Many anecdotes have been recorded of his musical pursuits, his behaviour on the occasion of the performance of Graun’s Te Deum, after the termination of the Seven Years’ War, in 1763, being specially noteworthy. The orchestra and singers, who had assembled in the royal palace at Charlottenburg at the time commanded, found to their surprise that there was no audience assembling. But after having waited some time, wondering whether the performance of the Te Deum was to take place, or whether there had been some mistake in the hour, they observed a side door being opened at the end of the hall opposite them, through which the King entered alone, and, sitting down in a corner, bade them commence. At some of the full choruses he held his hands before his eyes to conceal his tears, and, at the close of the performance, having thanked them by a slight inclination of his head, he retired through the side door by which he had entered. It is said that the Emperor was so prepossessed by the compositions of Graun, that hardly any other composer had a chance of finding favour with him.
The Emperor’s sister, the Princess Amelia, was a good musician and a sharp critic, as may be gathered from the following letter which she wrote to the Kapellmeister Schulz, in Rheinsberg, after he had sent her the manuscript of his choruses to “Athalia,” with the humble request for permission to dedicate them to her, or, as he expressed himself, “to preface the work with the adorable name of so illustrious a connoisseur”:—
“I surmise, Mr. Schulz, that by an oversight you have sent me, instead of your own work, the musical bungling of a child, since I cannot discover in it the least musical art; on the contrary, it is throughout faulty from beginning to end in the expression, sentiment, and meaning of the language, as well as in the rhythm. The motus contrarius has been entirely neglected: there is no proper harmony, no impressive melody; the key is never clearly indicated, so that one has to guess in what key the music is meant to move. There are no canonic imitations, not the least trace of counterpoint, but plenty of consecutive fifths and octaves! And this is to be called music! May Heaven open the eyes of those who possess such a high conceit of themselves, and enlighten their understanding to make them comprehend that they are but bunglers and fumblers. I have heard it said that the work ought to praise the master; nowadays everything is reversed and confused, the masters are the only ones who praise themselves, even if their works are offensive.”
Schulz, mentioning the contents of this letter to a friend, added, “All this may be true, but why tell it me so rudely?”
A distinguished pianist was Prince Louis Ferdinand of Prussia, who lost his life in the battle of Saalfeld, in the year 1806. He was, too, a fine composer—“perhaps the best of all the royal musicians whose works have been published, or are otherwise known, and a true patron of the art, which he showed by his cultivation of classical music, as well as by his kindness to Beethoven, Dussek, Spohr, and other eminent composers.” It was this prince of whom it is said that Beethoven, on hearing him play, exclaimed with surprise, “Your Royal Highness does not play like a prince—you play like a musician.”
As a pupil of Beethoven, Rudolph, Archduke of Austria, was not only a true patron of music, but he took an active interest in all musical matters, as is shown by the subjoined letter:—
“Dear Beethoven,—I shall return to Vienna as early as Monday, August 5, and I shall then remain in town for several days.... My brother-in-law, Prince Anton, has written to me already that the King of Saxony expects your beautiful mass.
“Respecting D—r, I have spoken with our gracious monarch, and likewise with Count Dietrichstein. I do not know whether this recommendation will be of use, as there is to be a competition for the appointment in question, in which any one, wishing to obtain it, has to prove his fitness. It would be a gratification to me if I could be useful to that clever man, whom I heard with pleasure playing the organ last Monday in Baden, especially as I am convinced that you would not recommend an unworthy person.
“I hope you have written down your canon, and I pray you, in case it might be injurious to your health to come to town, not to exert yourself too soon out of attachment to me.—Your well-wishing
“Rudolph.