Woman's Work in Music

by Arthur Elson

His feeling for her was not exactly the effervescent feeling of youth, but the quieter, deeper sentiment of personal esteem and affection, which comes later in life, and is therefore more lasting. Her influence is visible in much of his later music, and the seventh and eighth symphonies were inspired by her.

That Beethoven took a friendly interest in other love-affairs besides his own is shown by an incident taking place in Töplitz, where the actor, Ludwig Loewe, was in love with the landlord's daughter of the "Blue Star," at which Beethoven used to dine. Conversation was usually impossible because of stern parents and a multitude of diners. "Come at a later hour," said the girl; "only Beethoven is here, and he cannot hear." This answered for a time, but at length the parents forbade the actor the house. Despite Beethoven's serious reserve, Loewe had often noticed a kindly smile on his face, and now resolved to trust him. Finding the composer in the park, he begged him to take charge of a letter for the girl. Satisfied with the honesty of the young man's intentions, Beethoven did this, and next day brought back the answer, keeping up his rôle of messenger during the whole of the five weeks that he remained in the town.

Franz Peter Schubert was a true son of Vienna. Sprung from the lower classes, he never felt wholly at ease among the aristocracy, and made no such deep impression upon them as Beethoven did. He was most at home in the informal society of his few chosen friends, all men of talent in some direction, whom he drew about him by his own genius and good-fellowship. His very nickname, "Kanner-was," taken from his usual question about newcomers, bears witness to the fact that he would have nothing to do with any one who did not show intellectual ability in some direction,—poetry or art, if not music.

Schubert's brief schooling, where his natural gifts were left to flourish by themselves, was succeeded by three years of musical drudgery in the shape of school-teaching. But his genius was restless, and he threw up that post. How he existed during the next few years is a complete mystery. He lived for a while rent-free, and his wants were never many, but for some time he apparently got along with no income whatever. His fertility in composing songs showed itself already. His later feat of writing "Hark, Hark, the Lark" on the back of a bill of fare, finishing it within half an hour of his first seeing the poem, is well known. It seems that he could forget as easily as he invented. At one time he sent a set of songs to his friend Vogl for inspection, but the latter was unable to look them over for two weeks. On finding one of especial interest, Vogl had it transposed to suit his voice, and gave it to Schubert to play. The composer, after trying it, cried in admiration: "I say, that's not bad; whose is it?"

At last he obtained the post of private teacher in the family of Count Esterhazy. It was the Countess Caroline, younger of the two daughters, who was to become the object of Schubert's later adoration. On the first visit, however, she was only nine, and we find Schubert, with his usual promiscuous taste, more at home with the servants than in the drawing-room. "The cook is a pleasant fellow," he writes; "the ladies' maid is thirty; the housemaid very pretty, and often pays me a visit; the nurse is somewhat ancient; the butler is my rival; the two grooms get on better with the horses than with us. The count is a little rough; the countess proud, but not without heart, and the two young ladies good children."

Eight years later he spent another period of six months at the château, and at this time felt the passion for the young countess that has been so often alluded to in his biographies. According to Bauernfeld, she inspired an ideal devotion that sustained and comforted him to the end of his life. There can be no doubt that etiquette and their difference in position prevented much intercourse between the two, but his devotion was apparently as lasting as it was unselfish. According to Kreissle, it found expression once, on her asking him, in jesting reproach, why he never dedicated anything to her. "Why should I," came the reply; "everything I ever did is dedicated to you." One of his posthumous works bears her name, which would hardly have been printed unless found on the manuscript in the handwriting of this greatest of tone-poets.

Mendelssohn came of a family that boasted an eminent intellectual leader of Judaism in the shape of Moses Mendelssohn, the composer's grandfather. Abraham, the father, brought up his two children, Fanny and Felix, in the Lutheran faith. Between the brother and sister there existed the most intimate understanding and affection, lasting through their entire lives. Both were musically gifted, possessing delicate hands and taper fingers that were often spoken of as if made expressly for playing Bach fugues.

Growing to maturity in the delightful family atmosphere that characterizes the better class of Jews and their descendants, Fanny Mendelssohn met and loved the young painter, Wilhelm Hensel. Her mother would not hear of an immediate engagement, but, after five years of art study in Rome, Hensel returned to become Fanny's betrothed. Felix, now launched on his professional career, produced an organ piece especially for the wedding. Another work for family use was his cantata, or opera, "Son and Stranger," composed for the silver wedding of his parents. This was prepared without their knowledge, and in order that the non-musical Hensel might take part with the rest of the family, Mendelssohn wrote for him a number consisting wholly of one note repeated. Even with this aid the Muses were unpropitious in the performance, and Hensel could not hit the right pitch for this note, while all his neighbours tried to prompt him, and the young composer sat at the piano convulsed with laughter.

Fanny Hensel led a life of happy activity. She and her brother drew around them a circle of celebrities that included scientific as well as artistic leaders. Like her brother, she was a composer. At first, however, he objected to her publishing her works, on account of her sex, and half a dozen of her songs without words were brought out among his own. In 1846 she ventured at last to issue some piano melodies and vocal works, in compliance with flattering offers from Berlin publishers. Then her famous brother sent his blessing on her becoming "a member of the craft," and hoped she would taste only the sweets and none of the bitternesses of authorship. Her greatest work is a piano trio,[5] which was not published until after her death. Among other compositions, she wrote several choruses for Goethe's "Faust," and a number of part-songs.

Her life came to an untimely close. In the year 1847, while conducting the little choir that she led on Sundays, she met an end as sudden as it was unexplained. Her hands dropped in an instant from the keyboard of the piano, and fell limp at her side. In spite of medical aid, death came after a short interval. It is highly probable that the early exertions of herself and her brother, which made their talents so wonderful, resulted in lessening their vital strength.