“Some circumstances attending his last composition, the Requiem, the last effort of his genius, are too interesting to be omitted. A short time before his death, a stranger came to him, with the request, that he would compose, as speedily as possible, a Requiem for a Catholic prince, who, perceiving himself on the verge of the grave, wished, by the execution of such a piece, to sooth his mind, and familiarize it to the idea of his approaching dissolution. Mozart undertook the work; and the stranger deposited with him, as a security, four hundred ducats, though the sum demanded was only two hundred. The composer immediately began the work, and during its progress, felt his mind unusually raised and agitated. He became, at length, so infatuated with his Requiem, that he employed, not only the day, but some hours of the night, in its composition. One day, while he was conversing with Madame Mozart on the subject, he declared to her, that he could not but be persuaded that it was for himself he was writing this piece. His wife, distressed at her inability to dissipate so melancholy an impression, prevailed on him to give her the score. He afterwards appearing somewhat tranquillized, and more master of himself, she returned the score to him, and he soon relapsed into his former despondency. On the day of his death, he asked her for the Requiem, which was accordingly brought to his bed. “Was I not right,” said he, “when I declared, that it was for myself I was composing this funeral piece?” And the tears trickled from his eyes. This production, of a man impressed, during its composition, with a presentiment of his approaching death, is unique in its kind, and contains passages which have frequently drawn tears from the performers.
“Only one complaint escaped him during his malady. ‘I must quit life,’ said he, ‘precisely at the moment when I could enjoy it, free from care and inquietude, at the very time, when independent of sordid speculations, and at liberty to follow my own inclinations, I should have to write from the impulses of my own heart; and I am torn from my family, just when in a situation to serve it.’ Mozart, at the time of his death, was considerably involved in debt; but Vienna and Prague disputed the honour of providing for his widow and children.”
Encyclopædia Britannica.
G. F. HANDEL, ESQ.
Handel’s government of the fingers was somewhat despotic; for, upon Cuzzoni’s (a famous singer of his time) insolently refusing to sing his admirable air, Falsa Imagine, in Otho, he told her, that he always knew she was a very devil; but that he should now let her know, in his turn, that he was Belzebub, the prince of the devils; and then, taking her up by the waist, swore, if she did not immediately obey his orders, he would throw her out of the window.
TARTINI, AN ITALIAN MUSICIAN.
Tartini was a celebrated musician, born at Pirano, in Istria, and being much inclined to the study of music in his early youth, dreamed one night, that he made a compact with the Devil, who promised to be at his service on all occasions: and during this vision, every thing succeeded according to his mind: his wishes were prevented, and his desires always surpassed, by the assistance of this new servant. At last, he imagined that he presented the Devil with his violin, in order to discover what kind of a musician he was; when, to his great astonishment, he heard him play a solo, so singularly beautiful, and which he executed with such superior taste and precision, that it surpassed all the music which he had ever heard or conceived in his life. So great was his surprise, and so exquisite was his delight upon this occasion, that it deprived him of the power of breathing. He awoke with the violence of his sensations, and instantly seized his fiddle, in hopes of expressing what he had just heard, but in vain: he, however, then composed a piece of music, which is, perhaps, the best of all his works, and called it, the Devil’s Sonata; but it was so far inferior to what he had produced in his sleep, that he declared he would have broken his instrument, and abandoned music for ever, if he could have found any other means of subsistence.
MR. HANDEL.
When Handel went through Chester, in his way to Ireland, in 1741, he applied to Mr. Baker, the organist, to know whether there were any choirmen in the cathedral who could sing at sight, as he wished to prove some books that had been hastily transcribed, by trying the chorusses, which he intended to perform in Ireland. Mr. Baker mentioned some of the most likely singers then in Chester; and, among the rest, a printer, of the name of Janson, who had a good bass voice, and was one of the best musicians in the choir. A time was fixed, for the private rehearsal, at the Golden Falcon, where Handel was quartered: but, alas! on trial of the chorusses in the Messiah, “And with his stripes are we healed,” poor Janson, after repeated attempts, failed so egregiously, that Handel let loose his great bear upon him; and, after swearing, in four or five different languages, cried out, in broken English, “You schauntrel! did not you tell me dat you could sing at soite?” ‘Yes, Sir,’ says the printer, ‘and so I can, but not at first sight.’