MONUMENTS, STATUES, BUSTS, AND TOMBS.

BEETHOVEN'S tomb[325]
BEETHOVEN, MONUMENT IN VIENNA[332]
BEETHOVEN, MONUMENT IN VIENNA[339]
Beethoven, bust[341]
Beethoven, monument in Bonn[345]
Beethoven, Mozart, and Schubert, Tombs of [365]
HAYDN, bust[251]
HAYDN, monument[253]
Haydn's grave[259]
Mendelssohn, bust[433]
MEYERBEER, bust[477]
Meyerbeer, family tomb[481]
MOZART, statue[285]
MOZART, MONUMENT IN VIENNA[291]
MOZART, MONUMENT IN SALZBURG[299]
MOZART, MONUMENT IN VIENNA[301]
SCHUBERT, MONUMENT[363]
SCHUBERT'S TOMB[367]
SCHUMANN, monument[447]
WEBER, monument[399]

MISCELLANEOUS.

Beethoven and Mozart[313]
Beethoven's Death Mask[327]
Beethoven's Life Mask[327]
Beethoven leading quartet[315]
Beethoven's Studio[322]
Frescos in Vienna Opera House.
from "Creation"[266]
" "Fidelio" [348]
" the "Huguenots" [486]
" "Jessonda" [386]
" Mozart's operas [306]
" Schubert's "Domestic War" [374]
Huguenots, billboard[484]
Mendelssohn's hand[436]
Mozart's ear[295]
Mozart's first composition[270]
Mozart's piano and spinet[276]
Mozart, room where he was born[275]
OLD MARKET SQUARE, Dresden[397]
SALZBURG[271]
SCHUBERT AND HIS FRIENDS[357]
Strauss (junior) leading orchestra[496]
WEBER LEADING OPERA[405]
Weber's coat-of-arms[408]

FRANZ JOSEPH HAYDN

Reproduction of a steel engraving by L. Sichling, after an oil portrait by Röster.

FRANZ JOSEPH HAYDN

N the river Leitha, in Lower Austria, and some fifteen miles south-east from Vienna, is a village so insignificant that it is not set down on the ordinary maps. It is called Rohrau, and there, during the night of March 31, 1732, and descended from a long line of humble hand-toilers, was born Franz Joseph Haydn, who was destined to make the family name immortal. His father, Mathias Haydn, was a master wheelwright, whose father, Thomas Haydn, had followed the same occupation. The mother of Franz, or Joseph, as he is now called, was Maria Koller, daughter of the market inspector of the locality, and a cook in the household of Count Harrach, the lord of the village. The ancestry of the Haydns is undistinguished as far back as it can be traced. This union of the wheelwright and the cook resulted in a family of twelve children, of whom three developed into musicians. They were Franz Joseph, the subject of this sketch, Johann Michael, the church composer, and Johann Evangelist, a singer of no special excellence. There is no record of musical talent on the side of either the Haydns or the Kollers previous to its appearance in the family of Mathias, and its sudden development in three of the offspring of this marriage is inexplicable.

In addition to his occupation as a wheelwright, Mathias Haydn officiated as sexton of his parish. Both he and his wife were able to sing sufficiently well to increase their scant earnings by singing in church on Sundays and holidays, and at fairs and festivals. They also indulged in music at home, after a rude fashion, the father accompanying the voices on the harp, which he had learned to play by ear. The parents of the future composer were hard-working people who feared God, and so thoroughly did they instill their religious feelings into their children, that Haydn felt the influence of this early discipline all through his long life. Of his earliest years but little is known except that, while yet a tender child, he began to manifest the musical instinct that was in him by singing the simple tunes that his father was able to strum on the harp, and by exciting wonder at the correctness of his ear and his keen sense of rhythm. These gifts, however, are by no means rare in children, and the possession of them does not necessarily insure that their possessors shall develop into Haydns and Mozarts.

One day a cousin, a certain Johann Mathias Frankh, who lived in Hainburg, paid the Haydns a visit, and his attention was called to young Joseph's precocious musical talent. Frankh was a school-master and a good musician, and in Hainburg he filled the offices of Chorregent and Schulrector. Struck by the talents of the boy, he proposed to take upon himself his education, musical and otherwise. The father eagerly accepted the offer, but the mother hesitated, for it was her ambition that the youngster should become a priest. Her objections, however, were overcome, and the result was that Haydn, when six years of age, left his home never to return to it again as an inmate. Frankh took him to Hainburg, instructed him in reading and writing and in the rudiments of Latin. He also grounded him in the elements of music, taught him to sing, and to play the violin. The boy was an apt and zealous pupil, studied with unremitting industry and progressed rapidly.

Frankh was not a lenient teacher, nor was he very conscientious in his duties at the head of his school. He was addicted to gambling, and his honesty was not above suspicion, for he was discharged from his position for cheating with loaded dice, though later he was reinstated. In common with the pedagogues of his time he was firm in the faith that what could not be learned easily could be beaten into a pupil; consequently blows were not lacking when the child proved dull of understanding, and a lesson hesitatingly recited was followed by a vigorous thrashing, after which the boy was sent to bed without his dinner. This severity, however, was not unkindly meant, for the pedagogue was equally fond and proud of his young charge, and the harshness was not without its good results, as may be inferred from the fact, that many years afterwards, Haydn spoke of his hard discipline, in which, according to his own words, he was given "more beating than bread," with the warmest gratitude. Not only this, but in his will, Haydn bequeathed to Frankh's daughter and her husband, one hundred florins and a portrait of Frankh, "my first music teacher."

This rough teaching, nevertheless, soon reached a point beyond which it was useless to persevere in it, for Frankh could flog no more knowledge of music into the boy for the simple reason that he had imparted all that he possessed. Haydn was now eight years old and had been studying two years with Frankh, when, one day, George Reuter, director of music at the Cathedral of St. Stephen, in Vienna, visited Hainburg. He was on a tour having for its object the procuring of boy voices for his choir, and meeting with Frankh, that worthy grew eloquent in the praise of his precocious pupil, and eagerly solicited Reuter to hear the youngster sing. The Capellmeister consented, and was astonished at the proficiency of the boy and delighted with the sweetness of his voice. The outcome of the hearing was that Reuter offered to take Haydn as one of the boy choir at St. Stephen's and to look after his musical education; and so, in 1740, Haydn bade farewell to his hard, but well meaning master, and went to Vienna. The parting was not without tears on both sides, and Haydn was never forgetful or unappreciative of the benefit he had received from Frankh.

At St. Stephen's an entirely new life opened to him. The school, an ancient foundation, consisted of a Cantor, a Subcantor, two ushers and six scholars. They dwelt under the same roof and ate together. The city paid for the board, lodging and clothing of the scholars, but not too liberally, and the youngsters were never under the doctor's care for over-eating and had no occasion to pride themselves on the quantity or the quality of the clothing given them. Reading, writing, arithmetic and Latin were among the studies taught in addition to music. In the art to which his life was now devoted, Haydn received instruction in singing and on the violin and clavier. Harmony and composition were also supposed to be taught by Reuter, but Haydn could never recall more than two lessons in theory imparted to him by the Capellmeister. The boy was therefore thrown on his own resources, for he had no money with which to pay for lessons from other teachers. The music that he now heard opened a new world to him and filled him with an unappeasable desire to produce such music himself. He was soon absorbed in every book on musical theory, to which he had access, and he never put it aside before he had completely mastered all that it had to tell him. In the meanwhile his attire became shabbier and shabbier; his shoes were worn down at the heels, and his appearance gradually merged into what he long afterwards described as that of "a veritable little ragamuffin." He wrote home for money to renew his apparel, and when his father sent him six florins for that purpose he bought Fux's "Gradus ad Parnassum" and the "Vollkommener Capellmeister," by Mattheson. The former was his constant companion, and he even placed it under his pillow when he went to bed. When his companions were at play he studied, and when they were over noisy and disturbed him he would, as he said many years later, "take my little clavier under my arm and go away to practise in quiet." Music had become his passion.

By and by he began to compose and was soon occupied in filling with notes every sheet of music paper that came within his reach; the more notes he was able to crowd on a page the more he was satisfied with himself, for he "thought it must be right if the paper was sufficiently covered with notes." The determination and industry of the lad were extraordinary, and he very early began to illustrate that phase of genius which is a capacity for hard work. One of his first compositions was a "Salve Regina" for twelve voices. This was seen by Reuter, who dryly suggested that it would perhaps be better to write it for two voices at first, and to learn how to write music properly before he began to compose it; but he did not attempt to show him how to do either. In fact, the boy had no other resource than to rely on his own unaided efforts to acquire the knowledge for which he so eagerly yearned, and hence, after his parting with Frankh he was wholly self-taught. Such was his life until he became sixteen years old, when his prospects, already dark enough, were to become still more clouded, for his voice broke and he was no longer useful as a boy soprano. Reuter, who had no special regard for the lad, resolved to take advantage of the earliest opportunity that offered, to dismiss him. Before this, however, Haydn's brother, Michael, had been accepted as a member of the choir, to the great delight of the former. His voice was more powerful and of better quality than was Joseph's, which gave indications of breaking. In fact, on one occasion the empress said that "Joseph Haydn sang like a raven" and requested that his brother might replace him. Michael was given a solo to sing, and acquitted himself with so much tenderness and sweetness that the empress sent for him and gave him twenty-four ducats. Reuter complimented him on his good luck and the honor that had been done him, and asked him what he was going to do with so large a sum. Michael replied: "I shall send half to my good father and keep the other half until my voice breaks," a resolution that Reuter approved warmly, and which he offered to further by taking charge of the twelve ducats. Michael gave them to him, but when his voice broke at last, the ducats were not forthcoming, and he never saw them again.

BIRTHPLACE OF JOSEPH HAYDEN IN ROHRAU.

The house still exists and is very little changed. The windows to the right, the fence and the grass plot have disappeared. There is now a bench under the windows at the left, and a rudely executed tablet inserted in the wall.

Beethoven, on his deathbed, showed this picture to Hummel, saying with great emotion: "See, dear Hummel, this is a present I received to-day and it gives me a childish pleasure."

Presently Haydn's doom was sealed. One day, in a spirit of mischief, he cut off the pigtail of a fellow student and was sentenced by Reuter to be whipped on the hand with a cane. Haydn pleaded, wept, and remonstrated, but in vain; and at last he declared that he would sooner leave the cathedral than suffer so humiliating and cruel an outrage. Reuter cynically retorted that he had no objection to the alternative, "but you shall be caned just the same, and then you can pack off, bag and baggage as soon as you see fit"; and so Haydn was punished and then sent forth into the streets of Vienna without a penny and with attire so worn and dirty that he was ashamed to be seen. The world was now before him and his outlook was dreary and discouraging enough. He was friendless, without prospects and did not know which way to turn to make either. He could return to Rohrau, where he was sure of a warm and tender welcome from his parents, but he would not burden their scanty means with his support, and besides, he had resolved to succeed by the talent that, from the first, he "knew was in him." His life at the school had inured him to privation and hunger, and if he could only earn enough to keep soul and body together he would be content. His departure from his late home took place on a stormy November evening, and he walked the streets all night hopelessly. Sunrise found him still wandering and ready to faint with hunger and fatigue. Utter despair had seized on him when he chanced to meet with one Spangler, a chorister at St. Michael's, whose acquaintance he had made some time before. The singer found it hard to win enough bread for himself and his wife and child, but he took pity on the unfortunate boy and offered him the shelter of the miserable attic in which he lived with his family. Haydn gratefully accepted the kindness, and dwelt with his benefactor through the winter, suffering, with him, cold and hunger. During this sad time, the boy's courage faltered for the first time and his natural buoyancy of spirits was dulled. He thought of finding some less precarious means of earning enough to eat and drink and to clothe himself than music presented, and for a moment he turned his back on the art he loved so well; but it was only for a moment. His instinct reasserted itself and once more he turned resolutely toward music, and never again did he falter in his determination to devote himself heart and soul to it.

In his search for employment he was, now and then, fortunate enough to be engaged to play the violin at dances and merrymakings. Then he obtained a few scholars who paid him the by no means munificent sum of two florins per month. In the meantime he studied incessantly, especially the six clavier sonatas of Emanuel Bach. With a rickety harpsichord for his companion, he forgot his misery and the squalor of the garret in which he lived. About this time he met a good angel, a Vienna tradesman, by name, Buchholz, who becoming interested in him, and sympathizing with the miserable poverty in which he struggled so cheerfully, loaned him one hundred and fifty florins, taking no acknowledgment therefor and making no conditions for repayment. It may be mentioned here that Haydn promptly returned the money when fortune smiled on him, and that he did not forget the kindness is evidenced by his first will, in which he left "Jungfrau Anna Buchholz one hundred florins, in remembrance that in my youth and extreme need, her grandfather made me a loan of one hundred and fifty florins without interest which I faithfully repaid fifty years ago." This money was a godsend, for it enabled him to procure a room of his own. The new apartment was not a great improvement on that which he had quitted. It was in the old "Michaelerhaus"; and was also a garret boarded off from a larger room. There was scarcely any light and the space was hardly more than would suffice for a fair-sized closet. The roof was in a neglected state, and when the weather was inclement the rain or snow would come through and fall on the lodger's bed. However, Haydn was happy and could study and practice without interruption.

Curiously enough, his selection of this room had a great influence on his future, for in the same house lived Métastasio in a style befitting his position. The poet was superintending the education of his host's two daughters. He soon began to take notice of the young man whom he frequently met on the stairs, and charmed with his character, sought his acquaintance. Recognizing his talents and wishing to serve him, he taught him Italian, and after a time, entrusted to him the musical education of one of the young girls, but now referred to. He added still further to these services by introducing him to Porpora, then the greatest of singing-teachers, and one of the most eminent masters of composition. Before these friendships with Métastasio and Porpora began, however, Haydn lived alone for a year and a half, supporting himself by teaching for whatever payment he could obtain; playing the violin whenever he could earn even the smallest pittance, and obtaining such other engagements as would help him to buy food, and to pay for his room.

Haydn gave his young pupil daily lessons on the clavier, and for his services he obtained free board for some three years. This pupil took singing lessons from Porpora, and it was Haydn's good fortune to be called to go with her to the master's house to play her accompaniments. In order to win the good will of the surly and cynical old master, Haydn performed various menial offices for him, even brushed his clothes and cleaned his shoes. The result was that the young man received some valuable instruction in composition, from time to time, together with much cursing and more insults. Porpora had among his pupils the mistress of the Venetian Ambassador, to whom he took Haydn in the office of accompanist. The Italian, not over generous with his own money, induced the Ambassador to give Haydn a pension, and the consequences were that the struggling composer was made richer by fifty francs a month, and was enabled to add to the books he loved so well and studied so constantly.

Haydn was now about twenty years of age, had suffered great privations and had not been able to rise much above the position of a lackey; but he never relaxed in his devotion to his art. He submitted to degradations, kicks and curses because it was not in his power to resent them. The wonder of it all is that his misfortunes and his humiliations did not sour his temper irremediably, and that he should have remained buoyant and amiable to the end of his long life. His existence in his attic was gloomy and poverty-stricken, but in his old age he told Carpani that he was never happier than he was in that bare and lowly room with his worm-eaten clavier and his books.

JOSEPH HAYDN.

From the original pastel portrait by Anton Graff.
The original is half life-size.

At this period he had composed his first Mass in F, a work which, though crude and faulty, is remarkable as the effort of a self-taught genius. By this time, also, he had finished his first opera, "Der Neue Krumme Teufel," for which he was paid twenty-four ducats, but of which only the libretto is extant. It was produced at the Stadttheatre in 1752, and as it was also given in Prague, Berlin and other cities, it would appear that it was successful. Judging by those operas by Haydn that have come down to us, the disappearance of the score of his first work in that class is not to be greatly lamented. His muse was essentially undramatic, yet with that peculiar blindness to the true bent of his talents, a blindness far from uncommon among men of genius, he entertained a firm faith that it was his mission to write operas. Fortunately his opportunities to indulge his idiosyncrasy were not of a nature to enable him to turn from the path in which he was to win fame, although he composed in addition to the opera named, thirteen Italian and five Marionette operas, of which nothing has survived or has deserved to survive. Haydn was destined to revolutionize instrumental music; but the man who was to revolutionize the opera was yet to come and was to be called Mozart.

Among Haydn's other compositions at this period were some clavier sonatas written by him for his pupils. They were the fruits of his study of the first six sonatas of C. Ph. Emanuel Bach, to which he devoted himself untiringly. Haydn said, "I played them constantly and did not rest until I had mastered them all, and those who know my music must also know that I owe very much to Emanuel Bach." In fact Haydn prided himself greatly because he had been once complimented by Bach for his knowledge of that composer's works. One of these sonatas by Haydn had attracted the attention of the Countess Thun, an enthusiastic amateur of music, who expressed a desire to see him. He called on her and surprised her by his youthful appearance and distressed her by the shabbiness of his attire. The evil fortune that always kept him in want during his early years was again accompanied by the good fortune that at every crucial stage of his youthful career brought him into contact with influential friends who assisted him. The Countess questioned him about himself. In response to her inquiries he gave her a straightforward account of his situation, on hearing which she presented him with twenty-five ducats and engaged him to give her lessons on the harpsichord and in singing. His prospects brightened, and as pupils began to increase in number he raised his charge for lessons from two to five florins ($2.50)—a month! An additional piece of good fortune came to him at this stage of his prosperity in the acquaintance of Baron Fürnberg, a rich nobleman and an ardent and talented amateur, to whose house Haydn was invited. Here private concerts were given, and the young composer heard frequent performances of string trios and quartets, such as they were.

On the solicitation of Fürnberg, Haydn composed his first quartet, and seventeen other quartets followed within a year. The Countess Thun still remained a warm friend and used all her influence for his advancement. Fürnberg, who appears to have been very fond of him, was no less eager to push his fortunes. Through these two supporters he was introduced to Count Ferdinand Maximilian Morzin, a Bohemian nobleman, immensely rich and a great lover of music. He had an orchestra of some eighteen performers, which, when necessity demanded, was augmented by servants who were musicians. Through the solicitations of Fürnberg, Morzin appointed Haydn his Musikdirector and Kammercompositor, and in 1759, at the age of twenty-seven, the composer began, what was up to that date, the most important stage of his artistic career, and ended forever his painful and uncertain toil for enough to eat from day to day. For twenty-one years he had struggled in misery, almost hopelessly, but without ever losing wholly his faith in his future, and always buoyed up by his intense love for his art. When he entered on the duties of his new position it is not unreasonable to believe that he looked back on his past, on the childhood days when he was beaten and sent to bed hungry by the stern but well-meaning Frankh; on his days of neglect and cruel insult under Reuter; on his homeless wanderings through the streets of Vienna, on that chill November night, not knowing how to obtain food and shelter; on his humiliating lackey services to Porpora. It was all over now, however, and he was never again to know want for the half century he had yet to live.

In his first year with Count Morzin, Haydn, taking advantage of the opportunities afforded him for hearing his own music performed by able musicians, wrote his first symphony. It is a brief work in three movements, for string quintet, two oboes, and two horns. It reflects Emanuel Bach strongly, but in its brightness and easy flow foreshadows the future style of the composer. It was the forerunner of one hundred and twenty-five symphonies, some of which were to break wholly with the past, and to widen infinitely the bounds of instrumental music, and to pave the way for a Beethoven. Haydn was now in comparative wealth. His salary was two hundred florins ($100), and in addition he received board and lodging free. Fortune seemed to smile on him at last. Unfortunately, in this bright hour he took a step which embittered his life for nearly forty years.

When Haydn was in the depths of poverty that attended his early days of adversity he made the acquaintance of one Keller, a wig-maker. This person had two daughters to whom Haydn gave music lessons. He fell desperately in love with the younger, but she entered a convent and took the veil. Her father, however, urgently entreated Haydn to marry the other, and in an evil hour he consented, though she was three years his elder. When prosperity dawned on him, with equal honesty and ill luck he kept his promise, and on the 26th of November, 1760, the girl became his wife. It was not long before he discovered his irreparable mistake. The partner he had taken for life was a vixen, foul-mouthed, quarrelsome, a bigot in religion, reckless in extravagance, utterly unappreciative of her husband's genius, and, as he complained, "did not care whether he was an artist or a cobbler," as long as he could supply her with money. She bickered with him constantly, insulted him for his inability to clothe her expensively, refused to know his friends, and acted like the virago that she was on the slightest provocation. Naturally genial and affectionate, and peculiarly fitted for a happy domestic life by his peaceful and amiable temperament, it is not surprising that he soon wearied of the woman who made existence a torture to him. No children came to soften the asperities of this ill-assorted union, and if Haydn turned from it to find the happiness and the comfort that were resolutely denied him at his own fireside, and at last became addicted to gallantry, excuse if not pardon may be accorded him. They lived apart during the greater portion of their married life, but were not formally separated until thirty-two years later. She passed the last years of her life at Baden, near Vienna, preceding her husband to the grave by nine years.

BUST OF JOSEPH HAYDN, TAKEN FROM LIFE.

From an India proof of an engraving by J. Thompson of drawing by Hammerton. Presented to the publisher for
Surmon's Exeter Hall edition of "The Creation" by the Chevalier Neukomm.

It was not long after this marriage that the good Count Morzin found himself unable to maintain his orchestra longer, and therefore he was compelled to dismiss it and its conductor. Haydn was thus thrown on his own resources again, but not for long. By this time he had made a name for himself, and fortunately Prince Paul Anton Esterhazy had been a frequent visitor at Count Morzin's and heard much of Haydn's music there. It had impressed him greatly by its originality and its spirit. On the breaking up of the orchestra the Prince at once engaged Haydn as his second Capellmeister, and in May, 1761, when he was twenty-nine years old, he went to Eisenstadt in Hungary, where was the country seat of the richest and most liberal of the Austrian nobles. There Haydn's wandering ended, for in service of this family he was fated to remain for the rest of his life.

The Esterhazy family was distinguished for its love of music, and the first Prince Paul, who died nearly fifty years before Haydn entered on his long connection with this house, founded a private chapel, the performers in which were increased in number from time to time. There were a chorus, solo singers, and an orchestra, and they participated not only in the church services, but in concerts and eventually in operas. When Haydn joined the orchestra it consisted of only sixteen musicians, but they were all excellent artists, and the precision and finish of their playing surpassed anything of the kind that Haydn had previously heard. He was now free to exercise his musical invention in any direction that he saw fit to choose. The orchestra was at his call on any day and at any hour, and he was thus enabled to experiment with it, and as he himself said, "to observe what was good and what was weak in effect, and was consequently in a position to better, to change, to amplify, to curtail" his music according as a hearing of it suggested. He was now free from all care, cut off from the outer world, and able to give full play to the art aspirations that were in him.

With all this independence on one side, on the other he was in a position not much higher than that of an upper servant. The agreement between Haydn and the Prince is still in existence, and some of its stipulations are so curiously humiliating that they are worth reproducing here. It is impressed on Haydn that he must be temperate; must abstain from vulgarity in eating and drinking and conversation; must take care of all the music and the musical instruments, and be answerable for any injury they may suffer from carelessness or neglect; that as he is an expert on various instruments, he shall take care to practice on all that he is acquainted with; that when summoned to perform before company he shall take care that he and all members of his orchestra do follow the instructions given and appear in white stockings, white linen, powder, and with either a pig-tail or a tie-wig. For pay, a salary of four hundred florins, to be received quarterly "is hereby bestowed upon the said Vice-Capellmeister by his Serene Highness." In addition, Haydn is permitted to have board at the officers' table, or half a gulden a day in lieu thereof. The whole tone of the contract places the composer in the light of a menial. It is by no means likely that it was made intentionally offensive, and, in fact, it is doubtful if Haydn found it so. In Germany at that time, the musician was not highly considered socially, and the composer was far less esteemed than were the virtuoso of eminence and the vocalist of superior abilities. We read of musicians, in the establishments of some of these princely patrons, who, when they were not needed to play to entertain the guests, were expected to wait on table or to assist in the kitchen.

MONUMENT TO HAYDN IN VIENNA.

From a photograph.

The chief Capellmeister, and nominally the head of the orchestra, was Gregorius Josephus Werner, an industrious musician, of whose compositions nothing has come down to us, and of which nothing deserved to come down. He was now old, and was to all intents and purposes replaced by Haydn, whose revolutionary ideas and innovations generally must have greatly disturbed the calm of his prim, formal, and pedagogic chief, who, in fact, rarely spoke of him except as "a mere fop" and "a song scribbler." Haydn, on the contrary, always expressed a warm respect for the old musician, who lived for five years under the new order of things and then ceased to repine, in death. But Prince Paul Anton died four years earlier, in fact before Haydn had been in his service for quite a year, and was succeeded by his brother Prince Nicolaus, the "great Esterhazy," famous for the lavishness with which he displayed his wealth and for the enthusiasm of his love for and patronage of the fine arts.

Under Prince Nicolaus a new order of things began, and his generosity was at once illustrated. The salaries of all the musicians were increased, Haydn's four hundred florins being increased to six hundred and shortly after to seven hundred and eighty-two, or about three hundred and ninety dollars of our money. The force of the Capelle was enlarged to seven singers and fourteen instrumentalists, and rehearsals took place every day. By this time, a knowledge of Haydn's music existed outside his own country, and his works were beginning to be known in London, Paris, and Amsterdam, and five years after he had been at Eisenstadt, the official journal of Vienna, the Wiener Diarium, alludes to him as "der Liebling unserer Nation." His industry was unrelaxing, for he had already composed, under the Esterhazys, some thirty symphonies and cassations, several divertimenti in five parts, six string trios, a concerto for French horn, twelve minuets for orchestra, besides concertos, trios, sonatas and variations for the clavier. His vocal compositions were a Salve Regina for soprano and alto, two violins and organ; a Te Deum; four Italian operettas; a pastoral, "Acis and Galatea," written for the marriage of Count Anton, eldest son of Prince Nicolaus; and a cantata in honor of the Prince's return from the coronation of Archduke Joseph as king of the Romans. In none of these works did Haydn rise to any high power. The greater Haydn was yet to develop.

To go through, in detail, his life at Eisenstadt would be only to repeat what has been already said, and to give a catalogue of his compositions in the order in which they were written. We shall therefore pass in rapid view the events of his career and leave a consideration of his works until we reach the point when it becomes necessary to estimate the musician rather than the man. It may, perhaps, be interesting to describe Haydn as he appeared personally to his contemporaries. He wore a uniform of light blue and silver, knee breeches, white stockings, lace ruffles and white neckcloth. His biographer, Dies, states: "Haydn was below the middle height, and his legs were somewhat too short for his body, a defect which was made more noticeable because of the style of attire he affected and which he obstinately declined to change as the fashions changed. His features were regular, his expression was spirited and at the same time temperate, amiable and winning. His face was stern when in repose, but smiling and cheerful when he conversed. I never heard him laugh. In build he was firm; he was lacking in muscle." He had a prominent aquiline nose disfigured by a polypus which he refused to have removed, and he was heavily pitted by small pox. His complexion was dark, so dark, in fact, that he was playfully called "The Moor." His jaw was heavy and his under-lip was large and hanging. Lavater described the eyes and nose of Haydn as something out of the common; his brow noble and good, but his mouth and chin "Philistine." Haydn's own opinion was that he was ugly, and he took pleasure in reflecting that it surely was not for his personal beauty that so many women were attracted to him. That he tried to make himself attractive to the opposite sex by extreme neatness of attire, suavity of manner, and flattery, in which he was an adept, is certain; and that he never lacked for warm admiration and even devoted love from women is no less well-established. He was very fond of fun, even that which was not wholly refined, and a predilection for rough practical joking abided with him to the last. He was sincere and unaffected in his piety and looked upon his talent as a gift from God, to be used dutifully in His service. It was seldom that he began to pen a composition without writing at its head, In Nomine Domini, and at its end, Laus Deo. Now and then he merely used the initials L.D., or S.D.G. (Soli Deo Gloria) and sometimes he wrote B.V.M. (Beatæ Virgini Mariæ). This custom was retained not only in his works for the church, but in those for the orchestra and even for the stage; and the most elaborate dedication of all is that to his opera "L'Infidelità Delusa," which he closes with Laus omnipotenti Deo et Beatissimæ Virgini Mariæ.

Haydn's life at Eisenstadt, as it was at Esterhaz, to which Prince Nicolaus and his household removed in 1766, was one of almost complete seclusion from the outer world and of unflagging work. The quantity of music he wrote was enormous and the rapidity with which he poured it forth was astonishing. At Esterhaz he was obliged to provide for two operatic performances and for one or two formal concerts each week, in addition to the daily music. It was here that Haydn wrote nearly all his operas, the greater number of his arias and songs, and the bulk of his orchestral and chamber music. The vast quantity of music he wrote and the rapidity with which he produced it has given rise to the belief that he composed quickly; but such was not the case. His work was always carefully thought out, and whenever an idea occurred to him that he thought of musical value and worth elaborating, he pondered long over it and only began to write it out finally after he was, as he said, "fully convinced that it was as it should be." He was now in receipt of a salary of one thousand florins, or about five hundred dollars, and it is stated that he nearly doubled this by the sale of his compositions. His operas, of which he was specially fond, brought him the least profit. The extravagance of his wife, however, kept him constantly embarrassed in his money affairs, and an attachment he formed for one of the singers in the chapel, Luigia Polzelli, did not mend matters.

SILHOUETTE OF HAYDN.

Probably suggested by the miniature portrait

For the rest, the story of Haydn's life is little else than a catalogue of his works. From 1766, the year in which he became, by the death of Werner, the head of the Esterhazy Capelle, to 1790, the year of his first visit to London, nearly a quarter of a century, was the most fruitful period of his musical career. His greatest works, however, were yet to be written. Though he was already famous, he was not permitted to hold his position unassailed, and many and violent were the attacks upon him for his innovations and his disdain for pedagogic rules, by the critics of the older and more conservative school. Honors, nevertheless, began to pour in on him. The Philharmonic Society of Modena elected him a member in 1780. In 1784, Prince Henry of Prussia sent him a gold medal and his portrait in return for six quartets dedicated to him. In 1787, King Frederick William II. gave him a diamond ring as a recognition of his merit as a composer. In the meanwhile, in 1785, he received a commission to compose the "Seven Last Words of Christ" for the Cathedral of Cadiz, a fact which evidences how far his reputation had travelled from the solitude of Esterhaz. In the period named, he had written eight masses including the famous "Mariazell" mass in C, and the great "Cecilia" mass, the largest and most difficult of all his works in this kind, and now only performed in a condensed form. Within the same period he wrote sixty-three symphonies, most of which are in his earlier style, though a steady progress is shown toward the master symphonies he wrote for the London concerts.

During his residence at Esterhaz he wrote over forty quartets, and these were, up to the time of his departure for London, his greatest achievements. It was in these that he became the originator of modern chamber music and led the way to both Mozart and Beethoven. His clavier music still was under the influence of Emanuel Bach, though the twenty-eight sonatas that belong to this period, in freedom, melody and clearness are far in advance of anything that had been previously achieved. Seventeen clavier trios are also the product of this period and are still full of charm. He did not begin to write songs until he was nearly fifty years old, and the twenty-four he composed at Esterhaz were by no means of marked value. His part-songs were of a better order, but his canons were best of all, and may be still heard with pleasure.

It was during his stay at Esterhaz that his friendship for Mozart developed; and never was one great genius more cordially or sincerely admired by another than was Mozart by Haydn; and so frank was his recognition of the younger composer's worth, that he was fond of declaring that he never heard one of Mozart's compositions without learning something from it. He pronounced Mozart "the greatest composer in the world," and affirmed that if he had written nothing but his violin quartets and the "Requiem" he would have done enough to insure his immortality. The personal friendship between the two masters was a tender one and like that of father and son. On the eve of Haydn's departure for London Mozart was deeply moved and lamented their separation. With tears in his eyes he said to Haydn, "We shall never see each other again on earth," a prophecy that was only too literally fulfilled. When Haydn, then in London, heard of Mozart's death he grieved over it bitterly and with tears, and he wrote to a friend that his joy of returning home would be gloomy because he should not be greeted by the great Mozart.

It was in 1787 that Haydn received an urgent invitation from Cramer, the violinist, to visit London, but without any favorable results. Salomon took more practical measures, and in 1789 sent Bland, the music publisher, to try what personal persuasion could effect. It achieved nothing at this time, and Bland was obliged to return and to inform Salomon of the failure of the scheme. Haydn would not leave his "well-beloved Prince," but "wished to live and die with him." In a favorable hour for musical art, Prince Nicolaus died after a brief illness, in 1790. Haydn was in despair and mourned him devotedly. The Prince testified to his appreciation of the faithful services of his devoted Capellmeister by leaving him an annual pension of one thousand florins, on the condition that he consented to retain the title of Capellmeister to the Esterhazys. The Prince must have known that the Capelle would be dismissed by Prince Anton, his successor, whose taste for music was very slight. He discharged all the musicians except the wind band, which was retained to perform at banquets and other ceremonials. Prince Anton nevertheless was not unkind to those he dismissed, for he gave them gratuities and added four hundred florins to the pension of Haydn.

From this moment, Haydn was for the first time his own master, free to go whither he would. His fame, which was world-wide, assured him a warm welcome, no heed in what capital he might take up his residence, and his pensions and his savings secured him from all fear for the comfort of his declining years. He was now fifty-eight years of age. He took up his abode in Vienna and soon received an invitation to become Capellmeister to Count Grassalcovics. This he declined; but one day shortly after, he received a visit from a stranger who announced himself as Salomon of London, and was determined to take Haydn there will he nil he. Haydn resisted for a time, but at last all was arranged favorably to Salomon, who, by the way, was a famous violinist and conductor who was the projector of some prominent London subscription concerts. The terms which were agreed upon were as follows: Haydn was to have for one season: £300 for an opera for Gallini, the owner and manager of the King's Theatre in Drury Lane; £300 for six symphonies and £200 additional for the copyright of them; £200 for twenty new compositions to be produced by Haydn at a like number of concerts, and £200 guaranteed as the proceeds of a benefit concert for him, £1,200 in all, or 12,000 florins. His travelling expenses were paid by himself with the assistance of a loan of 450 florins from the Prince. He left Vienna with Salomon on the 15th of December, 1790, and arrived on English soil on the 1st of January, 1791. His reception in London was enthusiastic. Noblemen and ambassadors called on him; he was overwhelmed with invitations from the highest society and distinguished artists hastened to pay him homage. The musical societies fought for his presence at their performances, his symphonies and quartets were played, his cantata "Ariadne à Naxos" was sung by the celebrated Pachierotto and the newspapers vied with each other in honoring him.

The first of his six symphonies composed for Salomon was played March 11, 1791, at the Hanover Square Rooms, the composer conducting it at the pianoforte. The orchestra, led by Salomon, consisted of nearly forty performers. The work was received with a storm of applause and the Adagio was encored,—a rare event in that day. The other symphonies were no less successful, and were the finest works in their kind that Haydn had written up to that time. His benefit, which took place in May, was guaranteed to net him £200 but it produced for him £350. He was fêted constantly and enthusiasm attended him wherever he went. Oxford conferred on him the honorary degree of Doctor of Music during the Oxford Commemoration, an important feature of which was three concerts. At the second of these, Haydn's "Oxford" symphony was performed, Haydn giving the tempi at the organ. At the third concert he appeared in his Doctor's gown amid the wildest plaudits. He was the guest of the Prince of Wales for three days, and at a concert given all the music was of Haydn's composition, and the Prince of Wales played the 'cello. In the meantime Salomon made a new contract with him which prevented him from complying with a recall from Prince Esterhazy, to give his services in a grand fête for the Emperor. He gave many lessons at his own price. Among his pupils was the widow of the Queen's music master, Mrs. Schroeder. Haydn's susceptibilities were again touched, and though his pupil was over sixty, he said afterward: "Had I been free I certainly should have married her." To her he dedicated three clavier trios. He quitted London in June, 1792, and when he reached Bonn, Beethoven called on him for his opinion of a cantata. At Frankfort Haydn met Prince Anton at the coronation of the Emperor Francis II. At last he reached Vienna, where he was welcomed with wild enthusiasm and there was the greatest eagerness to hear his great London symphonies. Did Haydn at this triumphant moment recall the homeless young man who wandered through the streets of the city on a November evening forty-three years ago, penniless and despairing, and hopeless regarding his future prospects?

JOSEPH HAYDN.

From a miniature painted on ivory about 1785 to 1790, shortly before his visit to London.

Among the friends who tried to dissuade him from making this journey was Mozart, who said to him: "Papa, you have not been brought
up for the great world; you know too few languages." Haydn replied: "But my language is understood by the whole world."

At the end of this year Beethoven went to Haydn for instruction, and the lessons continued until Haydn's second departure for London. The connection between these two geniuses was not a happy one. There can be no doubt that Haydn neglected his pupil. In fact, in the midst of his social triumphs and at the height of his fame, giving lessons in counterpoint could not have had much attraction for him; moreover the twenty cents an hour that Beethoven paid for instruction was scarcely as tempting to the Haydn of that day as it would have been to the Haydn of fifty years before. The breach between the old and the young composer widened. The latter went to Schenk, a reputable musician, for additional lessons, and then refused to call himself Haydn's pupil. Haydn at one time intended to take Beethoven to England with him, but the latter, whenever occasion offered, made unflattering and contemptuous remarks about the old man, and these irritating him and wounding his self-esteem caused him to abandon his intention. Later, Beethoven's resentment softened, and when on his deathbed he was shown a view of Haydn's humble birth-place, he said: "To think that so great a man should have been born in a common peasant's hovel."

While in Vienna Haydn paid a visit to his native village Rohrau, the occasion being the inauguration of a monument erected in his honor by Count Harrach, in whose household Haydn's mother had been a cook. The emotions of the composer may be imagined. The little boy who fifty-four years earlier quitted home to study with the pedagogue Frankh, returned in the glory of a fame that was world-wide, and one of the greatest of composers, honored of monarchs, and courted of all. Good fortune had followed him from the first; and though he suffered much in those sad, early days, every change in his position was for the better. Far different was the fate of a still greater master, the luckless Mozart.

In 1794, Haydn departed on his second journey to London under contract to Salomon to compose six new symphonies. Prince Anton parted unwillingly with him and died three days after. The success of the previous visit was repeated, and his reception was even still more fervent and enthusiastic. Toward the end of this stay he was much distinguished by the Court. At a concert at York House, 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. Both the King and Queen urged him to remain in England and pass the summer at Windsor; but Haydn replied that he could not abandon Prince Esterhazy, and beside, the Prince had already written that he wished to reorganize his chapel with Haydn as conductor. He returned to his native land, his powers still further developed, his fame increased and his fortune enlarged. By concerts, lessons and symphonies he made twelve thousand florins ($6000) enough, added to what he already possessed, to give him no further anxiety for the future.

Again was his welcome home marked by the most demonstrative cordiality. From this time out there is but little to relate except to repeat the story of his industry and his musical fecundity, until the culmination of his artistic career was reached in the works of his old age, "The Creation" and "The Seasons." The success of both was enormous, and he composed very little after the latter work. His health began to fail, and he laid it at the door of "The Seasons." He said, "I should never have undertaken it. It gave me the finishing stroke." He lived in comparative seclusion, and only once more appeared in public, the occasion being a performance of "The Creation." He was then seventy-six years of age. As he entered the concert room he was saluted by a fanfare of trumpets and the cheers of the audience. His excitement was so great that it was thought advisable to take him home at the end of the first part. As he was borne out friends and pupils surrounded him to take leave. Beethoven was present, and bent down to kiss the old man's hands and forehead. All animosities were soothed in that last hour of triumph; the crowning moment and the close of a great master's career. When Haydn reached the door he urged his bearers to pause and turn him face toward the orchestra. Then he raised his hands as if in benediction, and in a long, lingering glance bade farewell to the art to which he had been devoted since the time when, as a boy, he hoarded his florins to purchase the precious volume of Fux, which he placed under his pillow when he slept, down to this pathetic culminating moment.

Haydn's life passed peacefully until in 1809 Vienna was bombarded by the French, and a shell fell near his dwelling. His servants were alarmed, but he cried in a loud voice, "Fear not, children. No harm can happen to you while Haydn is here." The city was occupied by the enemy, and the last visitor Haydn ever received was a French officer, who sang to him, "In native worth." Haydn was deeply affected and embraced his guest warmly at parting. A few days afterward, he called his servants about him for the last time, and bidding them carry him to the piano he played the Emperor's Hymn, three times. Five days later, May 31, 1809, that busy life ended peacefully. He was buried in the Hundsthurm Churchyard, close to the suburb in which he had lived; but eleven years later the remains were exhumed by order of Prince Esterhazy and reinterred in the parish church at Eisenstadt. When the coffin was opened for identification before removal, the skull was missing. A skull was sent to the Prince from an unknown source and was buried with the other remains; but there are good grounds for the belief that the real skull is in the possession of the family of an eminent physician of Vienna.

HAYDN'S GRAVE IN HUNDSTHURM CHURCHYARD.

At Gumpendorf, a suburb of Vienna, from whence the remains were taken to the parish church at Eisenstadt.

Fifteen days after his death Mozart's Requiem was performed in honor of his memory at the Schotterkirche. Numerous French officers were among the mourners, and the guard of honor about the bier was chiefly composed of French soldiers No sooner did Haydn's death become known, than funeral services were held in all the principal cities of Europe.

The list of Haydn's compositions is enormous. It includes 125 symphonies; 30 trios for strings, and strings and wind; 77 quartets for strings; 20 concertos for clavier; 31 concertos for various other instruments; 38 trios for piano and strings; 53 sonatas and divertissements for clavier; 4 sonatas for clavier and violin; 14 masses; 1 Stabat Mater; 8 oratorios and cantatas; 19 operas; 42 canons for voice in two and more parts; 175 pieces for the baritone; and a vast collection of other works, among which are a collection of over 300 original Scotch songs in three parts with violin and bass accompaniments and symphonies.

In estimating Haydn's life-work as a composer, the principal stress must be laid on him as a reformer in his art. Contrapuntally, music had reached its highest development, but in many other important directions it was at a low ebb. Concerted music had not yet achieved any prominence as a distinct branch of the art. Vocal music was in the ascendant and the church and the opera-house offered the principal if not the only means for composers to achieve distinction. In Vienna, the Emperor, Joseph II., was a liberal patron of music, and the nobles, after the fashion of nobles generally, followed the example of the court, and entered into rivalry with each other in founding and supporting costly musical establishments of their own. The Viennese, however, had no very marked sympathy with art at its highest. One hundred and twenty-five years ago, Leopold Mozart wrote: "The Viennese public love nothing that is serious or reasonable; they have not the sense to understand it, and their theatres prove sufficiently that nothing but rubbish such as dances, burlesque, harlequinades, ghost magic and devil's tricks will satisfy them. A fine gentleman, even with an order on his breast, may be seen laughing till the tears run down his cheeks, applauding as heartily as he can, some bit of foolish buffoonery; while in a highly pathetic scene he will chatter so noisily with a lady that his wiser and better-mannered neighbors can scarcely hear a word of the piece." From which it will be seen that fashion changes but little as time passes.

Instrumental music was, for the most part, confined to dance tunes, and minuets, allemands, waltzes and ländler were the rage. Presently these rose to importance and musicians began to take greater care in composing them, until at length came the suite, which was formed of a series of dances all written in the same key but varying in accent and character. Then followed a second part to the minuet, in the fifth of the key, and a return to the first part, which proved to be the stepping-stone to form; and the minuet survived the suite, of which it was originally a part, and continued an indispensable element of the symphony down to the time that Beethoven enlarged it into the scherzo.

In considering the influence that Haydn exercised on instrumental music it may perhaps be interesting to take a passing glance at the condition of orchestration when he began to compose. The string band, then, as now, was the foundation of the whole, and the wind instruments were used to add solidity to the score. The orchestra generally consisted of the string quintet, two flutes, two oboes, two bassoons, two trumpets, two horns and tympani. The first oboe did little else than duplicate the first violins, while the second oboe only appeared now and then with a holding note, or doubled the first oboe. The first bassoon either played in unison with the bass or sustained the fundamental harmony, while the second bassoon, from time to time, doubled the first. The violas rarely had an independent part and as a rule duplicated the bass. It is true that Haydn had before him the example of Stamitz, who gave an independent part to the viola in some of his symphonies, but the innovation does not seem to have influenced Haydn. Trumpets, horns and drums had but little to do except to produce noise when contrast in effect was deemed necessary. Unquestionably, Emanuel Bach departed somewhat from this conventional and circumscribed treatment of the orchestra and gave to his wind instruments independent parts. In his symphony in E-flat is to be found, amid the customary unison and octave passages for the strings, some charming and even piquant free writing for the wind, together with a marked feeling for contrasts between the wind and the strings. The horns, especially, are used with a genuine appreciation of their peculiar quality of tone and the effect of their timbre. Occasionally the strings remain silent and the wood wind are heard alone. More than this, for there is an attempt to employ all the instruments in a manner calculated to let their characteristic individualities produce their due effect in regard to tone-color; but, strangely enough, Haydn does not appear to have been in any way swayed by the innovations of his great predecessor, whose clavier works he had studied so assiduously. Still, a near and an inevitable change in the methods of writing for the orchestra was in the air, and the ground was not wholly unprepared for Haydn.

Fac-simile of original sketch made by Haydn for the Austrian Hymn, in which the melody and harmony differ somewhat from the published version.

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The orchestration of John Sebastian Bach was thin despite its elaboration. The strings formed the foundation, according to the prevailing rule, and were written in so many real parts, and when wind instruments appeared, they were also used with an independent polyphony. His contrasts were, for the most part, produced by giving a melody to a simple solo instrument, accompanied only by a bass, while a figured bass indicated the chords to be filled in by the organ or the clavier. It can hardly be said that the greatest of the Bachs advanced the art and science of orchestration. Handel's scoring was in quite another vein, and may be viewed as revolutionary for its era. In his overtures, especially, his strings are used with the evident object of producing solidity in effect. The oboes often strengthen the violins in unison and the bassoons perform the same service for the basses, but he also used these instruments independently and to embroider the broad and simple themes of the strings. In addition, he made use of the latter and of the wind separately, each body full in itself and responding each to the other. Now and then he used three trumpets, and in his "Rinaldo" he resorts to four, giving the bass to the drums. In "Saul" he uses three trombones. Clarinets were unknown to him, and the bass tuba was unborn in his day; but otherwise he was acquainted with all the instruments of the modern orchestra and made use of them. One cannot recall an instance in which he used them all in combination, and hence, the four trumpets of "Rinaldo" and the three trombones of "Saul" are not heard together in any of his scores. Notwithstanding the fame of Handel, his daring innovations in orchestration do not seem to have been studied by Haydn, or if they were, they exercised no early influence over him.

Gluck's scores must be considered epoch-making in the art of orchestration. His "Orpheus" was produced in 1762 when Haydn was thirty years of age; his "Iphigénie en Aulide" was produced in 1774, and the other "Iphigénie" was given in 1779. In these works instrumentation was advanced to an extent that broke almost wholly with the past. When Gluck died Haydn was in his fifty-fifth year, and yet the older composer, the report of whose world-wide fame must have reached Haydn's ears, even in the seclusion of Eisenstadt, does not appear to have suggested anything to Haydn. The twelve great Salomon symphonies, Haydn's, till then, highest achievements in orchestral writing, were not produced until some seven years after Gluck's death, and in them the influence is unmistakably that of Mozart, who had undoubtedly studied Gluck thoroughly.

The word "symphony" had various meanings before it became fixed as a name for the highest form of instrumental music. It was, however, generally understood to signify an overture, and its closest connection was with the opera. Originally it was merely a notification to the audience that the opera was about to begin; an appeal for silence and to concentrate attention on the coming entrance of the singers. The French "symphony," as exemplified by Lully, opened with a slow movement followed by an allegro, frequently in fugue form, and passed again into an adagio which ended the overture. The Italian symphony consisted of three movements, the first of which was a moderate allegro, the second an adagio, and the last a livelier and lighter allegro; and the Italian overture, as will be seen, became the foundation of the modern symphony as far as the positions of the movements are concerned. Before Haydn, Stamitz, Abel, J. C. Bach and Wagenseil, as well as Emanuel Bach, had written symphonies, and a symphony by Stamitz, in D, is peculiarly interesting, inasmuch as its form is completely in accordance with that which was established permanently by Haydn. The opening movement is an Allegro, with the familiar double bar with the repeats and the binary form. The second movement is an Andante in the dominant; the third is a Minuet that has even the Trio, and the finale is a Presto. The clavier sonatas of Ph. Emanuel Bach congealed this form and had a permanent influence on it, in the impression they made upon Haydn, who, by his mastery of his art, his amazing fecundity in invention and his unflagging productive powers, was enabled to increase the scope and aim of this form so greatly as to entitle him to be recognized as the creator of the symphony. Haydn's first symphony was written in 1759, for Count Morzin. We are unaware of any printed copy of it in this country. Pohl describes it as a slight work in three movements for two violins, viola, bass, two oboes and two horns. It appears to be modelled on the symphonies of Stamitz, Abel and John Christian Bach. The symphonies that followed differed but little in character from this one and afford little if any insight into Haydn's influence on the symphonic form. He appears to have followed in the footsteps of his predecessors, curiously enough, ignoring the symphonies of Emanuel Bach. The orchestration is meagre and conventional, the violins are almost constantly playing, and the wind is only used to duplicate them. It is not until we come to the first symphony composed by him at Eisenstadt that we see him as an innovator. This work is in C-major, and is generally known as "Le Matin." It is in four movements and begins with a few bars of adagio. The opening allegro is remarkable for its variety of subjects and their treatment, and for the careful manner in which it worked out. Between this movement and the adagio is a long dramatic recitative for the violin, very impressive, but having no discoverable connection with what precedes or what follows it. In breadth, dignity, and expressiveness it surpasses anything that the composer had hitherto produced. From this time forth the symphony steadily grew under Haydn's hands; the form was enlarged, the orchestration was varied, the timbres of the different instruments were studied and instrumental effects gradually assumed an importance that increased with each succeeding symphony. But his greatest symphonies were not written until the period of the Salomon concerts. In the meanwhile Mozart had appeared upon the scene. Haydn's first symphony was produced when Mozart was three years old, and the latter died in the very year in which Haydn's connection with the Salomon concerts began. That Haydn influenced Mozart's early works is beyond question; that Mozart in turn, influenced Haydn later, is equally indisputable.

JOSEPH HAYDN.

From an engraving by J. E. Mansfield, published by Artaria, in Vienna, 1781. Haydn in his forty-ninth year.

In "Le Matin," before alluded to, the second violins play with the first, and the viola with the basses almost through the whole of the first movement. The slow movement has no wind instruments whatever. In the minuet, though, there is a long passage for wind instruments only, and in the trio is an extensive and florid solo for bassoon. Haydn treated the strings in this same confined manner, and the wind after this solo fashion for some twenty years. Then came an effort to make the strings more independent and to pay attention to the peculiar qualities of the viola and violoncello. In the symphony in E-minor (Letter I) the wind is given long holding notes while strings sustain the subject. This was the first step toward greater freedom of orchestration in Haydn's symphonies; but it was not until his "Oxford" symphony that he broke wholly with the past. It was written in 1788, the same year in which Mozart produced his three greatest symphonies. This work is in his mature style, and the orchestration is delightfully clear, flexible and fresh. If he had written no more symphonies after this, however, he would not have attained to the rank he has won as a symphony composer. His fame in this walk of his art was assured by the twelve symphonies he wrote for Salomon after 1790. In these he reached his highest point. His mastery of form was perfected, his technical skill was unlimited, and he ventured into bold harmonic progressions that were little short of daring, for his time. His orchestra had been enlarged to two flutes, two oboes, two bassoons, two horns, two trumpets and drums, and in his three last symphonies, the two in D-minor and the one in E-flat, two clarinets appear. It is in these twelve symphonies that the influence of Mozart is clearly manifested. The bass has attained to independence; the violas no longer duplicate it except for certain effects; the second violins have a free motion of their own; the wind instruments express musical ideas proper to them and appropriate to their special qualities of utterance. The form and character of the symphony were established permanently.

Simplicity, clearness of style, grace and playfulness are the leading features of Haydn's symphonies. There are few of the more notable of them in which his command over the science of his art is not delightfully manifested. Haydn is invariably lucid, always finished to the highest point, always logical and always free from display for the mere sake of display. It is a prevailing fault to dwell too persistently on the cheerful simplicity of Haydn's music and to forget how serious and profound he could be when occasion demanded. These latter qualities are nobly manifested in his more important symphonies in those portions of them devoted to the "working out." Such symphonies as appeared before Haydn fixed the form and showed the capacity of that species of composition have wholly disappeared. It would perhaps be over dogmatic to assert that had it not been for Haydn the symphonies of Mozart and of Beethoven would not have been what they are; but it is certain that Haydn gave the impulse to both in as far as their symphony writing is concerned.

Of the quartet Haydn may be justly called the inventor, and it is in this phase of his art that he may be most profitably studied. The quartet was, as Otto Jahn truly says, "Haydn's natural mode of expressing his feelings," and it is in the quartet that Haydn's growth and progress in his art are most strikingly illustrated. Their influence on music has been greater than that exerted by his symphonies. Here he is seen in his full and his best strength, and it is here too that his extraordinary creative powers are most brilliantly emphasized. When these works first appeared they were sneered at by the pedagogues of the day, but by-and-by more respect was shown to them even by their earlier antagonists, for it was seen that the quartet was not only susceptible of depth of sentiment and seriousness of treatment, but that musical learning also had in them a field for its finest development. These quartets, from the opportunities they afforded for performance in the family circle, exercised great influence in raising the standard of taste, and in their educational aspects they were thus of the highest service. They crystallized form and in essence may be looked on as the parent of all the serious and so-called classical music that has been composed since. The progeny may only distantly resemble the parents, but the form establishes beyond all cavil the family resemblance.

Haydn's first quartet is the merest shadow. The first half of the opening movement consists of no more than twenty-four bars. The subject comprises eight bars; then comes eight bars of an episode modulating into the dominant, and then the second subject, also eight bars in length; but brief and pale as it is, it is unmistakably the germ that was elaborated by Beethoven into such prodigious masterpieces. It is in the quartet that Haydn found the fullest outlet for his wealth of musical thought, and it is in the quartet that his genius is illustrated in its most marked individuality. Quartets were written before his day, and also by his contemporaries, J. C. Bach, Stamitz, Jomelli, Boccherini, and others, but Haydn's marvellous invention, his originality in the mastery of form, his fine feeling for the characteristic speech of each instrument enabled him to obtain a mastery that left him without a rival. His early quartets are exceedingly thin, and are in such glaring contrast with what came after the composer had wholly developed the capacity of the quartet as a means of profound expression of musical thought, that he is said to have wished to ignore all his works in this class that preceded the nineteenth quartet; but they are necessary to the student who would follow the growth of musical form. It is an immense stride from the first of these compositions to the ever-beautiful "Kaiser quartet," with its exquisite variations, or "Gott erhalte Franz den Kaiser." The advance from simple harmonies to polyphonic treatment of the different parts, is a peculiarly interesting subject for study. Haydn stamped a character on the quartet that has never been departed from; and what is known as the "quartet style" was established by him so thoroughly that in all the mutations in musical taste, it still remains a distinction that admits of no change.

Haydn also left the impress of his genius on the sonata, though to Emanuel Bach is due the honor of having broken with the past as represented by Domenico Scarlatti and Kuhnau. The same copiousness of invention and perfection of form that characterize his quartets and symphonies are to be found in his sonatas, too much neglected at present, for in several of his later compositions of this class he appears to have gone further than Mozart and to have overlapped into the era of Beethoven. His trios for clavier and strings are full of interest, but with two or three exceptions they are not of special value except as models. The strings are often held subordinate to the piano, and the outer voices are too persistently doubled. Of his other purely instrumental works, including concertos and divertimenti, nothing survives except the fine concerto for clavier in D with "principal violin."

His songs, of which he wrote many, have passed for the most part into deserved oblivion. Some of his canzonets are marked by grace and delicacy, but the sign of age is unmistakably on them. His masses display that eternal freshness and that cheerfulness of spirit that are peculiarly Haydn's, and the more important of them must rank forever among the masterpieces of their class, notably the "Mariazell" Mass in C-major, and the "Cecilia" Mass, in the same key.

"The Seasons" and "The Creation" are remarkable not only in themselves, but as productions of his old age. It is true that his fame does not rest on them, and it is equally true that if he had written nothing else these works would not have brought the composer's name down to our day with the glory that now surrounds it. Some portions of "The Creation" however, are noble music, and these will always be listened to with delight. Never was the human voice treated in a more masterly manner than it has been by Haydn in these "oratorios," and the study of their scores is still valuable to all who would learn how to support the voice by flowing and brilliant orchestration without giving undue prominence to the instruments.

The dramatic interest of "The Creation" is not strong. There is nothing in the shape of declamation, and the singers are confined to mere description. The result is a lack of passion and a consequent monotony of sentiment. The tone-picture of Chaos, with which the work opens, stands out as one of the noblest bits of instrumentation that Haydn ever wrote. The air "With Verdure Clad" is exquisite, in melody and orchestration, but its many repetitions mar it and make it tiresome. "On mighty pens" is another lovely air, but here too the composer has not been fortunate in respect to discreet brevity. The choruses reach a high point of beauty in regard to themes, development and voice treatment, and "The Heavens are telling" still remains one of the noblest oratorio choruses outside of Bach and Handel. But the breadth and dignity of all the choruses are impaired by the elaborateness of the orchestration. Haydn was essentially an instrumental composer, and it was but natural that he should have yielded to the temptation to produce effects of which he was practically the inventor and at which the musical world still marvelled. It is, with all its faults, an amazing work for a man not far from three-score and ten years of age; and it may still be listened to with pleasure, when the last part is omitted; for the wooings and cooings of Adam and Eve have become incurably old-fashioned; and the grace, melodiousness and tenderness of the music do not atone for its monotonous effect and its lack of dramatic color.

"The Seasons," by its well sustained pastoral tone, its fresh and cheerful melodies, the fidelity with which the composer has adhered to the spirit of his poem, and the simple grace of style that marks the work throughout, make it still delightful in the hearing when it is produced with care and in harmony with the chaste sentiment that pervades it. When it is remembered that the composer compassed this work at the age of 69, and consequently near the end of a busy life whose active pursuit might well have exhausted his capacity to invent, its wealth of melody is astonishing. And yet, he said to Michael Kelly, "It is the tune which is the charm of music, and it is that which is most difficult to produce." In our day it would seem that tune is exhausted or that it is more difficult to produce than it was. In this connection another saying of Haydn's may be reproduced for the felicity with which it applies to the present time: "Where so many young composers fail is, that they string together a number of fragments and break off almost as soon as they have begun; so that at the end the hearer carries away no clear impression." By omitting the word "young," the words will not be any the less true now.

Of Haydn's lighter vocal works there is no need to speak, for they have passed away forever. His operas have been wholly forgotten, and not unkindly. It is, however, as an instrumental composer that Haydn is entitled to the most earnest consideration. In this field of his industry he has left an imperishable name. He was, to all intents and purposes, the creator of orchestral music. His place in musical history is among the greatest in his art. He broke with pedantry at the outset of his career, enlarged the scope and dignified the aim of music, and made the world the happier for his presence and in the rich legacy he left it. Music has changed greatly since his day, and in its progress it has departed widely and is still departing, even more widely, from the conditions in which he left it; but in all its changes it has left his position unassailed. His best achievements in his art are yet listened to with delight, despite the richer orchestration and the larger design that characterize the music of our time. He has outlived every mutation thus far, and it is perhaps not overbold to prophesy that his fame will endure long after the vague, restless and labored music that is peculiar to the present era, is forgotten. The moral of his life is devotion to art for art's sake. He was loyal to it through poverty, suffering and disappointment, never doubting his mission on earth. His early career was through tears, but as Heine says: "The artist is the child in the fable, every one of whose tears was a pearl. Ah! the world, that cruel step-mother, beats the poor child the harder, to make him shed more tears."

FRESCO IN THE VIENNA OPERA HOUSE

Illustrating Haydn's Oratorio of "The Creation."

WOLFGANG AMADEUS MOZART

Reproduction of a photograph taken by Hanfstängl from an original silver crayon (Silberstift) portrait, drawn by Dora Stock in 1789 at Dresden, during Mozart's visit—two years before his death. The artist was a daughter-in-law of Mozart's friend Körner, the father of the poet Theo. Körner. This portrait, though quite different from the more familiar pictures, is the best and most characteristic life portrait of Mozart in his later years. The date 1787 is incorrect.

MOZART

WOLFGANG AMADEUS MOZART

OHANN GEORG MOZART, the grandfather of the great composer, was a bookbinder. He lived in Augsburg, and in 1708 he married Anna Maria Peterin, the widow of a fellow-handicraftsman named Banneger. By her he had five children, and the youngest boy was Johann Georg Leopold, the author of the "Violin School" and the father of Wolfgang, the immortal composer.

Leopold Mozart was a man of no ordinary parts. His face is known to us by the engraving from the portrait painted by the amateur Carmontelle in Paris, 1763, and by the family group in the Mozarteum in Salzburg. It is an honest face, keen, austere; a mocking jest might have passed the lips, but neither flatteries nor lies. His tastes were simple, his life was ever free from dissipation. In money matters he was regarded as close, and the reproach has been made by some that he acted as a Barnum towards his two precocious children. The reproach is unjust. The man was poor. His earnings were small. He needed money to pay his debts and support his family. But no specific charge of meanness or avarice has been substantiated. On the other hand he was scrupulously honest, sincere in the duties of his profession, and of a profoundly religious nature that was shown in profession and practice. At the same time he was not a bigot. He would not yield to the tyranny of priests; he was free from superstition of every sort; his sane spirit and his bitter wit were exercised in spiritual as well as temporal affairs. Grimm, who was no mean judge of men, wrote of him as follows: "The father is not only a skilful musician, but a man of good sense and ready wit, and I have never seen a man of his profession who was at the same time so talented and of such sterling worth." As a musician he was thorough, well educated, and a composer of merit. His treatise upon violin playing was known throughout Europe, and it showed the solid qualities of the musician and the ironical temperament of the man. All of his gifts were used, however, chiefly in directing and developing most wisely the extraordinary genius of the young Wolfgang. The affection shown him, however, was lavished equally upon his wife and other children.

Salzburg is a town renowned for its beauty. "To see it shining in the sun, with its large white façades, its flat roofs, its terraces, its church and convent cupolas, its fountains, one would take it for an Italian city." The advantages of its natural situation and the artifical charms of the place were, if the opinion of the eighteenth century may be accepted, only equalled by the stupidity of the inhabitants. There was a German proverb that ran as follows: "He who comes to Salzburg grows foolish the first year, becomes an idiot the second; but it is not until the third year that he is a Salzburger." The German Harlequin Hanswurst, however, was a Salzburg creation; and the inhabitants were fond of heavy and coarse jokes. No wonder then that the town and the society were distasteful to Leopold Mozart. He left his birthplace to study law in Salzburg; and in 1743 he entered the service of the Archbishop Sigismund, as a court-musician. Later he became court-composer and leader of the orchestra; in 1762 he was second Kapellmeister. In 1747 he married Anna Maria Pertl or Bertl. She was the daughter of the steward of a hospital. She was very beautiful, good natured, loving, and of limited education. Seven children were born of this marriage. Five died at a very early age. The fourth, Maria Anna (born July 30, 1751), was familiarly known as "Nannerl," and she was a musical prodigy. The seventh and last was born at eight o'clock in the evening, Jan. 27, 1756, and the mother nearly died in the child-bed. According to the certificate of baptism, he was named Joannes-Chrysostomus-Wolfgangus-Theophilus. His first compositions published in Paris in 1764 are signed J. G. Wolfgang. Later works bear the name Wolfgang Amade. In private life he was known as Wolfgang. Variations sometimes found in the biographies come from the fact that Theophilus and Amadeus and Gottlieb are but one and the same name.

Schachtner, the court trumpeter, and a house-friend of the father, preserved for us in a letter written to Mozart's sister many interesting details of the early manifestations of the boy's genius. At the age of three he sought thirds upon the keys of the pianoforte. At the age of four his father began to teach him little pieces. When he was five he dictated minuets to his father, which are of natural but correct harmony, melodious and even characteristic. The first of these minuets is given herewith. These are not legends, but well attested facts. Four minuets and an allegro have been published by Otto Jahn in the second edition of his "Mozart." Singular indeed are some of the stories related. Up to the age of ten he could not endure the sound or sight of the trumpet. He wrote a pianoforte concerto, clearly conceived, but of unsurmountable difficulty, when he was four. His sense of pitch was extraordinary. The father watched this astounding precocity with loving fear and prayed that he might be wise enough to direct it.

MOZART'S FIRST COMPOSITION.

Minuet.

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VIEW OF SALZBURG.

From a photograph.

MOZART IN HIS SIXTH YEAR.

The court dress was sent to him by the Empress Maria Theresa. Painter unknown. Original in the Mozarteum in Salzburg. This is the earliest portrait of Mozart.

In 1762 Wolfgang and Maria Anna—the latter was now a pianoforte virtuoso—played before the Elector of Bavaria in Munich, and the enthusiasm provoked by their appearance was so great, that Leopold obtained leave of absence in September of the same year and went with his family to Vienna. At Passau the children played before the Bishop, who marvelled greatly and gave the father a ducat. At Linz they gave their first concert. They then descended the Danube to Vienna, stopping at the monastery of Ips, where Wolfgang played so effectively upon the organ that the Franciscan fathers left the dinner table that they might hear him; which miracle is doubtless recorded in the annals of the abbey.

MOZART IN HIS NINTH YEAR.

Original in the Mozarteum, in Salzburg. On the bottom of the music—"Th. Helbling juv. pinx."

The Austrian imperial family was passionately fond of music. Francis the First was a distinguished connoisseur, and Maria Theresa was a pupil of Wagenseil, as well as an accomplished singer. The Mozart children were received with open arms. The courtiers were astonished at the display of genius. The Emperor spent hours in testing and wondering at the powers of Wolfgang. The young Marie Antoinette romped with the boy who promised to marry her when he was old enough.

MOZART IN HIS TENTH YEAR.

Painted by Dominicus van der Smissen, 1766. The original in possession of Mr. R. Hörner, in Ulm.

The noble families of the town vied with each other in their attentions. The children were given money, court dresses, and tokens of genuine affection, and the first portrait of Wolfgang was painted then in Vienna, in which he has powdered hair, and he carries a sword. The boy was seized with scarlet fever in October, and in the beginning of 1763 Leopold went back to Salzburg. But the 9th of June of the same year, with his wife and children, he set out for Paris, having letters of credit from his good friend Haguenauer. They had adventures, and they gave concerts on the way. They arrived at Ludwigsburg, the Versailles of Stuttgart, where Jomelli, with his carriages and horses, houses and yearly salary of four thousand florins, brought to Leopold's mind his own modest condition, and provoked him to bitter remarks. Frankfort, Bonn and Brussels were seen, and finally the family arrived in Paris the 18th of November. The story of this visit, as well as the visit of 1778, has been most entertainingly told by Jullien in the brochure "Mozart à Paris," to which the reader is referred for interesting details. The letters of Leopold contain much curious information about the musical condition of the city. Frederick Melchior Grimm, who was regarded as an authority, exerted himself most actively in the behalf of his compatriots. They were presented at Court; they were celebrated in prose and in verse; their portraits were painted; and four sonatas "pour le clavecin" were engraved and published. In April, 1764, Leopold left Paris for London, by Calais, Dover, and he took with him the opinion that French music and French morals were detestable. In England the family were received most kindly by the King and the Queen, who, as is well known, were passionate amateurs of music. The curiosity of the Londoners to hear the children was great; the learned Daines Barrington proved the genius of Wolfgang in many ways, and then made it the subject of a letter preserved in the annals of the "Philosophical Transactions" of the year 1770; and guineas chinked pleasantly together in Leopold's pocket. Here Wolfgang wrote three symphonies, four according to Jahn and Koechel, but Wilder gives good reasons for doubting the date of the one in B-flat major. He also dedicated six sonatas for pianoforte and violin or flute to the Queen. His London visit benefited his education. Pohl in his interesting and valuable "Mozart in London" gives a full account of the condition of music at the time. Wolfgang had an opportunity of hearing Handel's oratorios and Italian opera; he became intimate with Christian Bach; he heard the castrate Tenducci, the master of cantabile; he took singing lessons of the famous male soprano Manzuoli. In July 1765 Leopold and the children started for the Hague; at Lille, Wolfgang was seriously ill, and at the Hague the sister was attacked by a violent fever. Wolfgang wrote while in Holland six sonatas and other pieces. After passing through Paris and Swiss towns, the family arrived at Salzburg in November, 1766. Wolfgang was pleased at seeing again his favorite cat, and then under his father's direction he began the study of the "Gradus" of Fux. In 1767 he learned Latin and set to Latin words a comedy, "Apollo et Hyacinthus," at the instigation of the Archbishop, who had hitherto played the part of doubting Thomas. He also wrote four pianoforte concertos for his own use in concerts.

MOZART IN HIS FOURTEENTH YEAR.

Painted in Verona, Jan. 6 and 7, 1770. Painter unknown.

Leopold was not blind to the fact that Italy was the home of great composers and illustrious singers; that its atmosphere was stimulating to musical thought; that its very name was synonymous with music. Under pretext of a short visit to Vienna, he made his excuses to the Archbishop and started, in September, 1767, with his family on a longer journey. In Vienna, the children were seized with small-pox, and it was not until January, 1768, that they were able to enter into the musical life of the town. They heard Gluck's "Alceste," and Leopold preferred to it Hasse's "Partenope." Joseph II., a man of frugal mind, demanded of Wolfgang an opera for his theatre, and the boy wrote "La Finta Simplice," an opera-buffa in three acts. It won the unqualified praise of the singers and such composers as Hasse, but the cabal against Wolfgang was too strong, and the opera was not given. "Bastien und Bastienne," an opera in one act, was written immediately after, and produced with great applause in the house of a Vienna doctor. (The pastoral theme of the instrumental introduction, the intrada, anticipates in a singular manner the opening of Beethoven's Third Symphony.) Wolfgang's first mass was given in public, and he himself directed. The Archbishop of Salzburg sent word to Leopold that his pay would continue only while he was actually in Salzburg, and so the family returned home. But the Italian journey was still in Leopold's head, and hoping to pay the expenses of the trip by giving concerts, he started out with Wolfgang in December, 1769. At Roveredo and Verona, the enthusiasm of the people was unbounded; at Milan they met the generous Von Firmian, who was the means of procuring a contract for Wolfgang to write an opera for the Christmas holidays; at Bologna they became acquainted with Father Martini and Farinelli; at Florence, Wolfgang met his friend Manzuoli and Thomas Linley, the English violinist of his own age; and in Holy Week they were at Rome, and they heard the Allegri Miserere. The story of the boy memorizing this famous composition at a hearing, writing it out, and correcting it after a second hearing, is familiar to all. The feat provoked the wildest curiosity to see him, and he was looked at superstitiously, just as, soon after, at Naples his virtuosoship was attributed to a ring worn upon a finger of the left hand. The concerts in these towns refilled the drained purse; in 1770, the pope ennobled the boy, giving him the cross of the Golden Spur; and he was received into the famous accademia filarmonica of Bologna. Meanwhile Wolfgang was considering the opera promised for Milan, and the 26th of December, 1770, "Mitridate, re di Ponto" was produced and received with unbounded enthusiasm. It was given twenty times, and the impresario hastened to make a new contract with the cavaliere filarmonico, as the Milanese called him. Father and son then visited Turin and Venice, and about this time Wolfgang probably wrote the oratorio "Betulia liberata." In the spring of 1771 they returned to Salzburg, where they found a letter from Count Firmian asking for a pastorale to celebrate the wedding of the Archduke Ferdinand with the Princess Beatrice of Modena. And now the boy fell in love with a woman ten years his elder. She was betrothed to another, and her marriage and Wolfgang's return to Milan in August ended the affair. Although in the house where he lodged, violinists, a singing teacher, and an oboe player plied assiduously their business, Wolfgang finished the promised composition, "Ascanio in Alba" in twelve days. It was first heard October 17. Its success was so great that Hasse's opera "Ruggiero" was neglected; and the kindly veteran simply said, "This young rascal will cause us all to be forgotten."

HOUSE IN SALZBURG WHERE MOZART WAS BORN.

No. 9 Getreidegasse.

About the time that Wolfgang returned home, December, 1771, Sigismund, the Archbishop, died, and Hieronymus ruled in his stead. He was a man of mean and tyrannical spirit, and his reputation had preceded him, so that when he arrived in Salzburg he was received in gloomy silence. Nevertheless there were festivities, and Wolfgang wrote "Il sogno di Scipione," a composition unworthy of his pen. It was in this same year, 1772, that Dr. Charles Burney received a letter from a correspondent, saying that the lad was still a pianoforte virtuoso of great merit, but that as a composer he had reached his limit; and the writer then moralized over musical precocities, comparing them to premature fruits. Yet at this same epoch, Wolfgang wrote the celebrated Litany "de venerabile." In November he visited Milan again to compose and put on the stage the opera "Lucio Silla." There were many obstacles before and even during the representation; but the success of the work was unquestioned. This was the last opera written by Wolfgang for Italy. The impresarios were willing and eager; but the Archbishop was reluctant in granting even ordinary favors to his servant. And here is the end of the first period of Mozart's musical career.

ROOM IN WHICH MOZART WAS BORN.—No. 9 GETREIDEGASSE, SALZBURG,—THIRD FLOOR.

This and an adjoining room form at present the Mozart-Museum in which are deposited all original family pictures, busts, autographs, compositions, letters, etc. Also, the spinet and grand piano used by Mozart in his later years.

The next five years were passed without material change in the circumstances of the family. There was a trip to Vienna during the absence of Hieronymus; and in December, 1774, Wolfgang, having obtained permission from the Archbishop, who did not dare to offend the Elector of Bavaria, went to Munich to write or to finish and bring out an opera-buffa, "La finta giardiniera," which had been ordered by Maximilian III., who in earlier years was much interested in the child. The opera was produced with brilliant success, Jan. 13, 1775, and his dear sister was present to share in the joy of the composer. After Mozart's return to Salzburg, Hieronymus received a visit from the Archduke Maximilian, the brother of Marie Antoinette. It no doubt occurred to him that one of his servants, who was paid, by the way, about $5.50 a month, was not earning his wages; and so Mozart was requested to write an opera, "II re Pastore," in honor of the imperial guest. This was performed in April, 1775, and this year and the next were years of great fertility: music for the church, violin concertos, divertimenti, serenades, organ sonatas, etc. He worked at the violin to please his father, who had a high opinion of his ability in this direction; and besides, one of his duties was to play at the court, a duty that he detested. In spite of all this work, these days in Salzburg dragged along, sad and monotonous. The social life of the town was slow and stupid. Risbeck and other travelers have given us curious details. "The sovereign," writes one, "goes a-hunting and to church; the nobles go to church and hunt; the tradespeople eat, drink and pray; the rest pray, drink and eat." No wonder that he shot sarcastic arrows at his fellow townsmen. He poked fun at a lover of his sister who gaped at everything he saw in Munich, "so that one could easily tell he had only seen Salzburg and Innsbruck." He was never tired of telling of a Salzburgian who complained that he could not judge Paris satisfactorily, "as the houses were too high and shut off the horizon." "I detest Salzburg and everything that is born in it. The tone and the manners of the people are utterly unsupportable." He avoided society. Sundays, to be sure, with a few of his own age, he played at pea-shooting; and he was fond of going occasionally to balls. Nor did he associate willingly with the musicians. His father hated the Italians in the orchestra; and the German musicians were so fond of their cups that when Leopold went to Mannheim he was surprised at the sobriety of the orchestra. He spent most of his time at home, fond of a canary bird and a dog, teasing his sister about her lovers, adoring his father and mother. Finally the father and son plucked up courage and asked Hieronymus for a leave of absence. It was refused, with the remark that he did not wish one of his servants going about begging from town to town. With his father's permission Wolfgang then sent a letter asking for his dismission. The vanity of the archbishop was hurt, and he was furiously angry; "After all," he said, "it is only one musician the less." As Leopold could not leave the town, he confided his son to the protection of the mother, and after a sorrowful leave-taking the two started on their journey Sept. 23, 1777. In the anxiety of the moment, the father forgot to give the boy his blessing.

MOZART'S FAVORITE CONCERT PIANO, AND SPINET OR SMALL CLAVICHORD,
now on exhibition at the Mozarteum, in Salzburg.

The piano was used by Mozart during the last ten years of his life. It has five octaves and was made by the celebrated Anton Walter. Its value was estimated, after Mozart's death, at 80 florins (about $25) and it probably sold for less. It came into the possession of Hummel, the composer and pianist, and finally to the Mozarteum.

The spinet has five octaves and was used in composing the Magic Flute, Titus and The Requiem.

In the background is seen the large painting of the Mozart family, by Carmontelle.

And now began the struggles of his life, struggles that only ended with a premature death. They went first to Munich, but there was nothing there. The intendant of the theatre, a broker in music, would not accept Wolfgang's proposition to furnish four operas a year for a ridiculously small sum of money; and there was no other opening. Then a visit was made to Wolfgang's uncle in Augsburg. Here he was kindly received. He became intimate with Stein, the instrument-maker, and gave pianoforte lessons to his daughter. He swore lasting fidelity to his own cousin. When he left, there was an exchange of portraits, and afterward the cousins corresponded vigorously for a time. The next stopping place was Mannheim, which was called "the paradise of musicians." The orchestra fostered by the musical Elector Karl Theodore was probably without a rival in Europe. It was of unusual size. There were eleven first violins, eleven second, four violas, four 'cellos, and four double basses; two flutes, two oboes, two clarinets (instruments rarely used in those days), four bassoons, two horns, and trumpets and drums. The conductor was Cannabich, a man of knowledge and of temperament. The performances of this orchestra were celebrated by all the critics of the time. Burney compared the piano and forte to different colors used by painters. Schubart wrote that the forte was a thunder-storm, the crescendo a cataract, the diminuendo like the purling of a crystal stream, the piano like a breath of spring. And Burney, again, compared the orchestra to an army of generals equally prepared to direct the campaign and to fight. With these men Mozart became intimate. Here also he knew the famous singers, Dorothea Wendling, Franciska Danzi and Anton Raaff. Here too he met the famous Abbé Vogler, the teacher in future years of Weber and Meyerbeer, whom he disliked to the point of hatred. He sneered at his theoretical books, he called him "charlatan" and "humbug." A harsh verdict, and one not fully deserved, although this Vogler was truly an eccentric person, who boasted that he could make a composer in three weeks and a singer in six months. Now, certain members of the orchestra were engaged for concerts in Paris, and they begged Mozart to go with them, saying that Paris was the only town where such a composer would be appreciated and could make his fortune. At first he embraced their views and tried to convince his father that the plan was for the best. When everything seemed favorable, Leopold was astonished by the receipt of letters from Wolfgang, saying that he had abandoned the project, and at the same time giving ridiculous reasons for the change. The truth was that the boy was in love.

Fridolin Weber, a man of good family and of education, was the prompter and the copyist of the Mannheim theatre. Poor as he was, he had cultivated the talents of his daughters. They were five in number. The second, Aloysia, was fifteen, distinguished for her beauty and superb voice. She and Mozart went together to the chateau of the Princess of Orange,—and they loved each other. She sang for the Princess and he played, and the letters written by Wolfgang to his father show more than a musician's interest in Aloysia. For her he wrote a passionate aria, choosing Metastasio's lines "Non so d'onde." This love making was stopped by a sensible and kindly letter from Leopold, and the boy and his mother set out for Paris. There were tears, and presents. Aloysia gave her lover two pairs of mittens which she had worked, and Fridolin added a roll of music paper and a copy of Molière. But Aloysia was piqued and never forgave Wolfgang for his obedience to his father.

MARIA ANNA MOZART,

Sister of the composer and remarkable as a musical prodigy. This portrait is idealized, being a reproduction from the Bruckmann collection.

After a journey of nine days, mother and son arrived in Paris, the 23d of March, 1778. Mozart, sick at heart, looked upon the gay scenes with disapproving eyes. Even a month after his arrival, he wrote his father that he was indifferent to all things and that nothing interested him. His room was gloomy, and so small that he could not get a pianoforte between the two cots. However he lost no time in calling upon Grimm and the Mannheim friends. He met Legros, the director of the "Concert spirituel," who gave him work, and Noverre, the celebrated ballet-master, and for him he wrote music for a ballet-pantomime called "Les Petits Riens," which was produced at the Opera house June 11, 1778. It was preceded by an opera of Piccini and ascribed to Noverre. The "demoiselle Asselin" was praised by the journals, and nothing was said about the music. The manuscript was discovered by Victor Wilder, and the ballet was played during the winter of 1872-73 at a concert at the Grand Hotel, Paris. A few days after the first performance of this ballet, Mozart's "Paris" Symphony was played in the hall of the Tuileries and with success. A second symphony, played in September, has disappeared.

Although in many ways this visit to Paris was a sore disappointment to Mozart, and although he wrote bitterly about the condition of music in the French capital, his stay was of great and beneficial influence upon his career. He heard the operas of Gluck, Grétry, Monsigny, Philidor and the Italians who then disputed the supremacy with the French. In after years he was found surrounded by the works of Gluck and Grétry, and when asked if the study of Italian masters was not more profitable, he replied: "Yes, as regards melody; but not for true and dramatic expression."

In May, 1778, the mother of Mozart sickened, and in July she died after much suffering. She was stout and subject to apoplectic attacks. As she had no confidence in French physicians, she was attended by an elderly German who was more patriotic than learned. He gave her rhubarb and wine, against Mozart's wishes, and when Grimm's doctor arrived it was too late for cure. She was buried probably in the cemetery of the Innocents, which was destroyed in 1785.

The grief of the son was terrible, and the father was uneasy. Grimm, who was now wholly interested in Italian music sung by Italians, advised Leopold to recall Wolfgang. The archbishop of Salzburg held out inducements to father and son. The father at last commanded the return, and in September, 1778, the philosopher Grimm accompanied the young musician to the diligence and paid his way to Strasburg. When Wolfgang finally saw that his return was unavoidable, he complained bitterly. "I have committed the greatest folly in the world. With a little patience I should surely have won in France a glorious reputation and a substantial income."

Karl Theodore of Mannheim was now elector of Bavaria. He took his court to Munich, and Aloysia Weber sang in his theatre. Mozart stopped to see her. She was slow to recognize him, and she did not approve of the black buttons on his red coat, the French fashion of mourning dress. But he wrote a grand aria for her, and even after her marriage to the play-actor Lange he confessed to his father that he still cared for her.

It was in January, 1779, that Mozart again saw Salzburg, and for a year and a half he stayed there working steadily. His illusions were gone; his heart was sad. He loathed the town. "When I play in Salzburg, or when any of my compositions are performed, the audience might as well be chairs or tables." But he found some relief in work, and among the many compositions of this period is the incidental music to "König Thamos," an Egyptian drama. He also wrote an opera, "Zaide," which he abandoned, and which was brought out in Frankfort in 1866. In 1780 he received a commission from Karl Theodore to compose an opera for the Munich carnival of the following year. The text was written by an Italian priest named Varesco, and it told the story of Idomeneus, king of Crete, a story that is closely allied to the famous adventure of Jephtha. In November Mozart went to Munich and he was graciously received. His letters tell of the usual differences that come up between composer and singers, and his father gave him good advice: "You know that there are an hundred ignorant people for every ten true connoisseurs; so do not forget what is called popular, and tickle the long ears." The rehearsals gave great satisfaction and the Elector remarked: "No one would imagine that such great things could come out of such a little head." The opera was given January 29, 1781, and the Munich News praised the scenery "of our well-known theatrical architect, the Herr Councillor Lorenz Quaglio." It is not known how much Mozart received in payment.

The Archbishop had only given leave of absence for six weeks; but Mozart liked Munich and hated to return. He wrote church and instrumental pieces for the Elector, and enjoyed the gay life, until in March the Archbishop, who went to Vienna after the death of the Empress, summoned him. "And there his destiny was to be fulfilled."

The Archbishop was in execrable humor. Joseph II. was not fond of priests, and he had greeted him coolly. The wrath of Hieronymous was poured out on the composer's head, for he had not forgotten or forgiven Mozart's brusque departure, and he could not endure his independent spirit. He made him eat with the servants. He would not allow him to play the pianoforte at a concert given for the benefit of the widows and orphans of musicians; and when he was forced into giving him permission, he hated him the more. He ordered him to be present every morning in an antechamber to receive orders; and when Mozart rebelled, he forgot his sacred calling and abused him indecently; "black-guard, regular ass, idiot, dirty rascal," were the mildest of the reproaches. He showed him the door, and Mozart, who had kept his temper, said that if His Grace wished it, he would be only too willing to resign; and he wrote his father that his prospects in Vienna were bright and that he could not bear the thought of returning to Salzburg and continual humiliation. His success as a pianoforte player at the charitable concert was such that many desired to take lessons of him, in spite of the price demanded by him—six ducats for twelve lessons. "Thanks be to my pupils, I have as much as I want; but I will not have many pupils; I prefer few, and to be better paid than other teachers." He protests as follows: "If I were offered two thousand florins by the Archbishop, and only one thousand florins in any other place, I should go to the other place; for instead of the other one thousand florins I should enjoy health and contentment of mind." But Leopold Mozart was not the man of former days; he was nervous and almost hypochondriacal. He had heard that his son was living a dissipated life; and he understood that he was neglecting his religious duties; it even grieved him to think that Wolfgang ate meat on fast-days. Nor did he approve of the renewed intercourse with the Weber family, for Aloysia was now married to Lange, "a jealous fool," and the mother and daughters were in Vienna. In June, 1781, young Mozart determined to procure from the Archbishop his dismission, as he heard that the departure to Salzburg was near at hand. He found in the antechamber Count Arco ready to receive him. There were violent words, and finally Arco kicked him out of the room. And thus was Mozart set free.

ALOYSIA WEBER, sister to Mozart's wife, and her husband JOS. LANGE, actor and painter.

From the first volume of "Die Ephemeriden der Litteratur und des Theaters." Berlin, 1785. Drawn by Lange himself. We owe to him the last portrait of Mozart.

It was summer, the nobility had gone to their country seats, and there were few lessons and few concerts. Mozart worked at pianoforte sonatas and dreamed of an opera. Josephine Aurnhammer, remarkably fat, ugly, and an excellent pianist, fell in love with him, and he was therefore obliged to gradually break off his acquaintance with the "sentimental mastodon." In December Clementi came to Vienna, and he and Mozart played before the Emperor. Mozart was proclaimed victor, and the Emperor gave him fifty ducats and saw in him the man to assist him in founding the lyric German drama. Stephanie, the inspector of the opera, had provided the text of "Die Entführung aus dem Serail" (The Escape from the Seraglio) and Mozart had already written much of the music before Clementi's visit. In a letter to his father he describes the work of a day. "At six o'clock my hair-dresser awakes me; by seven I am shaven, curled, and dressed; I compose until nine, and then give lessons until one; I then dine alone, unless I am invited to some great house, in which case my dinner is put off until two or three; then I work again about five or six, unless I go to a concert, in which case I work after my return until one in the morning." In July (the 13th or the 16th, for there is a dispute concerning the date), 1782, "The Escape from the Seraglio" was given. The house was crammed, there was no end to the applause and cheering, and performances followed one another in quick succession. The German opera was established; but the Emperor Joseph only said, "Too fine for our ears, and too many notes." Mozart replied, "Just as many notes as are necessary, your Majesty." It was in this opera, according to Carl Maria von Weber, that Mozart arrived at the full maturity of his genius.

MOZART'S WIFE.

Constanze Weber. From a woodcut by A. Neumann, after a photograph from an aquarelle painting on ivory, in the Mozarteum, in Salzburg.

The 4th of August, 1782, Mozart married Constanze Weber, before the arrival of his father's formal consent. He had been in love with her for some months, and in December of the year before he had written his father about her. "She is the martyr of the family.... She looks after everything in the house, and yet can never do right. She is not ugly, but she is far from being beautiful. Her whole beauty consists in her dark eyes and good figure. She is not intellectual, but she has common sense enough to fulfil her duties as a wife and mother. She is not inclined to extravagance; on the contrary, she is always badly dressed, for the little her mother can do is done for the two others, never for her. True, she likes to be neat and clean, but not smart; and almost all that a woman needs she can make for herself; she understands housekeeping, has the best heart in the world—she loves me and I love her—tell me if I could wish for a better wife?" The father was sorely vexed. He saw poverty and "starving brats." He disapproved of the Weber family. With reluctance he finally sent the parental blessing. The wedding was simple, and the supper was given by the Baroness von Waldstädten, a famous pianist, and a woman of unsavory reputation. The income of the newly-married couple was precarious and uncertain, and so it was until the divorce of death, but man and wife were very happy. They were young—Mozart was twenty-six and Constanze was about eighteen—and they took no thought of the morrow. The morning after the wedding the Abbé Stadler called upon them, and he was asked to breakfast. Constanze in her marriage dress made the fire and prepared the coffee, and with laughter they thus began their married life, without money and with a carelessness that bordered on recklessness. To Constanze even this pinched life was a relief, for she had long suffered from the intolerance of a drunken mother. Mozart's love for his wife was town talk. Kelly, the English tenor, in later years, spoke of "the passionate love" of the composer. He told her everything, even his faults and sins, and she was ever tender and faithful. She was not unmusical; in fact she played and sang, and was especially fond of fugues. She told him stories while he worked. She cut his meat for him at table. As she was not robust, he, in turn, was most careful of her health, and often denied himself that she might be more comfortable. There are German romances in existence that deal with alleged love episodes in the life of Mozart, and in which he is represented as often unfaithful to his wife. Grave historians have not thought it an unworthy task to examine the current scandals of his life in Vienna. It is true that the manners and customs of the Viennese were free and easy. It was an age of gallantry. It is not improbable that he was exposed to many temptations. At the same time the looseness of his life was grossly exaggerated, and specific charges that were made are now known to be legends. Hummel, who lived in Mozart's house as a pupil, wrote in 1831: "I declare it to be untrue that Mozart abandoned himself to excess, except on those rare occasions when he was enticed by Schikaneder."

THE MOZART FAMILY.

C. de Carmontelle del. Delafosse, Sculp. 1764.

Discouraged by the parsimony of the Emperor, failing in his endeavor to become the teacher of the Princess Elizabeth, and believing himself to be unappreciated, Mozart determined to leave Vienna and turned towards France and England. At this time he was chiefly known in Vienna as a pianoforte player. It was not until the appearance of the "Magic Flute" that he was recognized there as a great operatic composer, and then it was too late. The father, however, opposed the plans of his son, and he even wrote to the Baroness von Waldstädten urging her to reason with Wolfgang, and adding, "What is there to prevent his having a prosperous career in Vienna, if only he has a little patience?" And so Mozart stayed in Vienna. He gave lessons, which were apt to be of a desultory nature. He gave concerts in the Augarten which was frequented by the fashionable people. He gave concerts in the theatre and in different halls, and his own music was performed with great success. His concertos and his playing were cheered to the echo by the Emperor and the nobility. His old love Aloysia sang at one of these concerts, and Gluck sat in a box and applauded. It is not true that at this time Mozart was unappreciated by the public or that the public was not willing to pay money for the pleasure of hearing him. As a pianoforte player he was surfeited with applause. His subscription concerts were crowded. At one he received four hundred and fifty ducats; at two concerts in Prague in 1786 he received one thousand florins. He played regularly in private concerts given by members of the nobility, and it was the custom of the Viennese aristocracy to reward distinguished artists liberally. On the other hand he made but little by the publication of his compositions. Nor did he fare better in his dealings with theatrical managers. The usual payment in Vienna for an opera was one hundred ducats. Upon the whole, Mozart was probably as well treated from a pecuniary point of view as the majority of the musicians of his time. He had no head for business, and he was constantly in want of money. A few months after his marriage he was threatened with an action for non-payment of a bill. He was constantly borrowing small sums from Peter to pay Paul. His letters abound in proofs of his embarrassments. At different times he tried plans of reform; from March, 1784, until February, 1785, he kept an account book, and the entries were neatly written. But Constanze was not the housewife praised by King Lemuel.

A son was born in 1783, who died in the same year, and in the summer a visit was paid to Salzburg. A mass, which Mozart had vowed in his heart before his marriage if he succeeded in taking Constanze there as his wife, was performed; he wrote duets for violin and viola to help Michael Haydn, who was prevented by sickness from satisfying the Archbishop's command; he sketched a part of an opera, "L'Oca del Cairo." In one way the visit was a disappointment. Neither Leopold nor Marianna was really fond of Constanze, and Mozart was displeased because none of the trinkets that had been given him in his youth were offered to his wife. He returned to Vienna in October. In 1785 the father returned the visit. He wept for joy at hearing Wolfgang play the pianoforte concerto composed for the blind pianist, Marie Paradies; he heard string quartets of his son played by Haydn, Dittersdorf, Wolfgang and Vanhall; and Haydn said to him, "I assure you solemnly and as an honest man, that I consider your son to be the greatest composer of whom I have ever heard." Influenced by his son he became a Freemason. There were secret associations, brotherhoods of all descriptions, more or less closely allied to Freemasonry, throughout Germany during the latter half of the eighteenth century. Many wished to join together in fighting for liberty of conscience and independence of thought; and, as Herder, Wieland, Goethe, they saw in Freemasonry "a means of attaining their highest endeavors after universal good." In Vienna nearly all the distinguished leaders of thought were Freemasons; the lodges were fashionable, and in 1785 the Emperor Joseph placed them under the protection of the state, although he first reduced the number. It is not surprising that Mozart, with his love for humanity, his warm sympathies for all that is good and noble, should enter eagerly into masonic ties and duties. He contemplated the founding of a secret society of his own. His lodge was the oldest in Vienna, "Zur gekrönten Hoffnung," and for this lodge he wrote vocal and instrumental works, one of which, the "Trauermusik" is of great beauty and originality.

In 1784 the German opera in Vienna was almost extinct. Aloysia Lange chose Mozart's "Escape from the Seraglio" for her benefit, and the composer directed it; Gluck's "Pilgrimme von Mekka" was given, as well as Benda's melodramas. The next year it was proposed to reinstate German opera in competition with the Italian, and the scheme was carried out, but the performances were not equal to those of the Italian opera, and Mozart was not pitted by the Emperor as a native composer against the foreigner Salieri. For a festival in 1786 dramatic performances were ordered in Italian and German, and Mozart wrote the music for "Der Schauspieldirector" (The Theatre Director), while Salieri was more fortunate in his text. The Italian operas were popular with the court and the people, and the better singers went over to the Italian side. Paesiello and Sarti were welcomed heartily in Vienna, and their operas received the patronage of the Emperor. Mozart's prospects as an operatic composer were gloomy, until in 1785 he was seriously benefited by his acquaintance with Lorenzo da Ponte, abbé, poet, and rake. This singular man was appointed theatrical poet by Joseph II. through the influence of Salieri. He quarreled with his benefactor, who engaged a rival as his librettist. Da Ponte looked about for a composer with whom he could join against his enemies, and he entered into negotiations with Mozart. Beaumarchais' comedy, "Le Mariage de Figaro," had finally been put on the stage of the Théâtre-Français in April, 1784; it was exciting popular attention; and Mozart wished an adaptation for his music. The adaptation would be an easy task, but the comedy itself was not allowed in the Vienna Theatre. The poet was in the good graces of the Emperor and he confided the plan to him. Joseph admitted that Mozart was a good instrumental composer, said that his opera did not amount to much, called Mozart to him, heard portions of the work, and ordered that it should be put into rehearsal immediately. If we believe the account given by Da Ponte, the whole opera was finished in six weeks. There was a strong cabal, with Salieri at the head, against the production, but it was brought out May 1st and with overwhelming success. Michael Kelly, who sang the parts of Basilio and Don Curzio, gives interesting accounts of the rehearsals and the performance in his "Reminiscences." "Never was anything more complete than the triumph of Mozart." At the second performance five pieces were repeated: at the third, seven; "one little duet had to be sung three times," we learn from a letter of Leopold Mozart. In November Martin's "Cosa Rara" pleased "the fickle public" mightily, and during 1787 and 1788 "Figaro" was not given. It was first performed in Berlin, Sept. 14, 1790: the critics praised it: the people preferred Martin and Dittersdorf. It was heard later in all the great towns of Europe (Paris, 1793; London, 1812, with Catalani as Susanna); in Prague it was heard at once and with the greatest success, and this led to "Don Giovanni."

THE MOZART FAMILY.

Large oil painting by de la Croce (born 1736, a pupil of Lorenzoni), painted in 1780. The original is in the Salzburg Mozarteum and seems to have been repeatedly and unskilfully retouched.

The success of "Figaro" was not of material benefit to Mozart in Vienna. He fretted at the necessity of teaching; he envied Gyrowetz, who went to Italy. In 1786, a third child was born to him, Leopold, who died in the spring of the next year. His English friends urged him to go to England. He thought seriously of doing this, when he received one day a letter from the orchestra of Prague, to which the leading connoisseurs and amateurs had added their names, begging him to visit the town and see for himself the enormous success of "Figaro." Bohemia was a musical country, and at the capital music was cultivated passionately. There was an excellent school where pupils of talent were educated by the support of patrons. The members of the nobility had their orchestras, and some demanded that their servants should be musicians. "Figaro" was played by the Bondini Italian company throughout the winter of 1786-7, and the public enthusiasm was unbounded. The opera was turned into chamber music. It was arranged for all combinations of instruments. It was sung in the streets; it was whistled at street corners. Mozart with his wife arrived in Prague in January, 1787, and they were entertained by Count Thun. His visit was one of unalloyed happiness. He saw the beauties of Prague "hopping about to the music of 'Figaro' turned into waltzes and country dances. The people talked of nothing but 'Figaro.'" In the theatre he was welcomed with uproarious applause. His two concerts were in every way successful. And here he amused himself, doing little work, until Bondini made a contract with him by which Mozart agreed to give him an opera for the next season for one hundred ducats.

Naturally he thought at once of Da Ponte, and Da Ponte suggested the legend of Don Juan Tenorio y Salazar, Lord of Albarren and Count of Maraña. This story had already attracted the attention of mask-makers and comedy-writers innumerable, among them Molière, Shadwell, Goldoni; and Gluck and Righini, Tritto and Gazzaniga had set it to music, as ballet, dramma tragicomico, or opera buffa. Da Ponte had made his fortune by the text of "Figaro," and when he began the libretto for Mozart he was also at work on texts for Martin and Salieri. He went from one story to the other, with snuff-box and bottle of tokay before him, and the pretty daughter of his hostess by his side. "Don Giovanni" and Martin's "L'Arbore di Diana" were finished in sixty-three days. We know little or nothing of Mozart's methods in writing the music of the work. His thematic catalogue shows that from March till September few other important works were written, and the greatest of these are the string quintets in C major and G minor. His father died in May, and Mozart's grief may well be imagined. "Next to God is papa" showed the depth of his love. In September Mozart took his wife and boy to Prague. He worked in the vineyard of his old friend Duschek, and his friends talked or played at bowls. German essayists and novelists invented many stories, which reflect with discredit upon Mozart's morality during this visit to Prague, and these stories, without real foundation, were for a long time accepted as facts. He is said, for instance, to have been violently in love with the women who sang at the theatre; and continual intoxication is the mildest charge brought against him. Teresa Saporiti, the "Donna Anna," said when she first saw him, "This illustrious man has a most insignificant face," and yet their amorous adventures were long taken for granted. Nor do we know whether the many traditions are only traditions; such as his writing "La ci darem" five times before he could satisfy the singers; Bassi's anger, and other tales. The overture was unwritten the very evening before the day of performance. His wife mixed punch for him and told him stories, "Cinderella," "Aladdin" and tales of wonder and enchantment. Little by little, he grew sleepy as he worked. The head would droop in spite of the efforts of Scheherazade. At last he rested on the sofa, and at five o'clock Constanze aroused him. The copyist came at seven; and the orchestra played the overture at sight from wet sheets when October 29, 1787, "Don Giovanni" was first heard by an enthusiastic public. The opera was an unqualified success. Mozart stayed in Prague long enough to write a concert aria for Madame Duschek, although she was obliged to lock him in a summer-house to get it; shortly after his return to Vienna Gluck died, and December 7th he was appointed Chamber Musician by Joseph. "Don Giovanni" was not given in Vienna until May 7, 1788, and it was a failure. The Emperor is reported to have said, "The opera is divine, perhaps even more beautiful than 'Figaro,' but it will try the teeth of my Viennese." And Mozart said, "We will give them time to chew it." It was first given in Berlin, Dec. 20, 1790; Paris, 1805, in a wretched version; London, in April, 1817. In 1825 Garcia, with his daughters, was in New York; he met Da Ponte there, and at the suggestion of the latter "Don Giovanni" was given. After it had made its way in Germany, it was regarded as his masterpiece, and Mozart is reported to have said that he wrote it not at all for Vienna, a little for Prague, but mostly for himself and friends.

BRONZE STATUE OF MOZART, IN THE LUXEMBOURG.

By the Sculptor Barrias.

But the opera did not help him pecuniarily. He was in constant need of money. He was not idle, however; the great symphonies in E-flat major, G minor and C major were written in the summer months of 1788; he prepared the music for the masked balls; he wrote compositions for the pleasure of his pupils; and, at the instigation of Van Swieten, who was an enthusiastic admirer of Handel, he prepared "Acis and Galatea," "The Messiah," "Ode for St. Cecilia's Day," and "Alexander's Feast" for performance by strengthening the instrumentation. He also directed them (1788-1790). In 1789 he was invited by Prince Lichnowsky to visit him in Berlin; he gladly accepted the invitation, thinking he might better his condition. They stopped at Prague; at Dresden, where he played before the Court, and at Leipsic, where he played the organ and heard a Bach motet. At Potsdam Mozart was presented to the King, Frederick William II., who was an enlightened patron of music. He played upon the 'cello and was a man of very catholic taste. The opera stage was free to Italian, French and German composers. The orchestra in which the king often played at rehearsals was directed by Duport; the opera by Reichardt, the musician and journalist. Neither of these men looked upon Mozart's appearance in Berlin with favor, and they were none the sweeter to him when he replied to the King's question concerning the performances of the orchestra: "It contains the best virtuosos, but if the gentlemen would play together, it would be an improvement." The King offered him the position of Kapellmeister, at a salary of three thousand thalers; but Mozart would not leave his Emperor. He made a short visit to Leipsic for a benefit concert which hardly paid the expenses of the journey. On his return to Berlin he heard his "Seraglio." In a certain passage, the second violins played D sharp instead of D, and Mozart cried out angrily, "Damn it, play D, will you?" And here it is reported that he became enamored of Henriette Baranius, a singer of remarkable beauty. The boy Hummel, his pupil, gave a concert in Berlin, and was overjoyed to see him in the audience. Just before Mozart's departure in May, the King sent him one hundred friedrichsdor, and wished that he would write quartets for him. Constanze received a letter in which her husband said that she must be glad to see him, not the money he brought.

In June, 1789, Mozart worked at the quartets promised to the King. He furnished the one in D major in a month, and received a gold snuff-box with one hundred friedrichsdor. But he was poor, in debt, his wife was often sick, and he wrote in July that he was most unhappy. In December he worked busily on an opera, "Cosi fan tutte," which the Emperor had requested, and Jan. 26, 1780, it was produced with success, although it was not often given. Joseph II. died the 20th of February, and Leopold II. reigned in his stead. Mozart could expect but little of him, and when King Ferdinand of Naples visited Vienna in September, the greatest virtuoso of the town was not asked to play before him, although the royal visitor was passionately fond of music. Meanwhile his expenses were increasing, his pupils falling off. In September he pawned his silver plate to pay the passage, and went to Frankfort to attend the coronation of the Emperor. He gave a concert there, and played two of his own concertos. He went to Mayence, where he is said to have had a love-scrape, then to Munich, where at the request of the Elector he played before the King of Naples. Soon after his return to Vienna he said good-bye for ever to his dear friend Haydn, who went with Salomon to England. He was sore distressed. The position of second Kapellmeister was refused him, and the position of assistant to Hoffmann, the cathedral Kapellmeister, which was granted by the magistrates at his request, "without pay for the present," depended upon the death of Hoffmann, who outlived him. In the midst of his troubles he fell in with strange company, and among his associates was Emanuel Johann Schikaneder, a wandering theatre director, poet, composer, and play-actor. Restless, a bore, vain, improvident, and yet shrewd, he was not without good qualities that had before this won him the friendship of Mozart. In 1791 he was sorely embarrassed. He was the director of the Auf der Wieden, a little theatre, no better than a booth, where comic operas were played and sung. On the verge of failure, he had one thing to console him,—a fairy drama which he had made out of "Lulu, or the Enchanted Flute," a story by Wieland. He asked Mozart to write the music for it; and Mozart, pleased with the scenario, accepted, and said, "If I do not bring you out of your trouble, and if the work is not successful, you must not blame me; for I have never written magic music." Schikaneder knew the ease with which Mozart wrote; and he also knew that it was necessary to keep watch over him, that he might be ready at the appointed time. As Mozart's wife was then in Baden, the director found the composer alone, and he put him in a little pavilion, which was in the midst of a garden near his theatre. And in this pavilion and in a room of the casino of Josephdorf the music of "The Magic Flute" was written. Mozart was in a melancholy mood when he began his task, but Schikaneder drove away his doleful dumps by surrounding him with the gay members of the company. There was merry eating, there was clinking of glasses, there was the laughter of women. Here is the origin of many of the exaggerated stories concerning Mozart's dissipated habits. It was long believed that he was then inspired by the melting eyes of the actress Gerl; a story that probably rests on no better foundation than the Mrs. Hofdaemmel tragedy, which even Jahn thought worthy of his attention. "The Magic Flute" was given Sep. 30, at the Auf der Wieden theatre. The composer led the first two performances. The opera at first disappointed the expectations of the hearers, and Mozart was cut to the quick. The opera soon became the fashion, thanks to Schikaneder's obstinacy, so that the two hundredth representation was celebrated in Vienna in October, 1795. It was translated into Dutch, Swedish, Danish, Polish, Italian. It was given in Paris in 1801, under the name of "The Mysteries of Isis"; it was first heard in London in 1811, in Italian.

ONE OF THE SEVERAL HOUSES IN VIENNA IN WHICH MOZART LIVED.

One evening in July a strange man called on Mozart with a strange errand. He was tall, gaunt, haggard in face, solemn in demeanor: a fantastic apparition, dressed completely in grey, or, as some affirm in black; such a character as might have appeared to Hoffmann when in the black and dark night, surrounded by spirits of his own conjuring, he wrote wild tales. The visitor gravely handed him an anonymous letter sealed in black, which begged him to write a Requiem as soon as possible, and asked the price. Mozart named 50 ducats, some say 100; the visitor paid the sum, and as Mozart did not name the time for the completion of the work, the unknown man left him, saying, "I shall return, when it is time." The mystery has been solved. The stranger was Leutgeb, the steward of Count Franz von Walsegg of Stuppach; the Count was in the habit of ordering thus mysteriously compositions from different musicians; he would copy them and have them performed as his own; the requiem was ordered in memory of his late wife; and it was sung as Walsegg's work under his direction Dec. 14, 1793. But Mozart knew nothing of the patron or the steward, and he grew superstitious. In the middle of August he received a commission to write a festival opera for the celebration of the coronation of Leopold II. as King of Bohemia in Prague. The subject was Metastasio's "Clemenza di Tito." The music was written hurriedly and first performed Sept. 6. It was not successful; the Empress is said to have spoken bitterly concerning the porcheria of German music. Just as he was stepping into the carriage for his journey to Prague, the thin and haggard man suddenly appeared and asked him what would become of the Requiem. Mozart made his excuses. "When will you be ready?" said Leutgeb. "I swear that I shall work on it unceasingly when I return." "Good," said the solemn stranger, "I rely on your promise." And as soon as the "Magic Flute" was completed and performed Mozart worked eagerly on the Requiem. He postponed his lessons, giving as an excuse that he had a work on hand which lay very near his heart, and until it was finished he could think of nothing else. He had become subject to fainting fits, and in Prague he was not at all well. He became gloomy and superstitious. He thought some one had poisoned him, and indeed, for a long time it was believed foolishly by some that Salieri had hastened his death. He told Constanze that he was writing the Requiem for himself. There was a slight improvement for a time, and Mozart worked on the Requiem, which had been taken away from him, and finished a Masonic cantata. The last of November his feet and hands began to swell; he vomited violently; and he was melancholy in mind. The 28th his condition was critical and his doctor consulted with the chief physician at the hospital. The "Magic Flute" was now successful; he was certain of an annual income of one thousand florins contributed by some of the Hungarian nobility; and of a larger sum each year from Amsterdam in return for the production of a few compositions exclusively for the subscribers; but it was too late. The day before his death he said to Constanze, "I should like to have heard my 'Magic Flute' once more," and he hummed feebly the bird-catcher's song. In the afternoon he had the Requiem brought to his bed, and he sang the alto part. At the first measures of the "Lacrimosa," he wept violently and laid the score aside. Mrs. Haible came in the evening and Mozart said, "I am glad you are here; stay with me to-night, and see me die." She tried to reason with him, and he answered. "I have the flavor of death on my tongue: I taste death. Who will support my dearest Constanze if you do not stay with her?" The story of his ending as told by Otto Jahn is most pathetic. Mrs. Haible went to the priests of St. Peter's and begged that one might be sent to Mozart, as if by chance. They refused for a long time, and it was with difficulty she persuaded "these clerical barbarians" to grant her request. When she returned, she found Süssmayer at Mozart's bedside, in earnest conversation over the Requiem. "Did I not say that I was writing the Requiem for myself?" said he looking at it through his tears. "And he was so convinced of his approaching death that he enjoined his wife to inform Albrechtsberger of it before it became generally known, in order that he might secure Mozart's place at the Stephanskirche, which belonged to him by every right." The physician finally came; he was found in the theatre, where he waited until the curtain fell. He saw there was no hope; cold bandages were applied to the head; and then came delirium and unconsciousness. Mozart was busy with his Requiem. He blew out his cheeks to imitate the trumpets and the drums. About midnight he raised himself, opened his eyes wide, then seemed to fall asleep. He died at one o'clock, Dec. 5th. There was but little money in the house. The funeral expenses (third-class) amounted to 8 fl., 36 kr., and there was an extra charge of three florins for the hearse. In the afternoon of the 6th the body was blessed. There was a fierce storm raging, and no one accompanied the body to the grave. The body was put into a common vault, which was dug up about every ten years. No stone was put above his resting-place, and no man knows his grave. Constanze was left with two children and about sixty florins ready money. The outstanding accounts and personal property hardly amounted to five hundred florins. There were debts to be paid. She gave a concert, and with the assistance of the Emperor the proceeds were sufficient to pay them. In 1809 she married George Nissen and was comfortable until 1842, the year of her death. Karl, the elder son of Mozart, pianist-merchant, died in Milan in a subordinate official position. Wolfgang, born July 26, 1791, appeared in public in 1805; he afterward was a musical director and composer in Lemberg and Vienna; he died in Carlsbad in 1844. A statue was erected to Mozart in Salzburg in 1842, and one was raised in Vienna in 1859. The hundredth anniversary of his birth was celebrated throughout Germany, and that of his death throughout the world.

HOUSE IN VIENNA WHERE MOZART DIED.

Formerly at No. 934 Raubensteingasse. Building destroyed.

The face of Mozart has been idealized. The authentic portraits coincide with the descriptions of his contemporaries. He was small, thin, and pale; with a large head and a large nose; eyes well shaped, but short-sighted, although he never wore spectacles; he had plenty of fine hair, of which he was proud, and he was vain of his hands and feet; he dressed carefully and elegantly, and was fond of jewelry. He rode horseback, and took great pleasure in playing billiards, bowls, and in dancing. He was very fond of punch, of which beverage Kelly saw him take "copious draughts." His prevailing characteristics were amiability, generosity, and a warm appreciation of all that was good and noble in music or mankind. His generosity was strikingly shown when, in the darkest hours of need, he offered to take care of Mariana until her betrothed had found the position necessary for marriage. It was no doubt often abused by such scapegraces as Stadler and Schikaneder. He poured out his affection on the members of his household. He associated freely, and apparently with equal enjoyment, with aristocrats, learned men, members of the orchestra, singers, and loungers in the taverns. He was full of fun, and he dearly loved a joke; he delighted in doggerel rhymes. His intercourse with musicians was as a rule friendly, and he seldom spoke ill of his neighbors. Gluck appreciated him as much as Salieri envied him, but he and Mozart were never intimate, although they dined together and paid each other compliments. Kozeluch and other small fry hated him, and they also hated Haydn. His relations with Paisiello, Sarti and Martin were most friendly; and nothing perhaps illustrates more clearly the sweetness of Mozart's nature than his immortalizing a theme from Martin's "Cosa rara," an opera which had prevailed against his "Figaro," by introducing it in the second finale of "Don Giovanni." He praised Pleyel, sympathized with Gyrowetz, foresaw the greatness of Beethoven, mourned the death of Linley, and loved Haydn.

In his youth he showed a fondness for arithmetic, and in later years he was a ready reckoner. He had an unmistakable talent for the languages; he understood the French, English, and Italian tongues. He was acquainted with Latin; he had read the works of excellent authors; he even wrote poetry, but as a manner of jesting. He was not without knowledge of history. He drew with skill. His letters are full of charm, and Nissen regretted that a man who used his pen so cleverly had not written concerning his art. The reply to this is simple, namely, that Mozart was too busy in making music to write about it. This most honest and amiable of men loved animals, and birds were particularly dear to him.

Whatever his religious convictions may have been after he reached man's estate, he wrote to his father, on hearing of his illness, as follows: "As death, strictly speaking, 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 that unlocks the gate of true bliss." The man as seen in his life and letters was simple, true, averse to flattery and sycophancy, generous, and eminently lovable.

Fac-simile of a letter from Mozart to his publisher, Hofmeister

MONUMENT TO MOZART IN VIENNA CEMETERY

Chorus by Mr. Wolfgang Mozart 1765.

Leopold Mozart brought his children Wolfgang (aged 8) and Maria Anna (aged 13), in April, 1764, to London, on a concert tour. The exhibition of these wonder-children lasted till July, 1765. Before leaving, the party visited the British Museum, which was opened to the public six years before (on the 15th January, 1759). On this occasion Wolfgang was requested to leave the Institution some manuscripts of his compositions. Mozart complied, and among the manuscripts left was this, his first effort in Choral-writing, and the only one composed on an English text. The father received the following acknowledgment:—

SIR:—I am ordered by the Standing Committee of the Trustees of the British Museum, to signify to You, that they have received the present of the Musical performances of Your very ingenious Son, which You were pleased lately to make Them, and to return You their Thanks for the same.

M. MALY,
Secretary.

British Museum,
July 19, 1765.

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LAST PORTRAIT OF MOZART.

Painted by his brother-in-law Lange in 1791. The head is finished, but not the coat.

In considering the compositions of this man, who died before he was thirty-six, and spent much time in travel, the most superficial investigator must be struck by the mere number. There are 20 dramatic works; 2 oratorios, a funeral hymn, 3 cantatas, and the reinstrumentation of 4 oratorios by Handel; 66 vocal pieces with orchestral accompaniments; 23 canons and a collection of songs; 48 pieces for the church, and 20 masses, including the Requiem, which however was probably completed by Süssmayer; 22 pianoforte sonatas and fantasias; 17 organ sonatas, 16 variations for bugle and pianoforte, 23 little pieces, and 11 sonatas and pieces for four hands on two pianofortes; 45 sonatas for violin and pianoforte; 8 trios, 2 quartets and 1 quintette for pianoforte and strings; for strings alone there are 3 duos, 3 trios, 29 quartets, 8 quintets; then there are 2 quartets with flute, 1 with oboe, 1 quintet with horn; 10 concertos for violin, 1 for two violins, 1 for violin and viola, 28 for the pianoforte, 1 for two pianofortes, 1 for three pianofortes, 1 for bassoon, 1 for oboe, 4 for flute and 1 for flute and harp, 5 for horn, 1 for clarinet,—in all 55; in dance music there is one gavotte, 39 contradances, 56 waltzes, 96 minuets, a pantomime and a ballet; there are 27 different pieces of instrumental music, as marches, adagios, etc., 33 divertissements, serenades or cassations, all pieces of long breath, including each from 10 to 12 movements; there are 49 symphonies. These authentic works, accepted by Köchel, number in all 769 compositions. Then when one reflects on the quality of the music and its artistic value, when one finds in nearly each work the traces at least of genius, and reflects that a third of them are masterpieces, he begins to realize the might of the man. He was naturally the most spontaneous of musicians, and in this respect—in pure creation—without doubt the greatest of them all. Rarely are seen such fecundity and such versatility. Unlike Handel, when a work was finished, it was finished; it did not enter again into another composition. The charge of plagiarism was never brought against him except in one instance: the religious march in "Idomeneus" was traced by a friend to the march in Gluck's "Alceste." He wrote as though he could not help it. Jumping from the bed, he ran to the pianoforte. The barber found him restless. His mind was preoccupied at table. In travel, the landscape, the very motion of the carriage stimulated his imagination. He was constantly jotting down his thoughts on scraps of paper. Much of his greatest music was composed, even in detail, in his head before he took his pen. The conversation of his friends, noises in the house or street did not distract him. His faculty of concentration was incredibly developed, and Constanze said that he wrote his scores as though he were writing a letter. And so his inspiration, as shown in the hasty composition of the "Don Giovanni" overture, reminded Victor Wilder of the saying of the first Napoleon: "Inspiration is only the instantaneous solution of a long meditated problem."

In examining the works themselves, many of them must be passed over without notice. Some were written for special occasions; some, for combinations of instruments, that no longer, or rarely, are heard in concert-halls; and it would be idle to assert that all his works are equally worthy of respect. The complete collection of the writings of even such a genius as Voltaire contains dreary pages and frivolous opinions. Let us examine more particularly his pianoforte music, the chamber music, such as the string quartets and quintets; the symphonies; the religious music; and the operas, looking at the works themselves, comparing them with that which was contemporaneous, and observing the influence on the musicians that followed him. The songs, with the exception of the "Veilchen" (The Violet), were set to meaningless words and are not to be ranked with the best of his compositions; but this same "Violet" in its lyrical-dramatic setting pointed the way to the after glory of the German song as seen in Schubert, Schumann and Franz. And nearly all of the concert-arias written for special singers and for special use seem to-day a little antiquated, and cast in the old and traditional mould. As Mozart first was known as a pianoforte player, let us first look at his writings for that instrument. (I use the term pianoforte throughout this article, following the example of Rubinstein, who, in his "Conversation on Music" (1892), speaks of compositions for Clavecin, Clavichord, Clavi-cymbal, Virginal, Spinett, etc., "as written for pianoforte, as to-day we can only perform them on this instrument.")

There is no doubt but that Mozart was the greatest pianoforte player of his time. The testimony in his favor is overwhelming. His hands were small and well-shaped, and some of his hearers wondered that he could do so much with them. He had elaborated an admirable system of fingering, which he owed to the careful study of Bach, whose pianoforte music he had played from a very early age. He regarded good fingering as the basis of expressive playing. He insisted that the player should have "a quiet, steady hand," and that the passages should "flow like oil"; he therefore objected to all bravura feats that might be detrimental to "the natural ease and flexibility." He was vexed by exaggerations of tempos, by over-rapidity of execution, by sentimental rubatos. He demanded correctness, "ease and certainty, delicacy and good taste, and above all the power of breathing life and emotion into the music and of so expressing its meaning as to place the performer for the moment on a level with the creator of the work before him." It is hard for men of another generation to gain an idea of the qualities of the virtuosoship of the pianist that moved and thrilled the audiences of his time. We must take the word of his hearers. Clementi declared that he never heard any one play so intellectually and gracefully as Mozart. Rochlitz waxed enthusiastic over the brilliancy and "the heart-melting tenderness of his execution;" Dittersdorf praised the union of art and taste; and Haydn, with tears in his eyes, could not forget his playing, because it came from the heart. Unfortunately we can not estimate his virtues as a player from his works, for all that heard him agree that his improvising was the crowning glory of his art. Variations on a well-known theme were in fashion, and the variations were often improvised. The published variations of Mozart are light and pleasing; he did not care for them, and they were written, no doubt, for the entertainment of his pupils or his friends. Of the three rondos, the one in A minor (1787) is very original and of exquisite beauty, and is a favorite to-day in concert-halls. The fantasia in C minor (1785) is an important work. Five movements, in various keys and tempos are bound together, and though each is in a measure independent, the sections seem to follow each other inevitably. The harmonies are daring, when the date of its composition is considered, and the mood, the Stimmung, is modern in its melancholy and doubt. In treating the sonata form Mozart was the successor of Ph. Em. Bach and Haydn.

Whether his sonatas of the Vienna period are solo or accompanied by other instruments, they have only three movements. He first sought beauty of melody, for song was to him the foundation, the highest expression of music. Therefore the themes were carefully sung, and the second subject was made of more importance by him than by his predecessors. Often the chief effect in his sonata movements as in his concertos is gained by the delivery of a sustained melody, and these melodies written for his own hands show the influence of the peculiar characteristics of his own performance. Frequently in the elaboration of the themes he introduced new melodies, so that we find Dittersdorf complaining of the prodigality of the composer, who "gives his hearers no time to breathe." When he used polyphony, it was not to display pedantry but to accentuate the beauty of the themes.

The slow middle movements are in song form, and are full of emotion and tender grace; eminently spontaneous, and coming from the heart. The final movements are generally the weakest. They show the facility with which he wrote, and their gayness often approaches triviality. Passing over the pianoforte compositions for two performers and for two pianofortes—not that they are unworthy of attention— we come to the sonatas with violin accompaniment, which, during the Vienna period, were, many of them, written for pupils. They are characterized by beautiful melodies and bold harmonies rather than by any great depth or exhibition of scholarship. The violin part is independent, and not an accompaniment, as was usual at the time. The trios or terzets for pianoforte, violin and 'cello were chiefly written for amateurs to play in musical parties. Violoncellists of any force were rare in these circles, and it is not unlikely that this was a serious hindrance to Mozart's further development of the trio. Far greater in breadth of design and in thematic elaboration are the two pianoforte quartets (1785 and 1786). The trios were written for social purposes, and brilliancy was perhaps too much cultivated; but in these quartets passion enters, strong and fierce and bitter. In 1784 Mozart wrote his father that his quintet in E-flat major for pianoforte, oboe, clarinet, horn, and bassoon, which was received with great applause in a concert given by him in the theatre, was the best thing he had ever written, and he chose it to play before Paesiello. It is certainly a composition of remarkable beauty, not so much on account of its thematic invention as for its intimate knowledge of the peculiarities of the different instruments and for the balance of euphony preserved throughout. The pianoforte concertos, of which seventeen were written in Vienna, were, as a rule, intended for his own concert use. He described the first three as "a happy medium between too easy and too difficult." He added in this letter to his father, that "even ignoramuses will be pleased with them without knowing why." Two years later (1784) he wrote, "I cannot make a choice between the two concertos in B-flat and D. Either one will make the player sweat." The distinguishing merit of these compositions for pianoforte and orchestra, unjustly neglected in these days, is the combination of the two different forces, while these forces at the same time preserve their individuality. Instead of a duel to the death between the instrument and the orchestra, there is a generous appreciation of the qualities and limitations of the pianoforte, which in Mozart's time was still weak in mechanism. Therefore one gives way to the other for the effect of the whole. The orchestra enters not to crush but to support. Often the pianoforte part seems absurdly simple, but a closer investigation will show that this simplicity is most artfully designed and intended. Seldom are important themes given to the pianoforte or orchestra alone; they are shared generously. And no words can reproduce the colors of the orchestral tone-paintings, or describe the marvelous results gained by simple means and an unerring instinct. The first movements are in the sonata form, but there is a certain freedom, and the proportions are on a larger scale. There is a cadenza, invariable, at the conclusion, and Mozart in his concerts excited wonder by his improvisations. The cadenzas published were for the use of pupils. The second movement is in song-form, full of sentiment, often romantic, the expression of temperament; the song is sometimes varied. The last movement is generally in rondo form, and the influence of the dance is strongly marked. These movements are gay and graceful, and occasionally there is a touch of Haydn's humor. The greatest of these concertos are perhaps those in D minor (K. 466), C (467), C minor (491) and in C (503). Nor among his pianoforte works must the two pieces originally written for a musical clock be forgotten, which are only now known by a four-hand arrangement. The pianoforte works of Mozart are much neglected in these days, and most unjustly. It is the fashion to call them simple and antiquated. But the best of the concertos and the sonatas make severe demands upon the mechanism and taste of the pianist; the apparent simplicity is often a stumbling block to him that eyes them askew; and only by an absolute mastery of the mechanism controlled by temperament can the song be sung as Mozart heard it, so that the hearer may forget the box of cold keys and jingling wires.

MOZART'S EAR COMPARED WITH AVERAGE EAR.

First published in Nissen's Biography of Mozart.

In the days of Mozart the favorite amusement of wealthy amateurs of music was the string quartet. Haydn was the man who first showed the way, although Boccherini should not be utterly forgotten. The set of six dedicated by Mozart to Haydn, show the growth of the quartet, the individualizing of each part. For in the ideal work of this species, each part should be of equal importance. This advance, however, was not to the public taste. He was accused of undue originality. Prince Grassalcovicz was so angry when he found that the discords coming from the players were actually in the parts, that he tore the pages in pieces. The publisher returned them, as full of printer's errors. Learned men, as Fétis and G. Weber, have written learned analyses of the introduction to the quartet in C major, against it and in its favor. The hearers of to-day, accustomed to the last quartets of Beethoven and the licenses of modern composers, are not shocked even by the celebrated false relations in the aforesaid introduction. Not only do these compositions display, in clearest light, the mastery of form and all contrapuntal devices; they are a mine of sensuous and spiritual riches. The quartet is ennobled; the minuet, that jolly, rustic dance of Haydn, becomes, with Mozart, the court dance of noble dames, full of grace and delicacy. The finales abound in dignified humor, and occasionally pathos is found. Upon these six quartets Mozart lavished the treasures of his nature and his art. In writing the three for Frederick William II. of Prussia, he remembered the favorite instrument of the monarch, and brought the violoncello into greater prominence, making it often a solo instrument, with the melody in its higher notes. This necessitated a different treatment of the violins and viola, and resulted in more brilliancy with an occasional loss of strength. Written, as they were, to gratify the taste of a monarch, they show more elegance, perhaps, than depth of feeling, but in invention and in exquisite proportion they are worthy of even the great name of Mozart. Without stopping to examine as carefully as it deserves the remarkable trio for violin, viola, and violoncello (K. 563), in six movements, let us glance at the quintets, in which the viola is doubled, unlike the many compositions of Boccherini in which two 'cellos are employed. The quintets in C major and G minor were composed in 1787, the D major in 1790, the E-flat major, 1791. These four quintets follow the path pointed out by the six quartets. There are biting and harsh passages, to impress more forcibly the composer's intentions, "comparatively frequent successions of ninths in a circle of fifths." And even Mozart seldom wrote anything so full of wild and sobbing passion as the first movement of the G-minor quintet, in which the second subject is of an Italian intensity and a conviction that remind one of the terrible earnestness of Verdi, the Verdi of the middle period. Yet this melody, so direct and complete, is taken as matter for contrapuntal treatment. The adagio is also a masterpiece, approached, perhaps equalled, but not surpassed by Beethoven. Polyphony is the life of these quintets; but it is not purely scholastic polyphony. Mozart once said to Michael Kelly, "Melody is the essence of music. I compare a good melodist to a fine racer, and counterpointists to hack post horses." But in these quintets the counterpoint is so melodious that the tricks and strainings of the pedagogue are never brought to mind. Here may also be mentioned the quintet in A major for clarinet and strings (1789), written for Anton Stadler, a dissipated fellow, a toss-pot, and riggish. But Mozart loved him because he blew cunningly the clarinet, and he went about with him, and ate with him, and drank with him. Although it is freer in form than the great quartets, and the quintets in G minor, this clarinet quintet stands beside them in its grace tinged with melancholy, its contrapuntal skill masterly disguised, its divine melody.

MOZART IN PROFILE.

Cut in boxwood by Posch, a Salzburg sculptor, in 1789. This important original has served as a model for many posthumous portraits of Mozart.

A review of the symphonies of Mozart is a summing up of the history of the symphony in the eighteenth century from childhood to maturity. He was eight years old when he wrote in London his first symphony. It is in sonata form: allegro, andante, finale: he uses the orchestra of the predecessors of Haydn, viz., two violins, viola, bass, two oboes, and two horns. These early symphonies of Mozart are relics of the time when German instrumental music was still in a comparatively crude condition, and they are chiefly interesting from the historical point of view; for even Köchel, the devoted admirer of Mozart, says that they are wanting in character and that the motives are without development. Look for instance at the first symphony. The allegro has one hundred and eighteen measures; the andante fifty; the presto ninety-one. According to the fashion of the old suite the three movements are in the same tonality. The symphonies of 1764 and 1765 are in the same form; in two of them the andante is in a different key from the other movements. It was in 1767 that Mozart first introduced the minuet, which was, however, without a trio. The seventeen symphonies written from 1767 to 1772 show an advance in instrumentation rather than in growth of form. The early ones were composed for the eight-part orchestra, the foundation of modern orchestral works. In the second, the two horns are replaced by two clarinets, and a bassoon is added. Now the use of the clarinet was then rare. Christopher Denner made the first clarinet in 1701. Gossec wrote for the instrument in 1756, and it was first heard in England in Christian Bach's opera "Orione" (1763). Mozart used it also in a symphony written in Paris in 1778, and he did not introduce it again until 1783. One of the greatest innovations of this master, the father of orchestral color, was the knowledge of the resources of this instrument, whose voice, as Berlioz well says, is the voice of heroic love. In Mozart's works, "whether it sings with full and sonorous voice some episodic phrase or displays all the riches of its two timbres in a superb adagio, everywhere it is brought fully into light, everywhere it plays an important rôle." In 1768, Mozart used the drums and one trumpet; in 1769 two bassoons; in 1770 two trumpets; in 1771, in an andante, two flutes. He was still making experiments. In 1773, for the first time, he composed a symphony in the minor mode; and in this year he first went over 200 measures in the opening allegro; he also used four horns. In 1774 he employed two viola parts. In 1778 the "Parisian" symphony was performed with great success at a Concert Spirituel. Never before had he developed his motives to so great a length; never before had he employed so large an orchestra; the score includes, besides the string parts, two flutes, two oboes, two clarinets, two bassoons, two horns, two trumpets, drums,—in all seventeen parts. Haydn did not use so large an orchestra until 1793. The allegros are brilliant and animated, following the French taste of the time, and they were loudly applauded; the andante did not produce so great an effect. After his return to Germany he was obliged to reduce his orchestral forces, and to cut his cloth to suit his opportunities. The "Haffner" made over from a serenade shows that the forms of the ancient serenade and modern symphony were still confounded; its allegro is not symphonic, but one theme is present and rules from beginning to end. In 1783, in the symphony in C, he first wrote an introduction to the first movement. In 1786 the symphony in D, with an introduction, was brought out at Prague with unbounded success. It contains, like the "Parisian," no minuet. It opens with a solemn adagio introduction; the allegro bears a rhythmical resemblance in its first theme to that of the "Magic Flute" overture; the andante is often cited as a perfect example of the exquisite grace of Mozart; the finale in its sparkling vivacity brings to mind a number of "Figaro." And here it may be said that the symphonic instrumentation of Mozart approaches closer dramatic formulas than that of Haydn or Beethoven. The three last symphonies of Mozart show a wonderful advance. In a certain expression and in a certain treatment they belong to the nineteenth century. There is more blood, more intensity, a dread of unmeaning formalism. Technically they are beyond criticism; and in pure expression of remarkable musical thought, in sense of euphony and proportion, in perfection of musical style they stand a marvel for all time. The one in E-flat was written in June, 1788. To gain the wished-for effects clarinets are used, and no oboes. The prevailing rhythm is ternary; and yet Mozart has so varied the pace of the movements that there is no feeling of monotony on this account. No prismatic words can give an idea of this "triumph of euphony"; although German commentators have exhausted what has been inelegantly described as "the drivel of panegyric." It is true that there are points of resemblance to Haydn's style; "but Mozart's individuality is here so overpowering as to have given its distinguishing stamp to these very features." No wonder that German romanticists have sought refuge in extravagance in description. Apel attempted to turn the symphony into a poem which was to imitate in words the character of the different movements. Hoffmann, writer of tales of horror, composer and conductor, caricaturist, critic, and official, one of the first to realize the greatness of Beethoven, called the symphony the "Swan Song." "Love and melancholy breathe forth in purest spirit tones; we feel ourselves drawn with inexpressible longing towards the forms which beckon us to join them in their flight through the clouds to another sphere. The night blots out the last purple rays of day, and we extend our arms to the beings that summon us as they move with the spheres in the eternal circles of the solemn dance." Our criticism of to-day is written in a different spirit. We use freely the test-tube and litmus paper; we pry and analyse. Such out-pourings we call hifalutin; but it must be remembered that the acute Hoffmann put them into the mouth of the half-crazed Johannes Kreisler. A striking contrast to the E-flat symphony is the G minor written in July, 1788. Deldevez has described it in a sentence; "It is graceful, passionate, melancholy; it is inspiration united with science." Deldevez has also pointed out that it is the truest and the most complete expression of the minor mode; that the tonality is treated in the most vigorous manner; that the modulations succeed each other according to the severe precepts of the school. It is the symphony of Mozart that is most full of passion, and yet the composer never forgot in writing it that "music, when expressing horrors, must still be music." The symphony in C, August, 1788, is called, for some reason or other, possibly for its majesty, the "Jupiter." There is here not so much of human sentiment and passion as in the G minor symphony, but there is the splendor, as well as the serenity that is peculiar to Mozart; and the finale is a masterpiece of contrapuntal skill that is unsurpassed in music, for the fugue is made on a symphonic plan, and thus two distinct art-forms are moulded into one. Jahn has said that the highest quality of these three symphonies is "the harmony of tone-color, the healthy combination of orchestral sound," and he admits at the same time the impotence of language to reproduce the substance of a musical work. Richard Wagner wrote that "the longing sigh of the great human voice, drawn to him by the loving power of his genius, breathes from his instruments." And in these sayings the two great elements of Mozart's symphonic writing are fitly described. In his pianoforte concertos Mozart strove to set out and adorn by the orchestral instruments the pianoforte part, and at the same time give an enchanting musical background. In his symphonies "he sought to give his melody, by way of compensation for its delivery by mere instruments, the depth of feeling and ardor that lies at the source of the human voice as the expression of the unfathomable depths of the heart"; and in this he succeeded by leading "the irresistible stream of richest harmony into the heart of his melody." Well might the cool-headed Ambros say of the last great three, "considered as pure music, it is hardly worth while to ask whether the world possesses anything more perfect."

MONUMENT TO MOZART IN SALZBURG.

Erected in 1842.

Mozart, as we have seen, wrote much for the church. Unfortunately the best known of his masses were written to suit the florid taste of his patron; and his church music, judged thereby, has been reproached for its frivolity and insincerity. Some, forgetting the solemnity of the litanies de venerabili, the dignity of the vespers, the heavenly "Ave Verum," the "Qui tollis" from the mass in C minor, and portions of the Requiem, have denied him religious feeling, so far as his religious music is concerned. But the musical expression of religious feeling differs with the time, the place, and the individual. What is religious music? To the Aztec, who in religious sacrifice cut out the victim's heart, the beating of the serpent-skin drum was religious music; to the monks of the Middle Ages the drone of the plain song of the church seemed the expression of religious contemplation; and to-day many worthy people find spiritual consolation in the joyous ditties of the Salvation Army. We define religious music conformably with our own religious sentiment. In the days of Palestrina, church music influenced subtly the congregation; it created a mood, a Stimmung. In the days of Haydn and Mozart the influence of the virtuosoship of the opera-singer was strongly felt; it invaded the church; it was recognized by the composer of the mass. So in more modern days the dramatic instinct of operatic composers is seen in their religious works; and one may say with Rubinstein, "I think it an error, however, to condemn for that reason the 'Stabat Mater' of Rossini or the 'Requiem' of Verdi in Protestant countries. The Protestant may indeed say: 'I have a different feeling,' but not, 'That is bad, because it is other than my feeling of worship.'" Thibaut may attack the church music of Mozart, and Lorenz may defend it; each expresses thereby his own religious sentiment. It is true that many of the masses of Mozart, considered as music, are not to be compared with his works of a higher flight; and the one that is the most popular, the 12th, so called, was not written by him. But how about the "Requiem," which he left unfinished, and which has been the subject of so many legends, so many disputes? Did not the mystery that for a time surrounded its birth give it a fictitious value? The Requiem and Kyrie are the work of Mozart as they now exist; the movements from the Dies Iræ to the first eight bars of the Lacrimosa, also the Domine Jesu and Hostias, were finished by him in the voice part and bass, and the principal points of the instrumentation were also indicated by him. It will be seen, therefore, that the part of Süssmayer, who completed it, is considerable. Now there has been much discussion concerning the merits of the double fugue even from the technical standpoint, and it is true that the most beautiful portions of the work are the least polyphonic, as the wailing Lacrimosa, which beyond a peradventure belongs to Mozart, although so little was actually written with his own hand; the Confutatis with the antiphonal effects of male and female voices, and the marvellous, unearthly harmonies of the Oro supplex; the powerful and concise Rex tremendae. On the other hand the Tuba mirum with the trombone cantabile is an inadequate setting of the dread scene. By many worshippers of Mozart, who at the same time believe in the supremacy of religious music, the Requiem is called the truest and most genuine expression of Mozart's nature, and his imperishable monument. But the contrary opinion now prevails among prominent musicians. The Requiem as a whole cannot be considered as complete a revelation of the genius of the composer as the G-minor symphony, the quartets dedicated to Haydn, "Figaro" or "Don Giovanni."

Now the supreme genius of Mozart is seen in his dramatic works. It has been said that he completed the palace of Italian opera and laid the enduring foundations of the German. This saying has more of epigram than truth; or it is only partially true. The opera is a thing of fashion, an amusement of the day. It is finally shaped by the prevailing popular taste, although the beginnings of a new and varying form may be in opposition to that taste. The history of opera from the time of its invention at Florence to the pilgrimages to Bayreuth is a story of fickle tastes, passionate caprices, violent disputes. First there was the revolt against the contrapuntists; then came the rule of the singer; then the conflict between dramatic truth and personal vainglory, a conflict that was born with the birth of opera. Run over the "History of Operas" by Clément and Larousse; glance at the roll of singers from the early times of virtuosoship: names that are utterly forgotten, and yet they once filled the mouths of men and were the idols of the day. It is a dreary business, this reading of the exploits of singers and opera makers of the past,—not unlike the deciphering of moss-covered tombstones in the hillside graveyard of a well-nigh deserted New England village. To better appreciate the work of Mozart, let us briefly consider the condition of opera when he first looked toward the stage. In the middle of the eighteenth century the singer ruled supreme. They were great days, those eighteenth-century days,—"When men had longer breaths and voices that never grew old, when strange and terrible things still happened, sapphire rings presented them by the demon, processions to welcome them, and violent deaths by murder or in brawls." The singers had contributed largely in forming the lyric drama, but their demands became exorbitant and the composer was their slave. The introduction of castrates on the stage was of special influence in shaping the operatic conditions. Take any opera seria of that day: it consists simply of a series of detached airs strung together by the poet's story. There was no dramatic action; there was simply an operatic concert. The prima donna was the queen of the theatre; she claimed the privilege of the escort of a page when she made her entrance; he held the train of her robe and followed every movement. The tenor was obliged to be either a noble father, a traitor or tyrant. The basso was restricted to opera buffa, for it was thought that his voice was naturally too "grotesque" to be heard in opera seria. The castrate was the monarch of the scene. Singularly enough, he was called the primo uomo, and to him was given the lover's part. His very person was sacred on the stage. Others might slay and be slain; he was inviolable, and his head was always crowned with laurel. It was the rule in Italy, never to admit the murder of the chief singer, although the piece itself might reek with blood. These male sopranos were spoiled children. One must make his appearance upon a horse; another insisted on descending from a mountain; another would not sing unless his plume was five feet in length. The moment they finished their airs, they left the stage, or remained upon it sucking oranges or drinking wine. They made their demands on the composer; he was obliged to write a bravura aria, or an air di portamento with perhaps a trumpet obligato, according to their caprice. They robbed their associates of their airs if they saw a possible distribution of glory. The chief singer and the composer between them made the opera, for there was but little ensemble work. The custom was to finish the second act with a duet between the castrate and the first soprano; to end the third by a terzetto in which the first tenor was admitted. Grétry tells us that during the seven or eight years he lived in Rome, he never saw a serious opera succeed. "If the theatre was crowded, it was to hear a certain singer; and when the singer left the stage, the people in the boxes played cards or ate ices, and the people in the parterre yawned." And Voltaire summed up the whole matter when he wrote M. de Cideville (1752) that "the opera is a public rendezvous where people meet on certain days without knowing why; it is a house which is frequented by everybody, although the master is freely cursed and the crowd bored."

PRIZE MODEL FOR NEW MONUMENT TO MOZART IN VIENNA.

Reproduced from a photograph.

It was different in opera buffa. In this species of opera the virtuosos were not so powerful as the poet and the composer. The castrate could not afford to waste his time in consorting with the "bouffons," and so his place was taken by the tenor, who became the passionate lover. In like manner the prima donna, was paid such a small sum that the manager was obliged to look for women of ambition and dramatic talent instead of acknowledged vocal skill. The basso was admitted to the company, and here was the foundation of an ensemble impossible in grand opera. The opera seria remained in its conventional or ideal world; the opera buffa was concerned with subjects of everyday life. The former clung to history or legend; the latter delighted in appealing to the life of the people. The composer was allowed more liberty. He was not confined to the da capo air, composed of two parts with the invariable repetition of the first; he could use the rondo, where the chief melody appears after each secondary theme; or the cavatina, with one movement; or the chanson with its simple couplet; in other words, he could better suit the dramatic action. He wrote duets, trios, quartets of importance, and gradually the finale was developed. So too the orchestra, which had been subordinated to the imperious singer in opera seria, found its voice, and even sang in passages where the text demanded of the singer a rapid delivery that was almost dramatic speech. The opera buffa rapidly grew in public favor, and Arteaga in his famous book on the "Revolution of Italian Dramatic Music" frankly confessed that the opera buffa was in better condition and gave greater promise than its more pretentious rival.

The first attempts of Mozart in dramatic composition do not call for special attention. They were in the conventional style of the day, and the librettos were wretched. Two of them "Bastien et Bastienne" and "La finta Giardiniera" were revived in Germany in 1892 and with considerable success. In the latter the characters are well defined; the melody is spontaneous; there is color; and the finales are well developed. But in "Idomeneo" (1781) we first see the peculiar dramatic genius of Mozart. There is still the formalism of the opera seria, but there are traces of the influence of French dramatic sincerity, and of his own artistic individuality. Jahn has described the opera as "the genuine Italian opera seria brought to its utmost perfection by Mozart's highly cultivated individuality." The chorus is brought into prominence; the instrumentation is richer than in contemporaneous works, and there are evidences of the study of Gluck, as in the accompaniment of three trombones and two horns in the proclaiming of the oracle of Neptune. That he was convinced at the time of the superiority of French taste in dramatic music, as in truth of diction and sincerity, is shown by the fact that he wished to bring it out in Vienna rearranged after the French model. And it may here be said that if Mozart in the formation of his song was strongly influenced by Italian spirit, he was also deeply impressed by the sense of proportion, that was characteristic of French opera of his day. Grétry had shown great art in the connecting of the operatic scenes, translating faithfully the spoken word into musical speech, and individualizing by musical means the creatures of the play. It was reserved for Mozart, the greater genius, to carry Grétry's theories farther and at the same time never lose sight of the musical expression. Méhul once said that Grétry made wit and not music; this reproach could not justly be made against Mozart, although he walked in the same path with the author of "Le Tableau parlant" and "Richard." In spite of both the French and Italian influences, there was much that was novel in the expression of the phrase, the variety of thematic development, and the modulation, harmony, and instrumentation. Its first performance was an epoch in the history of opera.

In the "Escape from the Seraglio" (1782) there was a still greater advance, and here is seen the beginning of what is now known as German opera. Mozart, while composing it, wrote his father at various times concerning his operatic creed. Quotations from these letters will perhaps best explain his theories: "A man who abandons himself to his anger, becomes extravagant and is no longer master of himself. If music paints anger, it must imitate its model; and however violent the passions may be they should never provoke disgust. Music ought never to wound the ear. Even in the most horrible situations it ought to satisfy the ear. Music should always remain music." Here it will be seen that he is with La Harpe and against Gluck. "Poetry in opera should be the obedient daughter of music. Why do the Italian operas, in spite of miserable texts, please everywhere, even in Paris? Because the music dominates as sovereign and everything else is accepted." Here again Mozart is directly opposed to Gluck; the former is the disciple of the Italian school; the latter faithful to the French theory. Perhaps, as Victor Wilder suggests, the truth is between the two extreme points; poetry and music in opera are necessarily in reciprocal independence, and each ought in turn to dominate the other, as the action hastens or is at a standstill. Gluck himself admitted that "the union between words and music should be so close that the poem seems as much made for the music as the music for the poem." Now Italian dramatic music was chiefly concerned with the whole effect of the poetical thought; the French was more concerned with the detail; the German was more allied to the symphony, and there was a more even balance between the vocal melody and the instrumental phrase. (It will be borne in mind that I speak of German opera as it existed before the theories and work of Richard Wagner.) As "Idomeneo" is distinguished by choral dignity and French frankness of dramatic expression, the "Escape from the Seraglio" is characterized by exquisite melody, by delightful ensemble, and by ingenious instrumentation. There is an exuberance, a freshness in this opera, that led von Weber to affirm that here Mozart had reached "the full maturity of his powers as an artist, and that his further progress after that was only in knowledge of the world." It would be an interesting task to show the growth of Mozart's dramatic genius as seen in this glorification of the old German Singspiel; the characterization of the different parts by musical means. His letters to his father show the pains he took in the instrumentation, now seeking with triangle, big drum and cymbals Turkish effects, now emphasizing the sighs of Belmont with muted strings and the flute.

Rossini once said that his "Barbiere" was an opera buffa, while Mozart in "Le Nozze di Figaro" gave the model of the dramma giocoso: a fine distinction, worthy of the shrewdness of the author. This Italian adaptation of a French comedy set to music by a German differs from the accepted form of opera buffa, in the development of the plot and the delineation of character. The opera is at once dramatic, comic and musical, not merely a bundle of comic situations and gross caricature with incidental music. Rossini's "Barbiere," a masterpiece for all time, is undoubtedly the truer reflection of the spirit of Beaumarchais; for Mozart has idealized the intrigues and characters of the play. The libretto of da Ponte is admirable in spite of the omission of the political satire that perhaps justifies the immorality of the play. In this opera the musical character-drawing is most cunning. Susanna and Marcellina are jealous, but how different is their common jealousy from the noble jealousy of the Countess. Rossini has drawn the Countess in her youth and made her a mischievous and rebellious child. Mozart finds her a loving and abused wife, who does not encourage the page's advances, but, suffering, yet not without hope, seeks to win back her husband's love. In Susanna's passion there is a tinge of sensuality, but the music given her by Mozart is nobly sensuous. And so her merriment, her teasing, her caprices are all fitly expressed. The Cherubino of Beaumarchais is a wanton youth who looks with amorous eye upon all women; but his fever is turned into absorbing and trembling love when he is in the presence of Mozart's Countess. So too the men are carefully distinguished. The music given to each one of the characters can not be mistaken; it surrounds each like an atmosphere. This characterization is clearly seen in the masterly finales. Take the eight movements, each distinct in design, that form the finale of the second act. Succeeding complications as the number of persons in the action increases; different emotions, as jealousy, merriment, anger, forgiveness; the entrance and denunciation of the drunken gardener; the arrival of Marcellina and her confederates; all these seemingly opposing elements are firmly bound together and knit into an harmonious whole that constantly increases in dramatic and musical strength. The other great finale, a succession of misunderstandings and surprises is almost equally remarkable, and the sextet, which according to Kelly was Mozart's favorite piece in the whole opera, is not far below it. All these ensemble numbers are at the same time so skilfully constructed that there is an appearance of utter freedom of dramatic action. No words can give an idea of the wealth of melody, a wealth that is prodigally squandered, and yet this melody enhances the dramatic truth and does not stifle it. The instrumentation is always appropriate to the scenic effect. It supplements the voice. Whenever the same subject is used in a great number of recitatives, there is an astonishing variety of instrumental expression. It is said that Mozart's contemporaries were particularly struck by his employment of wind instruments, as in the accompaniment to Cherubino's romanze and air. And yet how simple the means; how meager the resources would seem to young composers of to-day who even in comic operas feel obliged to use the trombones and drums for the accompaniment of the slightest recitative. In this opera the orchestra takes its rightful place, it does not seek to dominate. It is always conscious of the action on the stage, but it is not envious; it gladly assists, and strengthens the impression. Its tone-colors aid in the distinguishing of the characters. And above all, in the orchestra as well as on the stage, there is ever present the sense of dramatic truth and unerring instinct in the expression of it.

The libretto of "Don Giovanni" has been often censured, and without real justice; for nearly all the feelings of humanity are expressed by the characters. The supernatural, the vulgar, tragedy and comedy are mixed together; even in the scene where the rake-helly hero plunges into eternal flames, the element of farce is present. Beethoven, it is true, thought the subject a scandalous one, unworthy of musical treatment; but it was admirably adapted to the dramatic temperament of Mozart. "Don Giovanni is a temperament of flame and fire that has no time for monologues; he acts; it is life without shackles, without curb, flowing as the lava of a volcano, which destroys everything in its path."

The various scenes, the conflicting passions, are marvellously reproduced in the music of Mozart. From the very opening where Leporello keeps impatient watch to the unearthly scene between the Statue and the libertine, there is an unceasing flow of exquisite melody that is not only appropriate to the characters and the action, but is also the fullest and most complete expression of the plot and incidents. Berlioz objected to the florid air sung by Donna Anna, on the ground that it was not essentially dramatic; but there have been singers who could express passion in a roulade and sway the hearer by a trill; such is the power of personal conviction. It is true that the last finale is an anti-climax. The interest ceases with the punishment of the hero, and although attempts have been made to give the opera with this finale, they have not been successful; and the curtain rightly falls with the descent of Don Giovanni. To speak in detail of the myriad beauties of this masterpiece would be simply to analyze the score measure by measure. Its immortal melodies are known throughout the world. Musicians of all schools have vied with men eminent in the other walks of life in the most extravagant eulogy. In this opera is seen the universality of Mozart's genius. His knowledge of humanity, his sympathy with all classes and conditions of men. It is the most realistic of his works; it is at the same time the most ideal. Not without reason did Goethe pass over Cherubini and von Weber, Auber and Rossini, Beethoven and the rest, and say that Mozart was the one who should have set his Faust to music. Not without reason did he mention him with Shakespeare.

"Cosi fan tutte" and "La Clemenza di Tito" were written hurriedly. Neither is an advance in the career of the composer. The first is a return to the old-fashioned opera buffa; the second looks longingly towards the ancient opera seria. The plot of the former is vulgar, improbable and stupid; and that of the latter is extremely dull. The music of "Cosi fan tutte" is often delightful, as in the famous quintet, the second terzet; but there is not the same degree of psychological characterization found in his three great operas; and there are many concessions to popular taste. "La Clemenza di Tito" belongs to that class of compositions described by the French as grandes machines officielles. The finale is worthy of Mozart; but as a whole the opera is inferior to "Idomeneo" even in the instrumentation.

When Schikaneder learned that Marinelli, a rival manager, also thought of putting on the stage a fairy drama made out of Wieland's "Lulu," he changed the plot of his "Magic flute" and substituted for the evil genius of the play the high priest Sarastro, who appears to be custodian of the secrets and the executor of the wishes of the masonic order. The libretto has been ruthlessly condemned by many for its obscurity, absurdity, triviality and buffoonery. Certain writers, however, have found a deep and symbolical meaning in the most frivolous dialogue and even in the music of the overture. Some have gone so far as to regard the opera as a symbolical representation of the French Revolution: with the Queen of Night as the incarnation of royalty; Pamina as Liberty, for whom Tamino, the People, burns with passionate love; Sarastro as the Wisdom of the Legislature. Others have claimed that no one who was not a Freemason could appreciate the merits of the libretto at their true value. Now, Mozart himself saw nothing in the text but the story of a magic opera. Goethe and Hegel were equally blind. The former once wrote of the text that "the author understood perfectly the art of producing great theatrical effects by contrasts," and Hegel praised the libretto highly for its mixture of the supernatural and the common, for its episodes of the initiations and the tests. Rubinstein likes the variety: "pathetic, fantastic, lyric, comic, naive, romantic, dramatic, tragic, yes, it would be hard to find an expression that is wanting in it. It is evident the genius of a Mozart was required to reproduce it all musically, as he has done; but such texts might incite less genial composers to interesting work." But who in listening to the music heeds Tamino pursued by the snake, the gloomy Queen, or the vengeance of the Moor? Who is disquieted by the padlock or the glockenspiel? He listens to the overture and forgets the "prodigious complexity" in "its clearness, fascination and irresistible effect," and he says with Saint Saëns, "it is a tour de force which Mozart only could have accomplished." He laughs with Papageno; he woos with Tamino; he is initiated into the solemn mysteries. He does not understand the plot; he does not desire to understand it; for his mind and his senses are soothed by the continual and varied melody. As regards the instrumentation Jahn has condensed all criticism into this one sentence: "It is the point of departure for all that modern music has achieved in this direction." Nor can the influence which the opera has exerted in the formation of German music be overrated. For the first time all the resources of great genius were brought to bear upon a genuine German opera. No one has summed up so tersely and so fully the operatic genius of Mozart as Rubinstein: "Gluck had achieved great things in the opera before him; yes, opened new paths, but in comparison with Mozart he is, so to say, of stone. Besides, Mozart has the merit of having removed the opera from the icy pathos of mythology into real life, into the purely human, and from the Italian to the German language, and thereby to a national path. The most remarkable feature of his operas is the musical characteristic he has given to every figure, so that each acting personage has become an immortal type. That which he has made, he alone could make: a god-like creation, all flooded with light. In hearing Mozart I always wish to exclaim: 'Eternal sunshine in music, thy name is Mozart!'"

Mozart once said in regard to his lesser works, "Woe to the man that judges me by these trifles." But the skill in instrumentation, the heaven-born song, the spontaneity of counterpoint, and the exquisite sense of proportion are often displayed in the serenades and divertimenti. And in these qualities of art he still reigns supreme. It is true that he founded no school in the narrow sense of the word; but he smoothed the path for Beethoven; and without him the noble line in direct succession would have been of later birth. It is idle, and yet it is common in these days, to compare a composer of one generation, or even of a century, with the composer of earlier or later years. Music itself is in a measure the expression of its time. When counterpoint was regarded as the only medium of music, the opera itself was stiffened by its contrapuntal dress, and religion could only find vent in a fugue. When the singer waxed arrogant, music existed only for his vain glory. Now we are taught to believe that absolute music, music that does not "paint" or "personate" or follow a "program," is of little account; that unless it puts in clearer light some poetical thought or some determined emotion or natural phenomenon, it is worthless; that music is not merely the vehicle of musical thought, but is rather a means of expressing many ideas that might be better expressed in poetry, in prose, or on the canvas. So the times change and with them the fashions in art of every species. There is then perhaps no greatest composer. Plutarchian comparisons between the men of different centuries are of little avail in determining true values. A man must be judged by the conditions of his own time and compared with the men who worked by his side. And what compositions of Mozart's day, instrumental or operatic, have stood the test of the revenger Time? Even the mighty Gluck with his noble theories and statuesque music has bowed the knee to the younger rival. Figaro and Papageno and the dissolute Don Juan Tenorio y Salazar live to-day upon the stage; they are as familiar as the characters of the Old Testament; as Robinson Crusoe or Don Quixote; they are immortalized by the genius of the music-maker of Vienna. It may be said without exaggeration that no composer began his work with such a natural endowment; that Nature created him the greatest musician. His dear friend Haydn, a man not given to vain compliments, a man of hard sense, declared that posterity would not see such talent as his for the next hundred years. And Rossini at the height of his glory, conscious of his own prodigious natural gifts, pronounced the final judgment so far as this century is concerned: "He is the greatest, he is the master of us all. He is the only one whose genius was as great as his knowledge, and whose knowledge equalled his genius."

The Graces. Figaro. Magic Flute. Don Giovanni. Religion.

FRESCO FROM VIENNA OPERA HOUSE

LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN

Reproduction of a life-size portrait by F. A. von Klober (1793-1864) made in 1817. Lithographed by Theo. Neu. This is the best known portrait of the master and the basis for many idealized portraits of later days. At this time Beethoven was in his forty-seventh year and began the composition of the Ninth Symphony, which he finished six years later.

LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN

HE town of Louvain, in Belgium, is now a dull place, with a Hôtel de Ville, Gothic church, detestable beer, and about 34,000 inhabitants. In the 14th century it was the capital of the Duchy of Brabant, the residence of the princes, the home of 2,000 manufactories. Near this city, whose ruin was wrought by turbulent weavers, are villages called Rotselaer, Leefdæl, and Berthem; and in the 16th century people by the name of Van Beethoven were found in these same villages or hard by. If Léon de Burbure's researches are not in vain, these Van Beethovens were simple Flemish peasants, who ate beans during the week, and on a Sunday welcomed the sight of bacon. Van is not in Dutch a sign of nobility. Nor was the spelling of the name invariable. It was Biethoven, Biethoffen, Bethof, Betthoven; and there were other variations.

About 1650 one of these farmers grew weary of the smell of fresh earth and the life with the beasts of the field, and he entered into Antwerp to make his fortune. There he married, begot a son, and named him Guillaume; and Guillaume was the great-great-grandfather of the composer of the Nine Symphonies. Guillaume, or Wilhelm, grew up, trafficked in wines, was apparently a man of parts, and was held in esteem. He married Catherine Grandjean. He named one of his eight children Henri-Adélard, and this Henri, the godson of the Baron de Rocquigny, became a prominent tailor, and wedded Catherine de Herdt, by whom he had a dozen children. The third, a son, was baptized Dec. 23, 1712, and his name was Louis. Louis was brought up in the Antwerp choirs, and there seems to be no doubt that he received a thorough musical education. His father, Henri, a year after the birth of Louis, fell into poverty, and it is probable that the boy, following the fortunes of some choir-master, lived for a time at Ghent. In 1731 he was a singer in Louvain. In 1733 he was named a musician of the court of the Elector of Cologne at Bonn. His salary was fixed at about $160, and he married, in September, 1733, Maria Josepha Poll, aged nineteen. Louis, or Ludwig, prospered. He rose from "Musicus" to "Herr Kapellmeister." Maria, his wife, with increasing good fortune and the addition of a wine shop to music lessons, took to drink, and died in 1775 in a convent at Cologne. Johann, their son, born towards the end of 1739 or in the beginning of 1740, inherited her thirst. He sang tenor and received his appointment as court singer March 27, 1756. For thirteen years he had served without pay as soprano, contralto, and tenor, and in 1764 he was granted one hundred thalers by Maximilian Friedrich, who had succeeded Clemens August as Elector. In 1767 he married Maria Magdalena Kewerich, the widow of Johann Laym, a valet. Maria was the daughter of a head cook, nineteen, comely, slender, soft-hearted. Old Ludwig objected to the match on account of the low social position of the woman. The young couple lived in the house No. 515 in the Bonngasse. Ludwig Maria was born in 1769 and lived six days. Ludwig, the great composer, was baptized the 17th of December, 1770, and he was probably born the day before the baptism. Of the five children born afterward, only Caspar Anton (1774-1815) and Nikolaus Johann (1776-1848) grew up. A brother, August, lived two years; a sister, Anna, four days, and Maria Margaretha about a year.

BEETHOVEN'S BIRTHPLACE IN BONN.

The seat of the electoral government of Cologne was transferred in 1257 from Cologne to Bonn. The ecclesiastical principality was a source of large revenue to the Elector, and his income was derived from rights of excise and navigation, church dues, benefits of games and lotteries, and secret sums paid the Elector by Austria and France for serving their interests. The Elector was also powerful in politics, and he had the privilege of putting Charlemagne's crown on the head of the emperor at Aix-la-Chapelle. The founder of the musical organization in Bonn was Joseph Clemens, ugly, humpbacked, witty, fond of practical jokes, music-mad. He was continually chasing after artists of merit. He introduced French and Flemish musicians. In 1722 the state of the electoral music-chapel was as follows: a director-in-chief of singing, and two concert-masters; six musicians who were sub-chiefs, organists, etc.; twelve singers, men and women, and to them must be added choir boys, and assistants chosen from the domestics of the court; seventeen players of stringed instruments; four trumpets, two horns and two drums; six players of oboes and bassoons. Joseph died in 1724. Clemens August succeeded him, and shared his musical taste. He in turn was followed in 1761 by Maximilian Friedrich, whose habits were sumptuous; but his prime minister cut down the expenses. He dismissed comedians, lessened the number of concerts, and so the Beethoven family suffered in pocket.

The death of the first grandchild healed the breach between old Ludwig and Johann. The old man died in 1773, but his grandson Ludwig remembered him and preserved his portrait painted by Radoux to the day of his own death. Dressed in court costume and wrapped in a red cloak, with great and sparkling eyes, he made an indelible impression on the three-year-old boy, as on his neighbors, who respected and admired him. It was his father who first taught Ludwig the rudiments of his art. It is said, and the reports are unanimous, that when the boy was hardly four years old, he was obliged to practise for hours on the pianoforte, and was often urged by blows. He was soon put under the instruction of Tobias Pfeiffer, the tenor of a strolling company. Pfeiffer was a good musician and a man of unquenchable thirst. Johann and he would spend hours in the tavern; and Pfeiffer, suddenly remembering that his pupil had received no lesson that day, would return home, drag him from his bed, and keep him at the instrument until daybreak. Or, locked in a room, young Ludwig practised the violin, and he was kept there until he had finished the daily allotted task. At the primary school he learned to read, write, and reckon. Before he was thirteen, his father declared that his scholastic education was finished. This limited education was a source of mortification to Beethoven throughout his life, and no doubt influenced strongly his character. He spelled atrociously, he was never sure of the proper expression, and the washerwoman disputed angrily his addition and subtraction.

After the death of the grandfather poverty entered the house. The second-hand buyer became the warm friend of the family, and the household furniture fed Johann's appetite. In response to a singular petition of the tenor, a pension of sixty thalers was granted to the poor woman in the convent at Cologne, who died a few months after it was given to her. Beethoven's patient mother was always sewing and mending, and the baker at least was paid. Meanwhile Johann meditated over his cups the possibility of fortune gained by his son. Pfeiffer left Bonn. The boy took a few lessons of Van den Eeden. They were gratuitous; the teacher was old and infirm; and Neefe, who succeeded Van den Eeden, took charge of Ludwig and gave him his first instruction in composition. Neefe was an excellent musician. The son of a tailor, he first studied law, and gained the title of "Doctor" by his thesis "A father has no right to disinherit his son because the latter has turned opera-singer." Now Neefe left on record a description of Ludwig at the age of eleven, which was published in Cramer's Music Magazine. According to him Beethoven played the pianoforte with "energetic skill." He played "fluently" Bach's "Well-tempered Clavichord." "To encourage him he had nine variations which the child wrote on a march theme engraved at Mannheim. This young genius deserves a subsidy that he may travel. If he goes on as he has begun, he will certainly be a second Mozart." Years after, Beethoven acknowledged gladly his many obligations to this master. In 1782 Neefe went to Munster for a visit, and Ludwig, then eleven years and a half old, took his place at the organ. In the following year he was promoted to the position of maestro al cembalo, i.e., he assisted at operatic rehearsals and played the pianoforte at the performances. During these years, operas by Grétry, Piccini, Cimarosa, Guglielmi, Sácchini, Sarti, Monsigny, Gluck, and Mozart were given. According to the recollections of those who then knew him, he was sombre, melancholy. He did not enter into the sports of his age. Once a year he assisted in the celebration of the birthday of his mother. There was music, there was drinking, and there was eating; there was dancing in stockings, so that the neighbors might not be disturbed.

Beethoven's first authenticated likeness—a silhouette by Neesen, made between 1787 and 1789.

In 1783, Beethoven published the first three sonatas, dedicated to the Elector. A year after, he was named second-organist, through the intervention of Neefe and Count Salm, but "without appointments." Maximilian died in 1784, and Maximilian of Austria, the brother of Marie Antoinette, ruled in his stead. He at once began the work of reforming the court-music. In a record of the day, Johann is spoken of as a worn-out singer, "but he has been long in service and is very poor." Ludwig is referred to as a possible successor to Neefe, and they could secure him for about $60 a year. "He is poor, very young, and the son of a court musician." In July, 1784, Ludwig was awarded a salary of $60, although Neefe was not removed; and at the installation of the new Elector in 1785, the boy, in court dress with sword at side, was permitted to kiss the hands of his august master.

At that time Bonn was a sleepy town of about 10,000 inhabitants, who were chiefly priests and people of the court. There were no factories; there was no garrison, and the only soldiers were the body guard of the elector. The theatre was in a wing of the palace. Strolling companies tarried there for a season. Concerts, or "academies," as they were called, were given in a handsome hall. The musicians lived bunched together in a quarter of the town. Franz Ries, the violinist; the horn player, Simrock, the founder of the publishing house; the singing daughters of Salomon;—these worthy people were neighbors of the Beethovens. There were many skilled amateurs in society. The Elector himself was passionately fond of music; he played the viola and the pianoforte.

There is a story that in 1781, Ludwig made a concert tour in Holland, or at least played in Rotterdam, but, with this possible exception, he did not leave Bonn from his birth until the spring of 1787, and then he went to Vienna. The Elector probably paid the expenses, and he gave him a letter to Mozart. This great composer was apt to look askew at any infant phenomenon. He listened at first impatiently to the playing of Beethoven, but when the latter invented a fantasia on a given theme, Mozart said to the hearers, "Pay attention to this youngster; he will make a noise in the world, one of these days." He gave the boy a few lessons. There is a story that Beethoven also met the Emperor Joseph. His stay was cut short by lack of money and the news that his mother was dying. In July, Franz Ries paid her burial expenses. Johann kept on drinking, and his son, who was now the head of the house, rescued him occasionally from the hands of the police. In 1789 it was decreed that a portion of the father's salary should be paid to the son, and December 18, 1792, the unfortunate man died. The Elector, in a letter to Marshall Schall, pronounced this funeral oration: "Beethoven is dead; it is a serious loss to the duties on spirits."

Ludwig looked after the education of his brothers; Caspar learned music, and Johann was put under the Court Apothecary. And now he found devoted friends in Count Waldstein and the Breuning family. The widow von Breuning was a woman of society, accomplished and kind-hearted. She was one of the few people who had an influence over the actions of Beethoven, and her influence was no doubt strengthened by the sweetness of her daughter Eleonore. He gave Eleonore lessons, and she in turn acquainted him with the German poets, and Homer and Shakespeare. Was he in love with her? We know that he was of amorous temperament. Dr. Wegeler, Stephen von Breuning, Ries, Romberg, all bear witness that he was never without an object of passion in his heart. Mr. Thayer says that we have no proof that Beethoven loved her, but such affairs are not often matters for cross-examination and a jury. No doubt the susceptible young man was smitten deeply with every fair girl he met, and in the new-comer forgot the old flame. There was Miss Jeannette d'Honrath of Cologne; there was Miss Westerhold, whose eyes he remembered for forty years; nor must pretty Babette Koch be forgotten, the daughter of a tavern keeper, and afterward a Countess. And so he passed his days in music, conversation, and innocent pleasures. He went with the Elector to Mergentheim; at Aschaffenburg he played in friendly rivalry with the Abbé Sterkel. It was at Mergentheim that the modest and unassuming pianist touched hearts by his telling, suggestive, expressive improvisations; for so Chaplain Junker bore record. In 1792, Haydn passed through Bonn on his return from London to Vienna, and praised a cantata by Beethoven on the succession of Leopold II., and in November of the same year Ludwig left Bonn for ever. The Elector realized the extent of his genius, and gave him a small pension. The political condition of France affected the Rhenish town; there was panic, and in October there was a general exodus. His many friends bade Beethoven warm God-speed, and Count Waldstein in a letter prayed him to receive "through unbroken industry from the hands of Haydn the spirit of Mozart." Nearly twenty-two, he was known chiefly by the remarkable facility of his extempore playing, and the record of his compositions during the Bonn period is insignificant. At the age of twenty-three, Mozart was famous as a writer of operas, symphonies, cantatas, and masses, and his pieces were in number about three hundred.

BEETHOVEN.

Miniature portrait on ivory painted by C. Hernemann, in 1802.

On his arrival at Vienna he bought clothing and took dancing lessons, that he might be an acceptable guest in houses to which he was recommended by Count Waldstein. He never was able to dance, by the way, for he could not keep step to the music. The 12th of December, he recorded the fact that he had only about $35. The Elector, fearing hard times, did not fulfill his first promises. Beethoven took a garret,—and afterwards moved to a room on the ground-floor—in a printer's house in the Alservorstadt; there he began a student-life of three years. He took lessons of Haydn, and although they drank coffee and chocolate at Beethoven's expense, the lessons were unsatisfactory. Haydn looked on the pupil as a musical atheist, who had not the fear of Fux before his eyes, and the pupil thought that Haydn was not diligent and that he did not correct carefully his mistakes. "It is true he gave me lessons," he once said to Ries, "but he taught me nothing." Then he took secretly lessons of Schenk, and when Haydn went to London in 1794, he put himself under the rigid disciplinarian Albrechtsberger. He studied with Salieri the art of writing for the voice and the stage. He also took lessons on the viola, violin, violoncello, clarinet and horn. There were a few exceptions, but Beethoven was unpopular with his masters. They considered him obstinate and arrogant. Haydn spoke of him as "the great Mogul"; Albrechtsberger once said, "He has learned nothing, and will never do anything in decent style." Nor was Beethoven's continual "I say it is right" calculated to win the affection of his masters.

BEETHOVEN AND MOZART.

Reproduced from a photograph of a painting in which the two composers are not faithfully represented, as may be seen by referring to authenticated portraits.

Meanwhile Beethoven made influential friends. Vienna at that time numbered about 250,000 inhabitants. The life was gay, even frivolous. Reichardt considered the city a most agreeable dwelling place for musicians. "You find there a rich, educated, and hospitable aristocracy, devoted to music; the middle class is wealthy and intelligent; and the common people, jolly and good-natured, have always a song in the mouth." Princes hired orchestra and singers for their own theatres. Others had musicians in their employment, and even those in moderate circumstances retained an organist or pianist. These Viennese were the patrons of composers who wrote especially for them. In common with other South Germans they were pleased with music that appealed to the heart rather than to the brain, and the neighborhood of Italy influenced their melodies and taste. This influence was also marked in the sympathetic performance of the Vienna players, for the abandon and the swing were opposed to the rigidity of Northern orchestras. The amateurs were many and of the noblest families. There was Van Swieten who bowed the knee to Handel; Count Kinsky, whose son was in after years the devoted friend of Beethoven; Prince Lobkowitz, who played the violin and spent his fortune in the pursuit of musical pleasure; the Esterhazy family; Von Rees and Von Meyer; and princes and counts without number, in whose houses symphonies, oratorios, and chamber music were performed from manuscript. Public concerts were then rare. The court opera house was devoted to Italian opera; at the Theatre Marinelli German operettas were seen; at the theatre an der Wien, farces and operettas were given. The chief composers in Vienna were Haydn, Salieri, Weizl, Schenk, Süssmayr, Wranitzky, Kozeluch, Förster, Eberl and Vanhall.

Two of the warmest friends of Beethoven were the Prince Lichnowsky and his wife, formerly the Countess of Thun. They mourned the death of Mozart, and saw in Haydn's pupil a possible successor. In 1794 they took Beethoven to their house and humored him and petted him. They were childless, and their affection was spent on the rude, hot-tempered, trying young man. The princess saw through the rugged exterior, and the stories of her tact and forbearance are many. "She would have put me in a glass case that no evil might come nigh me," said the composer in after years. In their palace Beethoven was free in action and in dress. He studied or gave lessons by day, and at night he was associated with the Schuppanzigh quartet—afterward the Rasoumoffsky quartet—the members of which met every Friday at Lichnowsky's house.

At this time he was chiefly known as a virtuoso, and his first appearance in public was March 29, 1795, in a concert at the Burgtheatre for the benefit of the widows of the Society of Musicians. An oratorio by Cartellieri was given, and Beethoven played his pianoforte concerto in C major, which was published six years after as Op. 15. At rehearsal there was a difference of half a tone between the pitch of the pianoforte and that of the orchestral instruments, and the composer played the concerto in C sharp major. In the same year he made a contract with Artaria for the publication of his first three pianoforte trios. Two hundred and forty-two copies were subscribed for, and the composer netted about $400, a respectable sum at that time, especially for the early works of a young man.

In 1796 Beethoven went to Nuremberg, where he met his Bonn friends, the Breuning brothers, and for some reason not clearly known, they were arrested at Linz by the police, but were quickly released. On his return to Vienna he busied himself in overseeing the publication of sonatas (Op. 2), minuets and variations. His brothers were in the city. Johann, "tall, black, handsome, a complete dandy," found a place in an apothecary shop. Caspar, "small, red-haired, ugly," gave music lessons. In February Beethoven was in Prague and in Berlin, the only occasion on which he visited "the Athens of the Spree." Frederick William II. was gracious to him, heard him play, and gave him a snuff-box filled with gold pieces; "not an ordinary box," as Beethoven proudly said when he showed it, "but such a one as they give to ambassadors." Beethoven also met Prince Louis Ferdinand and complimented him by saying, "you play like an artist, not like a prince." He jeered at Himmel's improvisation, and Himmel in turn persuaded him that a lantern had been invented for the benefit of the blind. He saw Fasch and Zelter. When he returned to Vienna the talk was of Napoleon conquering in Italy.

In 1797 Beethoven, through imprudent exposure when he was heated, contracted a dangerous illness, and Zmeskall relates that it "eventually settled in the organs of hearing." He worked at his trade. He entered into a contest with Wölfl, a virtuoso of remarkable technique, and they vied with each other in friendly spirit; whereas in a similar and later trial of skill between Beethoven and Steibelt, the latter sulked at the power of his rival. In 1798 he met Prince Rasumowsky, Count Browne, Rudolphe Kreutzer (who introduced him to Bernadotte, the suggestor of the "Heroic" symphony and the French ambassador), and in the following year he saw Dragonetti, the great player of the double-bass, who without doubt influenced him in his treatment of that instrument, and Cramer the pianist. The few recorded events of the next years are chiefly connected with music. The septet and first symphony were produced in 1800, and April 2 of the same year Beethoven gave the first concert in Vienna for his own benefit. He had left the palace of Prince Lichnowsky and lodged at No. 241 "im tiefen Graben." In the fall he went into the country, the first instance of what was afterward his settled custom. We know of no publication of music by Beethoven in 1800. He finished the first symphony, the septet (which he disliked), the string quartets Op. 18, the C-minor concerto Op. 37, the sonata Op. 22, and other works of less importance, including the horn sonata for Punto. Czerny, ten years old, met him some time in this year, and he has left a curious description of him, although it was written years after the meeting. He mentions the "desert of a room—bare walls—paper and clothes scattered about—scarcely a chair except the rickety one before the pianoforte. Beethoven was dressed in a dark gray jacket and trousers of some long-haired material which reminded me of the description of Robinson Crusoe. The jet-black hair stood upright on his head. A beard, unshaven for several days, made still darker his naturally swarthy face. He had in both ears cotton wool which seemed to have been dipped in some yellow fluid. His hands were covered with hair, and the fingers were very broad, especially at the tips."

In 1801 he was feeling well and he worked hard. His ballet "Prometheus" was given March 28 with success. He changed his lodgings and dwelt in the Sailer-Staette, where he could look over the town-ramparts. When the days lengthened, he went to Hetzendorf, near the shaded gardens of Schönbrunn, modelled after Versailles. "I live only in my music," he wrote Wegeler, "and no sooner is one thing done than the next is begun; I often work at three and four things at once." "The Mount of Olives"; the violin sonatas in A minor and F; the string quintet in C; the pianoforte sonatas, Op. 26, 27, 28, were completed in this year, and other works were sketched. The so-called "Moonlight Sonata" brings before us Giuletta Guicciardi, to whom it was dedicated, and the romance connected with her.

BEETHOVEN LEADING THE PERFORMANCE OF ONE OF HIS QUARTETS.

Reproduced from a photograph of a painting in which the scene is idealized.

The noble women of Vienna were fond of Beethoven; to say they adored him would not be extravagant. They went to his lodgings or they received him at their palaces. Even his rudeness fascinated them; they forgave him if he roared angrily at a lesson, or tore the music in pieces; they were not offended if he used the snuffers as a tooth-pick. He, too, was constantly in love, but there is no reason to doubt that his attachments were honorable. "Oh God! let me at last find her who is destined to be mine, and who shall strengthen me in virtue," was his prayer. Yet Wegeler says, that he fancied himself a Lovelace and irresistible. He paraded his attachments in dedications. There was the beautiful Hungarian Countess, Babette de Keglevics; the Countess Therese of Brunswick; Baroness Ertmann, the Countess Erdödy; and there were many others. In lesser station was Christine Gherardi, and there was Madeleine Willman, the singer, who, it is said, refused Beethoven's hand because he was "ugly and half-mad." But his passion for the woman Giuletta Guicciardi was deep-rooted, and it deserves more than passing notice. Her family came originally from the Duchy of Modena, and in 1800 her father went to Vienna, an Imperial Counsellor. She was in her seventeenth year, with dark blue eyes, waving brown hair, classic features, and a stately carriage. She was then as good as betrothed to Count Gallenberg, an impressario and a composer of ballets, whom she married in 1803. After Beethoven's death letters of an incoherent and a fiery nature were found in a secret drawer, and it was supposed that they were addressed to the Guicciardi until the ruthless examination of them by Thayer. She herself made light of the dedication by telling Jahn in later years that Beethoven gave her the Rondo in G, but wishing to dedicate something to Princess Lichnowsky, he gave her the sonata instead. Beethoven, when he was very deaf, wrote in bad French to his friend Schindler (for his conversation was necessarily at the time in writing) that he was loved by her; that he raised money for her husband; and that when she returned to Vienna from Italy, she looked Beethoven up and wept; but he despised her. The reader who wishes to investigate the subject and read of her strange adventures with Prince Hermann Pückler-Muskau, even though illusions be thereby dispelled, is referred to the chapter "Julia Guicciardi" in "Neue Musikalische Charakterbilder" by Otto Gumprecht (Leipsic, 1876).

And in this year, 1801, the deafness, which began with violent noise in his ears, grew on him. In a letter to Wegeler, in which he speaks of a pension of about $240, from Lichnowsky, he tells of his infirmities. He connected the deafness with abdominal troubles, with "frightful colic." He went from doctor to doctor. He tried oil of almonds and cold and warm baths. Pills and herbs and blisters were of little avail. He inquired into galvanic remedies. Zmeskall persuaded him to visit Father Weiss, monk and quack. Discouraged, he still had the bravery to write, "I will as far as possible defy my fate, though there must be moments when I shall be the most miserable of God's creatures... I will grapple with fate; it shall never drag me down." At the same time in telling his sorrow to Carl Amenda he swore him solemnly to secrecy.

Dr. Schmidt sent him in 1802 to Heiligenstadt, a lonely village, and there he wrote the famous letter known as "Beethoven's Will," addressed to his brothers, to be opened after his death (see page 331). It is possible that this letter full of gloom and distress was only the expression of momentary depression. The music of this same year is cheerful, if not absolutely joyous—the Symphony in D, for example—and on his return to Vienna he wrote letters of mad humor. He changed his lodgings to the Peters-Platz, in the heart of the city, where he was between the bells of two churches. He corrected publishers' proofs, and was "hoarse with stamping and swearing" on account of the errors, "swarming like fish in the sea." He quarreled with his brother Caspar, who interfered in his dealings with publishers and brought to light compositions of boyhood.

In April, 1803, a concert was given, the program of which included "The Mount of Olives," the Symphony in D, and the pianoforte concerto in C minor, with the composer as pianist. The so-called "Kreutzer Sonata" for violin and pianoforte, written for the half-breed Bridgetower, was heard this year; there was a quarrel, and the now famous work was dedicated to R. Kreutzer, who was in the train of Bernadotte. In the summer, Beethoven went to Baden near Vienna, and to Oberdöbling, but before he left the city he talked with Schikaneder about an opera for the theatre "An der Wien." He had also changed his lodgings again and moved to the said theatre with Caspar. The rest of the year, however, was chiefly given to the composition of the "Heroic" symphony, which was suggested to him in 1798 by Bernadotte. It is true that he went much in society, associating with painters and officials, and with the Abbé Vogler; he also began correspondence with Thomson, the music publisher of Edinburg, concerning sonatas on Scotch themes. At the beginning of 1804, he was obliged to seek new quarters, and he roomed with his old friend Stephen Breuning in the Rothe Haus. At first they had separate sets of rooms; they then thought it would be cheaper to live together. Beethoven neglected to notify the landlord, and he was liable for the two suites. Hence hot words and a rupture. The breach was afterwards healed, but Breuning, who apparently behaved admirably, wrote in a letter to Wegeler of Beethoven's "excitable temperament, his habit of distrusting his best friends, and his frequent indecision. Rarely indeed, does his old true nature now allow itself to be seen." At Döbling he worked at the Waldstein Sonata and the Op. 54. The "Bonaparte" Symphony was finished, and, according to Lichnowsky, the title-page bore simply the inscription "Buonaparte," and the name "Luigi van Beethoven." Beethoven had unbounded admiration for Napoleon as long as he was First Consul, and he compared him often with illustrious Romans, but when the Corsican made himself Emperor of the French, the composer burst into violent reproaches and tore in pieces the title page of the Symphony. When the work was published in 1806, the title announced the fact that it was written "to celebrate the memory of a great man"; and when Napoleon was at St. Helena, Beethoven once cried out, "Did I not foresee the catastrophe when I wrote the funeral march in the Symphony?" When he went back to Vienna for the winter, he lodged in a house of Baron Pasqualati on the Mölker-Bastion; these rooms were kept for him, even when he occasionally moved for a season.

In 1805 Baron von Braun took Schikaneder as manager of the "An der Wien," and they made Beethoven an offer for an opera. The story of Leonora suited the composer, although Bouilly's text had been already set by Gaveaux and Paer; he worked diligently at his rooms in the theatre, and later in the fields of Hetzendorf. In the summer he went to Vienna to see Cherubini. In the fall the operatic rehearsal began. The singers and the orchestra rebelled at difficulties. The composer was vexed and angry. For the first time he welcomed deafness. He did not wish to hear his music "bungled." "The whole business of the opera is the most distressing thing in the world." The first performance was November 20th, 1805. Anna Milder, to whom Haydn said, "You have a voice like a house," was the heroine. Louise Müller was Marcelline; Demmer, Florestan; Meyer, Pizarro; Weinkopf, Don Fernando; Caché, Jaquino; Rothe, Rocco. The opera was then in three acts, and the overture seems to have been "Leonora No. II." The time was unfavorable. The French entered Vienna the 13th of November; Napoleon was at Schönbrunn; nearly all of the wealthy and noble patrons of Beethoven had fled the town. The opera was played three nights and then withdrawn—a failure. It was revised, shortened, and with the overture "Leonora No. III.," it was again performed March 29, 1806, and the reception was warmer. It was played April 10th. Beethoven and Braun quarreled, and Vienna did not hear "Fidelio" for seven or eight years. Parts of the pianoforte concerto in G and of the C-minor symphony, as well as the two last of the Rasoumoffsky string quartets Op. 59 were composed at this time.

BEETHOVEN.

After a posthumous Medallion by Gatteux.

Some months in 1806 were passed in visits. Beethoven stopped at the country-seat of Count Brunswick—and some say that he was in love with Therese, the sister, to whom he dedicated his favorite sonata Op. 78, and that the posthumous love letters were addressed to her. He went to Silesia to see Prince Lichnowsky. There were French officers there who wished to hear him play, and when he refused, the Prince threatened in jest to lock him up. There was an angry scene, and Beethoven, rushing back to Vienna, dashed a bust of the Prince to pieces. The 4th symphony was played at a concert in March, 1807, for Beethoven's benefit. The subscriptions were as liberal as the program, which was made up of two and a half hours of orchestral music. Clementi of London paid him $1,000 down for copyrights. And so he had money and he was cheerful. He worked at the "Coriolan" overture, and, it is believed, the Pastoral and C-minor symphonies. In September the mass in C was brought out under the protection of Prince Esterhazy, who, accustomed to Haydn's music, said to Beethoven, "What, pray, have you been doing now?" Hummel, the Chapelmaster, laughed, and there was no intercourse between the composers for some time. In spite of the failure of "Fidelio," Beethoven looked toward the theatre and offered to supply one grand opera and one operetta yearly at a salary of about $960 with benefit performances, an offer that was rejected. 1807 saw the publication of the "Appassionata" sonata and the thirty-two variations. The pianoforte concerto in G and the Choral Fantasia were performed in 1808.

BEETHOVEN.

From a pencil drawing by Letronne, made in 1814. It has been engraved by several artists. The above is reproduced from the frontispiece of the original full score of "Fidelio," published in Bonn.

The pension from the Elector had been stopped. Prince Lichnowsky made Beethoven a small allowance, and with this exception, the latter was dependent on his own exertions. Some time in 1808 Jerome Bonaparte, King of Westphalia, offered Beethoven the position of Maître de Chapelle at Cassel, with an annual salary, beside travelling expenses, of about $1,500. This led the Archduke Rudolph, Prince Lobkowitz, and Prince Kinsky to give a joint undertaking in March 1809 to secure Beethoven 4,000 florins, payable half-yearly, a sum nominally worth about $2,000, and really about $1,000; this was lessened by the depreciation of the Austrian paper and the bankruptcy and the death of Prince Kinsky. It was in this year that Beethoven met young Moscheles, began relations with Breitkopf and Härtel, negotiated with Thomson about the harmonization of Scottish melodies, a contract which in the course of years netted him about $1,000. The French were again in Vienna. Wagram was fought. Beethoven, during the bombardment of his town, was in a cellar, and dreading the effect of the explosions on his hearing, called in the aid of cushions. Haydn died in May, and there is no hint of the fact in the letters or journals of his quondam pupil. It was the year of the beginning of the "Les Adieux" sonata, to commemorate the departure of the Archduke.

May, 1810, was the date of the first performance of the music to "Egmont," probably in a private house, and in this month Beethoven first saw Bettine Brentano, "Goethe's child, who seemed the incarnation or the original of Mignon." With her he fell in love, although she was betrothed to Count Arnim. The authenticity of the three letters which she published in after years as his has been a subject of warm dispute. It was in this same year that he contemplated marriage, and wrote for his baptismal certificate. But the name of the possible wife is unknown. Some have called her Therese von Brunswick; others Therese Malfatti.

There was a rumor in Vienna in 1811 that Beethoven thought of moving to Naples in response to advantageous offers. His income was lowered by the depreciation in the value of the Austrian paper money. He suffered from headaches, his feet were swollen, and he hoped that the climate of Italy would bring relief. His physician did not favor the plan. In 1812 the Brentanos lent Beethoven about $920, and he tried the baths at Carlsbad, Franzensbrunn, and Töplitz. At the latter place he fell in love with Amalie Sebald, a soprano from Berlin, about thirty years of age, handsome and intellectual. The affection was deep and mutual; why the intimate relations did not lead to marriage, is an insoluble problem. And here Beethoven met Goethe, whom he reverenced; but the poet saw in him "an utterly untamed character." The acquaintance did not ripen into friendship, although Goethe recognized the "marvellous talent" of the composer; Mendelssohn declared, however, in a letter to Zelter, that the antipathy of the poet to Beethoven's music was poorly disguised. Nor on the other hand did the composer relish the self-effacement of Goethe when he was in the presence of royalty. In October he visited his brother Johann at Linz and found him entangled with a woman; he forced him to marry her by threats of arresting her and sending her to Vienna. 1812 was the year of the composition of the Seventh and Eight symphonies. Beethoven returned to Vienna in gloomy spirits; he was sick in body; he squabbled with his servants; Amalie Sebald was ever in his mind.

The defeat of the French at Vittoria in 1813 provoked the vulgar program-music, "Wellington's Victory," which was suggested also by Maelzel, the famous mechanician; it enjoyed great popularity, although Beethoven himself regarded it as "a stupid affair." Spohr was in Vienna when Beethoven conducted an orchestral concert, the program of which included the 7th symphony in MS. and this Battle Symphony. He and Mayseder, Salieri, Hummel, Moscheles, Romberg and Meyerbeer were in the orchestra. According to Spohr, Beethoven at this time had only one pair of boots, and when they were repaired he was obliged to stay at home. In 1816 the composer recorded in a note-book that he had seven pairs.

In 1814 Anton Schindler first met Beethoven. They grew intimate, and five years later he lived with him as a secretary. They quarreled, but they were reconciled shortly before the death of the composer. "Fidelio" was revived the same year. The new overture (in E) was included in the performance. Prince Lichnowsky died before the opera, which had undergone alteration, was thus produced. Then came a quarrel between Beethoven and Maelzel, which worried sorely the composer. September saw his triumph, when six thousand people waxed enthusiastic at a concert given by him in the Redouten-Saal. There were royal and celebrated visitors, drawn to Vienna by the Congress. Beethoven wrote a cantata for the event. "Der glorreiche Augenblick" ("The Glorious Moment"), a work unworthy of his reputation. He was made an honorary member of the Academies of London, Paris, Stockholm and Amsterdam. Vienna gave him the freedom of the city. He was courted in the drawing-rooms of the great. The Empress Elizabeth of Russia made him a present of about $4,600. He bought shares of the Bank of Austria.

BEETHOVEN.

From an engraving by Eichens after an oil painting by Schimon, painted in 1819.

Caspar Carl Beethoven died in November, 1815, and thus gave final and posthumous anxiety to his brother Ludwig; for he left to him the care of his son Carl. The mother of the eight-year-old boy was not a fit person to rear him, and Caspar had written his last wishes with an affectionate reference to Ludwig, who in fact had ministered generously to his wants and his caprices, and had thus spent at least $4,000. A codicil, however, restrained the uncle from taking his nephew away from the maternal house. The widow did not restrain her passions even in her grief, and Beethoven appealed to the law to give him control of the boy. There were annoyances, changes of jurisdiction, and the decree was not given in his favor until 1820. It was before the Landrechts court that Beethoven pointed to his head and his heart, saying, "My nobility is here and here"; for the cause was in this court on the assumption that the van in his name was an indication of nobility. Owing to these law-suits he composed but little; still it was the period of the great pianoforte sonatas Op. 106, Op. 109, Op. 110. He was in straitened circumstances. In 1816 his pension was diminished to about $550. He had quarreled again with Stephen Breuning. He found pleasure in the thought that he was a father. He was influenced mightily by the death of his brother and the painful incidents that followed, not only in his daily life but in his work. At first there was a time of comparative unproductiveness, and the cantata "Calm Sea and Happy Voyage" and the song-cyclus "To the Absent Loved-one," with the pianoforte sonata Op. 101, are the most important compositions between 1815 and 1818. Texts for oratorios and operas were offered him, but he did not put them to music. In 1818 he received a grand pianoforte from the Broadwoods, and there was vain talk of his going to England.

His friend and pupil, the Archduke Rudolph, was appointed Archbishop of Olmütz in 1818, and Beethoven began in the autumn a grand Mass for the Installation. The ceremony was in March, 1820; the Mass was not finished until 1822; it was published in 1827, and there were seven subscribers at about $115 a copy; among them were the Emperor of Russia, the King of Prussia, and the King of France. The summer and autumn of 1818 and '19 were spent at Mödling in the composition of the Mass, relieved only by anxious thoughts about his nephew. Sketches for the 9th symphony date back to 1817, and the theme of the scherzo is found in 1815. This colossal work was in his mind together with a tenth, which should be choral in the adagio and the finale, even when he wrote the overture in C for the opening of the Josephstadt Theatre in Vienna and watched with fiery eyes Wilhelmine Schröder-Devrient, the Leonora of the revival in 1822. In this same year Rossini, sweeping all before him, visited Vienna, and tried to call on Beethoven. According to Azevedo the interview was painful between the young man flushed with success and the deaf and "almost blind" composer of the Heroic Symphony. But Schindler affirms that Beethoven succeeded in escaping the visits. The operatic triumphs of Rossini and the thought of the Schröder-Devrient again led him to meditate opera. There were discussions concerning music to Goethe's "Faust," not in set operatic form, but incidental airs, choruses, symphonic pieces and melodrama. In June, 1823, he was hard at work on the Ninth Symphony. He passed whole days in the open air at Hetzendorf, but his host, a baron, was too obsequiously civil, and he moved to Baden, where in the fall he received a visit from Weber. The Philharmonic Society of London in 1822 passed a resolution offering Beethoven £50 for a MS. symphony; the money was advanced, and the work was to be delivered in the March following. Ries was in London in the fall of 1823, and in September he heard from Beethoven that the manuscript was finished, nevertheless there was additional work on it after the return to Vienna; and according to Wilder, who quotes Schindler, the finale was not written until Beethoven was in his new lodgings in town, and the use of the voices in Schiller's Ode was then first definitely determined, although the intention was of earlier date.

The Italians still tickled the ears of the Viennese, who apparently cared not for German music, vocal or instrumental. Beethoven looked toward Berlin as the city where his solemn Mass and Ninth Symphony (in spite of his arrangement with the Philharmonic society of London) should be produced, and he negotiated with Count Brühl. This drove finally the noble friends of Beethoven in Vienna to send him an address praying him to allow the first production of these new works to be in the city in which he lived. Beethoven was moved deeply; he found the address "noble and great." There were the unfortunate misunderstandings that accompany so often such an occasion. Beethoven was suspicious, the manager of the Kärnthnerthor theatre where the concert was given was greedy, and the music perplexed the singers and the players. Sontag and Ungher, who sang the female solo parts, begged him to change certain passages, but he would not listen to them. The 7th of May, 1824, the theatre was crowded, with the exception of the Imperial box; no one of the Imperial family was present, no one sent a ducat to the composer. The program was as follows: Overture in C (Op. 124); the Kyrie, Credo, Agnus and Dona Nobis of the mass in D arranged in the form of three hymns and sung in German, on account of the interference of the Censure, as the word "mass" could not appear on a theatre program; the Ninth Symphony. The public enthusiasm was extraordinary. As Beethoven could not hear the plaudits Caroline Ungher took him by the shoulders and turned him about that he might see the waving of hats and the beating together of hands. He bowed, and then the storm of applause was redoubled. After the expenses of the concert there were about 400 florins for Beethoven—about $200. The concert was repeated and the manager guaranteed 500 florins. The hall was half-empty. The composer was angry; he at first refused to accept the guarantee; and he accused his friends whom he had invited to eat with him of conspiring to cheat him.

LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN.

From a lithographic reproduction of a painting made by Stieler, in April, 1820.

BEETHOVEN'S STUDIO

In the Schwarz-Spanier house. From an engraving by G. Leybold of a drawing made three days after his death.

Meanwhile his nephew, for whom he was willing to make any sacrifice and for whose benefit he labored incessantly and sold his manuscripts, neglected his studies and became an expert at the game of billiards. On the return of Beethoven from Baden to Vienna in 1824, the nephew entered the University as a student of philology; he failed in a subsequent examination; he thought of trade; he failed in an examination for admission into the Polytechnic school; and although in despair he pulled the triggers of two pistols which he had applied to his head, he failed to kill himself. He then fell into the hands of the police, was ordered out of Vienna, and joined the Austrian army. After he was obliged to quit Vienna, the uncle and the nephew in 1826 lived with Johann at Gneixendorf. The surroundings were dreary; the stingy sister-in-law of Beethoven refused him a fire; the brother found that he must charge him for board and lodging; and the nephew was insolent. He left the house in an open chaise and caught a cold which settled in his abdomen. The result of the journey was a sharp attack of inflammation of the lungs and dropsy. For the sake of his nephew Beethoven offered his manuscripts to publishers. Schott bought the Mass in D for 1,000 florins and the Ninth Symphony for 600 florins. A young man named Holtz helped the composer in his business calculations and gained a strange influence over him; he even induced him to abandon occasionally his customary sobriety. And yet these days of business and anxiety saw the composition of the last Quartets. Prince Nicholas de Galitzin of Saint Petersburg begged three string-quartets with dedications from him; he wrote to him in flattering terms; he named his bankers. Beethoven fixed the price at $115 a quartet. The Prince acknowledged the receipt of two (E-flat Op. 127 and A minor Op. 132) and regretted his delay in answering; "I now live in the depths of Russia and in a few days I shall go to Persia to fight." He promised again to send the money. Beethoven never received it, and the quartets were sold to publishers. The third, B-flat Op. 130, originally ended with a long fugue which was afterward published separately, and the new finale was written at the dreary house of his brother, where he also finished the quartet in F.

THE "SCHWARZ-SPANIER" HOUSE, IN VIENNA, IN WHICH BEETHOVEN DIED.

From a photograph.

When he arrived at Vienna in December, 1826, he went immediately to bed in his lodgings in the Schwarzspanierhaus. He had dismissed rudely two eminent physicians who had treated him for a former illness, and they would not now attend him. His nephew, who was charged with the errand of finding a doctor, played billiards and forgot the condition of his uncle, so that two days went by without medical assistance. Finally Dr. Andreas Wawruch was told by a billiard-marker of the suffering of the sick man. He went to him and dosed him with decoctions. In a few days the patient was worse, in spite of the great array of empty bottles of medicine. Dropsy declared itself. He was tapped by Dr. Seibert, and during one of the operations he said, "I would rather see the water flow from my belly than from my pen." Schindler and Breuning came to his bedside, and with them young Gerhard Breuning, the son of Stephen. This lad now dwelled in the house with Beethoven as his constant companion. Dr. Malfatti was persuaded to forget his quarrels with the composer, and he consented to act in consultation with Dr. Wawruch. Beethoven saw his old friend gladly; but he would turn his back to Wawruch with the remark, "Oh, the ass!" Malfatti administered iced punch; for a short time the patient seemed stronger, and he talked of the 10th symphony. But in February, 1827, he was tapped for the fourth time; his aristocratic friends were forgetful of him, and even the Archduke Rudolph did not interest himself by cheap inquiry. In this same month Beethoven wrote to Moscheles and Sir George Smart telling them of his strait, and begging them to arrange for a concert for his benefit. All this time he had the seven bank shares of one thousand florins each that were found with the two mysterious love letters in a secret drawer of his writing desk, the day after his death; these shares he held for his scape-grace nephew, whom he made his sole heir, although by a codicil the capital was placed beyond his nephew's control. The Philharmonic Society promptly sent through Moscheles £100 on account of the future concert, and promised more if it were necessary. Unable to compose, Beethoven tried to read Sir Walter Scott's "Kenilworth," but he threw it aside and said, "The man writes only for money." He saw "the divine fire" in some of Schubert's songs. He wrote many letters, he arranged certain dedications of his works, and he found pleasure in a lithograph of Haydn's birthplace, and in a set of Handel's compositions in forty volumes, which had been given him. The Rhine wine that he had asked of Schott came too late. Hummel called on him in March and introduced his pupil Ferdinand Hiller. On the 19th of this month Beethoven felt the end, and he said to Breuning and Schindler, "Plaudite, amici, comoedia finita est." On the 23d he made with his own hand the codicil above mentioned. Several people called, among them Schubert, who saw him but could not speak with him. The last Sacraments of the Roman Catholic church were administered to the dying man the 24th. Then Beethoven wrestled with death until a quarter to six on the evening of the 26th, when he gave up the ghost. His sufferings were atrocious; the final agony was terrible. Just as he was delivered from his earthly ills a tempest, a great storm of hail and snow, burst over the roofs of Vienna. There was a dazzling flash of lightning; and the roaring thunder roused Beethoven. He pulled himself up in his bed, shook his fist at the sky, and fell back dead. Anselm Hüttenbrenner and the wife of Johann Beethoven were by his side.

The post mortem examination was made by Doctors Wagner and Rokitansky. Wagner cut and preserved the temporal muscles and the organs of hearing. The body was dressed and exposed in the room of the death. The lower jaw was not sustained, and the face with its long hair and its beard of three months' growth was savage.

The funeral was the 29th at three o'clock in the afternoon. It was attended by an immense crowd. Dr. Breuning estimated the number of persons on the glacis and in the neighboring streets at 20,000. The coffin was placed on the shoulders of eight members of the Imperial Opera. Eybler, Hummel, Kreutzer, Weigl, Gyrowetz, Seyfried, Gänsbacher and Würfel held the streamers of the canopy. There were thirty-two torch bearers, whose left arms were wrapped in crape ornamented by lilies and white roses. Among these torch bearers were Czerny, Schubert and the giant Lablache. At the head, after the crucifix, four trombone players marched, and played alternately with the singing of a choir of sixteen men the two Equali of the dead composer. The crowd that followed was so enormous that soldiers were summoned to force a way. The ceremonies were held at the Church of the Minorites, and the body was then put in a hearse which was drawn by four horses to the Währinger cemetery. The gate was reached at the falling of night, and the play-actor Anschütz delivered an address written by Grillparzer. Other poems were read and distributed. Flowers and laurel wreaths were heaped on the coffin when it was lowered to its resting place.

The 3d of April the furniture, clothes and the Graf and Broadwood pianofortes were sold at auction. The same day Mozart's Requiem was sung in the Hofpfarrkirche of the Augustines, and Lablache not only sang the solo bass but paid about $80 for the cost of the singers. In November the musical effects were sold at auction, and they brought about 1200 florins. The total amount of money then was about $5,000.

In 1863 the Gesellschaft der Musik-Freunde opened the tombs of Beethoven and Schubert and reburied their bodies in leaden coffins. The 21st of June, 1888, the body of Beethoven was removed from the Währinger cemetery and transferred to the central cemetery of Vienna at Simmering. A monument was raised in Bonn in 1845, chiefly through the generosity and enthusiasm of Liszt. It is by Höhnel, and it represents Beethoven standing, draped in a mantle. A colossal statue by Zurnbusch stands in one of the public places in Vienna, in front of the Academic Gymnasium.

BEETHOVEN'S TOMB IN VIENNA CEMETERY.

From a photograph.

When the body of Beethoven was exhumed in 1863 an impression and a photograph of his skull were taken. The head was remarkable. The box of bone was unusually thick; the dimensions of the forehead were extraordinary; in height the forehead came next to that of Napoleon, and in breadth it surpassed it. His face was strong and sombre, and while it was not without ugliness, it was expressive. The head was built stoutly throughout. The complexion was red and highly accented; though Schindler tells us that it grew yellow in summer. The hair was thick and rebellious; it was originally black, and in later years turned white. He shaved cheeks, chin and upper lip, and he was as awkward as Lord Macaulay with a razor. The eyes were black, not large, and they shot forth a piercing flame when he was excited. The nose was thick; the jaw was broad; the mouth was firm, and with protruding lips; the teeth were white, well-shaped, and sound, and when he laughed he showed them freely; the square chin rested on a white cravat. The greater number of pictures of Beethoven are idealized. The most faithful likenesses are the miniature by Hornemann, taken in 1802, and sent by Beethoven to Breuning in token of reconciliation; the drawing by Letronne, a French artist who was in Vienna in 1814; and the portrait by Schimon in 1819. Two plaster masks were made; one by Klein in 1812; the other, a death-mask, by the sculptor Dannhauser, from which Fortuny made an etching.

Beethoven was below the middle height, not more than five feet five inches; he was broad-shouldered, sturdy, with legs like columns. He had hairy hands, short fingers, with square ends as though they had been chopped. His movements were without grace but they were marked by their quickness. He was awkward in holding playing cards; he dropped everything that he took in his hands. When he first went about in Vienna he dressed in the fashion, with silken stockings, a peruke, long boots and a sword. In later years he wore a blue or dark green coat with copper buttons, a white waistcoat and a white cravat; and he carried an eyeglass. His felt hat was on the back of his head so that it touched his coat collar, as in the sketch of him by Lyser. His hat was often shabby and it excited the attention of loungers as he amused himself by strolling aimlessly in the streets, and by peering into the shop windows. The skirts of the coat were heavy laden; there would be within them an ear-trumpet, a carpenter's pencil, a stitched-book for use in his written conversation, a thick blank-book in quarto form, in which he jotted down vagrant thoughts and musical ideas. A pocket handkerchief would hang down to the calves of his legs, and the pockets bulged until they showed the lining. He would walk in deep meditation; talk with himself; at times make extravagant gestures.

He was simple in certain ways, easily gulled; so absent-minded that he once forgot he was the owner of a horse. He could appreciate wit, although he preferred rough jokes and horse play. He enjoyed pranks at the expense of others. He threw eggs at his cook and poured the contents of dishes over the heads of waiters. He was often brutal and rude in his speech to unoffending friends and strangers. The reproach of his being absurdly suspicious may be laid perhaps to his deafness. The son of a drunkard, he was on the whole abstemious; at the tavern he would sit apart with a glass of beer and a long pipe, and there he would brood. Of restless nature, he shifted constantly his lodgings, often with a whimsical excuse. He was fond of washing himself. He ate greedily badly cooked food whenever it occurred to him that he was hungry; and his digestion suffered thereby. He was fond of a panada with fresh eggs, macaroni sprinkled thickly with cheese of Parma, and fish. His favorite drinks were cool and pure water, and coffee which he prepared in a glass machine with extreme care, with sixty beans in a cup. It is said that in later years his table manners were beyond endurance. When he tried housekeeping for the sake of his nephew he was in continual trouble with his servants. He had little or no sense of order.

LIFE MASK OF BEETHOVEN

Taken in 1812 by Franz Klein, Beethoven being then in his forty-second year. This mask and the bust made after it by the same artist (see page [341]) are of the first importance in forming a correct judgment of the value of all portraits of Beethoven.

But the life of Beethoven, the man, was not merely a chronicle of small-beer, a record of shifting of lodgings, quarrels, rude sayings and personal discomforts. His character was a strange compound of greatness and triviality. The influence of heredity, the early unfortunate surroundings, the physical infirmity that was probably due to the sins of his fathers, the natural impatience of a man whose head was in the clouds with the petty cares of daily life:—all these unfitted him for social intercourse with the gallant world in which he was, however, a welcomed guest. He was afraid of elegance or he disdained it. Frankness, that was often another name for brutality, was dear to him, and he saw no wrong in calling men and women who talked when he played "hogs." He was proud, and his pride was offended easily. He was sure of his own work, he would therefore brook no contradiction; irritable, he was inclined to quarrel. He preferred nature to man, and was never so happy as when walking and composing in the open. In fields and woods he meditated his great compositions. Winter and summer he rose at the breaking of day and began to write, but in heat or cold, rain or sunshine, he would rush out suddenly for air. Yet dear as light and air were to him, the twilight was his favorite hour for improvising.

DEATH MASK OF BEETHOVEN

Taken by Dannhauser, March 28, 1827, two days after Beethoven's death.

He used to read the Augsburg newspaper, and he was fond of talking of politics. It was a time of political unrest. Beethoven revered the heroes of Plutarch; the leaders in the American revolution; Napoleon Bonaparte as long as he was First Consul. A bronze statue of Brutus was on his work-table. It is not necessary, then, to add that he was a republican by sentiment. He dreamed of a future when all men should be brothers, and the finale of the Ninth Symphony is the musical expression of the dream and the wish. We have seen his fondness for women. There is no proof however that he was ever under the spell of an unworthy passion. A wife was to him a sacred being; and in an age when unlimited gallantry was regarded as an indispensable characteristic of a polished gentleman, Beethoven was pure in speech and in life. He was even prudish in his desire to find an untainted libretto for his music, and he could not understand how Mozart was willing to accept the text of "Don Giovanni." He was born in the Roman Catholic faith, and just before his death he took the Sacrament; but in his life he was rather a speculative deist. His prayer book was "Thoughts on the works of God in Nature," by Sturm. It was difficult for him to separate God from Nature. Many passages in his letters show his sense of religious duty to man and God, and his trust and his humility. He copied out and kept constantly on his work-table these lines found by Champollion Figeac on an Egyptian temple:

I am that which is,

I am all that is, that has been, and that shall be; no mortal hand has lifted my veil.

He is by himself and it is to him that everything owes existence.

Although his education had been neglected sadly in his youth, he was not without literary culture. He could not write a legible hand;—indeed, he himself described his chirography as "this cursed writing that I cannot alter"; his letters are often awkwardly expressed and incorrect; but they also abound in blunt directness, in personal revelation, and in a rude and overpowering eloquence. In his reading he was first enthusiastic over Klopstock; he soon wearied of the constant longing of that poet for death and abandoned him for Goethe. He was familiar with Schiller and the German poets that were his own contemporaries. His literary idols were Homer, Plutarch, and Shakespeare. He read the latter in the translation by Eschenburg, which he preferred to that by Schlegel; this translation was in his library, and it was thumbed by incessant reading. Schindler says that Plato's "Republic" was "transfused into his flesh and blood." He was an insatiable reader of histories. At the house of Mrs. Von Breuning in Bonn he was guided in a measure by the brother of his hostess. He knew Milton, Swift and other English writers in the translations, and he was kindly disposed thereby toward England and Englishmen. It is not so easy to discover his opinions concerning music from the few works found in his library, nor would it be wise to argue from the chance collection. There was a volume of pieces taken from the compositions of Palestrina, Vittoria, Nanini and other Italians. He had but little of Sebastian Bach, who was then known chiefly as the author of "The Well-tempered Clavichord." He owned a portion of the score of "Don Giovanni" and a few of Mozart's pianoforte sonatas; he preferred, however, the sonatas of Clementi, which he praised extravagantly. He was not ashamed to call himself the pupil of Salieri. He held Gyrowetz and Weigl in sincere esteem. Prejudiced at first against Weber, who had written violent critical articles against him, he changed his opinion after a more careful examination of "Der Freischütz," in which he found "the claw of the devil" side by side with "singular things." "I see what he intends, but in reading certain pages, such as the infernal chase, I cannot help smiling. After all, the effect may be right; it is necessary to hear it; but alas, I can no longer hear!" He was undoubtedly jealous of Rossini; "Fortune gave him a pretty talent and the gift of inventing agreeable melodies"; but he thought him no better than a scene-painter and accused him of a want of learning. Of all composers he appears to have most admired Handel dead and Cherubini, his contemporary. In a letter that was written by him to that great Italian-French composer, who is too much neglected in these restless days, Beethoven assured him that he put his operas above all other works for the stage; that he took a more lively interest in one of his new compositions than in his own; that he honored and loved him; that if it were not for his deafness, he would go to Paris that he might see him; and he begged him to consider him as worthy of ranking in the number of true artists. Of Handel he said, and shortly before his death, "This is the incomparable master, the master of masters. Go to him, and learn how to produce, with few means, effects that are like a thunder-clap."

PEN AND INK SKETCH OF BEETHOVEN

As he appeared on the streets of Vienna; drawn by J.P. Lyser, probably about 1820-25.

An ancient Egyptian inscription found in a temple at Saïs, dedicated to the Goddess Neith, which impressed Beethoven so much that he copied it, as above, and kept it framed under glass on his desk.

But no collection of Beethoviana, no affidavits to the truth of anecdotes and conversations, no photographic, no phonographic record of his daily life can give a just idea of the character of this extraordinary man. Its grandeur, titanic in its aspirations, is best seen or felt in the music that was to him the true organ of speech. To comprehend, to appreciate Beethoven, the full knowledge of his compositions is necessary; and to the temperament of the composer must be added the corresponding temperament of a fit hearer. The Beethoven that has voiced the longings, the joys and the sorrows of humanity was not merely the man who walked in the streets of Vienna, not even the being to whom each tree sang the trisagion. The petty failings and the personal virtues of the individual assume in his music gigantic, supernatural proportions. In his life passion, tenderness, pride, arrogance, despair, tumultuous joy, fancy that was at times grotesque, gayety that often was clowning were strangely mingled; just as in "King Lear" the broken-hearted old man and the faithful fool defy together the raging of the elements. To the easy-going, amour-hunting citizen of Vienna Beethoven no doubt appeared, as to Rochlitz, "a very able man, reared on a desert island and suddenly brought fresh into the world," But to the faithful student of his life and works he seems one of the great high-priests of humanity. To the Beethoven of later years, shut off from the world, lonely and full of sorrow, the conceiver of unearthly music such as was never heard before, the sonorous hymn of the Opium Eater over the mystery known among men as Shakespeare might well be chanted:

"O mighty poet! Thy works are not as those of other men, simply and merely great works of art, but are also like the phenomena of nature, like the sun and the sea, the stars and the flowers, like frost and snow, rain and dew, hailstorm and thunder, which are to be studied with entire submission of our own faculties, and in the perfect faith that in them there can be no too much or too little, nothing useless or inert, but that, the farther we press in our discoveries, the more we shall see proofs of design and self-supporting arrangement where the careless eye had seen nothing but accident!"