Flowering Time of Modern Music.
BACH, HÄNDEL, HAYDN, MOZART, BEETHOVEN.
THE FUGUE AND THE SONATA.
CHAPTER XXII.
GENERAL VIEW OF MUSIC IN THE EIGHTEENTH
CENTURY.
T is not easy to characterize simply and clearly the nature of the musical development which took place during the eighteenth century. The blossoming of music was so manifold, so diversified, so irrepressible in every direction, that there was not one single province of it, wherein new and masterly creations were not brought out. The central figures of this period were those of the two Colossi, Bach and Händel; after them Haydn, the master of genial proportion and taste; Mozart, the melodist of ineffable sweetness, and finally at the end of the century, the great master, Beethoven. In opera we have the entire work of that great reformer, the Chevalier Gluck, and a succession of Italian composers who enlarged the boundaries of the Italian music-drama in every direction, but especially in the direction of the impassioned and sensational. Add to these influences, already sufficiently diversified, that of a succession of brilliant virtuosi upon the leading instruments, whereby the resources of all the effective musical apparatuses were more fully explored and illustrated, with the final result of affording the poetic composer additional means of bringing his ideas to a more effective expression—and we have the general features of a period in music so luxuriant that in it we might easily lose ourselves; nor can we easily form a clear idea of the entire movement as the expression of a single underlying spiritual impulse. Yet such in its inner apprehension it most assuredly was.
Upon the whole, all the improvements of the time arrange themselves into two categories, namely: The better proportion, contrast, and more agreeable succession of moments in art works; and, second, the more ample means for intense expression. In the department of form, indeed, there was a very important transition made between the first half of the century and the last. The typical form of the first part of this division was the fugue, which came to a perfection under the hands of Bach and Händel, far beyond anything to be found in the form previously. The fugue was the creation of this epoch, and while based upon the general idea of canonic imitation, after the Netherlandish ideal, it differed from their productions in several highly significant respects. While all of a fugue is contained within the original subject, and the counter-subject, which accompanies it at every repetition, it has an element of tonality in it which places it upon an immensely higher plane of musical art than any form known, or possible, before the obsolescence of the ecclesiastical modes. Moreover, the fugue has opportunities for episode, which enable it to acquire variety to a degree impossible for any form developed earlier; and which, when these opportunities were fresh, afforded composers a field for the display of fancy which was practically free. This, one may still realize by comparing the different fugues in Bach's "Well Tempered Clavier" with each other, and with those of any other collection. It is impossible to detect anywhere the point where the inspiration of the composer felt itself bound by the restrictions of this form. It was for Bach and Händel practically a free form. And the few other contemporaneous geniuses of a high order either experienced the same freedom in it, or found ways of evading its strictness by the production of various styles of fancy pieces, which, while conforming to the fugue form in their main features, were nevertheless free enough to be received by the musical public of that day with substantially the same satisfaction as a fantasia would have been received a century later. Roughly speaking, Bach and Händel exhausted the fugue. While Bach displayed his mental activity in almost every province of music, and like some one since, of whom it has been much less truthfully said, "touched nothing which he did not adorn," he was all his life a writer of fugues. His preludes are not fugues, and their number almost equals that of the fugues; but the operative principles were not essentially different—merely the applications of thematic development were different. Yet strange as it may seem, within thirty years from his death it became impossible to write fugues, and at the same time be free. Why was this?
A new element came into music, incompatible with fugue, requiring a different form of expression, and incapable of combination with fugue. That element was the people's song, with its symmetrical cadences and its universal intelligibility. Let the reader take any one of the Mozart sonatas, and play the first melody he finds—he will immediately see that here is something for which no place could have been found in a fugue, nor yet in its complement, the prelude of Bach's days. The same is true of many similar passages in the sonatas of Haydn. Music had now found the missing half of its dual nature. For we must know that in the same manner as the thematic or fugal element in music represents the play of musical fantasy, turning over musical ideas intellectually or seriously; so there is a spontaneous melody, into which no thought of developing an idea enters. The melody flows or soars like the song of a bird, because it is the free expression, not of musical fantasy, as such (the unconscious play of tonal fancy), but the flow of melody, song, the soaring of spirit in some one particular direction, floating upon buoyant pinions, and in directions well conceived and sure. The symmetry of the people's song follows as a natural part of the progress. The spontaneous element of the music of the northern harpers now found its way into the musical productions of the highest geniuses. Henceforth the fugue subsides from its pre-eminence, and remains possible only as a highly specialized department of the general art of musical composition, useful and necessary at times, but nevermore the expression of the unfettered fancy of the musical mind.
The discovery of the secret of musical contrast, in the types of development, the thematic and the lyric, led to the creation of a new form, in which they mutually contrast with and help each other. That form was the Sonata, which having been begun earlier, was developed further by the sons of Bach, but which received its characteristic touches from the hands of Haydn and Mozart. This was the crowning glory of the eighteenth century—the sonata. A form had been created, into which the greatest of masters was even then beginning to breathe his mighty soul, producing thereby a succession of master works, which stand without parallel in the realm of music.
CHAPTER XXIII.
JOHN SEBASTIAN BACH.
LL things considered, the most remarkable figure of this period was that of the great John Sebastian Bach, who was born at Eisenach, in Prussia, in 1685, and died at Leipsic in 1750. It is scarcely too much to say that this great man has exercised more influence upon the development of music than any other composer who has ever lived. In his own day he led a quiet, uneventful life, at first as student, then as court musician at Weimar, where he played the violin; later as organist at Arnstadt, a small village near Weimar, and still later as director of music in the St. Thomas church and school at Leipsic. In the sixty-five years of his life, Bach produced an enormous number of compositions, of which about half were in fugue form, a form which was at its prime at the beginning of this century and which Bach carried to the farthest point in the direction of freedom and spontaneity which it ever reached.
Fig. 51.
JOHN SEBASTIAN BACH.
It is the remarkable glory of Bach to have rendered his compositions indispensable to thorough mastery in three different provinces of musical effort. The modern art of violin playing rests upon two works, the six sonatas of Bach for violin solo, and the Caprices of Paganini. The former contain everything that belongs to the classical, the latter everything that belongs to the sensational. In organ playing the foundation is Bach, and Bach alone. Nine-tenths of organ playing is comprised in the Bach works. Upon the piano his influence has been little less. While it is true that at least four works are necessary for making a pianist of the modern school, viz., the "Well Tempered Clavier," of Bach; the "Gradus ad Parnassum," of Clementi; the "Studies," of Chopin, and the Rhapsodies, of Liszt, the works of Bach form, on the whole, considerably more than one-third of this preparation. Nor has the influence of Bach been confined to the province of technical instruction alone. On the contrary, all composers since his time have felt the stimulus of his great tone poems, and Mendelssohn, Schumann, Chopin and Wagner found him the most productive of great masters.
The life of Bach need not long detain us. A musician of the tenth generation, member of a family which occupies a liberal space in German encyclopedias of music, art and literature, Sebastian Bach led the life of a teacher, productive artist and virtuoso, mainly within the limits of the comparatively unimportant provincial city of Leipsic. His three wives in succession and his twenty-one children were the domestic incidents which bound him to his home. Here he trained his choir, taught his pupils, composed those master works which modern musicians try in vain to equal, and the even tenor of his life was broken in upon by very few incidents of a sensational kind. We do not understand that Bach was a virtuoso upon the violin, although no other master has required more of that greatest of musical instruments. Upon the piano and organ the case is different. Bach's piano was the clavier, upon which he was the greatest virtuoso of his time. His touch was clear and liquid, his technique unbounded, and his musical fantasy absolutely without limit. Hence in improvisation or in the performance of previously arranged numbers he never failed to delight his audience. It was the same upon the organ. The art of obligato pedal playing he brought to a point which it had never before reached and scarcely afterward surpassed. He comprehended the full extent of organ technique, and with the exception of a few tricks of quasi-orchestral imitation, made possible in modern organs, he covered the entire ground of organ playing in a manner at once solid and brilliant. Many stories are told of his capacity in this direction, but the general characterization already given is sufficient. He was a master of the first order. The common impression that he played habitually upon the full organ is undoubtedly erroneous. He made ample use of registration to the fullest extent practicable on the organs of his day.
The most remarkable feature of the career of Bach is his productivity in the line of choral works. As leader of the music in the St. Thomas church, he had under his control two organs, two choirs, the children of the school and an orchestra. For these resources he composed a succession of cantatas, every feast day in the ecclesiastical year being represented by from one to five separate works. The total number of these cantatas reaches more than 230. Some of them are short, ten or fifteen minutes long, but most of them are from thirty to forty minutes, and some of them reach an hour. Their treasures have been but imperfectly explored, although most of them are now in print. In the course of his ministrations at Leipsic he produced five great Passion oratorios for Good Friday in Holy Week. The greatest of these was the Passion of St. Matthew, so named from the source of its text. This work occupies about two hours in performance. It is in two parts, and the sermon was supposed to intervene. It consists of recitative, arias and choruses, some of which are extremely elaborate and highly dramatic. The other Passions are less fortunate. Nevertheless they contain many beautiful and highly dramatic moments. Bach's oratorios belong to the category of church works, as distinguished from those intended for concert purposes. This is seen especially in the treatment of the chorale, in which he expects the congregation to co-operate. In one direction Bach was subject to serious limitation. His knowledge of the voice, and his consideration for its convenience, were far below the standard of composers of the same time educated in Italy. In his works, while many passages are very impressive, and while the melody and harmony are always appropriate to the matter in hand, the intervals and especially the convenience of the different registers of the voice are very imperfectly considered, for which reason his works have not been performed to anything like the extent to which their musical interest would otherwise have carried them. This is especially true of the greatest of all, the Passion according to St. Matthew. It was first performed on Good Friday, 1729, in the St. Thomas church at Leipsic, and it does not appear to have been given again until 1829, when Mendelssohn brought it out. Since that time it has been given almost every year in Leipsic, and more or less frequently in all the musical centers of the world, but its elaboration is very great and its vocal treatment unsatisfactory to solo voices, for which reason it succeeds only under the inspiration of an artistic and enthusiastic leader. In fact, all the great works of Bach are more or less in the category of classics, which are well spoken of and seldom consulted. While, in Beethoven's time, the whole of the "Well Tempered Clavier" was not thought too much for an ambitious youngster, at the present time there are few pianists who play half a dozen of these pieces. The easier inventions for two parts, some of the suites, several gavottes, modernized from his violin and chamber music, and a very few of his other pieces for the clavier, are habitually played.
It would be unjust to close the account of this great artist without mentioning what we might call the prophetic element in his works. The great bulk of Bach's compositions are in two forms, the Prelude and the Fugue. The fugue came to perfection in his hands. It was an application of the Netherlandish art of canonic imitation, combined with modern tonality. In a fugue the first voice gives the subject in the tonic, the second voice answers in the dominant, the third voice comes again in the tonic, and the fourth voice, if there be one, again in the dominant. Then ensues a digression into some key upon what theorists call the dominant side, when one or two voices give out the subject and answer it again, always in the tonic and dominant of the new key. Then more or less modulating matter, thematically developed out of some leading motive of the subject, and again the principal material of the theme, with one or more answers. The final close is preceded by a more or less elaborate pedal point upon the dominant of the principal key, after which the subject comes in. With very few exceptions the fugues of Bach are in modern tonality, the major key or the modern minor, with their usual relatives.
The prelude is a less closely organized composition. Sometimes it is purely harmonic in its interest, like the first of the "Well Tempered Clavier." At other times it is highly melodic, like the preludes in C sharp major and minor of the first book of the Clavier, and, as a rule, the prelude either treats its motives in a somewhat lyric manner or dispenses with the melodic material altogether. Thus the prelude and fugue mutually complete each other. But it is a great mistake to regard Bach as a writer of fugues alone. He was also very free in fantasies, and one of his pianoforte works, concerning the origin of which nothing whatever is known, the "Chromatic Fantasia and Fugue," is one of the four or five greatest compositions that exist for this instrument. The remarkable thing about this fantasia is the freedom of its treatment and the facility with which it lends itself to virtuoso handling, as distinguished from the rather limited treatment of the piano usual in Bach's works. The second part of the fantasia is occupied by a succession of recitatives of an extremely graphic and poetic character. Melodically and harmonically these recitatives are thoroughly modern and dramatic, the latter element being very forcibly represented by the succession of diminished sevenths on which the phrases of the recitative end. The fugue following is long, highly diversified and extremely climactic in its interest. In other parts of his work Bach has left fantasies of a more descriptive character. He has, for instance, a hunting scene with various incidents of a realistic character, and in general he shows himself in his piano works a man of wide range of mind and extremely vigorous musical fantasy.
In the department of concertos for solo instruments and orchestra, his works are very rich. There are a large number for piano, quite a number for organ, several for two and three pianos, with orchestra, and various other combinations of instruments, such as two violins and 'cellos, and so on. In these each solo player has an equal chance with the other, and solos and accompaniment work together understandingly for mutual ends. The most noticeable feature of his elaborate works is the rhythm, which is vigorous, highly organized and extremely effective. In the department of harmony, it is believed by almost all close observers that no combination of tones since made by any writer is without a precedent in the works of Bach; the strange chords of Schumann and Wagner find their prototypes in the works of this great Leipsic master. Melodically considered, Bach was a genius of the highest order. Not only did he make this impression upon his own time and upon the great masters of the next two generations, but many of his airs have attained genuine popularity within the present generation, and are played with more real satisfaction than most other works that we have. This is the more remarkable because from the time of his first residence in Leipsic when he was only twenty-four years old he went out of that city but a few times, and heard very little music but his own. He was three times married, and had twenty-one children, many of whom were musical. Three of his sons became eminent, and the principal episode of his later life was his visit to Potsdam, where his son, Carl Phillip Emanuel, was musician to Frederick the Great. Here he was received with the utmost informality by the king and made to play and improvise upon all the pianos and organs in the palace and the adjacent churches. As a reminiscence of this visit he produced a fugue upon a subject given by Frederick himself, written for six real parts. This work was called the "Musical Offering," and was dedicated to Frederick the Great. In his later years Bach became blind from having over-exerted his eyes in childhood and in later life. He died on Good Friday in 1750.
CHAPTER XXIV.
GEO. FREDERICK HÄNDEL.
HE companion figure to Bach, in this epoch, was that of George Frederick Händel, who was born at the little town of Halle in the same year as Bach, 1685, and died in London in 1759. Händel's father was a physician, and although the boy showed considerable aptitude for music his father did not think favorably of his pursuing it as a vocation; but the fates were too strong for him. When George Frederick was about eight years old, he managed to go with his father to the court of the duke of Saxe Weissenfels, some distance away, where an older brother was in service. Here he obtained access to the organ in the chapel, and was overheard by the duke, who recognized the boy's talent, and, with the authority inherent in princely rank, admonished the father that on no account was he to thwart so gifted an inclination. Accordingly the youngster had lessons in music upon the clavier, the organ and the violin, the three standard instruments of the time. The older Händel died, and before he was nineteen George Frederick made his way to Hamburg, which was then one of the musical centers of Germany. Here he obtained an engagement in the theater orchestra as ripieno violin, a sort of fifth wheel in the orchestral chariot, its duty being that of filling in missing parts. The boy was then rather more than six feet high, heavy and awkward. He was an indifferent violinist, and the other players were disposed to make a butt of him, although he was known to be an accomplished harpsichordist. It happened presently, however, that the leader of the orchestra, who presided at the harpsichord, fell sick, and Händel, being at the same time the best harpsichordist and the poorest violinist of all, was placed at the head. He carried the rehearsals and the performances through with such spirit that it resulted in his being made assistant director, and two works of his were presently performed—"Almira" and "Nero." The first made a great hit and was retained in performance for several weeks. The Italian ambassador immediately recognized the talent of the young man, and offered to take him to Italy in his suite, but Händel declined, preferring to go with his own money, which, after the production of "Nero," and its successful run of several weeks, he was able to do.
Fig. 52.
GEORGE FREDERICK HÄNDEL.
1685-1759.
Accordingly we find him in Italy, in 1710, first at Naples, where he made the acquaintance of the greatest harpsichord player of that time, Domenico Scarlatti. The style of the young German was so charming, and so different from that of the great Italian player, that he immediately became a favorite, and was called Il Caro Sassone ("The dear Saxon"). He produced an opera in Naples with good success. Afterward he produced others at Rome and Venice. In a few years he was back at Hanover, where he was made musical director to the Elector George, who afterward became George I of England. Here, presently, he took a vacation in order to visit London, where he found things so much to his liking that he remained, having good employment under Queen Anne, and a public anxious to hear his Italian operas. Presently Queen Anne died and George the First came over to reign as king. This was altogether a different matter, for Händel had his unsettled account with the elector of Hanover, upon whom he had so cavalierly turned his back. The peace was finally made, however, by a set of compositions very celebrated in England under the name of "The Water Music." When King George was going from Whitehall to Westminster in his barge, Händel followed with a company of musicians, playing a succession of pieces, which the king knew well enough for a production of his truant capellmeister. Accordingly he received him once more into favor, and Händel went on with his work.
For upwards of twenty years, Händel pursued his course in London as a composer of Italian operas, of which the number reached about forty. During the greater part of his time he had his own theater, and employed the singers from Italy and elsewhere, producing his works in the best manner of his time. His operas were somewhat conventional in their treatment, but every one of them contained good points. Here and there a chorus, occasionally a recitative, now and then an aria—always something to repay a careful hearing, and occasionally a master effect, such as only genius of the first order could produce. His education during this period was exactly opposite to that of Bach. Bach lived in Leipsic all his life, and, being in a position from which only a decided fault of his own could discharge him, he consulted no one's taste but his own, writing his music from within, and adapting it to his forces in hand, or not adapting it, as it pleased him. Händel, on the other hand, had always the public. He commenced as an operatic composer. As an operatic composer he succeeded in Hamburg, and as an operatic composer he succeeded in Italy. The same career held him in London. There was always an audience to be moved, to be affected, to be pleased, and there were always singers of high talents to carry out his conceptions. Hence his whole training was in the direction of smoothness, facility, pleasing quality. Nevertheless, there came an end to the popularity of Händel. A most shabby pasticcio called the "Beggar's Opera," was the immediate cause of his downfall. This queer compilation was made up of old ballad tunes, with hastily improvised words, and the merest thread of a story, and included some tunes of Händel's own. This being produced at an opposition house, took the town. The result was that Händel was bankrupted for the second time, owing more than £75,000.
Some time before this he had held the position of private musical director to the earl of Chandos, who had a chapel in connection with his palace, a short distance out of London, as it then was. In this place Händel had already produced a number of elaborate anthems and one oratorio—"Esther." In the stress of his present circumstances, after a few weeks, he remembered the oratorio of "Esther," and immediately brought it out in an enlarged form. The effect was enormous. Whatever the English taste might be for opera, for oratorio their recognition was irrepressible. "Esther" brought him a great deal of money, and he presently wrote other oratorios with such good effect that in a very few years he had completely paid up the enormous indebtedness of his operatic ventures. At length, in 1741, he composed his master work—the "Messiah." This epoch-marking composition was improvised in less than a fortnight, a rate of speed calling for about three numbers per day. The work was produced in Dublin for charitable purposes. It had the advantage of a text containing the most beautiful and impressive passages of Scripture relating to the Messiah, a circumstance which no doubt inspired the beauty of the music, and added to the early popularity of the work. In later times it is perhaps not too much to say that the music has been equally useful to the text, in keeping its place in the consciousness of successive generations of Christians. In this beautiful master work we have the result of the whole of Händel's training. The work is very cleverly arranged in a succession of recitatives, arias and choruses, following each other in a highly dramatic and effective manner. There are certain passages in the "Messiah" which have never been surpassed for tender and poetic expression. Among these are the "Behold and See if There Be Any Sorrow Like His Sorrow," "Come unto Him," and "He was Despised." In the direction of sublimity nothing grander can be found than the "Hallelujah," "Worthy is the Lamb," "Lift up Your Heads," nor anything more dramatically impressive than the splendid burst at the words, "Wonderful," "Counsellor." The work, as a whole, while containing mannerisms in the roulades of such choruses as "He shall Purify," and "For unto Us," marks the highest point reached in the direction of oratorio; for, while Händel himself surpassed its sublimity in "Israel in Egypt," and Bach its dramatic qualities in the thunder and lightning chorus in the St. Matthew Passion; and Mendelssohn its melodiousness in his "Elijah"; for a balance of good qualities, and for even and sustained inspiration throughout, the "Messiah" is justly entitled to the rank which, by common consent, it holds as the most complete master work which oratorio can show.
In the "Israel in Egypt" Händel illustrates a different phase of his talent. This curious work is composed almost entirely of choruses, the most of which are for two choirs, very elaborately treated. Among them all, the two which perhaps stand out pre-eminent are "The Horse and His Rider" and the "Hailstone," two colossal works, as dramatic as they are imposing. The masterly effect of the Händelian chorus rests upon the combination of good qualities such as no other master has accomplished to the same extent. They are extremely well written for the voice, with an accurate appreciation of the effect of different registers and masses, the melodic ideas are smooth and vigorous, and the harmonic treatment as forcible as possible, without ever controlling the composer further than it suited his artistic purpose to go. Bach very often commences a fugue which he feels obliged to finish, losing thereby the opportunity of a dramatic effect. Händel perfects his fugue only when the dramatic effect will be improved by so doing, and in this respect he makes a distinct gain over his great contemporary at Leipsic. The total list of the Händel works comprises the following: Two Italian oratorios; nineteen English oratorios; five Te Deums; six psalms; twenty anthems; three German operas; one English opera; thirty-nine Italian operas; two Italian serenatas, two English serenatas; one Italian intermezzo, "Terpsichore"; four odes; twenty-four chamber duets; ninety-four cantatas; seven French songs; thirty-three concertos; nineteen English songs; sixteen Italian airs; twenty-four sonatas.
Händel was never married; nor, so far as we know, ever in love. He had among his friends some of the most eminent writers of his day, such as Addison, Pope, Dean Swift and others. His later years were so successful that when he died his fortune of above £50,000 was left for charitable purposes. This was after he had paid all of the indebtedness incurred in his earlier bankruptcy. It would be a mistake to dismiss this great master without some notice of his harpsichord and organ playing. As a teacher of the princesses of the royal family, he produced many suites and lessons for the harpsichord, in one of which, as an unnoticed incident, occur the air and variations since so universally popular under the name of "The Harmonious Blacksmith." It is not known to whom the composer was indebted for the name generally applied to this extremely broad air, and clever variations. Very likely some music publisher was the unknown poet. As an organist Händel was both great and popular. In the middle of his oratorios he used to play an organ concerto with orchestra. Of these compositions he wrote a very large number. They are always fresh and hearty in style, well written for organ, and with a very flowing pedal part. Händel appears to have played the pedals upon a somewhat different plan from that of Bach. Bach is generally supposed to have used his toes for the most part, employing the heel only for an occasional note where the toes were insufficient. Händel seems to have used toe and heel habitually in almost equal proportion.
It is a curious feature of the later part of Händel's career that he brought out his oratorios in costume. Several of the original bills are extant, in which an oratorio is promised "with new cloathes." "Esther" is said to have been given with complete stage appointment at Chandos, like an opera; but the Lord Chamberlain prohibited future representations of the kind on account of the supposed sacredness of the subject. Afterward the characters were costumed, and the stage set, but there was no action. While Händel was German by birth, his long residence in England and his habitual writing for the last ten or fifteen years of his life oratorios in the English language, made him, to all intents and purposes, an English composer. For nearly a century he stood to the English school as a model of everything that was good and great, to such an extent that very little of original value was accomplished in that country, and when, by lapse of time and a deeper self-consciousness on the part of English musicians, this influence had begun to wane, a new German composer came in the person of Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy, who, in turn, became a popular idol, and for many years a barrier to original effort.
The influence of Händel upon the later course of music is by no means so marked as that of Bach. Nevertheless, he was one of the great tone poets of all times, and his works form an indispensable part of the literature of music. It was his good fortune to embody certain types of melody and harmony with a clearness and effectiveness that no other composer has equaled. The oratorio, in particular, not only fulfilled itself in Händel, but we might almost say completed itself there, for very little of decided originality has been produced in this department since. The Händelian operas have been mostly forgotten for many years, but they contain gems of melody in the solo and chorus parts which have still a future. His first opera, "Almira," was revived at Hamburg a few years ago with remarkable effect, and it is not at all unlikely that extracts from many of the other works will eventually find their way into the current repertory of the singer, as many of the arias already have.
CHAPTER XXV.
EMANUEL BACH; HAYDN; THE SONATA.
I.
ONE of the sons of Bach inherited the commanding genius of their father, although four of them showed talent above the average of musicians of their day, and one of them distinguished himself and exercised an important influence upon the subsequent course of pianoforte music. The most gifted of Bach's sons was Wilhelm Friedmann, the eldest (1710-1784), who was especially educated by his father for a musician. He turned out badly, however, his enormous talents not being able to save him from the natural consequences of a dissolute life. He died in Berlin in the greatest degradation and want. This Bach wrote comparatively few compositions, owing to his invincible repugnance to the labor of putting them upon paper; he was famous as an improviser, and certain pieces of his in the Berlin library are considered to manifest musical gifts of a high order. Johann Christian (1735-1782), the eleventh son, known as the Milanese or London Bach, devoted himself to the lighter forms of music, and after having served some years as organist of the cathedral at Milan, and having distinguished himself by certain operas successfully produced in Italy, he removed to London, where he led an easy and enjoyable life. He was an elegant and fluent writer for the pianoforte. The one son of Bach who is commonly regarded as having left a mark upon the later course of music was Carl Philip Emanuel (1714-1788), the third son, commonly known as the Berlin or Hamburg Bach. His father intended him for a philosopher, and had him educated accordingly in the Leipsic and Frankfort universities, but his love for music and the thorough grounding in it he had at home eventually determined him in this direction. While in the Frankfort University he conducted a singing society, which naturally led to his exercising himself in composition. Presently he gave up law for music, and going to Berlin he obtained an appointment as "Kammer-musiker" to Frederick the Great, his especial business being that of accompanying the king in his flute concertos. The seven years' war having put an end to these duties, he migrated to Hamburg, where he held honorable appointments as organist and conductor until his death. He wrote in a tasteful and free, but somewhat superficial, style; and while his compositions bear favorable comparison with those of other musicians of his time, they are by no means of a commanding nature like those of his father. There were, however, two reasons for this, wholly aside from the question of less ability in the younger composer. One of these is to be found in the free form which Emanuel Bach began to develop. Sebastian Bach had the advantage of writing his greatest works in a form which had been prepared for him, without having been exhausted. The technique of fugue had been created before his time, but its possibilities in the direction of freedom and spontaneity had never been illustrated. Bach proceeded to do this for the fugue form, and, it may be added, did it with such amplitude that no composer has been able to write a free and original fugue since. The son recognizing both that the fugue had been exhausted as a free art-form, and feeling no doubt that something more intuitively intelligible than fugue was possible, addressed himself to composition in the free style, in which the means of producing effects had not yet been mastered. The thematic use of material had been acquired, or was easily inferable from the fugue, but the proper manner of contrasting that material with other, calculated to relieve the attention and at the same time intensify the interest, remained for later explorers. The missing contrast was the lyric element, but it was not until the next generation of composers that it came into pianoforte music in satisfactory form. Accordingly the sonatas of Emanuel Bach sound dry and superficial, and while they are interesting as the remote models upon which Beethoven occasionally built, they do not repay study for the purposes of public performance. There is little heart in them. As a literary musician Bach deserves to be remembered for his work upon "The True Art of Playing the Piano." This was the first systematic instruction book for the instrument of which we have a record, and it still is the main dependence for information concerning the method of Bach's playing, and the way in which he intended the embellishments in his works to be performed.
II.
In the little village of Rohrau, in Austria, was born to a master wheelwright's wife, in 1732, a little son, dark-skinned, not large of frame, nor handsome, but gifted with that most imperishable of endowments, a genius for melody and tonal symmetry. The baby was named Francis Joseph, and he grew to the age of about six in the family of his parents, in a little house which although twice somewhat rebuilt, still stands in its original form. Hither people come from many lands in order to see the birthplace of the great composer Haydn, the indefatigable and simple-hearted tone poet of many symphonies, sonatas, and the two favorite cantatas or oratorios, the "Creation" and the "Seasons." In his earliest childhood the boy showed a talent for music, which, as his parents both sang and played a little, he had often an opportunity of hearing. Before he was quite six years old he was able to stand up in the choir of the village church and lead in solos, with his sweet and true, if not strong, voice. This was his delight. At length George Reutter, the director of the music in the cathedral of St. Stephen at Vienna, heard him, and offered the boy a place in his choir. Now indeed his fortune seemed made, and he embraced the offer with gratitude. As a choir boy he ought to have been taught music in a thorough manner, but as Reutter was rather a careless man this did not happen in Haydn's case, but the boy grew up in his own devices. He composed constantly, without having had the slightest regular training. One day Reutter saw one of his pieces, a mass movement for twelve parts. He offered the passing advice, that the composer would have done better to have taken two voices, and that the best exercise for him would be to write "divisions" (variations) upon the airs he sang in the service—but no instruction. At length the boy's voice began to break, and at the age of fourteen or fifteen, he was turned out to shift for himself. He found an asylum in the house of a wig maker, Keller, with whom he lived for several years, earning small sums by lessons, playing the organ at one of the churches, the violin at another, singing at another and so on, in all managing to place himself upon the road to fortune—that of industry and sobriety. This part of his career lasted from 1748, when he left the choir of the cathedral, to 1752, when he became accompanist to the Italian master, Porpora, who was then living in Vienna in the house of an Italian lady, whose daughter's education he was superintending. With Porpora he learned the art of singing, and the proper manner of accompanying the voice. He also got many hints in regard to the correct manner of composing. He had already produced a number of works in various styles. In 1759 he was appointed conductor of the music at the palace of Count Morzin, where he had a small number of musicians under his direction, only sixteen in all. Here he began his life work. Two years later he was invited to assume the assistant directorship of the private orchestra and choir of Prince Esterhazy, who lived in magnificent style, and for many years had maintained a private musical chapel. Very soon the old prince died, and his son reigned in his place. The new master was the one named "The Magnificent," and greatly enlarged the musical appointment of his predecessor. He built a great palace at Esterhaz, where there was a theater, in which opera was given, and a smaller one where there was a marionette company, the machinery of which had been brought to great perfection. There were frequent concerts. The prince was a great amateur of the peculiar viol called the barytone, and it was one of Haydn's duties to provide new compositions for this instrument. Here for thirty years he continued in service, with few interruptions, and always on the very best of terms with his prince, and with the men under him. The players called Haydn "Papa."
Fig. 53.
Owing to its situation, remote from town, and to the prince's constantly increasing aversion to living in Vienna, Haydn scarcely left the vicinity for years together. Here, wholly from within his own resources, he evolved a succession of works in every style, and for almost every possible combination of instruments, from operas for the large theater, to marionette music for the small place, orchestral compositions, among which the 175 symphonies form a not inconsiderable portion; there are also concertos for many kinds of instruments, and songs, masses, divertissements and the like. In short, there is scarcely any form of music which Haydn did not have to make at some time or other in his long service in the Esterhazy establishment. Being his own orchestral director, he had the opportunity of trying and experimenting and of realizing what would be effective and what would not. The motive mainly operative in his work, necessarily, was that of pleasing and amusing. Nobler intentions were not wanting, but the pleasing element had to be considered in most that he did. Thus he developed a style of his own, original, becoming, with a certain taste and symmetry, and with a melodious element which never loses its charm. Withal he became very clever in his treatment of themes. It was a saying of his that the "idea" did not matter at all; "treatment is everything." From this standpoint it is impossible to deny Haydn the credit of having accomplished his ideal.
He commenced his musical career as a violinist and a singer. His orchestral symphonies were for violins (for strings), with occasional seasoning from the brass and wood wind. The constant study of the violin led to modifications in his style, and evolved first, the string quartette in the form which has always remained standard. The symphonies are only larger string quartettes, for, in the order of the themes, the general manner of treating them and the principles of contrast or relief which actuated them, the quartettes are sonatas, as also are the symphonies. Haydn gave the sonata form its present shape. The insertion of a second theme in the first movement, and the principle of contrasting this second theme with the first in such a way that the second theme is generally lyric in style, or at least tending in that direction, was Haydn's. He also developed the middle part of the sonata into what is known as the "elaboration," "Durchführungssatz". The cantabile slow movement, modeled somewhat after the Italian cantilena, was his. Mozart and Beethoven did wonders with it later, but the suggestion was Haydn's. The endless productivity, the constant succession of new pieces demanded, led to a somewhat systematic proceeding in their production, and so the form and the method of the sonata became stereotyped. All the instrumental movements of this time, whenever there was any serious intention, assumed the form of sonatas; i.e., of the instrumental sonatas—the symphony and the quartette.
At length Haydn's master died, and he accepted an invitation from Salamon, the publisher, to London, where he produced several new symphonies, conducted many concerts and returned to Vienna richer by about $6,000 than when he had left his home a few months before. He had become a great master, known all over the world, without himself knowing it. If any man ever woke up and found himself famous, Haydn was that man, although he had been in the way of having his compositions played and sung before most of the important personages in Europe for years, Prince Esterhazy being a royal entertainer. It was for Madrid that Haydn composed his first Passion oratorio, "The Last Seven Words." This work, by a curious chance, he made over into an instrumental piece for his London concerts, the prejudice against "popery" preventing its being given there in its original form. In 1794 he was again in London. Upon the first visit to London he took the journey down the Rhine, and at Bonn, in going or coming, the young Beethoven showed him a new cantata. In 1794 he was again in London, where the same success attended him as before. He produced many new works, and was royally entertained. Again he went home richer by many thousands of dollars than when he set out. With his savings he purchased a house in the suburbs of Vienna, where he lived the remainder of his life, dying in 1809. It was during these last years that he wrote his two oratorios already mentioned. That by which he is best known is the "Creation," which is a master work indeed, if only we do not look in it for too much of the distinctly religious or sublime. It belongs to the pleasing in art, and certain of its numbers are worthy of Italian opera, so sweetly melodious are they, yet ever refined and beautiful. Of this kind are the solo arias, "On Mighty Pens," the famous "With Verdure Clad," the lovely trio, "Most Beautiful Appear." Several choruses in this work are really splendid. At the head of the list I would place the two choruses, "Achieved Is the Glorious Work," with the beautiful trio between, "On Thee Each Living Soul Awaits." The development of the fugue in the second chorus is masterly and effective indeed. Everybody knows "The Heavens are Telling," which, however, has rather more reputation than it deserves. The English have made much of Haydn's descriptive music in the accompanied recitatives. This part of his work, however, was but clever when first written, and now, through the enormous development which this part of musical composition has since reached, is little more than childish. Withal, the "Creation" is not difficult. It can be rendered effectively with moderate resources. This fact, added to its many charming and engaging qualities, has insured its popularity in all parts of the musical world. It bids fair to remain for amateur societies for many years yet.
As a tone poet Haydn belonged by no means to the first rank—at least in so far as the inherent weight and range of his ideas is concerned. His one claim to musical fame rests upon his graceful manner of treating a musical idea, and upon the readiness of his invention in contrasting his themes, to which may be added the sweet and genial flavor of his music, which in every line shows a pure and childlike spirit, simple, unaffected, yet deep and true. It was his good fortune to stand to Mozart and Beethoven in the rôle of master. Both were in many ways his superiors, yet both revered him, the one until his own life went out in the freshness of his youth; the other until when an old man, having stood upon the very Pisgah tops of the tone world, full of honors, he spoke of the old master, Haydn, with affection, in his very last days. Higher testimony than this it would be impossible to quote. For, in the nature of the case, the composer, Haydn, can never be judged again by musicians and poets who know so well his aims and the value of what he accomplished as the two Vienna masters, Mozart and Beethoven, who were younger than he, yet not too young to understand the condition of the musical world into which Haydn had been born, and the musical world as it had become from his living in it.
CHAPTER XXVI.
MOZART AND HIS GENIUS.
NE of the most engaging personalities, and at the same time one of the most highly gifted, versatile and richly endowed geniuses who ever adorned the art of music, was that of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart (1756-1791). He was a son of the violin player and musician, Leopold Mozart, living at Salzburg. At an extremely early age he showed his love for music by listening to the lessons of his sister. By the time he was four, his father commenced to give him lessons, and when he was less than five years old he was discovered one day making marks upon music paper, which he stoutly maintained belonged to a concerto. The statement was received with incredulity, but upon carefully examining the manuscript it was found correctly written, and sensible; but so difficult as to be impossible to play. Upon the boy's attention being called to this, he replied, "I call it a concerto because it is so difficult; they should practice it until they can play it." In childhood, and indeed all through life, his ear was very sensitive. He could not bear to hear the sound of a trumpet, and upon his father seeking to overcome his nervousness by having a trumpet blown in the room, it threw him into convulsions. The boy was of a most active mind, interested in everything that went on about him, and eager to learn in every direction. Nothing came amiss, arithmetic, grammar and language—he was immediately at home in any subject which he took up. Music was intuitive to him. So remarkable was his progress, that when he was yet but six years old his father began to travel with him. Their first journey was to Munich, where the elector received them kindly. The programmes consisted of improvisations by the youthful Mozart upon themes assigned by the audience; pieces for violin and piano, the father taking the violin part, and the sister in turn played piano pieces. The father was a good violinist and the author of an excellent school for that instrument. He also composed many ambitious works, which rise above the capellmeister average. Highly gratified with their reception at Munich, they went on to Vienna, where again they were cordially received, the emperor especially being highly delighted with the "little magician," as he called the promising boy. Even at this early age Mozart had a distinct idea of his own authority in music, although no one could be freer than he from the charge of self-conceit. In Vienna, he asked expressly for Wagenseil, the court composer, that he might be sure of having a real connoisseur among his hearers. "I am playing a concerto of yours," he said, "you must turn over for me." The ladies of the aristocracy went wild over the fascinating young fellow, but presently he had an attack of scarlet fever, which brought the tour to an end. After the return to Salzburg, the practice went on every day, and regular lessons in books, as they had during the journey; and, when he was still less than nine years of age, the family undertook a longer tour to Paris, playing at all the important towns on the way. In several of the cities, Wolfgang played the violin, and also the organ in the churches. At Paris they had a remarkable success, playing before the court at Versailles, and in many of the houses of the nobility. Here the father had four of the boy's sonatas for piano and violin engraved and published. The stay at Paris lasted five months, until November 10, 1764, when they departed for London. Here they met a favorable reception at court, the king, George III, taking a great interest in the wonderful young master. He put before him pieces of Bach, Wagenseil and Händel, which he played at sight. On the fifth of June they gave a concert in Spring Gardens, where their receipts were as much as 100 guineas. His next appearance was as an organist for the benefit of a charity. The father having taken cold, was ill for some time, during which time, as the boy was unable to play on the piano, he wrote his first symphony, and the year following three others. Before leaving London they visited the British Museum, and in memory of his visit Wolfgang composed a four-part quartette, and presented the autograph to the museum.
Fig. 54.
CONCERT BY THE MOZART FAMILY. THE LITTLE WOLFGANG AT THE PIANO.
[From a painting by Carmontil, 1763.]
Without pausing to trace the concert career of the young virtuoso it must suffice to say, that by the time he was twelve years old, he had become favorably known in every court of southern Europe. His talent had been illustrated in many different ways, and tested by the most severe masters. One of the most celebrated cases of this kind happened at Bologna, where the Philharmonic Academy received him as a member, after his passing the usual severe test, over which the famous master, Padre Martini, presided. The conditions of membership required the candidate to write an elaborate motette in six parts, founded upon a melody assigned from the Roman Antiphonarium, the work to conform to the strictest rules, with double counterpoint and fugue. In consequence of the nervous feeling due to the limit of time allowed, candidates very often failed. Mozart, however, took his paper in the cheerful frame of mind which everywhere distinguished him, and was duly locked up. In less than three-quarters of an hour he rapped at his door and asked to be let out. The authorities sent him word not to be discouraged, but to keep on trying, as he had yet three hours, and might accomplish it. They were greatly astonished on finding that he had already finished, having produced a complete master work, abundantly up to all requirements, the whole written in his peculiarly neat and accurate manner.
His compositions had already reached the number of eighty, including a number of symphonies. It was now late in the year 1771, and at Milan Wolfgang set seriously to work upon his opera, which was produced December 26 and repeated to full houses twenty times, the author himself conducting it. This was "Mitridate, Re di Ponto." The year following he composed two other operas for Italy, and several symphonies, so that when his new opera of "Lucio Silla" was performed in Milan October 24, 1772, the number of his works had reached 135. From 1773 to 1777 Mozart remained at Salzburg, with occasional journeys to Vienna and other cities, always pursuing a life of unflagging industry. The number of his works had increased by the end of this period to upwards of 250, including an immense variety of pieces of chamber music, symphonies, two or three operas, a number of masses, and the like. He was now twenty-one years old, and since the age of fourteen he had been assistant conductor at Salzburg in the service of the prince archbishop, who was a small-souled man, wholly unworthy the service which Mozart rendered him. There is at least a small satisfaction in remembering that the archbishop himself had a distinct impression of the dis-esteem in which he was held by his talented young musical conductor.
With the attainment of his majority the second period in the life of this great genius began. Unable to obtain permission from the shabby prelate for father and son to go together upon an artistic tour, the father at length decided to send the young man out with his mother, and in September, 1777, the two started for Paris, traveling in their own carriage with post horses. Their plan was to give a concert at every promising town, taking whatever time might be necessary for working it up in due form. In this way their journey was considerably prolonged by delays at Munich, Mannheim and Augsburg. At Mannheim, especially, the incidents of the tour were varied by Mozart's falling in love with the charming daughter of the theatrical prompter and copyist, a promising singer, who afterward married happily in quite a different quarter. At Paris things did not turn out quite so favorably as the father had anticipated. Most afflicting of all, the mother fell sick there, and died, so that the son left Paris in September for home with a far heavier heart than when he entered it. During the most of 1779 and 1780 he remained at Salzburg, fulfilling his duties as assistant conductor. Then came his first opera in Germany, "Idomeneo, Re di Creta," produced at Munich January 29, 1781. The success of this work was so decided that it determined Mozart's career as an operatic composer. A few months later he quarreled with the archbishop, and the unpleasant connection came to an end. His second opera, "Die Entführung aus dem Serail" ("The Elopement from the Seraglio"), was produced at Vienna July 16, 1782. This was his first opera in German. In August of this year he was married to Constance Weber, younger sister of her who had first enchanted him. The marriage was congenial in many ways, but as the wife was incapable in money matters and administration, and Mozart himself careless as a business man, and in receipt of a small and irregular income, they soon found themselves in a sea of little troubles, from which the struggling artist was nevermore free. Only at the last moment, when indeed his life was all but extinct, did the clouds disappear, and a prospect open before him, which if he had lived to enjoy it, would have placed his remaining days in easy circumstances. In 1785 the father visited his son in Vienna, and upon one of the first days of his stay, there was a little dinner party at Mozart's house, with Haydn and the two Barons Todi. In his letter home, Leopold Mozart says that Haydn said to him: "I declare to you, before God, as a man of honor, that your son is the greatest composer that I know, either personally or by reputation; he has taste, and beyond that the most consummate knowledge of composition." In return for this compliment Mozart dedicated to Haydn six string quartettes, with a laudatory preface, in which he says that it was "but his due, for from Haydn I first learned to compose a quartette." Mozart was an enthusiastic Freemason, and through his influence his father, who had always previously opposed the order, became a member, during this visit at Vienna. Soon afterward the father died. For the lodge Mozart wrote much music, both of a liturgical character and for concerts, and special entertainments, and in the "Magic Flute" there are many reminiscences of the order.
A year later he made the acquaintance of the celebrated librettist, Lorenzo da Ponte, who proposed to adapt Beaumarchais' comedy, "The Marriage of Figaro," which after some difficulty in obtaining the consent of the emperor, on account of the objectionable character of the story, was done, and the work produced at Vienna, May 1, 1786. The theater was crowded, and many airs were repeated, until at later performances the emperor prohibited encores. A pleasing scene took place at the last dress rehearsal. Kelly, who took the parts of Don Basilio and of Don Curzio, writes: "Never was anything more complete than the triumph of Mozart and his 'Marriage of Figaro,' to which numerous overflowing audiences bore witness. Even at the first full band rehearsal, all present were roused to enthusiasm, and when Benucci came to the fine passage 'Cherubino Alla Vittoria, Alla Gloria Militar,' which he gave with stentorian lungs, the effect was electric, for the whole of the performers on the stage, and those in the orchestra, as if actuated by one feeling of delight, vociferated 'Bravo, Bravo, Maestro. Viva, Viva, grande Mozart.' Those in the orchestra I thought would never have ceased applauding, by beating the bows of their violins against their music desks. And Mozart, I never shall forget his little animated countenance. When lighted up with the glowing rays of genius, it is as impossible to describe it as it would be to paint sunbeams." Yet the success did not improve his position in money affairs. Soon afterward, however, he was invited to Prague, to see the success his beautiful work was making there. He was entertained handsomely, and found the town wild with delight, at the novelty, the spontaneity and charming quality of his music. He also gave two concerts there, which were brilliantly successful, and having been many times recalled he sat down at the piano and improvised for half an hour, the audience resisting every effort he made to stop. After returning to Vienna he obtained another libretto from Da Ponte, that of "Don Giovanni," which was produced at Prague, October 29, 1787. It is told, as a characteristic incident of Mozart's method of working, that the overture of this opera had not been written until the night before the performance. At every suggestion Mozart answered, tapping his forehead, "I have it all here." But not a line had been written. Late at night he set about writing it. His wife made him some punch, of which he was very fond, and sat with him telling him fairy stories, in order to keep him awake. Early in the morning the overture was finished, and after being copied it was played prima vista at night, with grand success. In response to repeated appeals for court recognition, Mozart was made chamber composer, with a salary of about $400, which he pronounced, "Too much for what I produce; too little for what I might produce." "Don Giovanni" was not given in Vienna until May, 1788.
Fig. 55.
MOZART, AT THE AGE OF THIRTY-THREE.
[From a drawing by Dora Stock, a friend of Schiller, 1789. (Grove.)]
His pecuniary circumstances continued desperate but there were certain incidents of an artistic kind which afforded the struggling genius a meager consolation. One Van Swieten, director of the royal library, who was a great amateur of classical chamber music, held meetings every Sunday for the rehearsal of works of this class. Mozart sat at the piano. For these occasions he arranged several of the fugues of Bach's "Well Tempered Clavier," for string quartette. The year following the practices took on larger proportions, a subscription having been made to provide for giving oratorios with chorus and orchestra. Mozart conducted, and Weigl took the pianoforte. It was for performances of this club, that Mozart added the wind parts to certain works of Händel. They gave "Acis and Galatea" (November, 1778), the "Messiah" (March, 1779), "Ode to St. Cæcilia's Day" and "Alexander's Feast" (July, 1790). Space forbids our following his later career beyond mentioning the chief incidents in a life where sadness had larger and larger place, when nevertheless the great master was pouring out his most noble and beautiful strains of melody and tonal delight. A visit to Berlin resulted in receptions at court, at Potsdam, where the truthful composer replied to the king's question, how he liked his band, that: "It contains great virtuosi, but if the gentlemen would play together they would make a better effect"—a remark which has been appropriate to many later orchestras. The king apparently laid the remark to heart, and offered Mozart the post of director, with a salary of 3,000 thalers, almost equal to the same number of our dollars. It would have been well for Mozart if he had accepted this liberal offer; but his answer was, "How can I abandon my good emperor?"—certainly an affection most misplaced.
Fig. 56.
MOZART.
[From the Lange painting.]
The list of the Mozart operas was closed with the "Magic Flute," produced September 30, 1783, which at first was not so successful as most of his previous works, but which continued to improve upon hearing, until at length it reached the estimation which it has ever since held, as one of the most characteristic and interesting of all his works. He had already begun upon his "Requiem," which had been mysteriously ordered of him by a messenger, who declined to state the object for which the work was intended. It is now ascertained that the unknown patron was a Count Walsegg, an amateur desirous of being thought a great composer. It was his intention to have performed the work as his own. Mozart was now in low spirits, worn out with work, late hours and financial worry. The mystery of the "Requiem" preyed on his imagination none the less that he felt that in it he was writing some of his noblest and best thoughts. He said: "I am sure that this will be my own requiem." Nothing could dissuade him from the idea. It returned again and again. At length he fell ill, poisoned, as he thought, by some envious rival. No one knows whether there was anything in the notion that actual poison had been administered, although there were rivals who had been heard to wish that he were out of the way. Without having quite finished the "Requiem" he breathed his last December 5, 1791. His premonition proved correct. The "Requiem" was given at his own funeral.
This account of the life of Mozart has hardly the merit of an outline, for within the short thirty-five years of his earthly existence this great master produced a variety of works in every province of music, greater than that produced by any other of the great masters, scarcely excepting the indefatigable and long-lived Händel.
It is extremely difficult to assign Mozart a definite place in the musical Pantheon without praising him too highly on the one hand, or going to the other extreme and belittling his genius by pointing out the evident fact that noble, beautiful, sprightly, sweet and charming as were his compositions, he has not left so large an influence upon the later course of music as quite a number of artists apparently his inferiors. His influence in music was largely temporary, but none the less indispensable to musical progress. To the neat and symmetrical periods of the Haydn symphony and sonata, with their fresh, thematic treatment, Mozart added a tender grace and sweetness like the conceptions of a Raphael in painting. He was the apostle of melody. If he had never written, the art of music would have remained something quite different from what we know it. And wherever there are lovers of refined, noble melody, there will the music of Mozart be loved. Moreover, in his best symphonies, such as the one in G minor, and the "Jupiter" in C, there is a boldness and freedom of flight which Beethoven scarcely surpassed. He was at his best as a composer of operas. He was one of the fathers of the artistic song, with music for every stanza differing according to the sentiment of the words; and while the dramatic coloration is not forgotten in his operas, they are a constant flow of charming, inexhaustible melody, which sings most divinely. In short, taking his works through and through, Mozart was what, in the words of Mr. Matthew Arnold, we might call the composer of "sweetness and light." His music glows with the radiance of immortal beauty.
CHAPTER XXVII.
BEETHOVEN AND HIS WORKS.
HE labors of Haydn and Mozart in the rich field of instrumental music were followed immediately by those of Ludwig van Beethoven, who was born at the little town of Bonn, on the Rhine, about twenty miles above Cologne, in 1770. He died at Vienna, 1827. The years between these dates were filled with labor and inspiration, beyond those of any other master. Beethoven's place in music is at the head. Whether he or Bach ought to be reckoned the very greatest of all the great geniuses who have appeared in music, is a question which might be discussed eternally without ever being settled. Considered merely as an artist capable of transforming musical material in an endless variety of ways, he would perhaps be placed somewhat lower than Bach; but considered as a tone poet gifted with the faculty of making hearers feel as he felt, and see as he saw (with the inner eyes of tonal sense), no master ought to be placed above him. This is the general opinion now, of all the world. Taine, the French critic, in his work on art, names four great souls belonging to the highest order of genius—Dante, Shakespeare, Michael Angelo and Beethoven. The company is a good one, and Beethoven rightfully belongs in it. His early life was wholly different from that of the gifted Mozart. He was the son of a dissipated tenor singer, and his mother was rather an incapable person. When the boy was about eleven years old he began to play the viola in the orchestra. He was already a good pianist, and it was said of him that he was able to play nearly the whole of the "Well Tempered Clavier" by heart, and at the age of eleven and a half he was left in charge during Neefe's absence, as deputy organist. His improvisations had already attracted attention, and when he was a little past twelve he was made assistant musical conductor (cembalist), having to prepare the operas, adapt them to the orchestra and the players of the theater, and sometimes to train the whole company for several months together, while Neefe, the director, was away. All this without salary. In this practical school of adversity the boy grew up, arranging continually, training the orchestra, adapting music and composing—for he began this very soon; in fact, we have certain sonatinas of his, composed while he was but ten years old.
He was direct in his speech, almost to rudeness, not, like Mozart, attractive in his personal appearance, and rather awkward in society, where he was continually breaking things, upsetting the water, the ink, or whatever liquid was in his way. Nevertheless, there must have been something attractive about this young man of independent manners, for very early in life, and all the way through it, he made friends with the aristocracy. Count Waldstein, a few years his senior, to whom he afterward dedicated the so-called "Waldstein" sonata, Opus 53, in C, early became interested in him, hired a piano for him and sent it to his room, that he might have opportunity to practice. There was a family of Von Breunings in Bonn, consisting of the mother, three boys and a daughter, where the young Beethoven often stayed for several days together. This was one of the most refined families in town, and it was here that the unfortunate young Beethoven got his first glimpses of a true home life, and his first realization of the refining influence of woman's society. He learned English in order that he might be able to read Shakespeare in the original. He also learned a little Italian and French. In short, the boy appears at good advantage from every point of view, except from that of mere appearance. This life of labor and responsibility was broken in upon when he was about seventeen (in 1787). He was sent to Vienna, and there is a tradition that he played there before Mozart, who is reported to have prophesied favorably concerning him. There is very little left us concerning his first visit to the great Austrian capital, then, as ever since, the home of music. He was soon back again in Bonn, and there for yet another year and a half he went on with his work. His mother dying, he had no longer any responsibility to retain him there, so when he was about twenty-one he set out again for Vienna, where all the remainder of his life was spent. At Vienna he immediately began to give concerts, in which his piano playing was the main feature, and his improvising upon themes presented by the audience. This art always remained one of his great distinctions—the surest proof of genius, the possession of musical fantasy, in which every thought immediately suggests something else. He devoted himself to serious study of counterpoint and composition under the instruction of Haydn at first, but later with Albrechtsberger. His two great elements of power at this period were his playing and his improvising. Czerny says: "His improvisation was most brilliant and striking; in whatever company he might chance to be, he knew how to produce such an effect upon every hearer that frequently not an eye remained dry, while many would break out into loud sobs; for there was something wonderful about his expression, in addition to the beauty and originality of his ideas, and his spirited manner of rendering them."
The limits of the present work do not admit of following the career of this great master in the detail which would otherwise be desirable. It must suffice to mention the more salient features. Contrary to the precedent established by Mozart, Beethoven was in no hurry to appear as a composer of ambitious pieces. After the early practical experiences above described, and the further advantage of studies in Vienna under the best teachers at that time living, it was not until 1795 that he appeared as composer of his first concerto for pianoforte and orchestra, a Mozart-like work, but with an Adagio of true Beethovenish flavor. A year later he published his first three sonatas for pianoforte, dedicated to Haydn. These three works are in styles totally unlike each other, and there is little or no doubt that each one of them was modeled after some existing work, which at that time was highly esteemed in Vienna. The first in F minor, is plainly after one by Emanuel Bach in the same key. The Adagio of this is especially interesting, not only because it shows a freedom and a pure lyric quality totally foreign to Emanuel Bach, and beyond Mozart even, but because it was taken out of a quartette which he had written when he was fifteen years old. This shows that even at that early age Beethoven had arrived at the conception of his peculiar style of slow movements, which differed from those of Mozart in having a more song-like quality, and a deeper and more serious expression. The impression of a deep soul is very marked in the Largo of the first concerto, and there are few of his later works which carry it more plainly. In all, some sixty works precede this Opus 2, which is the modest mark affixed to these three sonatas. The third, in C, is still different from the other two, and was fashioned apparently after some composition of Clementi or Dussek. The Adagio takes a direction which must have been regarded as not entirely successful, for nowhere else does the composer follow it out. Then followed a succession of pieces of every sort, not rapidly, like Mozart's compositions, as if they represented the overflowing of an inexhaustible spring, but deliberately, as if the world were not ready for them too rapidly, one after another, each in succession carrying the treatment of the pianoforte to a finer point, and each different from its predecessor, whether of contemporaneous publication or of a former year, until by the end of the century he had reached the "Sonata Pathetique," a work which marked a prodigious advance in expression and boldness over anything that can be shown from any other master of the period. Mention having been made of the slow movements in these works, in which point they were perhaps more strikingly differentiated from those of the composers previous—the Largo of the sonata in D major, Opus 10, may be mentioned as an example of a peculiarly broad and dramatic, almost speaking rhapsody, or reverie, for piano, which not only calls for true feeling in the interpreter, but also for technical qualities of touch and breadth of tone, such as must have been distinctly in advance of the instruments of the day. Meanwhile a variety of chamber pieces had been composed, many of them of decided merit. This was a great period of activity with the young composer. He had found his voice. Within two years from the "Sonata Pathetique," he had composed all the sonatas up to the two numbered Opus 27, in which the so-called "Moonlight" stands second, and between these a variety of variations, and several important chamber pieces, not forgetting the oratorio, "Christ on the Mount of Olives"—a work which although not fully successful, nevertheless contained many beautiful ideas, and one chorus which must be ranked among the best which the repertory of oratorio can show—"Hallelujah to the Father." The year 1800 also saw the first performance of the beautiful and romantic third concerto for pianoforte and orchestra. The first symphony had been performed in 1800, and by 1804 we have the great heroic symphony, the "Kreutzer Sonata," and the "Appassionata" with all that lie between. Never did tone poet give out great inspirations like these so freely. Each is an advance upon the previous, distancing all works of similar composers, and each one surpassing his own previous efforts. This activity continued with little or no interruption until 1812, after which there is quite a break, Beethoven occupying himself with pot-boilers for the English market, in the way of arrangements of songs for instrumental accompaniment. Of these there are many, Scotch and other, besides masses, canons for voices and the like. In 1814 we have the lovely sonata in E minor for piano, Opus 90, and in 1818 the great sonata for hammer klavier, Opus 106. Then in 1821 and 1822 the last of the sonatas, which carry this form of pianoforte writing to a point which it had never previously reached, if since; and then the "Messe Solennelle," and the ninth symphony, the latter having been composed in 1822-1823. After this came the last quartettes for strings, compositions which have been much written about, but which time has shown to be among the most beautiful and understandable of all that great master produced.
Fig. 57.
BEETHOVEN.
Meanwhile, as a man Beethoven had been subject to his vicissitudes, but upon the whole, while no longer the popular composer of the day (his seriousness prevented that) he was in comfortable circumstances, but annoyed by the care of a nephew of irregular habits and reprehensible character. For many years now Beethoven had been getting deaf, and for the past ten or twelve he had been unable to hear ordinary conversation, so that communication had to be carried on with him by writing. Superficial observers inferred from this fact that the inability to hear his compositions must have reacted unfavorably upon them, and probably accounted for many passages which were unlike his early works, and unintelligible or unlovely to the critics aforesaid. It is true that between the early and the latest compositions of Beethoven there is a greater difference in intelligibility than between the early and the late compositions of any other master. But the difference is not one of judgment on his part, but purely one of different conception, different melodic structure and deeper effect. The ninth symphony, which the first players called impossible, has lived to be counted not simply the greatest of all of Beethoven's works, but the greatest of all instrumental music. It has been named as an impassable barrier beyond which no later composer might pass and compose an instrumental symphony. Nothing could be more unjust or mistaken. Every composition of Beethoven is a fantasia, which in his earlier work indeed has the form of the sonata, the accepted serious form of the day; but in the works of the middle period, the limits of the sonata form were crossed in many directions, and in the latest the sonata is forsaken entirely. But this is not to say that Beethoven had gone beyond the sonata form. Beethoven was an improviser in music, quite as surely as his wildest successor, Schumann, and he wrote as he felt at the time. He lost nothing in being deaf. His inner tonal sense was as acute as ever, and had been trained as the tonal sense of few composers ever was. In point of fact the compositions of the later period are as sweet as those of any former period whatever. The last sonata for the pianoforte is one of the most advanced compositions that exist for the instrument. It is a tone poem which will outlast most other things that Beethoven wrote for this instrument. In fact, the accuracy with which the capacity of the instrument is gauged is one of the most striking peculiarities of the last sonatas and other late works of this master. Meanwhile, piano technique has advanced to a point where these great works no longer present the insurmountable difficulties that they did when first composed. Their general acceptance has been delayed by the foolish notion that there was about them something sacred and secluded from the apprehension of ordinary readers. This is not the case. They are within reach, and repay study.
Beethoven's last days were not pleasant. He lived the life of a bachelor, and his nephew was a source of trouble. It is thought by many that the neglect of his nephew to order a physician in time, when requested to do so by his uncle, was the immediate occasion of the death of the great man. Beethoven died March 27, 1827, after a serious illness, in which dropsical symptoms were among the most troublesome. There was a grand funeral, in which impressive exercises were held, and the body was deposited in consecrated ground in the cemetery at Wahring, near Vienna.
The allusions to the compositions of this composer in the preceding pages are very fragmentary, and, in fact, are expected merely to direct attention to those mentioned. There are many others almost equally worthy of attention. But upon the whole, the reputation of Beethoven as a tone poet must rest first upon the nine symphonies; then upon the string quartettes and other chamber music; next upon the concertos, of which the third and fourth for pleasing beauty, and the fifth for deep poetical meaning, have never been equaled by those of any other composer. There remain the sonatas for pianoforte and for piano and violin, three large volumes, containing a multitude of exquisite strains, which the world would be poor indeed to lose.
Fig. 58.
BEETHOVEN AS HE APPEARED ON THE STREETS OF VIENNA.
[From a sketch by Lyser, to the accuracy of which Breuning testifies, excepting that the hat should be straight on the head, and not inclined to one side.]
In personal appearance Beethoven was rugged rather than pleasing. He was rather short, five feet five inches, but very wide across the shoulders, and strong. His ruddy face had high cheek bones, and was crowned by very thick hair, which originally was brown, but in later life perfectly white. His eyes were black and rather small, but very bright and piercing. His natural expression was grave, almost severe, but his smile was extremely winning, and he was jovial in humor. He was very fond of the country, walking in the fields, where under a tree he would lie for a half day together, humming the melodies which occurred to him, and making notes in the bits of blank paper which he always carried. These pocket note books have been preserved, and we find in them themes in crude form which he used for some important movement or other, often several years later. Among the works produced while this habit was strongest were the sixth and seventh symphonies, than which no works in music are more charming.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
HAYDN, MOZART AND BEETHOVEN COMPARED.
HE three masters, Haydn, Mozart and Beethoven, in relation to the symphony stand upon a plane of substantial equality, whether we estimate their merits according to the absolute worth of the compositions they produced in this form, or in the value of the additions which each in turn made to the ideal of his predecessor. Naturally, as the latest of the three, though so far contemporaneous with them as to form part of a single moment in the progress of art, the symphonies of Beethoven are greater in certain respects, and, as also was to have been expected from his general depth of mind and seriousness of purpose, they are perhaps somewhat more severe—or elevated—in style and sentiment. Nevertheless, the ideal of the three writers was but slightly different. All alike sought to weave tones into a succession of agreeable and beautiful combinations, related as representing a continued flight of spirit—a reverie of the beautiful. Haydn has the honor of having created the form. His fortunate innovation upon the traditions of his predecessors, by adding the second and contrasting theme, and his happy faculty of working out the middle part of the first movement thematically in a style of free fantasy based upon the various devices of counterpoint and canonic imitation, not only suggested to the later composers a way in which an endless variety of pleasing tone pictures might be created—but established, and demonstrated by the clearness with which he did it, and the ever fresh variety and charm of his works, that this was the way in which symphonic material must be put together. For further particulars relating to the sonata form, as such, the student is referred to my "Primer of Musical Forms" (Arthur P. Schmidt, Boston, 1891).
The form thus established by Haydn, Mozart accepted, and followed in all his symphonies, with few and unimportant variations. His additions to the general ideal of orchestral effect were in the direction of a sweeter cantilena, a vocal and song-like quality, which pervades every movement, and which in the slow movement rises to a height of refined and exquisite song never surpassed by any composer. Beethoven is often more impassioned; at times more forcible. But it is never possible to say of the pure spirit of Mozart, that this refined and gentle soul might not have broken mountains and shaken the hills if he had chosen to do so. His refinement is like that of a seraph, as we see it illustrated in the feminine-looking faces of the Greek Apollos, and the St. Michaels and archangels of Guido Reni and Raphael. It is free from passion and toil; but no man dares set a limit to the strength therein concealed. In the slow movements of the pianoforte sonatas of Mozart we do not find this quality so plainly manifested. The instrument was still too imperfect, and did not invite it. Moreover, the greater portion of these compositions bear the appearance of having been written for the use of amateurs. But in the string quartette and the symphonies it is different. Here the spirit of Mozart has free course, and he goes from one beauty to another, with the sure instinct of a master before whom all tonal kingdoms are wide open. This can be seen even in the pianoforte arrangements of the greater symphonies. The melodies, apparently so simple and diatonic, are susceptible of being sung with heartfelt fervor under the fingers of the violinist, or by the voice of the great singer, and when so sung they become transfigured with beauty—luminous from within, like lovely angel faces, glowing with radiance from the higher realms of bliss. Without this idea of singing, and more than this, of a pure spirit singing, the Mozart adagios are open to the charge often made against them in these later days by the unthinking, who find in them only the external peculiarities of simplicity and diatonic quality, with the unsensationalism which technical reserve implies.
Fig. 59.
REDUCED FACSIMILE OF THE TITLE PAGE OF BEETHOVEN'S SONATA, OPUS 26, CONTAINING THE CELEBRATED FUNERAL MARCH.
Nor is it true that Beethoven is incapable of this elevated soaring in the higher realms of the merely beautiful in song. There is generally an undercurrent of deeper pathos in all his sustained slow movements, but in the earlier symphonies, especially in the second, there is a long slow movement of heavenly depth and quality. Indeed, without pausing to individualize we may say once for all that the slow movements of Beethoven are nearly as sweet and as forgetful, as rapturous, as those of Mozart. Even when he takes the lower key of the minor, with its implication of suffering and pain, there is still a sweetness, which once heard can never be forgotten. Think of the lovely allegretto of the seventh symphony, with its persistent motive of a quarter and two-eighths. Even in an arrangement for the pianoforte this is still impressive; upon the organ yet more so; but how much more so when given by the orchestra, with the lovely changing colors of Beethoven's instrumentation! The progress from Haydn's slow movement to that of Beethoven is in the direction of depth, self-forgetfulness, and elevated reverie, having in it a quality distinctly church-like, devotional, worshipful and reposeful in the heavenly sense. The finest example of this is in the slow movement of the ninth symphony of Beethoven, where the composer has one of those lofty moods, which even in his younger times Mrs. Von Breuning used to call his "raptus"—rapture of song.
In a technical point of view the handling of the themes becomes more masterly in Beethoven than even in Mozart—mainly perhaps because the symphonies of Beethoven represent a more mature point in his mental and artistic career than do those of Mozart. The third symphony of Beethoven was written in 1803, the composer being thirty-three years old; the fourth waited until he was thirty-five or six. Mozart died at the age of thirty-five, and whatever we have from his lofty pen came to the young Mozart, not yet having reached middle life. Observe also the rapidity with which these great works followed one another from the pen of Beethoven, when once he had found his voice. The fifth symphony was written in 1808. In the same year he wrote also the sixth; four years later, in 1812, the next two symphonies, the seventh and eight. Then a long pause, filled up with other works, and at length when the composer was fifty-three years of age, in 1823, the mighty ninth. If Mozart's life had been spared to enter into the more comfortable and dignified openings which his death prevented, what might we not have had from him!
In one sense there is a distinct difference between the symphonies of Mozart and those of Beethoven. The passionate ideal, the picture of a deep soul, tossed yet triumphant, is nearer to the latter. Whatever Mozart may have experienced in the way of "contradiction of sinners" (as St. Paul calls it), he never allows the fact to find entrance into his music, and especially into his symphonies. Whether he felt that these moments did not belong to a high ideal of orchestral pieces, or whether he was glad to find in the tone world forgetfulness of sorrows and troubles, we do not know. But Beethoven came nearer to the great time of the romantic. The inherent interest of whatever belongs to the human soul was an idea of his time, and unconsciously to himself, perhaps, it entered into and colored his work. The ninth symphony belongs to the period when Hegel was delivering his lectures upon the deepest questions of philosophy, and laying it down as a fundamental principle that it is the place of art to represent everything whatever, which sinks or swells in the human spirit; not alone all the noble and the lovely, but also the ignoble, the vicious, the unworthy, and particularly the tragic—to the end that the soul may learn to know itself, and awaken to a deeper and better self-consciousness. Beethoven felt the mental movement of his day. While his acquaintance with other prominent literary men of his time made little headway, owing in part to his deafness, and in part to his very strong self-consciousness, he read and thought, and felt himself akin with the whole human race. He was a socialist and a republican by instinct. "Man stands upon that which he really is," was a form of self-assertiveness, which, if not actually enunciated by him, at least represents his attitude toward the conventionalities and superficialities of the courts, the social orders, and the general movement of mind into which he entered. Moreover this was the time when the romantic poets of Germany had already set the world thinking their new ideas. Close by the great composer, in the same city in fact, worked a young man, worshiping almost the very ground upon which Beethoven walked, but for the most part unknown to him—Franz Schubert, who in the symphony was classic to the very highest degree, and a tone poet gifted lyrically not less than Mozart himself, a composer whose ideas have equal refinement and grace with those of Mozart, together with a certain charm peculiarly their own, and an instinct for musical coloration, which has never found its superior. This obscure young man, whose lofty genius was recognized only after his soul had taken its flight from earth, was the founder of the modern romantic school of music—the musical commentator upon the productions of all the best of German poets; a composer of such inexhaustible fertility and melodic inspiration that Schumann said of him, that if he had lived he would have set to music the whole German literature. Thus by the combined efforts of all these composers, of Schubert no less than of the three great masters of whom we are more particularly speaking, the symphony came to its full expression.
In their relation to the sonata, these three great masters do not stand in the same position of quasi-equality. Haydn is here the first, as already in the symphony. But in his sonatas he is always rather hampered, and never attains the flow of his slow melodies for the violin. Mozart, also, while a beautiful player upon the pianoforte of his day, did not possess the prescience of Beethoven, who was able to see over the pianoforte of his time and write as if he felt the assurance of the nobler and yet nobler instruments of these later times. Here he stands with Bach, who in his great Chromatic Fantasia and Fugue requires and confidently expects the breadth of tone and the power of the modern piano. It was Beethoven's fortune to live during the early days of the modern instrument. Just after his death the era of virtuoso piano playing began, the first appearances of Thalberg having been made as early as about 1830. He was himself a great pianist, as we see in the concertos which he wrote, always intending to play them at some concert or other in near prospect. Occasionally indeed he overshot his mark, as notably in the fifth, which, being finished just before his concert in 1809, he found too difficult for his fingers, whereupon he was obliged to fall back on the third. Moreover, the pianists Hummel and Dussek were already before the public, and Clementi had made his concert tours, and established the lines of the classical technique upon its brilliant side. All these influences find their illustration in the music of Beethoven, and especially find illustration in the last and greatest of his pianoforte sonatas. These beautiful tone poems were long regarded as impossible. But the genius of Schumann and Liszt came to their rescue by introducing a new style of touch and technique, which, when once found, proved to be the link missing for the proper interpretation of these till then obscure works.
Moreover, Beethoven occupied a different attitude toward the sonata form from that which he held to the symphony. He deviated from the sonata form in every direction, and this not alone in his later works, when we might suppose he had become wearied with the repetition of his ideas in the same order, but in his works of middle life, when as yet he might apparently have gone on writing sonatas indefinitely, so fresh, so novel and so varied were the tone pictures which he gave the world under this name. He seems to have regarded music as an improvisation, not to be held to some one fixed type of expression, but free to go wherever the fancy of the poet took him, to the end that the entire heavens of the tone world might in time be visited. He expects of his readers an element of the devotee. It is not for amateurs that he writes, still less for the votaries of fashionable society, with its emptiness and repeated insincerities. There is a suggestion of entering into the closet, and of shutting the door, as a prerequisite to the full enjoyment of these ineffable pictures and images which come from his revelation.
In the present full-grown faith in the doctrine of the capacity of man for a development continually progressive, it would be presumptuous to say that the three composers, Haydn, Mozart and Beethoven, have reached the limit of art, so far as instrumental music goes. In the nature of the case, there is not, nor can there be an Ultima Thule in art. Whatever the splendor of color, the nobility of conception, or the sincerity and loyalty of purpose, and however resplendent the works created by these exceptional talents, there is reason to hope that better works still may yet be in store. Stronger and yet stronger imaginations, more perfect technique of expression and finer inspiration, may yet be the lot of fortunate individuals of the twentieth century, inheriting the richly diversified musical experiences of the present time. But in one direction there is little doubt that these three great masters did carry the art of instrumental music to a pinnacle beyond which no one as yet has been able to soar. They represent the climax of classical art. In the nature of the case, the term classical itself is subject to an element of uncertainty. According to the philosopher Hegel, the classical is that art in which the form is beautiful and wholly satisfactory in symmetry, while the content exactly matches it in fullness and beauty. Or, in ordinary usage, the classical is the first-class, the superior, the highly finished, the standard. And since music is a matter of sense perception, and the impressions resulting from it are in some degree dependent upon the ability of the hearer to find the principles of unity (in other words, "the sense of it"), every generation extends the list of the classical, and includes much which the preceding one found imperfect and strained. So far as our knowledge and experience have yet gone, however, there is a sense in which the productions of these great masters are likely to remain long unmatched in beauty and worth.
Nothing has been done since that surpasses the sustained beauty of the Beethoven adagios, of which we find the most beautiful specimens naturally among the orchestral pieces and in the chamber music, where he could depend upon the long phrases and sustained tones of the violins. But in the sonatas for pianoforte he is equally at home. He seems to have foreseen the possibilities of the modern piano. In his latest sonatas there are passages which foresee the modern technique, and suggest effects which only the pianoforte of the past thirty years has been capable of attaining. This is the prophetic element in the writings of this great master.
The same difference in the sweep of mind shows itself in the lighter movements. In the minuets Haydn is playful, Mozart is occasionally tender and arch; Beethoven alone is vigorous and humoristic in the modern sense. And, in the finales of the sonatas there is a movement in those of Beethoven which we look for in vain in those of the older composers. It was not in Haydn, nor yet in Mozart, to play with tones in this masterly spirit.
Hence the true relation of these great masters might be summed up without intending to be disrespectful to either, as the following: Haydn provided the form, the order of keys and the general character of the contrasts between the two subjects. Mozart invented a myriad of tender nuances which illustrated the fine points of music, and imparted to the works a sweetness and pleasing quality which everybody recognized as irresistible. Beethoven added to these ingredients of popular music a depth, a soulful quality, an earnestness and a universal intelligibility to spirits of the necessary depth, which have stood to all the world ever since as models. Such, in general, are the points of relation and of contrast.
It is not to be overlooked, however, that the tendency of musical taste is to leave the works of Mozart behind. Haydn is gaining ground, relatively, through the admiration of musicians for the cleverness with which he treats themes. Beethoven holds his own by reason of his vigorous personality, which is to be felt in every page of his music. Mozart, however, appeals less to the taste of the present time, and his pianoforte works are now cultivated chiefly for technical purposes, in the earlier stages of study.
CHAPTER XXIX.
OPERA IN THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY.
I.
PON the musical side, and in one instance upon the dramatic side as well, there were three great forces in opera during this century. The first of these in order of time was Karl Heinrich Graun (1701-1759). A native of Dresden, he was educated there, and having early a beautiful voice became treble singer to the town council—a curious name for a position in the leading church. He profited by the instruction of the official directors of the choir and the church, Petzold and Schmidt, and very early he was an enthusiastic student of the compositions of the Hamburg director, Keiser, whose style influenced his own in his later work. Lotti, the Italian composer, who conducted a series of performances in Dresden with a picked company of Italian singers, was another force operative in his development. He early commenced to write cantatas and motettes for the seminary, of which he was a member, all of which show traces of the Italian influences. In particular his biographer speaks of a Passion cantata, in which an opening chorus, "Lasset uns aufsehen auf Jesum," is singularly forcible for the work of a boy of fifteen. His first entrance upon operatic work was as tenor, when he was scarcely twenty-four years of age. Being dissatisfied with the music of his part (written by one Schurmann, a local director), he substituted other airs of his own composition, which were so popular that he was commissioned to write an opera, and was appointed assistant director. His first opera, "Polliodoro," was successful, and he was commissioned to write five others, some in Italian, some in German. Besides these he composed several cantatas for church use, and several instrumental pieces. In 1735 he was invited to the residence of the crown prince of Prussia, afterward Frederick the Great. This powerful potentate remained Graun's friend and patron until his death. Here, among other works, he composed fifty Italian cantatas, usually consisting of two airs with recitative. In 1740 Frederick came to the throne, and gave Graun the post of musical director, with a salary of $2,000. Selecting his singers in Italy, where his singing was very highly appreciated, he returned to Berlin and assumed the duties of his position. Here he composed no less than twenty-seven operas, the last being in 1756, all in the Italian style, in so far as a German might master it, and all making the singer the prime person of consideration, and the listener next. The poet took whatever of opportunity these two might not have needed. His best talent both as singer and as composer lay in his power of expressing emotion in adagios. In this respect he had, no doubt, more influence upon the development of the lyric slow movement than he has generally been credited with. Later in his life he turned once more to church music, and in his cantatas, and especially in his oratorio, "Der Tod Jesu" ("The Death of Jesus"), a Passion oratorio, he made a distinct impression upon the practices of his successors. In Germany this work is held in nearly the same affection as the "Messiah," of Händel, in England. Graun's influence upon the later course of opera, besides the adagio aria already mentioned, lay principally in his accompaniments, which were often strong and highly dramatic.
Fig. 60.
The great operatic mind of this century, and one of the greatest of all time, was that of Christopher Willibald von Gluck (1714-1785). By the middle of the eighteenth century the influence of the Italian composers, helped out by the superficial German composers, such as Graun and Hasse, had reduced the Italian opera to a collection of mere showpieces of singing, the arias having indeed an excuse in the story, but the action of the drama had been lost entirely, owing to the long stretches of time needed for these elaborate arias and the recalls to which they inevitably gave rise. During these pauses the action ceased entirely, as we see at the present day in many Italian operas still current—as in the "mad scene" from "Lucia," for instance. In that scene where everything ought to be wild excitement, the chorus singers, representing the relatives and friends of poor Lucia, stand around while she sings long cadenzas with the flute, in such trying relationships as would test the vocal technique of a sane person. In the time of Gluck this abuse had reached about the same height, and to make the matter less bearable, the Italian composers had not yet attained the art of expressing sentiment simply and directly, but were intent upon sweet-sounding trivialities calculated to please the groundlings, but of little or no relation to the drama. Gluck sought to restore the ideal of the original inventors of opera, with such unconscious modification as had been made meanwhile. But before undertaking this he had to undergo the usual long and severe apprenticeship of reformers. In his time the rules for a composer had become well settled, every personage must have his or her aria immediately upon their first entrance. The character of the arias had been well settled. There was the aria cantabile, a flowing melody, very lightly accompanied, affording opportunity for embellishments; the aria di portamento, introducing long swelling notes, affording the singer opportunity for illustrating his length of breath and sustaining power. And so on with several other forms of aria. The part of hero, whether male or female, was assigned to a man, an artificial soprano, although it might be a hero—like Hercules, for example. The subject had to be classical, and the dénouement happy. There were invariably six principal characters, three men and three women. The first woman was always a high soprano; the second or third a contralto; the first man, always the hero of the piece, an artificial soprano. The second man might be an artificial soprano or a contralto. The third man might be a bass or tenor. But it was not at all unusual to confide all the male parts to artificial sopranos. Each principal character claimed the right to sing an aria in each of the three acts of the drama. Each scene ended with an aria of some one of the classes already mentioned, but no two arias of the same class were permitted to follow each other. Gluck was the reformer destined by the fates to rectify some of these artificial traditions. He was educated at the Jesuit seminary in Komotow, and later in Prague. He was engaged in the musical forces of Prince Melzi, who took him to Italy, where he became a pupil of the famous Italian composer and teacher, Sammartini. To this fact, no doubt, is due his early attachment to the Italian opera.
Here he wrote several operas, all more or less in the Italian style as he had been taught it, and as he heard it upon every hand. His first work, "Artaserse," the book by Metastasio, was produced with such success in Milan, in 1741, that he presently wrote several others for other Italian theaters. For Venice in 1741, "Demetrio," and "Ipermestra"; for Cremona, "Artamene" (1743); for Turin, "Alessandro nelle Indie" (1745); for Milan, "Demofoonte," "Siface" and "Fedra" (1742-1744); in all, eight operas in five years. None of these works in their complete form are now in existence; fragments alone have been preserved. If any inference is justified from these extracts the style throughout was that of the Italian opera of the day.
The fame of Gluck had now extended to England, and in 1745 he was invited to London to compose operas for the Haymarket theater. He came and wrote the year following (1746) "La Caduta de Giganti," after which he produced the Cremona opera. Händel assisted at the production of these two operas, and is reported to have said that the author knew no more of counterpoint than a pig. Naumann thinks that Gluck learned much from hearing Händel's oratorios in England, and that his subsequent deeper and nobler dramatic style was formed upon these great models. The two operas produced in London made but a moderate success, and Gluck was commissioned to write a "pasticcio" or medley of styles. He did so, imitating all styles according to the best of his ability, but it made no better effect than the works before it. This was the turning point in his career. The failure mortified him deeply, and led him to reflect concerning the nature of dramatic music. On his way back to Vienna he passed through Paris, where he heard certain operas of Rameau, which also influenced his style later. The declamation and the dramatic treatment of the recitative were the points upon which his attention principally dwelt. Upon reaching Vienna he wrote a number of instrumental pieces, bearing the name of symphonies, pieces which in no way differed from the conventional music of the day. The Haydn symphony had not yet been invented, and the form was wholly indeterminate. There was an opera in this year; also a love affair. Gluck was deeply in love with the beautiful and charming daughter of a rich merchant, who upon no account would consent to her marriage with a musician. So Gluck went back to Italy, and there he wrote another opera, rather better in quality than his previous ones. Early in 1750 the inexorable parent died, and late in the year Gluck married the woman of his choice, who made him a model wife, being educated above the average of her times, and entering into his ideals and aspirations with ever ready sympathy. Her wealth also placed the composer in an easy position as regarded the world, and permitted him to devote himself to study. For nearly ten years following Gluck produced occasionally an opera, but as yet the man had not arrived; all these were early and apprentice works. At length in 1762 was produced his first master work, "Orpheus and Eurydice," the libretto having been written by the imperial councillor Calzabigi. The novelty of this great work was not above the appreciation of the Viennese public of the day. "Orpheus" made a decided success. Its principal innovations consisted in its more powerful instrumentation, the introduction of a chorus having an integral part in the movement of the piece, and in the highly dramatic treatment of the second act, where Orpheus descends into the lower world to seek his lost love. Nevertheless, the composer had not reached true self-consciousness. A retrogression followed. He went back to Metastasio, and in conjunction with him produced three or four small operas, all in his earlier style. But in 1767 he returned to Calzabigi, and upon a libretto of his wrote "Alceste" which was produced at the Vienna opera house in 1767 with vastly more success than "Orpheus." The story is that of the tragedy of Euripides, and the music is exclusively severe and tragic. The public was divided concerning the merit of the new work. Already the notion of a music of the future had been conceived, and the notion suggested that only in a more self-forgetful future would a work of such severity and of such lofty aim find acceptance.
In the dedicatory epistle to the duke of Tuscany, prefixed to the score, Gluck defines his intentions. He says: "I seek to put music to its true purpose; that is, to support the poem, and thus to strengthen the expression of the feelings and the interest of the situation, without interrupting the action. I have therefore refrained from interrupting the actor in the fervor of his dialogue by introducing the accustomed tedious ritournelle; nor have I broken his phrase at an opportune vowel that the flexibility of his voice might be exhibited in a lengthy flourish; nor have I written phrases for the orchestra to afford the singer opportunity to take a long breath preparatory to the accepted flourish; nor have I dared to hurry over the second part of an aria, when such contained the passion and the most important matter, to find myself in accord with the conventional repeat of the same phrase four times. As little have I permitted myself to close an aria where the sense was incomplete, solely to afford the singer an opportunity of introducing a cadenza. In short, I have striven to abolish all these bad habits, against which sound reasoning and true taste have been struggling now for so long in vain."
There were several numbers in "Alceste" which exercised an influence upon subsequent composers, among the more notable being the speech of the oracle, which Mozart must have had in mind in writing the commandatore's reply to Don Giovanni; and the sacrificial march, which probably influenced the priests' march in the "Magic Flute." Gluck was forty-eight when he wrote "Orpheus," and fifty-three when "Alceste" appeared.
Galled by the criticisms of his countrymen, and encouraged by the friendship of the French ambassador, Gluck now went to Paris, where his operas were presently brought out, but with the same varying favor as at home. Marie Antoinette, who had been his pupil, befriended him and granted him a pension of 6,000 francs. Thus supported, he brought out still another grand opera in the French language, "Iphigenie en Aulide," produced at Paris in 1774. In this work classical severity was scrupulously observed, and the opera is full of telling points of dramatic musical coloration. In "Armide," 1777, he endeavored to show that he was equally at home in richly conceived sensuous music, and succeeded so well that the famous controversy was precipitated with the Italian composer, Piccini, who had just arrived in Paris, preparatory to bringing out his opera of "Roland." Volumes were written in praise of Italian music, and in disparagement of the roughnesses of that of Gluck. On the other hand, the friends of Gluck stood up for him manfully, and the contest raged fiercely—with the usual result of thoroughly advertising the music of both. Gluck's last opera for Paris was "Iphigenie en Tauride," 1779, the same subject already having been treated by his rival Piccini. The superiority of Gluck's was incontestable. He died at Vienna, of apoplexy, November 15, 1787.
Gluck's place in art has been well summed up by Padre Martini, and the opinion is all the more worthy of attention from the general charge of Gluck's enemies that his music had overturned the traditions of pure Italian art. He says: "All the finest qualities of Italian, and many of those of French music, with the great beauties of the German orchestra, are united in his work." This is tantamount to crediting Gluck with having created a cosmopolitan music—which is precisely the position which posterity has assigned him. For the time when he wrote, his music is wonderfully fine. It still retains its vitality, as has been vividly shown in several revivals of his "Orpheus" within recent years, in two of which (in America and in Italy) the American prima donna, Mme. Helène Hastreiter, has nobly distinguished herself.
The third force alluded to at the outset of the chapter, as having been mainly influential in German opera during the eighteenth century (and until our own time, it might be added), was Mozart, whose works have already received attention in former pages of the narrative. It must suffice here to remind the reader of the successes and qualities of his operas, in order that he may be remembered in this connection; for, like Gluck, his art was cosmopolitan, having in it the sweetness of the Italian, the richness of the German, and occasional traces of the declamation of the French.
II.
After Lulli, the next great name in the history of French opera was that of Jean Philippe Rameau (1683-1765). This great master was one of the most versatile men of whom we have a record in music. He was a mathematician, physicist, a profound theorist, and a virtuoso upon the piano and harpsichord. He is one of the four great names in music of the period of Bach and Händel, the fourth being Scarlatti. His education in music began while he was very young, and it is said of him that such was his talent that he could improvise a fugue upon any theme assigned, when he was but fourteen years of age. His father wished him to be trained for the law, but music had greater charms for him, and the margins of his books were marked over with crotchets and quavers. Having become desperately in love with a fascinating young widow, whom his father was opposed to his marrying, he was sent at the age of seventeen to Italy, ostensibly to study. He came, therefore, to Milan about 1701, a few years before Händel came there. Italian music was little to his taste. The dignified declamation of the Lulli operas seemed to him better worthy the attention of men than the tunes of the Italians. Accordingly he took service as a violinist with a traveling operatic troupe, and in this capacity visited the south of France. In Paris he became a pupil of the court organist Marchand, of whom we hear again in connection with certain tests of proficiency with Händel. Marchand was at first delighted with his new pupil, but presently dropped him when he discovered how talented he was, and liable to prove a dangerous rival. Accordingly he left Paris and took service as organist at Lille, which post he exchanged afterward for one at Clermont. In this quiet town he devoted himself to the study of harmony, and to reflection upon the principles of music. He read here the works of Zarlino, and other Italian theorists, and in 1721 he returned to Paris and published his treatise on harmony, in which he propounded the theory of inversions. His second treatise on harmony, "New System of Musical Theory," was published in 1725. These works excited a great deal of attention and brought the author renown, but his soul yearned for recognition as composer, and in 1730 he obtained from Voltaire a libretto, "Samson." This work was declined at the national opera, on the ground that the public was not attracted by Biblical subjects. Three years later, however, he composed another, "Hypolite et Arcie," which was performed with moderate success. He had now reached the age of fifty, and entered upon the second stage of his artistic career, and the second period of the French opera. The admirers of Rameau invited appreciation of the new works upon the ground of their being better than those of Lulli, and all Paris was divided into two opposite camps. Rameau is entitled to having developed his operas more musically than those of Lulli, and the later ones became still richer upon the orchestral side.
The entire list of operas by Rameau numbers about thirty. That they did not preserve their popularity so long as those of Lulli is due to their deficiency upon the dramatic side, especially to the inherent inexpressiveness of the music itself. The treatment of the orchestra is clever in many places, showing a manifest improvement over that of Lulli, especially in the freedom of thematic work. He also ventures occasionally on enharmonic changes.
Contemporaneous with him was that remarkable genius, Jean Jacques Rousseau (1712-1778), the father of the kindergarten idea, and of many other humanitarian and educational novelties. Rousseau's importance in the history of music is not sufficient to justify an account of his early days. With a great fondness for music, he found it extremely difficult to read by note, as he was almost entirely self-taught. This led him to devise a simpler notation, which he did about 1740, publishing an account of it in 1743. His system was substantially that of the tonic sol fa, except that he used figures in place of letters. He presented a memorial to the Academy of Sciences upon this subject in 1742, but his plan was so vigorously opposed by Rameau that nothing came of it; nevertheless the idea was afterward worked out by M. Paris, in the present century, and has proven very useful among the Orphéonistes. In 1752 Rameau produced his first opera "Le Devin du Village," a very light affair, somewhat on the order of what Germans call a Singspiel. The most remarkable piece that he produced was his comedy "Pygmalion" in 1775. There is no song in this opera. The only music in it is that for orchestral interludes in the intervals between the phrases of declamation.
The continuation of French opera was due to Philidor, the celebrated chess player (1726-1795). He was very talented in many directions, and from the production of his first opera in 1759, to his last, Bélisaire, finished by his friend Berton, and produced in 1796, he enjoyed an uninterrupted popularity, having brought out in that time about twenty-one operas, some of them comic, one or two of them serious. His music is light and pleasing, and he is credited with having been the first to produce descriptive airs ("Le Maréchal") and the unaccompanied quartette ("Tom Jones," 1764). The great merit of his works was their clever construction for the stage. Contemporaneous with him was Pierre Alexander Monsigny (1729-1817). Not having been intended for the profession of music, he had a classical education, and upon the death of his father obtained a clerkship in Paris. He belonged to a noble family, and at first pursued music as a recreation. His first opera was produced after five months' tuition in harmony and theory, in 1759; this was followed by about thirty other works. His greatest skill was melody and ease of treatment. In 1812 he was appointed inspector of the Conservatory, and in 1813 he succeeded Grétry in the Institute, and in 1816 he received the cross of the Legion of Honor.
Fig. 61.
GRÉTRY.
Upon the appearance of André Ernest Modest Grétry, (1741-1813), we come to a real genius, although not of the first order. He was the son of a poor violinist of Liege, Belgium, and when about sixteen years of age he composed six small symphonies and a mass. The latter gained him the protection of the canon of the cathedral who sent him to Rome, where he pursued his studies with very little credit. After producing one small work in Rome, he made his way to Paris, and his first opera, "Le Huron," was successfully produced in 1768. This was followed by more than fifty operas of all sorts, some of which still survive. Grétry was a very charming man, and wrote upon music and other subjects in a pleasing manner. His importance in the history of music is due more to the number of works by him, than to their striking musical qualities.
Another remarkable musician of this period in France was François Joseph Gossec (1733-1829), who also was a Belgian from Hainault. His early training was obtained in the cathedral at Antwerp. He came to Paris in 1751 and became a pupil of Rameau. He conceived the idea of writing orchestral symphonies, and produced some pieces of this kind in 1754, five years before the date of Haydn's first. In 1759 he published some quartettes. In 1760 he produced his best, "Messe des Morts," in which he made a sensation by writing the "Tuba Mirum" for two orchestras, one of wind instruments concealed outside. Berlioz probably derived an idea from this. He wrote twelve operas which were successfully produced, twenty-six symphonies and a variety of other works. He founded his amateur concerts in 1770, and his sacred concerts in 1773. In 1784 he organized his school of singing, out of which the Conservatory of Music was afterward developed. Upon the foundation of the conservatory, in 1795, he was appointed inspector with Cherubini and Méhul. His influence upon the general development of music is local to Paris, where he did more to enrich opera on the instrumental side than any other composer of the eighteenth century.
Étienne Henri Méhul (1763-1817) was another of these prolific composers of light operas. Son of a cook at Givet, he had passion for music, and soon became a good organist. At fourteen he was deputy organist, and in 1778 he arrived in Paris and at once commenced to study and teach. The next year he was so fortunate as to listen to Gluck's "Iphigenie en Tauride," which made a great impression upon him. He called upon Gluck himself in order to express his admiration, and, in consequence of the encouragement received from the eminent composer, he proceeded to write three operas, one after another, which are now lost. His fourth was accepted at the Academy, but not performed. Finally his "Euphrosine et Coradin" was produced at the Opéra Comique in 1790. The public immediately recognized a force, a sincerity of accent, a dramatic truth, and a gift of accurately expressing the meaning of words, which always remained the main characteristics of Méhul. Within the next seventeen years he produced twenty-four operas, besides a large number of cantatas and other works. Upon the whole, this sincere master must be regarded as one of the most eminent in the history of French opera.
Somewhat later in the operatic field was Jean François Lesueur (1763-1837). After serving as a boy chorister at Abbeville and Amiens, he came to Paris, where in 1786 he was appointed musical director at Notre Dame, and distinguished himself by giving magnificent performances of motettes and solemn masses, with a large orchestra in addition to the usual forces. His first opera, "La Caverne," was produced in 1793, after which he wrote four others, as well as three which were never performed. In the line of church music he was much more productive, and one might say, more at home. His music is marked by grand simplicity. As a teacher in later life he was very celebrated, among his pupils being the greatest of French masters, Berlioz.
Fig. 62.
BOIELDIEU.
The most gifted of the French composers of light opera at the end of the eighteenth century, and in the part of the nineteenth, was François Adrien Boieldieu (1775-1834). This talented musician was born at Rouen, where his father was secretary to the archbishop. The boy was educated in the ecclesiastical schools, having begun as a choir boy in the cathedral. His first little work for the stage was performed at Rouen when he was about seventeen, "La Fille Coupable," with such success that the author was encouraged to go and seek his fortune in Paris. Here for a long time he met with little encouragement, and was obliged to make a living at first as a piano tuner; later he was fortunate enough to have certain romances of his sung by popular singers, and thus his name became somewhat known. For these songs he received the munificent compensation of two dollars and a half each. Presently he secured a libretto, "La Dot de Suzette," which was composed and performed at the Opéra Comique, with so much encouragement, that he soon after produced his one-act opera, "La Famille Suisse." His popularity was not fully established, however, until "Zoraime et Zulnare" in 1798. This work possesses a vein of tenderness, a refined orchestration, and singularly clear and pleasing forms. In 1800 his world-wide favorite, "Le Caliph de Bagdad," was produced, and its taking overture was played from one end of Europe to the other, upon all possible instruments and combinations of them. His other two successful operas were "Jean de Paris" (1812), and "La Dame Blanche" (1825). Both these made as much reputation outside of France as in it, and are still produced in Germany. In 1803 Boieldieu received an appointment in St. Petersburg and lived there six years, but he returned to Paris later, and in 1817 became Méhul's successor as teacher of composition at the Conservatory.
Of the French stage during this epoch it is to be observed that nothing of a large and serious character was produced upon it, except the operas of Gluck, which of course were not indigenous to France. What progress was made by the composers before mentioned, and others of less importance, consisted in acquiring fluency, ease and effective construction. The ground had been prepared from which the century following would reap a harvest.
III.
In Italy during the eighteenth century, opera continued to be cultivated by a succession of gifted and prolific composers. At the beginning of the century, the great Alexander Scarlatti was at the height of his career, as also were Lotti and the younger masters mentioned in the former chapter. All these composers followed in the style established by Scarlatti and Porpora. The most talented of the Italians of this period was Giovanni Batista Pergolesi (1710-1737). This gifted genius was born at Jesin, in the Roman states, but when a mere child, was admitted to the conservatory "Of the Poor in Jesus Christ" at Naples, where his education was completed. He commenced as a violin player, and attracted attention while a mere child by his original passages, chromatics, new harmonies and modulations. A report of his performances of this kind being made to his teacher Matteis, he desired to hear them for himself, which he did with much surprise, and asked the boy whether he could write them down. The next day the youngster presented himself with a sonata for the violin, as a specimen of his power; this led to his receiving regular instruction in counterpoint. The first composition of his was a sacred drama called "La Conversione di St. Guglielmo," written while he was still a student. It was performed with comic intermezzi (sic!) in the summer of 1731, at the cloister of St. Agnello. The dramatic element in this work is very pronounced, and the violin is treated with considerable feeling. His first opera, "La Salustia," was produced in 1731. It is notable for improvement in the orchestration. In the winter of this same year he wrote his comic intermezzo, "La Serva Padrona," a sprightly operetta, which had a moderate success at the time, but afterward for nearly a hundred years was played in all parts of Europe. He wrote several other operas, which had but moderate success, although many of them were performed with considerable applause after his death. By general consent the most beautiful work of Pergolesi was his "Stabat Mater," which was written to order for a religious confraternity, for use on Good Friday, in place of a "Stabat" by Scarlatti, the price paid being ten ducats—about nine dollars. It is for two voices, a soprano and contralto, and is excellently written. No sooner was he dead than his music immediately became the object of admiration, his operas and lighter pieces being played in all parts of Italy. He died at the age of twenty-six, being the youngest master who has ever left a permanent impression in musical history.
One of the most prolific composers of this period was Nicolo Jomelli (1714-1774). Jomelli represents the Neapolitan school, having been educated first at the conservatory of San Onofrio, and later at that of "La Pieta de' Turchini." His earlier inclination was church music, and in order to perfect himself in it he went to Rome. This was in 1740, and two of his operas were there produced. He afterward visited Vienna, where he produced several operas, and in 1749 he was appointed assistant musical director at St. Peter's in Rome, a position which he held for five years, after which he went to Stuttgart, as musical director. While in Germany he had a very great reputation as an opera composer. In 1770 Mozart wrote from Naples, "The opera here is by Jomelli; it is beautiful, but the style is too elevated as well as too antique for the theater." His later life was spent in Naples. Besides many operas he wrote a number of compositions for the church. It perhaps gives a good idea of the estimation in which he was held while living, that a critic highly esteemed in his day said that it would be a sorry day for the world when the operas of Jomelli were forgotten, at the same time pronouncing them superior to those of Mozart. Not a single line of Jomelli is performed at the present time, nor is likely ever to be; but the works of Mozart still retain their popularity.
Another prolific composer of the Neapolitan school was Antonio Maria Gasparo Sacchini (1724-1786). This clever composer was very successful in his lifetime, his operas being produced in all parts of Europe. Nevertheless they are monotonous in character, and have little depth. He has very little importance for the history of music. Still another, also from the Neapolitan school, was Piccini (1728-1800). His first operas were produced in 1754, and from that time on for about forty years he was a very popular composer, his works being produced in every theater, and in 1778 he was set up as an idol by his admirers, in opposition to Gluck. He was highly honored by Napoleon, who took pleasure in distinguishing him for the sake of humbling several much more deserving musicians. The complete list of his works in Fétis contains eighty operas. His biographer credits him with one hundred and thirty-three. Yet another composer of the Neapolitan school was Giovanni Paisiello (1741-1815). From the time of his first operas to his death, he was highly esteemed as a composer. In 1776 he was invited by the Empress Catharine to St. Petersburg, where he lived for eight years, and among other operas which he composed while there was "Il Barbiere di Siviglia." In 1799 he was called to Paris, where Napoleon very greatly distinguished him. Upon leaving Paris, in 1803, Napoleon desired him to name his successor, when he performed the creditable act of nominating Lesueur, who was at that time unknown. The list of his works embraces ninety-four operas and 103 masses. His music was melodious and pleasing, but rather feeble; he is regarded, however, as the inventor of the concerted finale, which has since been so largely developed in opera. Perhaps the best of all the Neapolitan composers of this half century was Zingarelli (1752-1827). Zingarelli was not only a good musician and a good composer, but a man of ability and principle. He was an associate pupil with Cimarosa. After leaving the conservatory he took lessons upon the violin, and in 1779 produced a cantata at the San Carlo theater. Two years later his first opera was produced at the same theater with great applause, "Montezuma." He then went to Milan, where most of his later works were produced. He was an extremely rapid worker, his librettist stating it as a fact that all the music of his successful opera of "Alsinda" was composed in seven days, although the composer was in ill health at the time. Another of his best works, his "Giulietta e Romeo," was composed in about eight days. It is said that this astonishing facility was acquired through the discipline of his teacher Speranza, who obliged his pupils to write the same composition many times over, with change of time and signature, but without any change in the fundamental ideas. While busily engaged as a popular opera composer, Zingarelli found time to compose much church music, his most important works being masses and cantatas. Of the former there still exist a very large number; of the latter about twenty. He made a trip to France in 1789, where he brought out a new opera, "L'Antigone"; he was appointed musical director at the cathedral at Milan in 1792, and two years later at Loretto, Naples. Thence he was transferred to the Sistine chapel at Rome, and finally in 1813 he was appointed director of the Royal College of Music at Naples, in which position he spent the remainder of his long and active life.
He produced about thirty-two operas, twenty-one oratorios and cantatas, and there are about 500 manuscripts of his in the "Annuale di Loreto." As a composer of comic operas Zingarelli became popular all over Europe, but he was nevertheless a serious, even a devout composer. He was extremely abstemious, rose early, worked hard all day, and, after a piece of bread and a glass of wine for supper, retired early to rest. He was never married, but found his satisfaction in the successes of his musical children, among whom were Bellini, Mercadante, Ricci, Sir Michael Costa, Florimo, etc.
IV.
In this, as in the preceding century, there was very little activity in England in the realm of opera music, beyond that of foreign composers imported for special engagements. In the last part of the seventeenth century, however, there was a real genius in English music, who, if he had lived longer, would in all probability have made a mark distinguishable even across the channel, and upon the chart of the world's activity in music. That composer was Henry Purcell (1658-1695), born in London, of a musical family. His father having died while the boy was a mere infant, he was presently admitted as a choir boy in the Chapel Royal, the musical director being Captain Cook, and later Pelham Humpfrey. In 1675, when yet only seventeen years of age, Purcell composed an opera, "Dido and Æneas," which is grand opera in all respects, there being no spoken dialogue but recitative—the first work of the kind in English. It contains some very spirited numbers. After this he composed music to a large number of dramatic pieces, many anthems, held the position of master of the Chapel Royal, and in many ways occupied an honored and distinguished position. He was one of the earliest composers to furnish music to some of Shakespeare's plays, and his "Full Fathom Five" and "Come unto These Yellow Sands," from the "Tempest," have held the stage until the present time. He was in all respects the most vigorous and original of English composers. He died in the fullness of his powers and was buried in Westminster Abbey. The portrait here given was painted by John Closterman, and originally engraved for his "Orpheus Britannicus." It is impossible not to wonder whether the future of English music might not have been better if the powerful figure of the great master Händel had not dwarfed all native effort in Britain after Purcell.
Fig. 63.
HENRY PURCELL.
In the eighteenth century the most notable English composer was Dr. Thomas Arne (1710-1778), who enjoyed a well deserved reputation as an excellent dramatic composer, the author of many songs still reckoned among English classics, and the composer of the national hymn "Rule Britannia," which occurred as an incident in his masque of "Alfred," 1740. Dr. Arne has all the characteristics of a genuine national composer. His music was immediately popular, and held the stage for many years. His first piece was Fielding's "Opera of Operas," produced in 1733. The full list of his pieces reached upwards of forty-one operas and plays to which he furnished the music, two oratorios, "Abel" and "Judith," and a variety of occasional music. His style is somewhat like that of Händel, a remark which was true of all English composers for more than a hundred years after Händel's death; but it is forcible, melodious and direct. His music was not known outside of England.
CHAPTER XXX.
PIANO PLAYING AND VIRTUOSI; THE VIOLIN;
TARTINI AND SPOHR.
I.
T was during the eighteenth century that the pianoforte definitely established itself in the estimation of musicians, artists and the common people, as the handiest and most useful of domestic and solo instruments. The progress was very slow at first, the musicians such as Bach, Händel, Scarlatti and Rameau, the four great virtuosi of the beginning of this century, generally preferred the older forms of the instrument, the clavier or the harpsichord, both on account of their more agreeable touch and the sweetness of their tones. Nevertheless the style of playing and of writing for these instruments underwent a gradual change at the hands of these very masters, of such a character that when the pianoforte became generally recognized as superior to its predecessors, about the middle of the century, the compositions of Bach and Scarlatti were found well adapted to the newer and more powerful instrument. The pianoforte itself underwent several modifications from the primitive forms of action devised by Cristofori in 1711, rendering it more responsive to the touch. All this, relating to the mechanical perfection of the instrument, although appropriate in part to the present moment of the narrative, is deferred until a [later chapter], when the entire history of this instrument will be considered in detail. From that it will be seen, by comparing dates, that every important mechanical step in advance was followed by immediate modifications of the style of writing and playing, whereby the progress toward fullness and manifold suggestiveness of music for this instrument has been steady and great.
The first of the great virtuosi was Domenico Scarlatti (1683-1757), son of the great Alessandro Scarlatti, and a pupil of his father, and of other masters whose names are now uncertain. He was a moderately successful composer of operas and works for the Church, but his distinguishing merit was that of a virtuoso upon the harpsichord—the pianoforte of that time. He was the first of the writers upon the harpsichord who introduced difficulties for the pleasure of overcoming them, and who, in his own country, was without peer as performer until Händel came there and surpassed him, in 1708. Scarlatti was also a performer upon the organ, but upon this instrument he unhesitatingly confessed Händel to be his superior. In 1715 Scarlatti succeeded Baj as chapel master at St. Peter's in Rome, where he composed much church music. His operas were successful in their own day, but were soon forgotten. His pianoforte compositions still remain as a necessary part of the education of the modern virtuoso. They are free in form, brilliant in execution, and melodious after the Italian manner. Many of them are still excessively difficult to play, in spite of the progress in technique which has been made since.
There were many other composers in the early part of this century who exercised a local and temporary influence in the direction of popularizing the pianoforte and its music, through the attractiveness of their own playing, as well as by the compositions they produced. Among these must not be forgotten Mattheson, the Hamburgh composer of operas ([p. 242]), who published many works for piano, including suites, sonatas and other pieces in the free style. Johann Kuhnau (1667-1722), predecessor of Bach as cantor at Leipsic, published a variety of sonatas and other compositions in free style, about the beginning of the eighteenth century. Of still greater importance than the last named, was Rameau, the French theorist and operatic composer ([p. 336]). His compositions were attractive and very original, and in addition to the charm of his own playing, and that of his works, he placed later musicians under lasting obligations by his treatise upon the art of accompanying upon the clavecin and organ, in which his theories of chords were applied to valuable practical use.
The work of all these and of many others who might be mentioned, not forgetting several English writers, such as Dr. Blow, Dr. John Bull and the gifted artist Purcell (see [p. 350]), must be regarded as merely preparatory for the advance made during the last part of the eighteenth century. It was Haydn who began to demand of the pianoforte more of breadth, and a certain coloration of touch, which he must have needed in his elaborative passages in the middle of the sonata piece. This kind of free fantasia upon the leading motives of the work, was planned after the style of thematic discussion of leading motives by the orchestra, and the obvious cue of the player is to impart to the different sequences and changes of the motives as characteristic tone-colors as possible, for the sake of rendering them more interesting to the hearers, and possibly of affording them more expression. Haydn's work was followed by that of Mozart, who gave the world the adagio upon the piano. Then in the fullness of time came Beethoven, who after all must be regarded as the great improver of piano playing of this century, as well as that of the next following. Beethoven improved the piano style in the surest and most influential manner possible. In his own playing he was far in advance of the virtuosi of the eighteenth century, and in his foresight of farther possibilities in the direction of tone sustaining and coloration he went still farther. This is seen in all his concertos, especially in the fourth and fifth, in the piano trios, and the quartette; but still more in the later pianoforte sonatas. Here the piano is treated with a boldness, and at the same time a delicacy and poetic quality, which taxes the greatest players of the present time to accomplish. The most advanced virtuoso works of Chopin, Schumann and Liszt, the three great masters of the pianoforte in the nineteenth century, are but slightly beyond the demands of these later sonatas of the great Vienna master.
In the later part of the eighteenth century there were a number of pianoforte virtuosi whose merits claim our attention at this point. At the head, in point of time, was the great Italian master, Muzio Clementi (1752-1832). Born at about the same time as Mozart, he outlived Beethoven. His early studies were pursued at Rome with so much enthusiasm that at the age of fourteen he had produced several important compositions of a contrapuntal character. These being successfully performed, attracted the attention of an English amateur living in Rome, who offered to take charge of the boy, carry him to England and see that his career was opened under favorable auspices. Until 1770, therefore (the year of Beethoven's birth), Clementi pursued his studies near London. Then, in the full force of his remarkable virtuosity, he burst upon the town. He carried everything before him, and had a most unprecedented success. His command of the instrument surpassed everything previously seen. After three years as cembalist and conductor at the Italian opera in London, he set out upon a tour as virtuoso. In 1781 he appeared in Paris, and so on toward Munich, Strassburg, and at length Vienna, where he met Haydn, and where, at the instigation of the Emperor Joseph II, he had a sort of musical contest with the young Mozart. Clementi, after a short prelude, introduced his sonata in B flat, the opening motive of which was afterward employed by Mozart in the introduction to the overture to the "Magic Flute"; and followed it up with a toccata abounding in runs in diatonic thirds and other doublestops for the right hand, at that time esteemed very difficult. The victory was regarded as doubtful, Mozart compensating for his less brilliant execution by his beautiful singing touch, of which Clementi ever afterward spoke with admiration. Moreover, from this meeting he himself endeavored to put more music and less show into his own compositions. Clementi was soon back in England, where he remained until 1802, when he took his promising pupil, John Field, inventor of the nocturne, upon a tour of Europe, as far as St. Petersburg, where they were received with unbounded enthusiasm. In 1810 he returned to London and gave up concert playing in public. He wrote symphonies for the London Philharmonic Society, published very many sonatas for piano (about 100 in all), and in 1817 published his master work, a set of 100 studies for the piano, in all styles, the "Gradus ad Parnassum," upon which to a considerable extent the entire modern art of piano playing depends. Clementi's idea in the work was to provide for the entire training of the pupil by means of it; not alone upon the technical, but upon the artistic side as well, and the majority of the pieces have artistic purpose no less than technical. The wide range taken by piano literature since Clementi's day, however, reduces the teacher to the alternative of confining the pupil to the works of one writer, in case the entire work is used, or of employing only the purely technical part of the "Gradus," accomplishing the other side of the development by means of compositions of more poetic and older masters. The latter is the course now generally pursued by the great teachers, and this was the reason influencing the selection of studies from the "Gradus" made by the virtuoso, Tausig. Clementi's compositions exercised considerable influence upon Beethoven, who esteemed his sonatas better than those of Mozart. The opinion was undoubtedly based upon the freedom with which Clementi treated the piano, as distinguished from the gentle and somewhat tame manner of Mozart. The element of manly strength was that which attracted Beethoven, himself a virtuoso.
Fig. 64.
J.L. DUSSEK.
Another of the first virtuosi to gain distinction upon the pianoforte, in the latter part of this century and the first part of the nineteenth, was J.L. Dussek (1761-1812). This highly gifted musician was born in Czaslau, in Bohemia, and his early musical studies were made upon the organ, upon which he early attained distinction, holding one prominent position after another, his last being at Berg-op-Zoom. He next went to Amsterdam, and presently after to the Hague, still later, in 1788, to London, where he lived twelve years. It was there that Haydn met him, and wrote to Dussek's father in high terms of his son's talents and good qualities. Afterward he was back again upon the continent, living for some years with Prince Louis Ferdinand, and having right good times with him, both musically and festively. He died in France. He made many concert tours in different periods of his life, and his playing was highly esteemed from one end of Europe to the other. A contemporary writer says of him: "As a virtuoso he is unanimously placed in the very first rank. In rapidity and sureness of execution, in a mastery of the greatest difficulties, it would be hard to find a pianist who surpasses him; in neatness and precision of execution, possibly one (John Cramer, of London); in soul, expression and delicacy, certainly none." The brilliant pianist and teacher Tomaschek said of him: "There was, in fact, something magical in the manner in which Dussek, with all his charming grace of manner, through his wonderful touch, extorted from the instrument delicious and at the same time emphatic tones. His fingers were like a company of ten singers, endowed with equal executive powers, and able to produce with the utmost perfection whatever their director could require. I never saw the Prague public so enchanted as they were on this occasion by Dussek's splendid playing. His fine declamatory style, especially in cantabile phrases, stands as the ideal for every artistic performance—something which no other pianist since has reached. He was the first of the virtuosi who placed the piano sideways upon the platform, although the later ones may not have had an interesting profile to exhibit."
The published works of this fine musician and creditable composer number nearly 100, and the sonata cuts a leading figure among them. He treated the piano with much more freedom and breadth than Mozart, though this is not so much to his credit as if he had not lived many years after Mozart died, his earliest compositions falling very near the last years of that great genius. He was distinctly a virtuoso, loving his instrument and its tonal powers. He was the first of all the players whose public performances called attention to the quality of tone, and its singing power. This also points not alone to the fact of his career falling in with the increased powers of the pianoforte, as a result of the inventions of Érard, Collard and Broadwood, but is to his personal credit, since it was genius in him enabling him to recognize these possibilities, at a time when most players were still in ignorance of them. As a composer he wrote many things of more than average excellence, and some of his lighter compositions still have vitality. It is altogether likely that Beethoven was influenced by Dussek's playing, in the direction of tone-color. Indeed, the third sonata of Beethoven can hardly be accounted for without recognizing Dussek as the composer upon some one of whose works its general style and form were modeled.
Another pianist of considerable importance, a disciple of Mozart, yet with originality of his own, was J.B. Cramer (1771-1858). This talented and deserving musician was the son of a musician living at Mannheim, who removed to London when the young Cramer was but one year old. There the boy grew up, receiving his education from several reputable masters, Clementi being among them. His taste was formed by the diligent study of the works of Emanuel Bach, Haydn and Mozart. In spirit Cramer was a disciple of the last named, but from living to a good old age, he naturally surpassed his ideal in the treatment of the pianoforte. In the latter part of the eighteenth century there were few musical compositions sold over the music counters in Vienna and the musical world generally, but those of Dussek, Cramer and Pleyel, while those of Beethoven were comparatively neglected. Cramer's compositions were slight in real merit, his fame resting upon his studies for the piano, of which about thirty out of the entire 100 are very good music. The second, and last, book of these were published in 1810. They do not form a necessary part of the training of a virtuoso, but they have decided merits, and are generally included to this day in the list of pianistic indispensables. Cramer's style of playing was quiet and elegant. Moscheles gives an idea of it in his diary, and regrets that he should allow the snuff, which he took incessantly, to get upon the keys. Cramer's studies preceded those of Clementi, and very likely may have inspired them through a desire of illustrating a bolder and more masterly style of pianism.
Among the many talented pupils of Clementi was Ludwig Berger (1777-1838), of Berlin, whose unmistakable gifts for the piano attracted the master's attention when he was in Berlin in 1802, and he took him along with him to St. Petersburg. After living some years in that city, and later in London, he returned to Berlin, where he was held in the highest esteem as teacher until his death. Among the distinguished who studied with him were Mendelssohn, Taubert, Henselt, Fanny Hensel, Herzsberg, and others. He was an indefatigable composer of decided originality. But few of his works were published. A set of his studies is highly esteemed by many.
In further illustration of the Mozart principles of piano playing, and with a reputation as composer, which in his lifetime was curiously beyond his merits, was J.M. Hummel (1778-1837). He was born at Presburg, and had the good luck to attract the favorable notice of Mozart. He was received into the house of the master, and was regarded as the best representative of Mozart's ideas. He made his early appearances as a child pianist under the care of his father, in most parts of Germany and Holland. In 1804 he succeeded Haydn as musical director to the Esterhazy establishment. He afterward held several other appointments of credit, and played much in all parts of Europe. He was a pleasant player, with a light, smooth touch, suited to the Viennese pianofortes of the time.
Fig. 65.
HUMMEL.
The latest of the virtuosi representing the classical traditions of the pianoforte, uninfluenced by the new methods which came in with Thalberg and Liszt, was Ignaz Moscheles (1794-1870). He was born at Prague, his father being a cloth merchant and Israelite.
Fig. 66.
MOSCHELES.
He had the usual childhood of promising musicians, playing everything he could lay his hands upon, including Beethoven's "Sonata Pathetique," and at the age of seven he was taken to Dionys Weber, whose verdict is worth remembering. He said: "Candidly speaking, the boy is on the wrong road, for he makes hash of great works which he does not understand, and to which he is entirely unequal. But he has talent, and I could make something of him if you were to hand him over to me for three years, and follow out my plan to the letter. The first year he must play nothing but Mozart, the second Clementi, the third Bach; but only that—not a note as yet of Beethoven, and if he persists in using the circulating musical libraries, I have done with him forever." Having completed his studies after this severe régime, Moscheles began his concert appearances, which were everywhere successful.
He continued his studies in Vienna with Salieri, and Beethoven thought so well of him that he engaged him to make the pianoforte arrangement of "Fidelio." This was in 1814.
In 1815 he produced his famous variations upon the Alexander march, Opus 32, from which his reputation as virtuoso dates. His active concert service began about 1820, and extended throughout Europe. In 1826 he settled in London, where he was held in the highest esteem, both as man and musician. He became a fast friend of Mendelssohn, who had been his pupil in Berlin, and in 1846 joined him at Leipsic, where he continued until his death. Moscheles was originally a solid and brilliant player. Later he became famous as one of the best living representatives of the true style and interpretation of the Beethoven sonatas. He never advanced beyond the Clementi principles of piano playing, the works of Chopin and Liszt remaining sealed books to his fingers, to the very last. As a teacher he was painstaking and patient, and he was honored by all who knew him. All his life he kept a diary, from which a very readable volume has been compiled, with many glimpses of other eminent musicians. It is called "Recent Music and Musicians."
II.
The art of violin playing also made great progress during this century, its most eminent representative being Giuseppe Tartini (1692-1770). He was born in Pirano, in Istria, and was intended for the church, but upon coming of age he fell in love with a lady somewhat above him in rank, and was secretly married to her. When this fact was discovered by her relatives he was obliged to fly, and having taken refuge in a monastery he remained there two years, during which he diligently devoted himself to music, being his own instructor upon the violin, but a pupil of the college organist in counterpoint and composition. Later, being united to his wife, he made still further studies on the violin, and by 1721 had returned to Padua, where he evermore resided, his reputation bringing him a sufficient number of pupils to assist his rather meager salary as solo violinist of the cathedral. He was a virtuoso violinist greater than any one before him. Besides employing the higher positions more freely than had previously been the case, he appears to have made great improvements in the art of bowing, and his playing was characterized by great purity and depth of sentiment, and at times with most astonishing passion. He was a composer of extraordinary merit, several of his pieces for the violin still forming part of the concert repertory of artists. His famous "Trillo del Diavolo," is well known. He dreamed that he had sold his soul to the devil, and on the whole was well pleased with the behavior of that gentlemanly personage. But it occurred to him to ask his strange associate to play something for him on the violin. Cheerfully Satan took the instrument, and immediately improvised a sonata of astonishing force and wild passion, concluding it with a great passage of trills, of superhuman power and beauty; Tartini awoke in an ecstasy of admiration. Whereupon he sought after every manner to reduce to paper the wonderful composition of his dream. Fine as was the work thus produced, Tartini always maintained that it fell far short of the glorious virtuoso piece which he had heard.
Tartini was in some sort a forerunner of the modern romantic school. He was accustomed to take a poem as the basis of an instrumental piece. He wrote the words along the score and conducted the music wherever the spirit of the words took it. He was also in the habit of affixing to his published works mottoes, indicative of their poetic intention. With this general characterization his music well agrees, for in dreamy moods it has a mystical beauty till then unknown in music. He is also entitled to lasting memory on account of his having first discovered the phenomenon of "combination tones," the under resultant which is produced when two tones are sounded together upon the violin, especially in the higher parts of the compass. These tones are the roots of the consonances sounding, and Tartini directed the attention of his pupils to them as a guide to correct intonation in double stops, since they do not occur unless the intonation is pure. He made this important discovery about 1714, and in 1754 he published a treatise on harmony embodying the combination tones as a basis of a system of harmony. This having been violently attacked, his second work of this kind, "On the Principles of Musical Harmony Contained in the Diatonic Genus," was published in 1767. Tartini, therefore, must be reckoned among the great masters who have contributed to a true doctrine of the tonal system. Copies of his theoretical writings are in the Newberry Library at Chicago.
In the latter part of the eighteenth century and the first of the next following the art of violin playing was best illustrated by the German artist, Louis Spohr (1784-1859), who was almost or quite as great as a composer, as in his early career of a virtuoso. In his own specialty he was one of the most eminent masters who has ever appeared. His technique was founded upon that of his predecessors of the school of Viotti and Rode, but his own individuality was so decided that he soon found out a style original with himself. Its distinguishing quality was the singing tone. He never reconciled himself to the light bow introduced by Paganini, and all his work is distinguished by sweetness, singing quality and a flowing melodiousness. He was fond of chromatic harmonies and double stops, which imparted great sonority to his playing. He was born at Brunswick, and early commenced to study music. At the age of fifteen he played in the orchestra of the duke of Brunswick, at a yearly salary of about $100. Later he studied and traveled with Eck, a great player of the day, and upon his return to Brunswick he became leader of the orchestra. His virtuoso career commenced about 1803. Two years later he became musical director at Gotha, where he married a charming harp player, Dorette Scheidler, who invariably afterward appeared with him in all their concerts. They traveled in their own carriage, having suitable boxes for the harp and the violin. In 1813 he was musical director at the theater, "An der Wein," at Vienna, where among his violinists was Moritz Hauptmann, afterward so celebrated as theorist.
Soon after his arrival in Vienna, Spohr received a singular proposition from one Herr von Tost, to the effect "that for a proportionate pecuniary consideration I would assign over to him all I might compose, or had already written, in Vienna, for the term of three years, to be his sole property during that time; to give him the original scores, and to keep myself even no copy of them. After the lapse of three years he would return the manuscript to me, and I should then be at liberty either to publish or sell them. After I had pondered a moment over this strange and enigmatical proposition, I asked him whether the compositions were not to be played during those three years? Whereupon Herr von Tost replied: 'Oh, yes! As often as possible, but each time upon my lending them for that purpose, and only in my presence.'" He desired such pieces as could be produced in private circles, and would therefore prefer quartettes and quintettes for stringed instruments, and sextettes, octettes and nonettes for stringed and wind instruments. Spohr was to consider the proposition and fix upon the sum to be paid for the different kinds of compositions. Finding on inquiry that Herr von Tost was a wealthy man, very fond of music, Spohr fixed the price at thirty ducats for a quartette, thirty-five for a quintette, and so on, progressively higher for the different kinds of composition. On being questioned as to his object, Von Tost replied: "I have two objects in view: First, I desire to be invited to the musical parties where you will execute your compositions, and for that I must have them in my keeping. Secondly, possessing such treasures of art, I hope upon my business journeys to make extensive acquaintance among the lovers of music, which may then serve me also in my manufacturing interests." This singular bargain was duly consummated and faithfully carried out, and the wealthy patron proved of great service to the Spohrs in procuring their housekeeping outfit from various tradesmen with whom he had dealings, and he would not suffer Spohr to pay for anything, saying only, "Give yourself no uneasiness; you will soon square everything with your compositions."
The most important of Spohr's works is his great school for the violin, published in 1831. He left also a vast amount of chamber music, fifteen concertos for violin and orchestra, nine symphonies, four oratories, of which "The Last Judgment" is perhaps the best, ten operas, many concert overtures, etc.—in all more than 200 works, many of them of large dimensions. His best operas are "Jessonda" (1823), "Faust" (1818), "The Alchemist" (1832) and "The Crusaders" (1845). His orchestral works are richly instrumented, and the coloring is sweet and mellow, yet at times extremely sonorous.
During his residence in Vienna, Spohr met Beethoven many times. He was one of the first to introduce the earlier quartettes, in his concerts throughout Germany, and valued them properly. But in regard to the Beethoven symphonies he placed himself on record in a highly entertaining manner. He says of the melody of the famous "Hymn to Joy," in Beethoven's ninth symphony, that it is so "monstrous and tasteless, and its grasp of Schiller's ode so trivial, that I cannot even now understand how a genius like Beethoven could have written it."
