At five Mozart performed in public, with his little sister of ten. All the crowned heads of Europe took note of him, but he remained unspoilt, being of a gentle and sensitive disposition. At Paris in 1763 he published his first compositions. In the following year the family, still very poor in spite of his genius, visited England, where they remained for some time. They eventually returned home, and at fourteen Mozart was not only a finished musician but a noted composer. He travelled widely, making a tour throughout Italy, and being everywhere received with recognition and applause. The Empress Maria Teresa, at that time reigning in Austria, gave him a watch set with diamonds and enamelled with her own portrait.

The boy was appointed by the Archbishop of Salzburg, concert-meister, a merely honorary appointment. Indeed, nothing is more astonishing than the fact that during his whole life Mozart never was comfortable in regard to money matters, and in spite of the astonishing number and excellence of his compositions, in spite of his world-wide fame and the great favour in which he was held by crowned heads, he was always poor. In 1772 a new archbishop was appointed in place of the first one, who had died, and this man was of a temperament not, unfortunately, uncommon among those who are in positions of supreme authority in the church, the precepts of whose Founder they set utterly at variance with their lives. He was a bully, and did his best to make the life of the simple-natured musician a torment to him. Mozart, who had poured out concertos, masses, symphonies, cantatas, and even operas, had apparently received very little payment as the result of all this work, which indeed came as naturally to him as warbling to the birds. He asked leave of his nominal employer to go on another tour with his mother. The tyrannical archbishop refused, with insult, and apparently kept the young musician by him for the sole purpose of insulting and annoying him. His irony went so far as to forbid the young man leave to resign his honorary appointment, to which under pressure a little later he attached a small salary, but only apparently for the purpose of binding the young musician more firmly in the toils. He was treated like a servant by the archbishop, was not allowed to play anywhere but in the palace, and was left to pay his own expenses. Mozart did after a struggle get away temporarily, but the tour was not a success; he fell in love unhappily, and when he returned his mother died. In 1782 he married the sister of his first love, and this step proved disastrous; his wife was in no way his equal, and became a confirmed invalid. He produced some of his greatest pieces in Vienna, but without winning the applause they deserved, and when he was at length appointed Kammermeister to the Emperor it was with what seems a ludicrously inadequate salary. King Frederick William of Prussia offered him five or six times as much, and when Mozart unwillingly informed his own sovereign of the prospect thus opened to him he was accused of ingratitude and, with his usual sensitiveness, abandoned the idea.

VIENNA: MOZART’S HOUSE

He died in 1791 at the early age of thirty-five, and his last work was the magnificent Requiem, which had a strange origin, for it had been commissioned by a man who appeared incognito, offering to pay for the work in advance. Mozart firmly believed that this stranger was a messenger from the other world sent to warn him of his own death. He accepted the commission and began to carry it out, but in the meantime undertook other work which occupied his time. The stranger called again and urged him on, and he made further headway, but when the stranger came a third time the great composer was dead. The Requiem was completed by Süssmayer, and the stranger who had commissioned it turned out to be Count Walsegg.

It is almost incredible to relate that this genius, whose work has given his country an imperishable name, was buried in a pauper’s grave, and that even the three “friends” who had set out to follow the coffin turned back because it rained, and so the body was taken to its resting-place unhonoured and alone.

During the lifetime of Mozart there was living also in Austria another of the first-class stars whose appearance in the firmament of music is so rare. Joseph Haydn was born in 1732 and was thus already a man of twenty-four when little Wolfgang came into the world. Haydn was born at Rohrau in Lower Austria, and was the second of the twelve children of a wheelwright. The boy had a beautiful voice and evidently much musical talent, so that a relation rescued him from a life of drudgery and sent him to school, and he afterwards obtained an appointment among the choir boys of St. Stephen’s Cathedral in Vienna—a very different beginning from that of Mozart, who was accustomed to be familiarly petted by crowned heads almost from his infancy. When his voice broke Haydn kept himself by giving music lessons, and after following this profession for some time, he brought out his first compositions. He was fortunate enough to find several patrons who recognised his talent, and chief among them the head of the great family of Esterhazy, who made him chapel-master with an independent salary. He never broke his connection with the Esterhazys, even to the day of his death.

Haydn, like Mozart, married the sister of his first love, and like him also had an unhappy disillusionment. However, while he lived with the Esterhazys, and particularly when he was at their princely country seat, he was free from his wife’s unwelcome society. His compositions were very various, and he lived always in the sunshine of his patron’s encouragement. After the death of this prince his successor did away with the orchestra, but treated Haydn handsomely as to money, and the composer resolved to visit England. This he did in 1790, and he was well received. It was on his return to Vienna that the great Beethoven came to be his pupil. Haydn was never so successful in opera as in his symphonies and oratorios, and the name of “father of instrumental music” is sometimes given to him on account of his special works for the orchestra. He died in 1809 at the age of seventy-seven. His life was much less troubled and disturbed than Mozart’s, and his work is of a different genre altogether—a difference fully appreciated by those who understand music.

But greatest of the mighty trio is Ludwig van Beethoven, who was not a native of Austria, being born in Bonn in Germany in 1770. When he was only seventeen he went over to Vienna to receive a few lessons from Mozart, returning there again in 1792. Beethoven was not a prodigy as a child, though he early displayed a great aptitude for music. His master does not seem to have inspired him with any particular reverence; in fact, in after years he is said to have refused him the title of master, as he said he never learned anything from him. So greatly, however, did the Austrian capital appeal to him, and so warm was the reception accorded to him there, that he made it his headquarters, and afterwards never left it for long. His first compositions, rendered to an Austrian audience in 1795, placed him in a secure position, and among his greatest admirers was his pupil the Archduke Rudolf. Beethoven’s genius was of a different kind from that of Mozart, being far less spontaneous and owing much more to hard and painful labour. His originality was greater than that of Haydn, and in spite of abstruseness and that incomprehensibility which must ever remain to all but the few in some of the works of a master-spirit, he was always appreciated and understood. However, in 1797, when only twenty-seven years of age, a terrible calamity fell upon him for he began to be deaf, an infirmity which rapidly increased; this did not prevent his still carrying on the noble compositions, which by a terrible irony of fate he himself could never hear, but it darkened his life and took from him much of the joy of living. He never married, and died in 1827.

Beethoven’s compositions, 138 in number, comprise all the forms of vocal and instrumental music, from the sonata to the symphony—from the simple song to the opera and oratorio. In each of these forms he displayed the depth of his feeling, the power of his genius; in some of them he reached a greatness never approached by his predecessors or followers. His pianoforte sonatas have brought the technical resources of that instrument to a perfection previously unknown, but they at the same time embody an infinite variety and depth of emotion. His nine symphonies show a continuous climax of development, ascending from the simplest forms of Haydn and Mozart to the colossal dimensions of the choral symphony, which almost seems to pass the possibilities of artistic expansion, and the subject of which is humanity itself with its sufferings and ideals. His dramatic works, the opera Fidelio, and the overtures to Egmont and Coriolanus—display depth of pathos and force of dramatic characterisation. Even his smallest songs and pianoforte pieces reflect a heart full of love, and a mind bent on thought of eternal things (Ency. Brit., 9th edition).