CHAPTER XIX.
THE IDEAL.
"Le beau est aussi utile que l'utile, plus peutêtre."—Victor
Hugo.
Mozart once had a friend named Gottfried von Jacquin, who was a man of careful thought, and evidently a good musician,—for we are told that a melody composed by him is frequently said, even to this day, to be by Mozart. This Gottfried lived in Vienna with his father, and to their house Mozart often went. At this time Mozart had an album in which his friends were invited to write. Among the verses is a sentiment written by Gottfried von Jacquin, saying:
"True genius is impossible without heart; no amount of intellect alone or of imagination, no, nor of both together, can make genius. Love is the soul of genius."
Here we have the same truth told us which we have already found for ourselves, namely, that all good music comes from the heart. We have found it by studying music and striving faithfully to get deep into its real meaning. But to-day we have the words of one who was enabled to watch closely as a friend one of the greatest composers that ever lived. And being much with him, hearing the music of the master played by the master himself, put the thought into his head, that it is impossible to be a true genius without heart and love.
From this we shall have courage to know that what we pursue in music is real; that the beauties of great music, though they may just now be beyond us, are true, and exist to those who are prepared for them. When in our struggle to be more capable in art than we are to-day we think of the beauty around us, and desire to be worthy of it, we are then forming an ideal, and ideals are only of value when we strive to live up to them.
Once in Rome there lived a Greek slave—some day you may read his name. He has told us, that "if thou wouldst have aught of good, have it from thyself."[61] Of course we see in this, immediately, the truth that has been spoken of in nearly every one of these Talks. It is this: We must, day by day, become better acquainted with ourselves, study our thoughts, have purity of heart, and work for something.
Now, working for something may be accomplished in a simple manner without thinking of it. If every task is done in our best way it adds something to us. It is true and beautiful, too, that the reward for patient, faithful work comes silently to us, and often we do not know of its presence. But some day, finding ourselves stronger, we look to know the cause of it, and we see that the faithfulness of past days has aided us.
So art teaches us a very practical lesson in the beginning. If we would have her favors we must do her labors. If we say to music: "I should love to know you;" music says to us, "Very well, work and your wish shall be gratified." But without that labor we cannot have that wish. The Greek slave knew that and said:
"Thou art unjust, if thou desire to gain those things for nothing."
Now we begin to see that art has no gifts to bestow upon us for nothing. Many think it has, and pursue it until the truth dawns upon them; then, because of their error, they dislike it. To recognize the truth about art and to pursue that truth, despite the hard road, is to have courage. And the Ideal is nothing else than the constant presence of this truth.
And what do we gain by pursuing it? Not common pleasure, but true happiness; not uncertainty, but true understanding; not selfish life, but true and full life. And we can see the beauty of art in nothing more plainly than in the fact that all these things may come to a child, and a new and brighter life is made possible by them.
The very first day we came together, the little child said to the master:
"Master, I do not understand what thou hast said, yet I believe thee."
It is hard, sometimes, to feel the truth and to keep it with us; hard, not only for a child, but for any one; and yet, if with faith we will labor with it until the light comes, then we are truly rewarded and made richer according to our faith.
We must not forget in the first days, as we leave our music, that the path we have taken since we came together is the hardest; not for always, but for now. The right path is hard at first—the wrong one is hard always.
We will understand it all better in other days if we remain faithful now. If, however, we should forget for a moment that art demands our loyalty, there will be no joy or peace in it for us. Worse, perhaps, than starting out upon the wrong path, is the deserting of the right one. Sometimes out of impatience we do this; out of impatience and self-love, which is the worst of all. "Truth is the beginning of all good, and the greatest of all evils is self-love."[62]
With the trials that music costs us, with its pains and discouragements, we might easily doubt all these promises which are contained in our ideals, but we shall be forever saved from deserting them if we remember that these ideals have been persistently held by great men. They have never given them up. One of the strongest characteristics of Bach and of Beethoven was their determination to honor their thoughts. Sometimes we find the same persistence and faithfulness in lesser men.
I am sure you will see this faith beautifully lived in the few facts we have about the life of Johann Christian Kittel, a pupil of Bach, and it is strongly brought out by the pretty story told of him, that when pleased with a pupil's work he would draw aside a curtain which covered a portrait of Bach and let the faithful one gaze upon it for a moment. That was to him the greatest reward he could give for faithfulness in the music task.
And this reminds us of how the teacher, Pistocchi, who, in teaching the voice, kept in mind a pure tone, a quiet manner of singing, and the true artistic way of doing. Among his pupils was a certain Antonio Bernacchi, who, after leaving his master, began to display his voice by runs and trills and meaningless tones. And this he did, not because of true art, for that was not it, but because it brought him the applause of unthinking people.
Once, when the master, Pistocchi, heard him do this he is said to have exclaimed: "Ah, I taught thee how to sing, and now thou wilt play;" meaning that the true song was gone and the pupil no longer sang out of the heart, but merely out of the throat. Pistocchi kept his ideal pure.
We have then among our ideals two of first importance. The ideal perception of music, as being the true heart-expression of great men; and the ideal of our doings, which is the true heart-expression of ourselves. And to keep these ideals is difficult in two ways: The difficulty of keeping the pure intention of great men ever before us, and the difficulty of keeping close and faithful to the tasks assigned us. Then we can say with the little child:
"Master, I do not understand what thou hast said, yet I believe thee."