An interesting story is told of Josquin, an eminent composer, who was appointed master of the chapel of Louis XII., by whom he was promised a benefice. But the King forgot the matter, and from the shortness of his Majesty’s memory Josquin suffered great inconvenience. By a clever expedient he contrived publicly to remind Louis of his promise without giving offence. Being commanded to compose a motet for the Chapel Royal, he chose part of the 119th Psalm, beginning with the words, “Oh, think of thy servant as concerning thy word,” “which he set in so supplicating and exquisite a manner that it was universally admired, particularly by the King, who was not only charmed with the music, but felt the force of the words so effectually that he soon after granted his petition by conferring on him the promised appointment.”
Marie Antoinette had a natural taste and extreme fondness for music. She much valued Grétry’s music—a great deal of the poetry set to his music being by Marmontel. The day after the first performance of “Zemira and Azor,” Marmontel and Grétry were presented to the Queen as she was passing through the Gallery of Fontainbleau to go to mass. The Queen congratulated Grétry on the success of the new opera, and told him that she had dreamed of the enchanting effect of the trio by Zemira’s father and sisters behind the magic mirror. In a transport of joy, Grétry took Marmontel in his arms. “Ah, my friend,” cried he, “excellent music may be made of this.” “And execrable words,” coolly added Marmontel, to whom her Majesty had not addressed a single compliment.[167]
Marie Antoinette was the great patroness of the celebrated Viotti, and, when he began to perform his concerts at her private musical parties, she would go round the music saloon and say, “Ladies and gentlemen, I request you will be silent, and very attentive, and not enter into conversation while Mr. Viotti is playing, for it interrupts him in the execution of his fine performance.”
She paid for the musical education of the French singer Garat, and pensioned him for her private concerts. It was at her request, too, that the great Gluck was brought from Germany to Paris. It may be remembered that he composed his “Armida” in compliment to the personal charms of Marie Antoinette. On one occasion he told her that the air of France had invigorated his musical genius, and that, after having had the honour of seeing her Majesty, his ideas were so much inspired that his compositions resembled her, and became alike angelic and divine.
Had her musical taste been cultivated, it is said that Marie Antoinette would have made considerable progress. She sang little French airs with much feeling and taste. She improved much under the tuition of the famous Sacchini, and after his death Sapio was named as his successor, but, between the death of one master and the appointment of another, “the revolutionary horrors so increased, that her mind was no longer in a state to listen to anything but the howlings of the tempest.”
Charles V. of Spain had a fine musical ear, and thoroughly understood the principles of the science. When on the throne, the music of his chapel was unsurpassed by that of any church in Christendom. On his settling at the Jeronymite monastery of Yuste, after his abdication, the greatest pains had been taken to select for him the best voices from the different convents of the order, and no person was admitted into the choir except those who regularly belonged to it. On one occasion, a professional singer from Plasencia having joined in the chant, the unaccustomed tones soon attracted the Emperor’s attention, and the intruder was compelled to retire. Charles had a quick ear, and sometimes even a false note jarred on it, which prompted him to break into a passion, and to salute the offender with one of those scurrilous epithets which he had picked up in the wars, and which were far better suited to a military life than to a monastic.[168] One thing is certain, he never spared the unlucky offender.
Among touching instances of royal personages finding relief in music may be mentioned the King of Hanover, who had the misfortune of being nearly deprived of his eyesight some time before he came to the throne. As Crown Prince he published a pamphlet, entitled “Ideas and Reflections on the Properties of Music,” in which he thus gives his experiences: “From early youth I have striven to make music my own. It has become to me a companion and comforter through life; it has become more and more valuable to me the more I learnt to comprehend and appreciate its boundless exuberance of ideas, and its inexhaustible fulness.
“By means of music, ideas, feelings, historical events, natural phenomena, pictures, and scenes of life of all sorts are as clearly and intelligibly expressed as by any language in words; and we are ourselves enabled to express ourselves in such a manner, and to make ourselves understood by others. It is, above all, in the gloomy hours of affliction that music is a soothing comforter, and whoever has experienced this effect himself will admit that for this fairest service rendered by the art he cannot sufficiently thank and revere it.”
Frederick William I. was fond of music, and, during the winter evenings, he caused the airs and choruses of certain favourite operas to be played to him on wind instruments by the band of the Potsdam Guard regiment. During these concerts the musicians, with their desks and lights, stood at one end of the long hall, while the King, sitting quite alone at the other, would sometimes, especially after a good dinner, fall asleep.
As a composer and performer, Frederick the Great acquired considerable celebrity, and in his early years his father used contemptuously to call him the “piper,” or the “poetaster”; for, the Queen having caused him to be secretly instructed in playing the flute, the Prince attempted to arrange concerts in the woods when the King was hunting, and, whilst his father rode after the wild boar, the flutes and violins were produced out of the game-bags. One day, the King going into his apartment, the music-master had to be hidden in the chimney. His compositions are very numerous, as he wrote for his own use only as many as one hundred solos for the flute, on which he was a skilful player. When time permitted, he devoted four hours daily to the study or practice of music, a recreation which he enjoyed until within a few years of his death, when he was debarred it through the loss of several of his front teeth. He generally contrived, after taking his coffee in the morning, to play his flute, and these were the moments, as he once confessed to D’Alembert, when his best thoughts occurred to him. Lord Malmesbury wrote from Berlin in the year 1775: “Never was the King in a worse humour: a few days ago the King broke his flute on the head of his chamber hussar, and is very liberal to his servants with cuffs and kicks.” At a concert given during the visit of the Electress-Dowager Maria Antonia of Saxony in 1770, in which this princess, a very distinguished amateur performer, played the piano and sang, the King, supported by his old master, Quantz, played the first lute, the hereditary Prince of Brunswick the first violin, and the Prince of Prussia—afterwards King Frederick William II.—the violoncello.