our hero through
the dim aisles of a forest, where sunlight and shadow
alternately checker his path. How the leaves flicker
and dance in the summer breeze, and how sweetly the
mysterious depths of woodland solitude breathe their
secrets in his ears! The scherzo touches a lighter
note, and in the marvelous finale the noble ardor of
youth seems kindled to a fever of passionate aspira-
tion, not without a touch of strange yeammg, a hun-
gering for beauty that has a curious pathos of its own.

There is something singularly moving in the tender-
ness, purity, and boyish faith — almost credulity —
revealed in this work. Happy Schubert to have died
with his ideals unclouded by disillusion and remorse!
Even when the bitterness of life and the cruelty of
disappointment touch him, as in the first movement of
the unfinished symphony in B minor, it is the unrea-
soning petulance of rebellious youth of which the
music speaks, not, as in Beethoven, the grim tragedy of
a man's sad war with fate. Similarly, in the famous
slow movement of the quartet in D minor — the varia-
tions on the melody of **Death and the Maiden*' —
which is, as it were, a musical counterpart to the often
pictured *'Dance of Death," there is no suggestion of
weird Holbeinesque horror. The attitude is rather
that of the wide-eyed wonder of boyhood than the
reasoned acquiescence and the serene fortitude of
Beethoven and Mozart.

No musician was ever less of a teacher than
Schubert. He lived in a world of his own apart from
theories and dogmas, pouring forth the music that

GREAT COMPOSERS 259

was in him at the dictate of his own genius. If the
romantic movement touched him, he was probably un-
conscious of it» and it is difficult to believe that in any
circumstances he would have written otherwise than
he did. Weber's literary attitude to music was im-
possible to him. He was a child of nature, singing as
the linnets sing. Save in the realm of song, in which
his influence has been inestimable, he contributed
nothing to musical development. He appears to have
had little dramatic instinct, and all the attempts that
have been made since his death to restore his operas
to the stage have failed ; nor do his masses and other
Church works appear to contain the germs of immor-
tality. He was a born lyrist, and had he written
nothing but his songs, his claim to rank among the
great musicians would still be secure.

SPOHR

(1784-1859)

LOUIS SPOHR

'T'HE first singer on the violin that ever appeared."
■*■ Such was the judgment which the Italian critics
declared when one of the truest of tone-poets first drew
his bow to speak to, and kindle the emotions of, an
audience in Italy. This was Ludwig, or, as he calls
himself in his "Autobic^aphy," Louis Spohr. Great as
a composer, great as a violinist, and beloved as a man,
he won the laurels of a master, and gained a place
among illustrious musicians.

He was bom at Brunswick, Germany, April 5, 1784.
Both his parents were musical ; his father, a physician,
being an excellent flautist, while his mother possessed
remarkable talent as a pianiste and singer. The boy
had so long been teasing his father for a violin, that
when he was six years old he presented him with his
first instrument. It was never out of his hands, and he
would wander about the house with it, endeavoring to
play some of his favorite melodies.

Young Spohr received his first lesson on the violin
from Dufour, an excellent amateur musician, who had
settled at Seesen, in which town the Spohr family at
that time resided. The progress the boy made fairly
astonished Dufour, and induced him to ask the parents
to allow the boy to devote liimself entirely to music.
This was agreed to, and the little fellow was delighted.
363

264 GREAT COMPOSERS

His progress was wonderful. He remained under the
care of Dufour until he was about twelve years old,
when, at his master's suggestion, he was sent to Bruns-
wick, that he might there enjoy the advantage of better
instruction. For this purpose he was placed under
Kunisch, an excellent teacher of the violin, and under
Hartung for harmony and counterpoint. Hartung
soon died, and Spohr received no more theory lessons
from any one. What he learned after this was from
his own diligent study of scores of the great masters.

Spohr, now fourteen years old, was already an ex-
cellent solo-player; and his father was of opinion
that he should now be maintaining himself; so accord-
ingly the youth set out for Hamburg to try his for-
tunes there. His bright hopes were soon dissipated,
and, with the little money remaining from that which
his father had given him at starting, he sent his violin
and other things on before him, while he, weary and
footsore, trudged back to Brunswick. There he hit
upon the idea of petitioning the Duke of Brunswick,
who as he knew was a good amateur violinist. His
petition was favorably received, and the Duke ar-
ranged a concert at the palace, at which Spohr was to
play. Upon hearing him, the Duke was much pleased,
and immediately secured for him a post in the
orchestra. In 1802 the Duke placed Spohr under the
care of Francis Eck, one of the finest violinists then
Hving.

Shortly after, this master and pupil set out on an
artistic tour, visiting, among other cities, Hamburg,
Strelitz, Riga, and St. Petersburg; in all of which
Spohr's fine playing won the admiration both of
musicians and the public. In July, 1803, he returned

GREAT COMPOSERS 265

to his native town. During his travels he had not only
wonderfully improved in his playing, but he had also
made good progress as a composer, having published
a concerto for the violin, and some duets, which had
attracted much attention. Upon his return to Bruns'
wick, therefore, he took the first opportunity of ar-
ranging a concert, so that his friends might see the
progress he had made. The concert took place, and
the Duke was so pleased that he appointed him first
violinist in the court orchestra.

Soon after this Spohr made a tour to Leipzig, Dres-
den, and Berlin, where he charmed all who heard him,
and gained fresh laurels as a composer, by producing
his D minor and E minor concertos. In the spring of
1805 he had returned from this journey; but hardly
had he settled down again before he received a letter
inviting him to compete for the directorship of the
ducal orchestra at Gotha, which had become vacant.
Spohr was successful, and was duly introduced to his
new duties.

At the house of Madame Scheidler, one of the court
singers at Gotha, Spohr made the acquaintance of this
lady's daughter, Dorette, an expressive and beautiful
player upon the harp, whom he married in 1806. For
many years his wife appeared with him in all his con-
certs, and for her he wrote a number of sonatas for
violin and some solo pieces. An opera, "Alruna"
(1808), was among the most important of his writings
at this period, which, although he allowed it to dis-
appear, possessed much that was good.

October, 1809, found Spohr and his wife again
leaving home — this time for a journey to Russia.
However, they had only proceeded as far as Breslau

266 GREAT COMPOSERS

when Spohr received a letter f rorxi the court chamber-
lain inviting them to return, and soon they were again
in the court orchestra at Gotha. Here they remained
for some time, during which Spohr was chiefly en-
gaged in composition. Among the works of this time
may be mentioned **Der Zweikampf mit der Geliebten,"
"Das jungste Gericht," first performed at the festival
held at Erfurt in 1812, in honor of Napoleon's birth-
day ; a symphony, and some sonatas for the harp and
violin.

In the autumn of 1812 Spohr and his wife went to
Vienna, where they met with good success. While
there Spohr was offered the directorship of the Theater
an der Wien, at a salary three times the amount of
that which he was receiving at Gotha. This offer he
accepted and settled in Vienna.

In the midst of his new duties Spohr gave to the
world two important works — his opera "Faust" and
the cantata "Das befreite Deutschland" (The Libera-
tion of Germany). "Faust" was composed for the
Theater an der Wien, but was never performed till
Weber brought it out at Prague in 18 16. The cantata,
which was written to celebrate the return of the army
that had liberated Germany, did not get a hearing till
181 5, on the anniversary of the battle of Leipzig.

The year 181 5 brought with it a change in Spohr's
arrangements. There had been a rupture between him
and Count Palffy, the proprietor of the Theater an der
Wien, which ended in their canceling their agreement.
Now free, he decided on making a long journey, visit-
ing Germany, Switzerland, and Italy. On March i8th
Spohr, with his beloved Dorette and young family,
bade adieu to Vienna.

GREAT COMPOSERS 267

It was late in the year 181 7 before they returned
from this long artistic tour, and on their way home
Spohr received a letter inviting him to accept the post
of director of the opera and music of the Frankfort
Theater. He did so, and for nearly two years labored
zealously to improve his new orchestra. "Zemire and
Azor" was the most important work he produced dur-
ing this period. This opera was first performed at the
Frankfort Theater in April, 1819, under the composer's
direction, and met with a most favorable reception.
When it was produced at Covent Garden Theater,
London, in 183 1, it created a great stir in musical
circles, and was the subject of much discussion. All
were agreed that it had "melody in the richest pro-
fusion," but the prevailing opinion was that it was too
"scientific."

While at Frankfort, Spohr received an invitation
from the Philharmonic Society to come to London
for the season of 1820, and appear at one of their con-
certs. Early in that year he and Dorette were in
London, where he appeared at one of the society's
concerts, playing a cantabile scena of his own composi-
tion, and also one of his quartets. While in London
he composed his D flat symphony (Op. 49), which was
interpreted for the first time by the orchestra of the
Philharmonic Society at their concert of April 10,
1820, its composer wielding the baton. Most of the
papers had something to say of the splendid new
symphony and its brilliant performance. In London
also Spohr gave a benefit concert, which proved quite
advantageous to him.

With the London season over, Spohr visited several
cities, giving successful concerts, and early in Decem-

268 GREAT COMPOSERS

ber, 1820, he was in Paris, where he made the ac-
quaintance of eminent musicians.

On January 20, 1821, he made his debut before a
Parisian audience. The concert was given in the
Grand Opera House, "and," says Spohr, "the satisfac-
tion of the audience was unmistakably expressed by
loud applause and shouts of *bravo !' *' This was the
only concert he gave during this stay in Paris. He
turned to his "dear Fatherland," and at Dresden
busied himself with the composition of a ten-part
vocal mass and a clarinet concerto in F minor.

On New Year's day of 1822 Spohr was in Cassel,
where he became director of the orchestra of the
Court Theater. At a grand dinner, amid songs,
speeches, and toasts, Spohr was introduced to his new
orchestra, to which he remained so brilliant and useful
an ornament for over thirty years. Here his opera
"Jessonda" was first performed July 28, 1823. The
work was successful, and soon found a home on all the
stages of Germany.

The oratorio "Die letzten Dinge" (The Last Judg-
ment) came with the year 1826. On Good Friday of
that year the Lutheran church of Cassel presented a
most impressive appearance. It was evening. The
sacred edifice was lighted up, and overhead hung an
enormous cross covered with silver foil, from which
were suspended hundreds of lighted lamps, shedding
a brilliant ray of light upon the many hundreds of
persons who filled the church. Here was heard, for
the first time, Spohr's "Last Judgment." What must
have been the thoughts of the congregation, as in the
"solemn stillness" which Spohr says prevailed, and in
the light of that emblem of Calvary overhead, they

GREAT COMPOSERS 269

awaited the solemn narrative! The performance was
faultless, and the fame of "The Last Judgment" soon
spread through Europe.

It is by no means a large work, containing in all but
twenty-three numbers. All who have heard it must
ever remember such inspirations as the opening chorus,
"Praise the Lord our God," or "Destruction is fallen
on Babylon," and "Great and wonderful," with its
joyous "Hallelujah," two more of its finest choruses.
Nor is the duet for soprano and tenor, "Lord, re-
member my affliction," or the air and chorus, "Holy,
holy, holy," less charming. The oratorio is replete
with such gems as these, and its many beauties com-
bine to make it worthy of an honorable place among
great works of its class.

Spohr was now assiduous at composition. After
"Die letzten Dinge" came the B flat minor quintet,
some quartets for strings, his third symphony — the
C minor — the opera "Pietro von Abano," till we come
to the opera of "Der Alchymist," first performed in
Cassel July 28, 1830, where it was received with the
greatest enthusiasm. With the year 1832 came an-
other great work, the symphony "Die Weihe der Tone"
(The Consecration of Sound), a composition which,
some critics declare, would of itself have secured for
Spohr a lasting fame. His "Violin School," finished
in 183 1, has remained a standard work of instruction
for advanced students.

In the year 1834 a sad calamity overtook him — ^the
death of his beloved wife, who succumbed to a fever
on the 20th of November. Dorette's illness and death
had interrupted Spohr's work upon his new oratorio,
"Des Heilands letze Stunden" (Calvary), and it was

270 GREAT COMPOSERS

some time before he felt fit to resume his labors; but
at length the work was finished, and on Good Friday,
1835, the oratorio was first publicly performed. "The
thought," says Spohr, "that my wife did not live to
listen to its first performance, sensibly lessened the
satisfaction I felt at this, my most successful work."
It was first heard in England at the Norwich Festival
of 1839, ^"d the success it then achieved was enor-
mous, in spite of much opposition hurled at it from
the Norwich pulpits on account of its libretto.

Two lonesome years had barely passed when Spohr
began to long for another partner. This he found in
the sister of his deceased friend Pfeiffer; and on
January 3, 1836, their wedding took place. Soon after
this, accompanied by his wife, more than twenty years
younger than himself, he made a long journey, visiting
many cities, in all of which he and his young wife, a
brilliant pianist, were received with great rejoicings.
In 1839 he gave to the world a work he had planned
during this journey. This was another splendid
orchestral composition — the "Historical" symphony,
illustrating, in its first movement, the music and char-
acteristics of the Bach-Handel period, 1720; in its
adagio, the Haydn-Mozart period, 1780; and in its
scherzo movement, the Beethoven period, 1810; while
the concluding movement is devoted to illustrating the
style and taste of playing at the time when the sym-
phony was composed, 1838-39. The fame of it soon
spread throughout Europe.

A pressing invitation from Professor Taylor brought
Spohr again to England, to conduct the Norwich Fes-
tival of 1839; after which he returned to his home at
Cassel, and set to work upon a new oratorio — "The

GREAT COMPOSERS 271

Fall of Babylon." This was completed in time for the
Norwich Festival of 1842, but unfortunately Spohr
could not obtain permission from his employer — ^the
Elector of Hesse — to visit England to conduct its per-
formance. The work was produced, nevertheless,
under Professor Taylor's direction, when it met with
a most satisfactory reception. The following year
gave the Londoners an opportunity of hearing "Baby-
lon" under the composer's direction — first at the
Hanover Square Rooms, and shortly after at Exeter
Hall, by the Sacred Harmonic Society. Spohr was
greeted with extraordinary enthusiasm.

After this Spohr left London, crowds of people
assembling to witness his departure. He arrived
safely at his house at Cassel, with his thoughts busy
about a new opera, "Die Kreuzfahrer" (The Cru-
saders), which was first performed on New Year's
day, 1845. I^ W21S afterward presented in Berlin, but
had no lasting success.

For Spohr the year 1847 opened brightly — it being
the twenty-fifth anniversary of his connection with the
Court Theater of Cassel ; and a festival had long been
talked about to celebrate the event; but, alas! it was
also the year when his beloved friend, Felix Men-
delssohn, closed his eyes forever. Spohr had returned
from a happy visit to England when he received the
sad tidings. In the midst of his grief, Spohr and his
colleagues prepared a grand musical festival in mem-
ory of their departed friend, as the best tribute of
affection they could pay to one whom they loved and
admired so much.

The year 1850 is an important one, for it gave birth
to another symphony by Spohr, "The Seasons," in

272 GREAT COMPOSERS

which the succession of Spring, Summer, Autumn,
and Winter is faithfully depicted. This was
followed by Spohr's seventh quintet, in G minor, an-
other string quartet — the 32d — and a series of pieces
for the violin and piano; till, in 1852, he fell to work
remodeling his "Faust." On July 15 "Faust" was
successfully given in London, the composer conducting.

Spohr went again to London for the 1853 season, to
conduct some of the New Philharmonic Society's con-
certs. This proved to be his last visit to England. He
returned home and spent the next few years at Cassel,
pursuing his court duties, and composing some new
works. The masterly septet for piano, string and wind
instruments, another violin quartet, and three duets for
the violin were among his compositions up to the year
1855; and, notwithstanding that Spohr was now over
seventy years of age, they are as charmingly fresh and
original in character as are his earlier compositions.

But he lived to see the day when he could not give
expression to the fancies and beautiful forms which
occupied his brain. In 1857 he put his pen to his 34th
quartet, but, alas! upon completion, it did not satisfy
him. Again he tried it, but sorrowfully desired it
never to be made public. The same with his tenth
symphony. After he had heard it performed by his
Cassel orchestra, it was condemned. In the same year
he was pensioned off, much against his will. Nor was
this all. He had the misfortune to fall and break his
left arm, and never again did it recover its strength
and elasticity so that he could play his beloved violin.
His health began to trouble him, and he was getting
weary of life now that he could do so little.

Two years passed thus, with but one important

GREAT COMPOSERS 273

incident — his last composition. In October, 1858, at
the request of many friends, he set a song of Goethe's
to music, and the long-silent piano in his room was
once again unexpectedly heard throughout the house.
This fragment was all it was needed for — ^the usual
stillness returned, never to be again broken by Spohr.

In the spring of 1859 he journeyed to Meiningen, to
direct a concert. A colossal bust of Spohr was placed
upon the stage, surrounded and overhung with
branches of palm and laurel. The conductor's desk
also had been tastefully decorated by fair hands with
ingenious devices and garlands of flowers. The house,
filled to overflowing, awaited in breathless suspense the
appearance of the master. "He comes!" was whis-
pered through the spacious house, and a burst of
welcome greeted the honored man from the assembled
thousands. This was the last time he wielded the con-
ductor's baton.

He returned to Cassel, and passed his time in read-
ing, or in visiting the theaters and concerts. On the
evening of October 16 he went to bed hoping for a
good night's rest. He awoke too weak either to get
up or to eat, and asked that his wife should sit on the
bed beside him. He took her hand and kissed it
tenderly. He remained for some days with life slowly
ebbing away, surrounded by his family and those most
dear to him, till, on the evening of October 22, 1859,
he passed away.

Thus closed the long life of a man and an artist who
had to the full developed the great talents and powers
given him ; who throughout a long career had lived up
to the ideal he had conceived in youth; in whom
private character and artistic activity corresponded to

274 GREAT COMPOSERS

a rare degree. His "Autobiography'* bears the strongest
possible testimony to his rare manly straightforward-
ness and sincerity in word and deed, and to the child-
like purity of mind which he preserved from early
youth to latest age. According to his lights he ever
stood up for the dignity of his art, with the same un-
flinching independence of character with which he
claimed, not without personal risk, the rights of a free
citizen.

Spohr certainly was a born musician, second only to
the very greatest masters in true musical instinct; in
power of concentration and of work hardly inferior
to any. But the range of his talent was not wide ; he
never seems to have been able to step out of a given
circle of ideas and sentiments, and when he tried to
enlarge his sphere, it was only to get iiold of the outer
shell of things, which he at once proceeded to fill with
the old familiar substance. He never left the circle of
his individuality, but drew everything within it. At
the same time it must be confessed that he left much
outside of that circle. To his violin concertos — ^and
among them especially to the 7th, 8th, and 9th — must
be assigned the first place among his works. They are
only surpassed by those of Beethoven and Mendels-
sohn, and are probably destined to live longer than
any other of his works. They are not likely to dis-
appear soon from the repertoires of the best violinists.

As a man Spohr was universally respected, although,
owing to a certain reserve in his character and a de-
cided aversion to talking, he has not rarely been
reproached with coldness and brusqueness of manner.
At the same time he gained and kept through a long
life certain intimate friendships and in many instances

GREAT COMPOSERS 275

showed great kindness to brother artists. That this
was not incompatible with an extraordinary sense of
his own value and importance is evident in every page
of his "Autobiography," which is a most interesting
and amusing work.

■i\

3

PAGANINI

(1784-1840)

'.!.

(:■

u

NICCOLO PAGAHIHI

'T'HIS remarkable man, the most famous of violin
^ virtuosi, was bom at Genoa, Italy, February i8,
1784, His father was a small tradesman, who, although
quite uneducated, was a great lover of music, and a
performer on the mandolin. He soon perceived the
musical talent of his son, and began to instruct him at
a very early age. He then handed him over to Ser-
vetto, and, for six months, to Costa, the principal
violinist and conductor at Genoa. When eight years
old he had already acquired considerable proficiency,
and had also composed a sonata for his instrument.

In 1793 he made his first appearance in public at
Genoa, and played variations on the air "La Carma-
gnole," then so popular, with immense success. He also
used to play every Sunday a violin concerto in church,
a circumstance to which Paganini himself attached
much importance, as having forced him to the constant
study of fresh pieces. About the year 1795 his father
took him to Parma, with the intention of putting him
under the famous violinist Alessandro Rolla. Paga-
nini himself thus relates their first meeting: "Coming
to Rolla we found him laid up. He appeared little
inclined to see us, but his wife showed us into a room
adjoining his bedroom, until she had spoken to him.
Finding on the table a violin and the music of Rolla's

ago GREAT COMPOSERS

latest concerto, I took up the instniment and played
the piece at sight. Astonished at what he heard, the
composer asked for the name of the player ; and when
told that it was but a young boy, would not believe it
until he had seen for himself. He then told me that
he had nothing to teach me, and advised me to go to
Paer for instruction in composition." Fetis, in his
monograph on Paganini, maintains that this statement
rests on a mistake, as Paer was then in Germany, and
that it was under Ghiretti that Paganini studied for
some time. It is also stated on good authority that for
several months he had regular lessons from Rolla, and
it is difficult to explain why he was in later years un-
willing to acknowledge the fact.

Paganini was already bent on finding out new effects
on the violin. After his return to Genoa he com-
posed his first studies, which were of such unheard-of
difficulty, that he himself is reported sometimes to have
practised a single passage for ten hours running. That
such intense study should have resulted in the ac-
quisition of unlimited execution, but should also have
affected his health, is not to be wondered at. Up to
this time he appears to have been wholly under the
control of his father, who was a harsh and rough man.
The boy naturally wished to escape from what he con-
sidered intolerable slavery. Being allowed to travel
for the first time alone to Lucca, where he played with
immense success at a music- festival in November, 1798,
he did not return home, but went on to Pisa and other
towns. Although only fifteen, he had already begun
to lead a dissipated life, in which gambling took a
prominent part. Alternate fits of study and gambling,
interrupted by periods of utter exhaustion and by

GREAT COMPOSERS 281

protracted illnesses, easily explain his frequent dis-
appearances from public view, and his miserable
health in later life. One day at Leghorn he gambled
away everything he had, even to his violin. In order
to enable him to appear at the concert, a M. Levron,
an amateur, lent him a beautiful Josef Guarnerius;
and after having heard him play on it, presented it to
him. This was the instrument which Paganini used
for the rest of his life in preference to any other. He
bequeathed it to his native town of Genoa, and it is
preserved in a glass case in the Municipal Palace.
Another fine violin, a Stradivarius, was given to him
by Pasini, a painter.

From 1801 till 1804 Paganini lived in absolute re-
tirement at the chateau of a lady of high rank, devot-
ing much time to the study of the guitar, the lady's
favorite instrument. He there composed two sets of
sonatas for guitar and violin (Op. 2 and 3). In 1804
he returned to Genoa, and for a year reapplied himself
in an almost furious manner to the study of the violin.
At this period he first learned to know the extravagant
studies of Locatelli, especially his "Arte di nuova
modulazione," and endeavored to emulate and outdo
Locatelli's tours de force. He also composed three
quartets for violin, viola, guitar, and cello (Op. 4), a
second set of the same (Op. 5), and a set of variations
di bravura with guitar accompaniment.

In 1805 he began again to travel. Wherever he
played he excited unbounded enthusiasm. At Lucca
he accepted an engagement as solo-player to the court,
and as teacher to Prince Bacciochi, the husband of
Napoleon's sister Elisa. It was there that he began
his famous performances on the G-string alone. He

282 GREAT COMPOSERS

resided at Lucca till 1808, and during the next nineteen
years gave hundreds of concerts in all parts of Italy —
his fame and the enthusiasm for his art ever and ever
increasing. At the same time he was not unfrequently
attacked by jealous rivals, and altogether his life was
not free from strange adventures. "One day at Leg-
horn" — so he himself relates — "a nail had run into
my heel and I came on limping, at which the audience
laughed. At the moment I was about to commence
my concerto, the candles of my desk fell out. Another
laugh. After the first few bars of my solo my first
string broke, which increased the hilarity ; but I played
the piece on three strings, and the sneers quickly
changed into general applause."

At Ferrara he had a narrow escape from being
lynched. Enraged by a hiss from the pit, Paganini
resolved to avenge the outrage, and at the end of the
concert proposed to the audience to imitate the voices
of various animals. After having rendered the notes
of diflferent birds, the mewing of a cat, and the barking
of a dog, he finally advanced to the footlights, and
calling out, "Questo e per quelli che han fischiato"
(this is for those who hissed), imitated in an unmis-
takable manner the braying of a donkey. At this the
pit rose to a man, rushed through the orchestra,
climbed the stage, and would probably have killed
Paganini if he had not taken to instantaneous flight.
The explanation of this strange occurrence is, that the
people of Ferrara had a special reputation for stupid-
ity, and that the appearance of a Ferrarese outside the
town was the signal for a significant "hee-haw." We
may well believe that this was Paganini's last public
appearance there.

GREAT COMPOSERS 283

At Milan his success was greater than anywhere
else. He gave there in 181 3 no less than thirty-seven
concerts. In 1814, at Bologna, he first made the ac-
quaintance of Rossini. In 181 6 he met the French
violinist Lafont at Milan, and had with him — quite
against his wish — ^a public contest. Both played solos,
and they joined in a concertante duet by Kreutzer. It
does honor to Paganini's character that in relating the
event he writes: "Lafont probably surpassed me in
tone." That the victory after all rested with Paganini
need hardly be added. A similar contest took place in
1 81 7 at Placentia between Paganini and Lipinski. In
1827 Pope Leo XII conferred on him the order of the
Golden Spur.

Hitherto Paganini had never played outside Italy.
Encouraged to visit Vienna by Prince Mettemich, who
had heard and admired him at Rome in 181 7, he re-
peatedly made plans for visiting Germany, but the
wretched state of his health always prevented their
execution. A sojourn in the delicious climate of Sicily
at last restored him to comparative health, and he
started for Vienna, where his first concert, March 29,
1828, created an unparalleled sensation. A perfect
fever appears to have seized all classes of society : the
shop windows exhibited hats, gloves, and boots a la
Paganini; dishes of all sorts were named after him;
his portrait was to be seen on snuff-boxes, and his
bust on the walking-sticks of the Viennese dandies.
He himself obtained the Grand Gold Medal of St.
Salvator from the town, and the title of Virtuoso to
the Court from the Emperor.

During the following years Paganini traveled in
Germany, repeating his Vienna triumphs in all the

284 GREAT COMPOSERS

principal towns of the country, especially in Berlin,
where he played first in March, 1829. On March 9,
1 83 1, he made his first appearance at Paris in a con-
cert at the Opera. His success was quite equal to any
that he had had elsewhere. In the following May he
went to London, and gave his first concert at the
Opera House on June 3. Here he excited perhaps
more curiosity than enthusiasm. He himself in a letter
complains of the "excessive and noisy admiration" to
which he was a victim in London, which left him no
rest, and actually blocked his passage from the theater
every time he played. "Although the public curiosity
to see me," says he, "is long since satisfied, though I
have played in public at least thirty times, and my
likeness has been reproduced in all possible styles and
forms, yet I can never leave my home without being
mobbed by people who are not content with following
and jostling me, but actually get in front of me, and
prevent my going either way, address me in English,
of which I do not know a word, and even feel me, as
if to find out if I am flesh and blood. And this not
only the common people, but even the upper classes."
The financial results of his concerts in London, the
Provinces, Scotland, and Ireland, were very large. He
repeated his visits in the following two years, played
at a farewell concert at the Victoria Theater, London,
June 17, 1832, and then returned to the Continent in
possession of a large fortune, which he invested chiefly
in landed estates. The winter of 1833 he passed in
Paris, and it was early in January, 1834, that he pro-
posed to Berlioz to write a concerto for his Stradi-
varius viola, which resulted in the symphony called
"Harold en Italic." For the next two years his favor-

GREAT COMPOSERS 285

ite residence was the Villa Gaiona near Parma. But
his eagerness to amass money did not allow him to
rest or attend to his health. In 1836 he received an
invitation from Paris to take part in a money specu-
lation on a large scale. It was proposed to establish,
under the name Casino Paganini, in a fashionable
quarter of Paris, a large and luxurious club— osten-
sibly with the view of giving concerts, but in reality
for gambling purposes. Unfortunately he could not
resist the temptation to embark in so doubtful an en-
terprise. The club-house was opened, but the gambling
license was refused, and the concerts alone did not
nearly cover the expenses of the establishment. Paga-
nini hurried to Paris to save the concern, if possible,
by appearing in the concerts. But he arrived in so
exhausted a state that he could not play. The com-
pany became bankrupt, and he himself suffered a per-
sonal loss of 50,000 francs. He remained in Paris for
the winter of 1838, and it was on December 18 of that
year that he gave Berlioz 20,000 francs, as a mark of
his admiration for the "Symphonic fantastique."

The annoyance arising from the unfortunate affair
of the casino greatly increased his malady, which was
phthisis of the larynx. Seeking relief in a warmer
climate, he went to Marseilles, and stayed for some
time in the house of a friend. Here, although almost
a dying man, he would now and then take up his violin
or his guitar, and one day even played his favorite
quartet — Beethoven's F major. Op. 59, No. i. On
the approach of winter he went to Nice. Here his
malady progressed rapidly; he lost his voice entirely,
and was troubled with an incessant cough. He died
May 27, 1840, at the age of fifty-six.

286 GREAT COMPOSERS

A week before his death the Bishop of Nice sent a
priest to convey to him the last sacrament. Paganini,
not believing that his end was so near, would not re-
ceive it. The wording of his will, in which he recom-
mends his soul to the mercy of God and fixes a sum
for masses to be said for its repose, proves his adher-
ence to the Catholic Church. But as the priest did not
return, and as Paganini in consequence died without
the rites of the Church, the bishop refused him burial
in consecrated ground. The coffin remained for a long
time in a hospital at Nice; it was afterward removed
to Villafranca, and it was not till 1845 that Paganini's
son, by a direct appeal to the Pope, obtained leave to
inter it in the village church near Villa Gaiona.

He left to his son Achille a large fortune. Although
as a rule chary with his money, he was occasionally
very generous, as his gift to Berlioz, already men-
tioned, shows. The mystery which surrounded Paga-
nini the man no doubt helped to increase the interest
taken in the artist. The strangest rumors accompanied
him wherever he went. It was commonly reported
that he owed his wonderful execution on the G-string
to a long imprisonment, inflicted on him for the
murder of a rival in love, during which he had a violin
with one string only. Paganini himself writes: "At
Vienna one of the audience affirmed publicly that my
performance was not surprising, for he had distinctly
seen, while I was playing my variations, the devil at
my elbow directing my arm and guiding my bow. My
resemblance to the devil was a proof of my origin."
But even sensible and educated people believed that
Paganini had a secret which enabled him to execute
what appeared impossible to any other player. In fact

GREAT COMPOSERS 287

he has been suspected to have himself originated such
rumors. As there was no doubt an admixture of char-
latanism in the character of this extraordinary man, he
may perhaps at first have done so. But on the other
hand, he more than once contradicted them. At Prague
he actually published a letter from his mother to dis-
prove the rumor that he was the son of the devil ; and
at Paris he furnished Fetis with all the necessary
material and dates to refute publicly the numberless
absurdities circulated about him. This was done by a
letter inserted in the "Revue musicale," but it availed
little. Fetis, in his monograph on Paganini, by estab-
lishing the chronology of his travels and his sojourns
at various places, proves clearly that he could not have
suffered a lengthened imprisonment. It was not only
the perfectly novel and astonishing character of his
performances, but to a large extent his extraordinary
ghostlike appearance, which caused these absurd
rumors. His tall, skeleton figure, the pale, narrow,
wax-colored face, the long dark hair, the mysterious
expression of the heavy eye, have often been described.
But after all, the extraordinary effect of his playing
could have had its source only in his extraordinary
genius. If genius, as has been justly remarked, is "the
power of taking infinite pains," he certainly showed it
in a wonderful degree in the power of concentration
and perseverance which enabled him to acquire such
absolute command of his instrument. Mere perfection
of technique, however, would never have thrown the
whole of musical Europe into such paroxysms. With
the first notes his audience was spellbound ; there was
in him — ^though certainly not the evil spirit suspected
by the superstitious — a demonic element which ir-

288 GREAT COMPOSERS

resistibly took hold of those that came within his
sphere. "His constant and daring flights," writes
Moscheles, "his newly discovered flageolet tones, his
gift of fusing and beautifying subjects of the most
diverse kind — all these phases of genius so completely
bewilder my musical perceptions that for days after-
ward my head is on fire and my brain reels." He was
no "mere virtuoso" — there was a something in his
playing that defied description or imitation, and he
certainly had in a high degree originality and character,
the two qualities which distinguish genius from ordi-
nary talent.

His tone was not great : it could not be, for the one
reason that the constant use of double harmonics and
other specialties of his style necessitates very thin
strings, which again preclude the production of a large
and broad tone. But even his severest critics have
always granted that his cantilena was extremely ex-
pressive. "I never wearied of the intense expression,
soft and melting as that of an Italian singer," says
Moscheles again. Spohr, in his "Autobiography,"
says of him: "The execution of his left hand and his
never-failing intonation appeared to me as much as
ever deserving admiration. In his compositions, how-
ever, and in his style of playing, I find a strange
mixture of true genius and want of taste," etc. A
distinguished English amateur, who heard him at
York in 1832, writes in a letter, full of enthusiasm:
"In the concerto on the fourth string he contrived to
give some passages a tremulous sound, like the voice
of a person crying. He makes great use of sliding his
fingers along the strings — sometimes producing a most
beautiful, at other times laughable effect." "Paganini,"

GREAT COMPOSERS 289

says Thomas Moore, "abuses his powers; he could
play divinely, and does so sometimes for a minute or
two; but then come his tricks and surprises, his bow
in convulsions, and his enharmonics, like the mewlings
of an expiring cat." Here no doubt is an explanation,
and to a certain extent a justification of Spohr's
criticism. The frequent use of tremolo and of sliding
indicate an impure style, which ought not to serve as
a model ; it was Paganini's style, founded on the man's
inmost nature, which was as peculiar and exceptional
as his talent. Spohr's criticisms — sincere enough, but
often biassed and narrow — ^prove nothing more than
that Paganini was no scion of the classical school of
Viotti and Rode. In fact he belonged to no school.
He followed the bent of his individuality, in which
the southern element of passion and excitement was
very strong, and showed itself in a manner which to a
colder northern taste appeared exaggerated and af-
fected.

The main technical features of Paganini's playing
were an unfailing intonation, a lightning-like rapidity
on the finger-board and with the bow, and a command
of double stops, harmonics, and double harmonics,
hardly equaled by any one before or after him. He
also produced most peculiar effects, which for a long
time puzzled all violinists, by tuning his violin in var-
ious ways. He was not the first to adopt this trick, but
no one before him had made any extensive use of it.

In his interesting "Anecdotes of Great Musicians,"
W. Francis Gates gives us an account of Paganini's
method of study that may well be considered by all
students of music:

"We can hardly realize at this day of the world the

290 GREAT COMPOSERS

furore created by the marvelous performances of
Paganini. The gaunt, cadaverous figure, the eccentric
poses, the bewitching music, the undreamed-of
technique, seconded by the terrible tales which had
been circulated about his selling his soul to the devil
in exchange for his wonderful powers — all this created
such an interest and excitement as has hardly been
paralleled in musical records.

"Various fiddlers whom he put sadly in the shade
would have almost sold their souls to have captured the
secret of his abilities. One of them went so far as to
follow him from place to place, hoping to get an inkling
of the magic that Paganini used. This man would
even engage an adjoining room at the hotel where
Paganini was staying, and kept up an unceasing
espionage over the virtuoso, even going to the length
of peering through the keyhole of the latter's room.
On one occasion, when so engaged, he saw Paganini
take up his instrument and place it in position as
though about to play, but, greatly to his disappoint-
ment, not a sound did the player make. He simply
moved his left hand up and down the neck for a few
moments, as though studying positions, then laid it
aside, and that was all.

"During his youth Paganini was made to practise
many hours per day, and the severe training that he
was put through at that time, together with his phe-
nomenal genius for his instrument, so settled his
technique that it was not necessary for him to keep a
severe and arduous course of practice with fixed
regularity. Even when rehearsing with the orchestra,
beyond a few isolated snatches, more often than not
played pizzicato, he rarely ever played through those

GREAT COMPOSERS 291

compositions which, at his concerts, delighted and as-
tonished his audiences.

"But while his technical practice was largely fin-
ished in his youth, he was throughout his whole life
an earnest student. The works which he performed
were such as to demand constant study, for he con-
stantly added new compositions to his repertoire, all
of which he memorized. He studied them as one
would study a poem, committing them to memory
line by line and stanza by stanza, thus relieving him-
self of constant repetitions. He would so impress the
notes, dynamic marks, and bowing upon his memory,
that when he came to give the work audible expression,
it remained only to apply the physical machinery he
could so well control to its demonstration. At the
proper moment every note appeared in its place with
fitting finish and expression, although the artist may
not previously have traced the combinations upon his
instrument. An active and discriminating intelligence
was at the root of all of his musical performances."

1 1

> I

\ I

MEYERBEER

(1791-1864)

, I

I.'

■1

GIACOHO MEYERBEER

'I 'HE famous dramatic composer Gtacomo Meyer-
beer was born in Berlin, Germany, of Jewish
parents, September 5, 1791. His father, Herz Beer, a
native of Frankfort, was a wealthy banker in Berlin;
his mother was a woman of rare intellectual gifts. He
was their eldest son, and was called Jacob Meyer Beer,
a name he afterward contracted and Italianized into
Giacomo Meyerbeer. His genius showed itself early.
When hardly more than an infant he was able to retain
in memory the popular tunes he heard, and to play
them on the piano, accompanying them with their
appropriate harmony. His first instructor was Lauska,
an eminent pianoforte player, and pupil of dementi ;
and old Qementi himself, although he had long given
up teaching, was so much struck, during a visit to
Berlin, with the promise displayed in the boy's per-
formance as to consent to give him lessons.

As early as seven years old he played in public, and
two years later was reckoned one of the best pianists
in Berlin. It was as a pianist that he was expected to
win his laurels, but as he had also shown much talent
for composition, he was placed under Zelter for in-
struction in theory, and subsequently under Bernard
Anselm Weber, director of the Berlin Opera. Weber
was an inspiring companion, but not a competent
theoretical teacher for such a pupil. The boy brought
ags

296 GREAT COMPOSERS

one day to his master a fugue on which he had ex-
pended an unusual amount of time and pains. Weber,
proud and joyful, sent off the fugue as a specimen of
his pupil's work to his old master, the Abbe Vogler, at
Darmstadt. The answer was eagerly looked for, but
months elapsed and nothing came. At last there ap-
peared — ^not a letter, but a huge packet. This proved
to contain a long and exhaustive treatise on Fugue, in
three sections. The first was theoretical, setting forth
in rule and maxim the "whole duty" of the fugue-
writer. The second, entitled "Scholar's Fugue," con-
tained Meyerbeer's unlucky exercise, dissected and
criticised, bar by bar, and pronounced bad. The third,
headed "Master's Fugue," consisted of a fugue by
Vogler, on Meyerbeer's subject, analyzed like the pre-
ceding one, to show that it was good.

Weber was astonished and distressed, but Meyer-
beer set to work and wrote another fugue, in eight
parts, in accordance with his new lights. This, with a
modest letter, he sent to Vogler. The answer soon
came: "Young man! Art opens to you a glorious
future ! Come to me at Darmstadt. You shall be to
me as a son, and you shall slake your thirst at the
sources of musical knowledge." Such a prospect was
not to be resisted, and in 1810 Meyerbeer became an
inmate of Vogler 's house.

Here Meyerbeer had for companion Karl Maria
von Weber, and between the two sprang up a lasting
friendship. Each morning after early mass, when the
young men took it in turns to preside at the organ,
they assembled for a lesson in counterpoint from the
Abbe. Themes were distributed, and a fugue or
sacred cantata had to be written every day. In the

GREAT COMPOSERS 297

evening the work was examined, when each man had
to defend his own composition against the critical at-
tacks of Vogler and the rest. Organ fugues were
improvised in the cathedral, on subjects contributed
by all in turn. In this way Meyerbeer's education was
carried on for two years. His diligence was such, that
often, when interested in some new branch of study,
he would not leave his room nor put off his dressing-
gown for days together. His great powers of execu-
tion on the pianoforte enabled him to play at sight the
most intricate orchestral scores, with a full command
of every part.

His four-part "Sacred Songs of Klopstock" were
published at this time, and an oratorio of his, entitled
"God and Nature," was performed in presence of the
Grand Duke, who appointed him composer to the
court. His first opera, "Jephthah*s Vow," was also
written during this Vogler period. A comic opera,
"Alimelek, or the Two Caliphs," failed at Munich.
It was, however, put in rehearsal at Vienna, whither
Meyerbeer now repaired, with the intention of making
his appearance there as a pianist. But on the very
evening of his arrival he chanced to hear Hummel, and
was so much impressed by the grace, finish, and ex*
quisite legato-playing of this artist that he became
dissatisfied with all he had hitherto aimed at or ac-
complished, and went into a kind of retirement for
several months, during which time he subjected his
technique to a complete reform, besides writing a
quantity of pianoforte music, which, however, was
never published. He made a great sensation on his
first appearance. In 181 5 Meyerbeer went to Venice.
It was carnival time. Rossini's "Tancredi" was then

298 GREAT COMPOSERS

at the height of its pristine popularity. To Meyer-
beer it was a revelation. He had no style of his own
to abandon, but he abandoned Vogler*s, and set to
work to write Italian operas. His success was easy
and complete. "Romilda e Costanza*' (produced at
Padua in 1815), "Semiramide riconosciuta" (Turin,
1819), "Eduardo e Cristina" and "Emma di Resburgo"
(Venice, 1820) were all received with enthusiasm by
the Italian people.

In 1823, while engaged in writing "II Crociato in
Egitto," the composer went to Berlin. This was a
time of transition in his life. He was wearying of the
Italian manner, and he could not be insensible to the
murmurs of dissatisfaction which everywhere in Ger-
many made themselves heard at the degradation of
his talent by his change of style. Foremost among
the malcontents was K. M. von Weber, who had
looked on his friend as the hope of that German opera
in which were centered his own ardent aspirations.
In spite of this the friendship of the two men remained
unshaken.

"II Crociato" was produced at Venice in 1824, and
created a furor. In this opera, written in Germany,
old associations seem to have asserted themselves. In
1826 he was invited to witness its first performance
in Paris, and th^s proved to be the turning-point of
his career. He eventually took up his residence in
Paris, and lived most of his subsequent life there.
From 1824 till 183 1 no opera appeared from his pen.
A sojourn in Berlin, during which his father died, his
marriage, and the loss of two children, were among
the causes which kept him from public life. But in
these years he undertook that profound study of

GREAT COMPOSERS 299

French character, French history, and French art,
which resulted in the final brilliant metamorphosis of
his dramatic and musical style, and in the great works
by which his name is remembered.

Paris was the headquarters of the unsettled, restless,
tentative spirit which at that epoch pervaded Europe —
the partial subsidence of the ferment caused by a cen-
tury of great thoughts, ending in a revolution that had
shaken society to its foundations. Art was a con-
glomeration of styles of every time and nation, all
equally acceptable if treated with cleverness. Orig-
inality was at an ebb. Men turned to history and
legend for material, seeking in the past a torch which,
kindled at the fire of modern thought, might throw
light on present problems. This spirit of eclecticism
found its perfect musical counterpart in the works of
Meyerbeer.

Many vicissitudes preceded the first performance,
in 1 83 1, of "Robert le Diable," the opera in which the
new Meyerbeer first revealed himself, and of which
the unparalleled success extended in a very few years
over the whole civilized world. It made the fortune of
the Paris Opera. Scenic effect, striking contrast, novel
and brilliant instrumentation, vigorous declamatory
recitative, melody which pleased none the less for the
strong admixture of Italian-opera conventionalities,
yet here and there (as in the beautiful scena "Robert!
toi que j'aime") attaining a dramatic force unlooked
for and till then unknown, a story part heroic, part
legendary, part allegorical — ^with this strange pictu-
resque medley all were pleased, for in it each found
something to suit his taste.

The popularity of the opera was so great that "Les

300 GREAT COMPOSERS

Huguenots," produced in 1836, suffered at first by
contrast. The public, looking for a repetition, with
a difference, of "Robert," was disappointed at finding
the new opera quite unlike its predecessor, but was
soon forced to acknowledge the incontrovertible truth
that it was immeasurably the superior of the two. As
a drama it depends for none of its interest on the
supernatural. It is, as treated by Meyerbeer, the most
vivid chapter of French history that ever was written.
The splendors and the terrors of the sixteenth cen-
tury — ^its chivalry and fanaticism, its ferocity and
romance, the brilliance of courts and the "chameleon
colors of artificial society/' the somber fervor of
Protestantism — are all here depicted and endued with
life and reality, while the whole is conceived and car-
ried out on a scale of magnificence hitherto unknown
in opera, in spite of some banalities.

In 1838 the book of "L'Africaine" was given to
Meyerbeer by Scribe. He became deeply interested in
it, and the composition and recomposition, casting and
recasting of this work, occupied him at intervals to
the end of his life. His excessive anxiety about his
operas extended to the libretti, with which he was
never satisfied, but would have modified to suit his
successive fancies over and over again, until the final
form retained little likeness to the original. This was
especially the case with "L'Africaine," subsequently
called "Vasco da Gama" (who, although the hero, was
an afterthought!), and many were his altercations
with Scribe, who got tired of the endless changes de-
manded by the composer, and withdrew his book
altogether; but was finally pacified by Meyerbeer's
taking another libretto of his, "Le Prophete," which

GREAT COMPOSERS 301

so forcibly excited the composer's imagination that he
at once set to work on it and finished it within a year

(1843).
A good deal of his time was now passed in Berlin,

where the King had appointed him kapellmeister.
Here he wrote several occasional pieces, cantatas,
marches, and dance music, besides the three-act Ger-
man opera "Das Feldlager in Schlesien." The success
of this work was magically increased, a few weeks
after its first performance, by the appearance in the
part of the heroine of a young Swedish singer, intro-
duced to the Berlin public by Meyerbeer, who had
heard her in Paris — ^Jenny Lind. His duties at the
opera were heavy, and he had neither the personal
presence nor the requisite nerve and decision to make
a good conductor. From 1845 he only conducted —
possibly not to their advantage — his own operas, and
those in which Jenny Lind sang.

The year 1846 was marked by the production of the
overture and incidental music to his brother Michael's
drama of "Struensee." This very striking work is its
composer's only one in that style, and shows him in
some of his best aspects. The overture is his most
successful achievement in sustained instrumental com-
position. A visit to Vienna and a subsequent sojourn
in London occurred in 1847. In the autumn he was
back in Berlin, where, on the occasion of the King's
birthday, he produced, after long and careful prepara-
tion, "Rienzi," the earliest opera of his future rival
and bitter enemy, Richard Wagner. The two com-
posers had seen something of one another in Paris.
Wagner was then in necessitous circumstances, and
Meyerbeer exerted himself to get employment for him,

302 GREAT COMPOSERS

and to make him known to influential people in the
musical world. Subsequently, Wagner, while still in
France, composed "Der Fliegende Hollander," to his
own libretto. The score, rejected by the theaters of
Leipzig and Munich, was sent by its composer to
Meyerbeer, who brought about its acceptance at Ber-
lin. Without claiming any extraordinary merit for
these good offices of one brother-artist to another, we
may, however, say that Meyerbeer's conduct was ill-
requited by Wagner.

**Le Prophete," produced at Paris in 1849, after
long and careful preparation, materially added to its
composer's fame. Thirteen years had elapsed since
the production of its predecessor. Once again the
public, looking for something like "Les Huguenots,"
was disappointed. Once again it was forced, after a
time, to do justice to Meyerbeer's power of trans-
f erring himself, as it were, according to the dramatic
requirements of his theme. But there are fewer
elements of popularity in "Le Prophete" than in "Les
Huguenots." The conventional operatic forms are
subordinated to declamation and the coherent action
of the plot. It contains some of Meyerbeer's grandest
thoughts, but the gloomy political and religious fanat-
icism which constitutes the interest of the drama, and
the unimportance of the love-story (the mother being
the female character in whom the interest is centered)
are features which appeal to the few rather than the
many. The work depends for its popularity on color-
ing and chiaroscuro.

Meyerbeer's health was beginning to fail, and after
this time he spent a part of every autumn at Spa,
where he found a temporary refuge from his toils and

GREAT COMPOSERS 303

cares Probably no great composer ever suffered such
a degree of nervous anxiety about his own works as he
did. During their composition, and for long after
their first completion, he altered and retouched con-
tinually, never satisfied and never sure of himself.
During the correcting of the parts, the casting of the
characters, the "coaching" of the actors, he never
knew, nor allowed any one concerned to know, a mo-
ment's peace of mind. Then came endless rehearsals,
when he would give the orchestra passages scored in
two ways, written in diflferent colored inks, and try
their alternate eflfect; then the final performance, the
ordeal of public opinion and of possible adverse
criticism, to which, probably owing to his having been
fed with applause and encouragement from his earliest
years, he was so painfully susceptible that, as Heine
says of him, he fulfilled the true Christian ideal, for
he could not rest while there remained one uncon-
verted soul, "and when that lost sheep was brought
back to the fold he rejoiced more over him than over
zll the rest of the flock that had never gone astray."
Faithful to change, he now challenged his adopted
countrymen on their own especial ground by the pro-
duction at the Opera Comique in 1854 of "L'fetoile du
Nord." To his book he had intended to adapt the
music of "Das Feldlager in Schlesien," but his own
ideas transforming themselves gradually while he
worked on them, there remained at last only six
numbers of the earlier work. "L'^toile" achieved
considerable popularity, although it aroused much
animosity among French musicians, jealous of this
invasion of their own domain, which they also thought
unsuited to the melodramatic style of Meyerbeer. The

304 GREAT COMPOSERS

same may be said of "Le pardon de Ploermel" (Dino-
rah), founded on a Breton idyl, and produced at the
Opera Comique in 1859. Meyerbeer's special powers
found no scope in this comparatively circumscribed
field. The development of his genius since 1824 was
too great not to be apparent in any style of composi-
tion, but these French operas, although containing
much that is charming, were, like his Italian "wild
oats," the result of an effort of will — the will to be
whomsoever he chose.

After 1859 ^^ wrote, at Berlin, two cantatas, and a
grand march for the Schiller Centenary Festival, and
began a musical drama — never finished — called
"Goethe's Jugendzeit," introducing several of Goethe's
lyrical poems, set to music. His life was overshad-
owed by the death of many friends and contempo-
raries, among them his old coadjutor. Scribe, to whom
he owed so much.

In 1861 he represented German music at the open-
ing of the London International Exhibition by his
"Overture in the form of a March." The next winter
he was again in Berlin, still working at "L'Africaine,"
to which the public looked forward with impatience
and curiosity. For years the difficulty of getting a
satisfactory cast had stood in the way of the produc-
tion of this opera. His excessive anxiety and fastid-
iousness resulted in its being never performed at all
during his lifetime. In October, 1863, he returned, for
the last time, to Paris. The opera was now finished,
and in rehearsal. Still he corrected, polished, touched,
and retouched : it occupied his thoughts night and day.
But he had delayed too long. On April 23, 1864, he
was attacked by illness, and on May 2 he died.

GREAT COMPOSERS 30S

"L'Africaine" was performed after his death at the
Academie in Paris, April 28, 1865. The work has
suffered somewhat from the incessant change of in-
tention of its composer. The original conception of
the music belongs to the same period as "Les Hugue-
nots" — Meyerbeer's golden age — having occupied him
from 1838 till 1843. Laid aside at that time for many
years, and the book then undergoing a complete alter-
ation, a second story being engrafted on to the first,
the composition, when resumed, was carried on inter-
mittently to the end of his life. The excessive length
of the opera on its first production (when the per-
formance occupied more than six hours) necessitated
considerable curtailments detrimental to coherence of
plot. But in spite of all this, the music has a special
charm, a kind of exotic fragrance of its own, which
will always make it to some minds the most sym-
pathetic of Meyerbeer's works. It is, in fact, the
most purely musical of them all. None is so melodious
or so pathetic, or so free from blemishes of conven-
tionality; in none is the orchestration so tender; it
may contain less that is surprising, but it is more
imaginative; it approaches the domain of poetry more
nearly than any of his other operas.

It is common to speak of Meyerbeer as the founder
of a new school. Fetis affirms that whatever faults or
failings have been laid to his charge by his opponents,
one thing — his originality — has never been called in
question. "All that his works contain — character,
ideas, scenes, rhythm, modulation, instrumentation —
all are his and his only."

Between this view and that of Wagner, who calls
him a "miserable music-maker," "a Jew banker to

3o6 GREAT COMPOSERS

whom it occurred to compose operas," there seems an
immeasurable gulf. The truth probably may be ex-
pressed by saying that he was unique rather than
original. No artist exists that is not partly made
what he is by the "accident" of preceding and sur-
rounding circumstances. But on strong creative genius
these modifying influences, especially those of con-
temporary art, have but a superficial effect, wholly
secondary to the individuality which asserts itself
throughout, and finally molds its environment to its
own likeness.

Meyerbeer's faculty was so determined in its man-
ifestations by surrounding conditions, that, apart from
them, it may almost be said to have had no active
existence at all. He changed music as often as he
changed climate, though a little of each of his suc-
cessive styles clung to him till the last. A bom
musician, of extraordinary ability, devoted to art, and
keenly appreciative of the beautiful in all types, with
an unlimited capacity for work, helped by the cir-
cumstance of wealth, which in many another man
would have been an excuse for idleness, he seized on
the tendencies of his time and became its representa-
tive. He left no disciples, for he had no doctrine to
bequeath ; but he filled a gap which no one else could
fill. His characters stand out from the canvas with —
his contemporary eulogists say — the vividness of
Shakespeare's characters; we should say rather of
Scott's. The literary analogue to his operas is to be
found, not in tragedy, they are too realistic for that,
but in the historical novel. Here the men and women
of past times live again before our eyes, not as they
appear to the poet, who "sees into the life of things,"

GREAT COMPOSERS 307

but as they appeared to each other when they walked
this earth. This is most compatible with the condi-
tions of the modern stage, and Meyerbeer responds to
its every .need.

It is consistent with all this that he should have
been singularly dependent for the quality of his ideas
on the character of his subject. His own original vein
of melody was limited, and his constructive skill not
such as to supplement the deficiency in sustained idea.
He often arrests the attention by some chord or
modulation quite startling in its force and effect, im-
mediately after which he is apt to collapse, as if
frightened by the sudden stroke of his own genius.
The modulation will be carried on through a sequence
of wearisome sameness, stopping short in some re-
mote key, whence, as if embarrassed how to escape,
he will return to where he began by some trite device
or awkward makeshift. His orchestral coloring, how-
ever, is so full of character, so varied and striking as
to hide many shortcomings in form. In these days of
Richard Strauss and overwhelming orchestras, it
scarcely seems possible that Meyerbeer should be
classed as an orchestral genius; but he was decidedly
an originator in this field, and many who have abused
him have copied some of his orchestral devices — Wag-
ner not excepted.

In some moments of intense dramatic excitement he
rises to the height of the situation as perhaps few
others have done. His very defects stand him here
in good stead, for these situations do not lend them-
selves to evenness of beauty. Such a moment is the
last scene in the fourth act of **Les Huguenots," cul-
minating in the famous duet. Here the situation is
supreme, and the music is inseparable from it. Be-

3o8 GREAT COMPOSERS

yond description, beyond criticism, nothing is wanting.
The might, the futility, the eternity of Love and Fate
— he has caught up the whole of emotion and uttered
it. Whatever was the source of such an inspiration
(and the entire scene is said to have been an after-
thought), it bears that stamp of truth which makes it
a possession for all time. If Meyerbeer lives, it will
be in virtue of such moments as these. And if "Le.
Prophete" may be said to embody his intellectual side,
and **L'Africaine" his emotional side, "Les Hugue-
nots" is perhaps the work which best blends the two,
and which, most completely typifying its composer,
must be considered his masterpiece.

Presenting, as they do, splendid opportunities to
singers of dramatic ability, his operas hold the stage,
in spite of the exacting character which renders their
perfect performance difficult and very rare. They
will live long, although many of the ideas and asso-
ciations which first made them popular belong already
to the past

THE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY
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