THE WORLD'S GREAT MEN OF MUSIC

BY

HARRIETTE BROWER

_Author of "Piano Mastery, First and Second Series, ""Home-Help in Music Study, " "Self-Help inPiano Study, " "Vocal Mastery, " etc_. 

Also Published Under the Title of"Story-Lives of Master Musicians"

1922

FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY

Printed in the United States of America

FOREWORD

The preparation of this volume began with a period of delightfulresearch work in a great musical library. As a honey-bee fluttersfrom flower to flower, culling sweetness from many blossoms, sothe compiler of such stories as these must gather facts from manysources--from biography, letters, journals and musical history. Then, impressed with the personality and individual achievement of eachcomposer, the author has endeavored to present his life story. 

While the aim has been to make the story-sketches interesting toyoung people, the author hopes that they may prove valuable to musicalreaders of all ages. Students of piano, violin or other instrumentsneed to know how the great composers lived their lives. In everymusical career described in this book, from the old mastersrepresented by Bach and Beethoven to the musical prophets of our ownday, there is a wealth of inspiration and practical guidance for theartist in any field. Through their struggles, sorrows and triumphs, divine melody and harmony came into being, which will bless the worldfor all time to come. 

 CONTENTS

CHAPTER FOREWORD

 I PALESTRINA

 II JOHN SEBASTIAN BACH

 III GEORGE FREDERICK HANDEL

 IV CHRISTOPH WILLIBALD GLUCK

 V JOSEF HAYDN

 VI WOLFGANG MOZART

 VII LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN

 VIII CARL MARIA VON WEBER

 IX FRANZ SCHUBERT

 X FELIX MENDELSSOHN-BARTHOLDY

 XI ROBERT SCHUMANN

 XII FREDERIC CHOPIN

 XIII HECTOR BERLIOZ

 XIV FRANZ LISZT

 XV GIUSEPPE VERDI

 XVI RICHARD WAGNER

 XVII CÉSAR FRANCK

 XVIII JOHANNES BRAHMS

 XIX EDWARD GRIEG

 XX PETER ILYITCH TSCHAIKOWSKY

 XXI EDWARD MACDOWELL

 XXII CLAUDE ACHILLE DEBUSSY

 XXIII ARTURO TOSCANINI

 XXIV LEOPOLD STOKOWSKY

 XXV SERGE KOUSSEVITZKY

[Illustration: LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN]

[Illustration: JOHANN SEBASTIAN BACH]

[Illustration: JOHANNES BRAHMS]

[Illustration: PETER ILYITCH TSCHAIKOWSKY]

STORY-LIVES OF

MASTER MUSICIANS

I

PALESTRINA

To learn something of the life and labors of Palestrina, one of theearliest as well as one of the greatest musicians, we must go back inthe world's history nearly four hundred years. And even then we maynot be able to discover all the events of his life as some of therecords have been lost. But we have the main facts, and know thatPalestrina's name will be revered for all time as the man who stroveto make sacred music the expression of lofty and spiritual meaning. 

Upon a hoary spur of the Apennines stands the crumbling town ofPalestrina. It is very old now; it was old when Rome was young. Fourhundred years ago Palestrina was dominated by the great castle of itslords, the proud Colonnas. Naturally the town was much more importantin those days than it is to-day. 

At that time there lived in Palestrina a peasant pair, Sante Pierluigiand his wife Maria, who seem to have been an honest couple, and notgrindingly poor, since the will of Sante's mother has lately beenfound, in which she bequeathed a house in Palestrina to her two sons. Besides this she left behind a fine store of bed linen, mattresses andcooking utensils. Maria Gismondi also had a little property. 

To this pair was born, probably in 1526, a boy whom they namedGiovanni Pierluigi, which means John Peter Louis. This boy, from atiniest child, loved beauty of sight and sound. And this is not atall surprising, for a child surrounded from infancy by the naturalloveliness and glory of old Palestrina, would unconsciously breathe ina sense of beauty and grandeur. 

It was soon discovered the boy had a voice, and his mother is saidto have sold some land she owned to provide for her son's musicaltraining. 

From the rocky heights on which their town was built, the peopleof Palestrina could look across the Campagna--the great plainbetween--and see the walls and towers of Rome. At the time of ourstory, Saint Peter's had withstood the sack of the city, whichhappened a dozen years before, and Bramante's vast basilica hadalready begun to rise. The artistic life of Rome was still at hightide, for Raphael had passed away but twenty years before, and MichaelAngelo was at work on his Last Judgment. 

Though painting and sculpture flourished, music did not keep pace withadvance in other arts. The leading musicians were Belgian, Spanish orFrench, and their music did not match the great achievements attainedin the kindred art of the time--architecture, sculpture and painting. There was needed a new impetus, a vital force. Its rise began whenthe peasant youth John Peter Louis descended from the heights ofPalestrina to the banks of the Tiber. 

It is said that Tomasso Crinello was the boy's master; whether thisis true or not, he was surely trained in the Netherland manner ofcomposition. 

The youth, whom we shall now call Palestrina, as he is known by thename of his birthplace, returned from Rome at the age of eighteen tohis native town, in 1544, as a practising musician, and took a post atthe Cathedral of Saint Agapitus. Here he engaged himself for life, tobe present every day at mass and vespers, and to teach singing tothe canons and choristers. Thus he spent the early years of his youngmanhood directing the daily services and drumming the rudiments ofmusic into the heads of the little choristers. It may have been dryand wearisome labor; but afterward, when Palestrina began to reformthe music of the church, it must have been of great advantage to himto know so absolutely the liturgy, not only of Saint Peter's and SaintJohn Lateran, but also that in the simple cathedral of his own smallhill-town. 

Young Palestrina, living his simple, busy life in his home town, neverdreamed he was destined to become a great musician. He married in1548, when he was about twenty-two. If he had wished to secure one ofthe great musical appointments in Rome, it was a very unwise thing forhim to marry, for single singers were preferred in nine cases out often. Palestrina did not seem to realize this danger to a brilliantcareer, and took his bride, Lucrezia, for pure love. She seems to havebeen a person after his own heart, besides having a comfortable dowryof her own. They had a happy union, which lasted for more than thirtyyears. 

Although he had agreed to remain for life at the cathedral church ofSaint Agapitus, it seems that such contracts could be broken withoutperil. Thus, after seven years of service, he once more turned hissteps toward the Eternal City. 

He returned to Rome as a recognized musician. In 1551 he became masterof the Capella Giulia, at the modest salary of six scudi a month, something like ten dollars. But the young chapel master seemedsatisfied. Hardly three years after his arrival had elapsed, whenhe had written and printed a book containing five masses, which hededicated to Pope Julius III. This act pleased the pontiff, who, inJanuary, 1555, appointed Palestrina one of the singers of the SistineChapel, with an increased salary. 

It seems however, that the Sistine singers resented the appointmentof a new member, and complained about it. Several changes in the Papalchair occurred at this time, and when Paul IV, as Pope, came intopower, he began at once with reforms. Finding that Palestrina and twoother singers were married men, he put all three out, though grantingan annuity of six scudi a month for each. 

The loss of this post was a great humiliation, which Palestrina foundit hard to endure. He fell ill at this time, and the outlook was darkindeed, with a wife and three little children to provide for. 

But the clouds soon lifted. Within a few weeks after this unfortunateevent, the rejected singer of the Sistine Chapel was created ChapelMaster of Saint John Lateran, the splendid basilica, where the youngOrlandus Lassus had so recently directed the music. As Palestrinacould still keep his six scudi pension, increased with the addedsalary of the new position, he was able to establish his family in apretty villa on the Coelian Hill, where he could be near his work atthe Lateran, but far enough removed from the turmoil of the city toobtain the quiet he desired, and where he lived in tranquillity forthe next five years. 

Palestrina spent forty-four years of his life in Rome. All the elevenpopes who reigned during this long period honored Palestrina as agreat musician. Marcellus II spent a part of his three weeks' reignin showing kindness to the young Chapel master, which the composerreturned by naming for this pontiff a famous work, "Mass of PopeMarcellus. " Pius IV, who was in power when the mass was performed, praised it eloquently, saying John Peter Louis of Palestrina was a newJohn, bringing down to the church militant the harmonies of that"new song" which John the Apostle heard in the Holy City. Themusician-pope, Gregory XIII, to whom Palestrina dedicated his grandestmotets, entrusted him with the sacred task of revising the ancientchant. Pope Sixtus V greatly praised his beautiful mass, "Assumpta estMaria" and promoted him to higher honors. 

With this encouragement and patronage, Palestrina labored five yearsat the Lateran, ten years at Santa Maria Maggiore and twenty three atSaint Peter's. At the last named it was his second term, of course, but it continued from 1571 to his death. He was happy in his work, inhis home and in his friends. He also saved quite a little money andwas able to give his daughter-in-law, in 1577, 1300 scudi; he is knownindeed, to have bought land, vineyards and houses in and about Rome. 

All was not a life of sunshine for Palestrina, for he suffered manydomestic sorrows. His three promising sons died one after another. They were talented young men, who might have followed in the footstepsof their distinguished father. In 1580 his wife died also. Yet neitherpoignant sorrow, worldly glory nor ascetic piety blighted his homelyaffections. At the Jubilee of Pope Gregory XIII, in 1575, when 1500pilgrims from the town of Palestrina descended the hills on the wayto Rome, it was their old townsman, Giovanni Pierluigi, who led theirsongs, as they entered the Eternal City, their maidens clad in whiterobes, and their young men bearing olive branches. 

It is said of Palestrina that he became the "savior of church music, "at a time when it had almost been decided to banish all music from theservice except the chant, because so many secular subjects had beenset to music and used in church. Things had come to a very difficultpass, until at last the fathers turned to Palestrina, desiring himto compose a mass in which sacred words should be heard throughout. Palestrina, deeply realizing his responsibility, wrote not only onebut three, which, on being heard, pleased greatly by their piety, meekness, and beautiful spirit. Feeling more sure of himself, Palestrina continued to compose masses, until he had createdninety-three in all. He also wrote many motets on the Song of Solomon, his Stabat Mater, which was edited two hundred and fifty years laterby Richard Wagner, and his lamentations, which were composed at therequest of Sixtus V. 

Palestrina's end came February 2, 1594. He died in Rome, a devoutChristian, and on his coffin were engraved the simple but splendidwords: "Prince of Music. "

II

JOHN SEBASTIAN BACH

Away back in 1685, almost two hundred and fifty years ago, one of thegreatest musicians of the world first saw the light, in the littletown of Eisenach, nestling on the edge of the Thuringen forest. Thelong low-roofed cottage where little Johann Sebastian Bach was born, is still standing, and carefully preserved. 

The name Bach belonged to a long race of musicians, who strove toelevate the growing art of music. For nearly two hundred years therehad been organists and composers in the family; Sebastian's father, Johann Ambrosius Bach was organist of the Lutheran Church in Eisenach, and naturally a love of music was fostered in the home. It is nowonder that little Sebastian should have shown a fondness for musicalmost from infancy. But, beyond learning the violin from his father, he had not advanced very far in his studies, when, in his tenthyear he lost both his parents and was taken care of by his brotherChristoph, fourteen years older, a respectable musician and organistin a neighboring town. To give his little brother lessons on theclavier, and send him to the Lyceum to learn Latin, singing and otherschool subjects seemed to Christoph to include all that could beexpected of him. That his small brother possessed musical genius ofthe highest order, was an idea he could not grasp; or if he did, herepressed the boy with indifference and harsh treatment. 

Little Sebastian suffered in silence from this coldness. Fortunatelythe force of his genius was too great to be crushed. He knew all thesimple pieces by heart, which his brother set for his lessons, andhe longed for bigger things. There was a book of manuscript musiccontaining pieces by Buxtehude and Frohberger, famous masters of thetime, in the possession of Christoph. Sebastian greatly desired toplay the pieces in that book, but his brother kept it under lock andkey in his cupboard, or bookcase. One day the child mustered courageto ask permission to take the book for a little while. Instead ofyielding to the boy's request Christoph became angry, told him not toimagine he could study such masters as Buxtehude and Frohberger, butshould be content to get the lessons assigned him. 

The injustice of this refusal fired Sebastian with the determinationto get possession of the coveted book at all costs. One moonlightnight, long after every one had retired, he decided to put intoexecution a project he had dreamed of for some time. 

Creeping noiselessly down stairs he stood before the bookcase andsought the precious volume. There it was with the names of the variousmusicians printed in large letters on the back in his brother'shandwriting. To get his small hands between the bars and draw the bookoutward took some time. But how to get it out. After much labor hefound one bar weaker than the others, which could be bent. 

When at last the book was in his hands, he clasped it to his breastand hurried quickly back to his chamber. Placing the book on a tablein front of the window, where the moonlight fell full upon it, he tookpen and music paper and began copying out the pieces in the book. 

This was but the beginning of nights of endless toil. For six monthswhenever there were moonlight nights, Sebastian was at the windowworking at his task with passionate eagerness. 

At last it was finished, and Sebastian in the joy of possessing it forhis very own, crept into bed without the precaution of puttingaway all traces of his work. Poor boy, he had to pay dearly for hisforgetfulness. As he lay sleeping, Christoph, thinking he heard soundsin his brother's room, came to seek the cause. His glance, as heentered the room, fell on the open books. There was no pity inhis heart for all this devoted labor, only anger that he had beenoutwitted by his small brother. He took both books away and hid themin a place where Sebastian could never find them. But he did notreflect that the boy had the memory of all this beautiful musicindelibly printed on his mind, which helped him to bear the bitterdisappointment of the loss of his work. 

When he was fifteen Sebastian left his brother's roof and entered theLatin school connected with the Church of St. Michael at Lüneburg. Itwas found he had a beautiful soprano voice, which placed him with thescholars who were chosen to sing in the church service in return fora free education. There were two church schools in Lüneburg, and therivalry between them was so keen, that when the scholars sang in thestreets during the winter months to collect money for their support, the routes for each had to be carefully marked out, to preventcollision. 

Soon after he entered St. Michael's, Bach lost his beautiful sopranovoice; his knowledge of violin and clavier, however, enabled himto keep his place in the school. The boy worked hard at his musicalstudies, giving his spare time to the study of the best composers. Hebegan to realize that he cared more for the organ than for any otherinstrument; indeed his love for it became a passion. He was toopoor to take lessons, for he was almost entirely self-dependent--apenniless scholar, living on the plainest of fare, yet determined togain a knowledge of the music he longed for. 

One of the great organists of the time was Johann Adam Reinken. WhenSebastian learned that this master played the organ in St. Katharine'sChurch in Hamburg, he determined to walk the whole distance thither tohear him. Now Hamburg was called in those days the "Paradise of Germanmusic, " and was twenty-five good English miles from the little townof Lüneburg, but what did that matter to the eager lad? Obstacles onlyfired him to strive the harder for what he desired to attain. 

The great joy of listening to such a master made him forget the longtramp and all the weariness, and spurred him on to repeat the journeywhenever he had saved a few shillings to pay for food and lodging. Onone occasion he lingered a little longer in Hamburg than usual, untilhis funds were well-nigh exhausted, and before him was the long walkwithout any food. As he trudged along he came upon a small inn, fromthe open door of which came a delightful savory odor. He could notresist looking in through the window. At that instant a window abovewas thrown open and a couple of herrings' heads were tossed into theroad. The herring is a favorite article of food in Germany and poorSebastian was glad to pick up these bits to satisfy the cravings ofhunger. What was his surprise on pulling the heads to pieces tofind each one contained a Danish ducat. When he recovered from hisastonishment, he entered the inn and made a good meal with part of themoney; the rest ensured another visit to Hamburg. 

After remaining three years in Lüneburg, Bach secured a post asviolinist in the private band of Prince Johann Ernst of Saxe-Weimar;but this was only to fill the time till he could find a place toplay the instrument he so loved. An opportunity soon came. The oldThuringian town Arnstadt had a new church and a fine new organ. Theconsistory of the church were looking for a capable organist andBach's request to be allowed to try the instrument was readilygranted. 

As soon as they heard him play they offered him the post, with promiseof increasing the salary by a contribution from the town funds. Bachthus found himself at the age of eighteen installed as organist at asalary of fifty florins, with thirty thalers in addition for board andlodging, equal, all in all, to less than fifty dollars. In those daysthis amount was considered a fair sum for a young player. On August14, 1703, the young organist entered upon his duties, promisingsolemnly to be diligent and faithful to all requirements. 

The requirements of the post fortunately left him plenty of leisure tostudy. Up to this time he had done very little composing, but now heset about teaching himself the art of composition. 

The first thing he did was to take a number of concertos written forthe violin by Vivaldi, and set them for the harpsichord. In this wayhe learned to express himself and to attain facility in putting histhoughts on paper without first playing them on an instrument. Heworked alone in this way with no assistance from any one, and oftenstudied till far into the night to perfect himself in this branch ofhis art. 

From the very beginning, his playing on the new organ excitedadmiration, but his artistic temperament frequently threatened tobe his undoing. For the young enthusiast was no sooner seated at theorgan to conduct the church music than he forgot that the choir andcongregation were depending on him and would begin to improvise atsuch length that the singing had to stop altogether, while the peoplelistened in mute admiration. Of course there were many disputesbetween the new organist and the elders of the church, but theyoverlooked his vagaries because of his genius. 

Yet he must have been a trial to that well-ordered body. Once he askedfor a month's leave of absence to visit Lübeck, where the celebratedBuxtehude was playing the organ in the Marien Kirche during Advent. Lübeck was fifty miles from Arnstadt, but the courageous boy made theentire journey on foot. He enjoyed the music at Lübeck so much thathe quite forgot his promise to return in one month until he had stayedthree. His pockets being quite empty, he thought for the first time ofreturning to his post. Of course there was trouble on his return, butthe authorities retained him in spite of all, for the esteem in whichthey held his gifts. 

Bach soon began to find Arnstadt too small and narrow for his soaringdesires. Besides, his fame was growing and his name becoming known inthe larger, adjacent towns. When he was offered the post of organistat St. Blasius at Mülhausen, near Eisenach, he accepted at once. Hewas told he might name his own salary. If Bach had been avaricious hecould have asked a large sum, but he modestly named the small amounthe had received at Arnstadt with the addition of certain articles offood which should be delivered at his door, gratis. 

Bach's prospects were now so much improved that he thought he mightmake a home for himself. He had fallen in love with a cousin, MariaBach, and they were married October 17, 1707. 

The young organist only remained in Mülhausen a year, for he receiveda more important offer. He was invited to play before Duke WilhelmErnst of Weimar, and hastened thither, hoping this might lead to anappointment at Court. He was not disappointed, for the Duke was sodelighted with Bach's playing that he at once offered him the post ofCourt organist. 

A wider outlook now opened for Sebastian Bach, who had all his younglife struggled with poverty and privation. He was now able to givemuch time to composition, and began to write those masterpieces forthe organ which have placed his name on the highest pinnacle in thetemple of music. 

In his comfortable Weimar home the musician had the quiet andleisure that he needed to perfect his art on all sides, not only incomposition but in organ and harpsichord playing. He felt that he hadconquered all difficulties of both instruments, and one day boastedto a friend that he could play any piece, no matter how difficult, atsight, without a mistake. In order to test this statement the friendinvited him to breakfast shortly after. On the harpsichord wereseveral pieces of music, one of which, though apparently simple, was really very difficult. His host left the room to prepare thebreakfast, while Bach began to try over the music. All went well untilhe came to the difficult piece which he began quite boldly but stuckin the middle. It went no better after several attempts. As his friendentered, bringing the breakfast, Bach exclaimed:--"You are right. Onecannot play everything perfectly at sight, --it is impossible!"

Duke Wilhelm Ernst, in 1714, raised him to the position ofHead-Concert Master, a position which offered added privileges. Everyautumn he used his annual vacation in traveling to the principal townsto give performances on organ and clavier. By such means he gained agreat reputation both as player and composer. 

On one of these tours he arrived in Dresden in time to learn of aFrench player who had just come to town. Jean Marchand had won a greatreputation in France, where he was organist to the King at Versailles, and regarded as the most fashionable musician of the day. All this hadmade him very conceited and overbearing. Every one was discussing theFrenchman's wonderful playing and it was whispered he had been offeredan appointment in Dresden. 

The friends of Bach proposed that he should engage Marchand in acontest, to defend the musical honor of the German nation. Bothmusicians were willing; the King promised to attend. 

The day fixed for the trial arrived; a brilliant company assembled. Bach made his appearance, and all was ready, but the adversary failedto come. After a considerable delay it was learned that Marchand hadfled the city. 

In 1717, on his return from Dresden, Bach was appointed Capellmeisterto the young Prince Leopold of Anhalt-Cöthen. The Prince was anenthusiastic lover of music, and at Cöthen Bach led a happy, busylife. The Prince often journeyed to different towns to gratify histaste for music, and always took Bach with him. On one of these tripshe was unable to receive the news that his wife had suddenly passedaway, and was buried before he could return to Cöthen. This was asevere blow to the whole family. 

Four years afterward, Bach married again, Anna Magdalena Wülkens wasin every way suited for a musician's wife, and for her he composedmany of the delightful dances which we now so greatly enjoy. He alsowrote a number of books of studies for his wife and his sons, severalof whom later became good musicians and composers. 

Perhaps no man ever led a more crowded life, though outwardly a quietone. He never had an idle moment. When not playing, composing orteaching, he would be found engraving music on copper, since that workwas costly in those days. Or he would be manufacturing some kind ofmusical instrument. At least two are known to be of his invention. 

Bach began to realize that the Cöthen post, while it gave him plentyof leisure for his work, did not give him the scope he needed for hisart. The Prince had lately married, and did not seem to care as muchfor music as before. 

The wider opportunity which Bach sought came when he was appointeddirector of music in the churches of St. Thomas and St. Nicholasin Leipsic, and Cantor of the Thomas-Schule there. With the Leipsicperiod Bach entered the last stage of his career, for he retained thispost for the rest of his life. He labored unceasingly, in spite ofmany obstacles and petty restrictions, to train the boys under hiscare, and raise the standard of musical efficiency in the Schule, aschoirs of both churches were recruited from the scholars of the ThomasSchool. 

During the twenty-seven years of life in Leipsic, Bach wrote some ofhis greatest works, such as the Oratorios of St. Matthew and St. John, and the Mass in B Minor. It was the Passion according to St. Matthewthat Mendelssohn, about a hundred years later discovered, studiedwith so much zeal, and performed in Berlin, with so much devotion andsuccess. 

Bach always preferred a life of quiet and retirement; simplicity hadever been his chief characteristic. He was always very religious; hisgreatest works voice the noblest sentiments of exaltation. 

Bach's modesty and retiring disposition is illustrated by thefollowing little incident. Carl Philip Emmanuel, his third son, wascembalist in the royal orchestra of Frederick the Great. His Majestywas very fond of music and played the flute to some extent. He hadseveral times sent messages to Bach by Philip Emmanuel, that he wouldlike to see him. But Bach, intent on his work, ignored the royalfavor, until he finally received an imperative command, which couldnot be disobeyed. He then, with his son Friedmann, set out forPotsdam. 

The King was about to begin the evening's music when he learned thatBach had arrived. With a smile he turned to his musicians: "Gentlemen, old Bach has come. " Bach was sent for at once, without having timeto change his traveling dress. His Majesty received him with greatkindness and respect, and showed him through the palace, where hemust try the Silbermann pianofortes, of which there were several. Bachimprovised on each and the King gave a theme which he treated as afantasia, to the astonishment of all. Frederick next asked him to playa six part fugue, and then Bach improvised one on a theme of his own. The King clapped his hands, exclaiming over and over, "Only one Bach!Only one Bach!" It was a great evening for the master, and one henever forgot. 

Just after completing his great work, The Art of Fugue, Bach becametotally blind, due no doubt, to the great strain he had always putupon his eyes, in not only writing his own music, but in copying outlarge works of the older masters. Notwithstanding this handicap hecontinued at work up to the very last. On the morning of the day onwhich he passed away, July 28, 1750, he suddenly regained his sight. Afew hours later he became unconscious and passed in sleep. 

Bach was laid to rest in the churchyard of St. John's at Leipsic, butno stone marks his resting place. Only the town library register tellsthat Johann Sebastian Bach, Musical Director and Singing Master of theSt. Thomas School, was carried to his grave July 30, 1750. 

But the memory of Bach is enduring, his fame immortal and the love hisbeautiful music inspires increases from year to year, wherever thatmusic is known, all over the world. 

III

GEORGE FREDERICK HANDEL

While little Sebastian Bach was laboriously copying out music by palemoonlight, because of his great love for it, another child of the sameage was finding the greatest happiness of his life seated before anold spinet, standing in a lumber garret. He was trying to make musicfrom those half dumb keys. No one had taught him how to play; it wasinnate genius that guided his little hands to find the right harmoniesand bring melody out of the old spinet. 

The boy's name was George Frederick Handel, and he was born in theGerman town of Halle, February 23, 1685. Almost from infancy he showeda remarkable fondness for music. His toys must be able to producemusical sounds or he did not care for them. The child did not inherita love for music from his father, for Dr. Handel, who was a surgeon, looked on music with contempt, as something beneath the notice of agentleman. He had decided his son was to be a lawyer, and refusedto allow him to attend school for fear some one might teach him hisnotes. The mother was a sweet gentle woman, a second wife, and muchyounger than her husband, who seemed to have ruled his household witha rod of iron. 

When little George was about five, a kind friend, who knew how helonged to make music, had a spinet sent to him unbeknown to hisfather, and placed in a corner of the old garret. Here the child lovedto come when he could escape notice. Often at night, when all wereasleep, he would steal away to the garret and work at the spinet, mastering difficulties one by one. The strings of the instrument hadbeen wound with cloth to deaden the sound, and thus made only a tinytinkle. 

After this secret practising had been going on for some time, it wasdiscovered one night, when little George was enjoying his favoritepastime. He had been missed and the whole house went in search. Finally the father, holding high the lantern in his hand and followedby mother and the rest of the inmates, reached the garret, and therefound the lost child seated at his beloved spinet, quite lost tothe material world. There is no record of any angry outburst on thefather's part and it is likely little George was left in peace. 

One day when the boy was seven years old, the father was about tostart for the castle of the Duke of Saxe-Weissenfels, to see his son, a stepbrother of George, who was a _valet de chambre_ to the Duke. Little George begged to go too, for he knew there was music to beheard at the castle. In spite of his father's refusal he made up hismind to go if he had to run every step of the way. So watching hischance, he started to run after the coach in which his father rode. The child had no idea it was a distance of forty miles. He strovebravely to keep pace with the horses, but the roads were rough andmuddy. His strength beginning to fail, he called out to the coachmanto stop. His father, hearing the boy's voice looked out of the window. Instead of scolding the little scamp roundly, he was touched by hiswoebegone appearance, had him lifted into the coach and carried on toWeissenfels. 

George enjoyed himself hugely at the castle. The musicians were verykind to him, and his delight could hardly be restrained when he wasallowed to try the beautiful organ in the chapel. The organist stoodbehind him and arranged the stops, and the child put his fingers onthe keys that made the big pipes speak. During his stay, George hadseveral chances to play; one was on a Sunday at the close of theservice. The organist lifted him upon the bench and bade him play. Instead of the Duke and all his people leaving the chapel, they stayedto listen. When the music ceased the Duke asked: "Who is that child?Does anybody know his name?" The organist was sent for, and thenlittle George was brought. The Duke patted him on the head, praisedhis playing and said he was sure to become a good musician. Theorganist then remarked he had heard the father disapproved of hismusical studies. The Duke was greatly astonished. He sent for thefather and after speaking highly of the boy's talent, said thatto place any obstacle in the child's way would be unworthy of thefather's honorable profession. 

And so it was settled that George Frederick should devote himself tomusic. Frederick Zachau, organist of the cathedral at Halle, wasthe teacher chosen to instruct the boy on the organ, harpsichord andviolin. He also taught him composition, and showed him how differentcountries and composers differed in their ideas of musical style. Verysoon the boy was composing the regular weekly service for the church, besides playing the organ whenever Zachau happened to be absent. Atthat time the boy could not have been more than eight years old. 

After three years' hard work his teacher told him he must seek anothermaster, as he could teach him nothing more. So the boy was sent toBerlin, to continue his studies. Two of the prominent musicians therewere Ariosti and Buononcini; the former received the boy kindly andgave him great encouragement; the other took a dislike to the littlefellow, and tried to injure him. Pretending to test his musicianship, Buononcini composed a very difficult piece for the harpsichordand asked him to play it at sight. This the boy did with ease andcorrectness. The Elector was delighted with the little musician, offered him a place at Court and even promised to send him to Italyto pursue his studies. Both offers were refused and George returned toHalle and to his old master, who was happy to have him back once more. 

Not long after this the boy's father passed away, and as there was butlittle money left for the mother, her son decided at once that he mustsupport himself and not deprive her of her small income. He acted asdeputy organist at the Cathedral and Castle of Halle, and a few yearslater, when the post was vacant, secured it at a salary of lessthan forty dollars a year and free lodging. George Frederick was nowseventeen and longed for a broader field. Knowing that he must leaveHalle to find it, he said good-by to his mother, and in January 1703, set out for Hamburg to seek his fortune. 

The Opera House Orchestra needed a supplementary violin. It was a verysmall post, but he took it, pretending not to be able to do anythingbetter. However a chance soon came his way to show what he was capableof. One day the conductor, who always presided at the harpsichord, wasabsent, and no one was there to take his place. Without delay Georgecame forward and took his vacant seat. He conducted so ably, that hesecured the position for himself. 

The young musician led a busy life in Hamburg, filled with teaching, study and composition. As his fame increased he secured more pupils, and he was not only able to support himself, but could send some moneyto his mother. He believed in saving money whenever he could; he knewa man should not only be self supporting, but somewhat independent, inorder to produce works of art. 

Handel now turned his attention to opera, composing "Almira, Queen ofCastile, " which was produced in Hamburg early in January 1705. Thissuccess encouraged him to write others; indeed he was the author offorty operas, which are only remembered now by an occasional aria. During these several years of hard work he had looked forward to ajourney to Italy, for study. He was now a composer of some note anddecided it was high time to carry out his cherished desire. 

He remained some time in Florence and composed the opera "Rodrigo, "which was performed with great success. While in Venice he broughtout another opera, "Agrippina, " which had even greater success. Romedelighted him especially and he returned for a second time in 1709. Here he composed his first oratorio, the "Resurrection, " which wasproduced there. Handel returned to Germany the following year. TheElector of Hanover was kind to him, and offered him the post ofCapellmeister, with a salary of about fifteen hundred dollars. Hehad long desired to visit England, and the Elector gave him leave ofabsence. First, however, he went to Halle to see his mother and hisold teacher. We can imagine the joy of the meeting, and how proud andhappy both were at the success of the young musician. After a littletime spent with his dear ones, he set out for England. 

Handel came to London, preceded by the fame of his Italian success. Italian opera was the vogue just then in the English capital, butit was so badly produced that a man of Handel's genius was needed toproperly set it before the people. He had not been long on Englishsoil when he produced his opera "Rinaldo, " at the Queen's Theater;it had taken him just two weeks to compose the opera. It had greatsuccess and ran night after night. There are many beautiful airs in"Rinaldo, " some of which we hear to-day with the deepest pleasure. "Lascia ch'jo pianga" and "Cara si's sposa" are two of them. TheLondoners had welcomed Handel with great cordiality and with hisnew opera he was firmly established in their regard. With the youngmusician likewise there seemed to be a sincere affection for England. He returned in due time to his duties in Hanover, but he felt thatLondon was the field for his future activities. 

It was not very long after his return to Germany that he soughtanother leave of absence to visit England, promising to return withina "reasonable time. " London received him with open arms and many greatpeople showered favors upon him. Lord Burlington invited him to hisresidence in Piccadilly, which at that time consisted of green fields. The only return to be made for all this social and home luxury wasthat he should conduct the Earl's chamber concerts. Handel devoted hisabundant leisure to composition, at which he worked with much ardor. His fame was making great strides, and when the Peace of Utrecht wassigned and a Thanksgiving service was to be held in St. Paul's, he wascommissioned to compose a Te Deum and Jubilate. To show appreciationfor his work and in honor of the event, Queen Anne awarded Handel alife pension of a thousand dollars. 

The death of the Queen, not long after, brought the Elector of Hanoverto England, to succeed her as George I. It was not likely that KingGeorge would look with favor on his former Capellmeister, who had solong deserted his post. But an opportunity soon came to placate hisMajesty. A royal entertainment, with decorated barges on the Thameswas arranged. An orchestra was to furnish the music, and the LordChamberlain commissioned Handel to compose music for the fęte. Hewrote a series of pieces, since known as "Water Music. " The king wasgreatly delighted with the music, had it repeated, and learning thatHandel conducted in person, sent for him, forgave all and granted himanother pension of a thousand dollars. He was also appointed teacherto the daughters of the Prince of Wales, at a salary of a thousanda year. With the combined sum (three thousand dollars) which he nowreceived, he felt quite independent, indeed a man of means. 

Not long after this Handel was appointed Chapel master to the Dukeof Chandos, and was expected to live at the princely mansion heinhabited. The size and magnificence of The Cannons was the talk ofthe country for miles around. Here the composer lived and worked, played the organ in the chapel, composed church music for the serviceand wrote his first English oratorio, "Esther. " This was performed inthe Duke's chapel, and the Duke on this occasion handed the composerfive thousand dollars. Numerous compositions for the harpsichordbelong to this period, among them the air and variations known as"The Harmonious Blacksmith. " The story goes that Handel was walkingto Cannons through the village of Edgeware, and being overtaken by aheavy shower, sought shelter in the smithy. The blacksmith was singingat his work and his hammer kept time with his song. The composer wasstruck with the air and its accompaniment, and as soon as he reachedhome, wrote out the tune with the variations. This story has beendisputed, and it is not known whether it is true or not. 

When Handel first came to London, he had done much to encourage theproduction of opera in the Italian style. Later these productionshad to be given up for lack of money, and the King's Theater remainedclosed for a long time. Finally a number of rich men formed a societyto revive opera in London. The King subscribed liberally to theventure. Handel was at once engaged as composer and impressario. Hestarted work on a new opera and when that was well along, set out forGermany, going to Dresden to select singers. On his return he stoppedat Halle, where his mother was still living, but his old teacher hadpassed away. 

The new opera "Radamisto" was ready early in 1720, and produced at theRoyal Academy of Music, as the theater was now called. The successof the production was tremendous. But Handel, by his self-will hadstirred up envy and jealousy, and an opposition party was formed, headed by his old enemy from Hamburg, Buononcini, who had come toLondon to try his fortunes. A test opera was planned, of which Handelwrote the third act, Buononcini the second and a third musician thefirst. When the new work was performed, the third act was pronouncedby the judges much superior to the second. But Buononcini's friendswould not accept defeat, and the battle between all parties wasviolent. Newspapers were full of it, and many verses were written. Handel cared not a whit for all this tempest, but calmly went his way. 

In 1723, his opera "Ottone" was to be produced. The great singerCuzzoni had been engaged, but the capricious lady did not arrive inEngland till the rehearsals were far advanced, which of course did notplease the composer. When she did appear she refused to sing the ariaas he had composed it. He flew into a rage, took her by the arm andthreatened to throw her out of the window unless she obeyed. Thesinger was so frightened by his anger that she sang as he directed, and made a great success of the aria. 

Handel's industry in composing for the Royal Academy of Musicwas untiring. For the first eight years from the beginning of theSociety's work he had composed and produced fourteen operas. Duringall this time, his enemies never ceased their efforts to destroy him. The great expense of operatic production, the troubles and quarrelswith singers, at last brought the Academy to the end of its resources. At this juncture, the famous "Beggar's Opera, " by John Gay, wasbrought out at a rival theater. It was a collection of most beautifulmelodies from various sources, used with words quite unworthy of them. But the fickle public hailed the piece with delight, and its successwas the means of bringing total failure to the Royal Academy. Handel, however, in spite of the schemes of his enemies, was determined tocarry on the work with his own fortune. He went again to Italy toengage new singers, stopping at Halle to see his mother who was ill. She passed away the next year at the age of eighty. 

Handel tried for several years to keep Italian opera going in London, in spite of the lack of musical taste and the opposition of hisenemies; but in 1737, he was forced to give up the struggle. He wasdeeply in debt, his whole fortune of ten thousand pounds had beenswept away and his health broken by anxiety. He would not give up;after a brief rest, he returned to London to begin the conflict anew. The effort to re-awaken the English public's interest in Italian operaseemed useless, and the composer at last gave up the struggle. He wasnow fifty-five, and began to think of turning his attention to moreserious work. Handel has been called the father of the oratorio; hecomposed at least twenty-eight works in this style, the bestknown being "Samson, " "Israel in Egypt, " "Jephtha, " "Saul, " "JudasMaccabćus" and greatest of all, the "Messiah. "

The composer conceived the idea of writing the last named work in1741. Towards the end of this year he was invited to visit Irelandto make known some of his works. On the way there he was detained atChester for several days by contrary winds. He must have had the scoreof the "Messiah" with him, for he got together some choir boys to tryover a few of the choral parts. "Can you sing at sight?" was put toeach boy before he was asked to sing. One broke down at the start. "What de devil you mean!" cried the impetuous composer, snatching themusic from him. "Didn't you say you could sing at sight?"

"Yes sir, but not at _first_ sight. "

The people of Dublin warmly welcomed Handel, and the new oratorio, the "Messiah, " was performed at Music Hall, with choirs of bothcathedrals, and with some concertos on the organ played by thecomposer. The performance took place, April 13, 1742. Four hundredpounds were realized, which were given to charity. The success was sogreat that a second performance was announced. Ladies were requestedto come without crinoline, thereby providing a hundred more seats thanat the first event. 

The Irish people were so cordial, that the composer remained almosta year among them. For it was not till March 23, 1743, that the"Messiah" was performed in London. The King was one of the greataudience who heard it. All were so deeply impressed by the Hallelujahchorus, that with the opening words, "For the Lord God omnipotentreigneth, " the whole audience, including the King, sprang to theirfeet, and remained standing through the entire chorus. From that timeto this it has always been the custom to stand during this chorus, whenever it is performed. 

Once started on this line of thought, one oratorio after anotherflowed from his prolific pen, though none of them proved to be asexalted in conception as the "Messiah. " The last work of this stylewas "Jephtha, " which contains the beautiful song, "Waft her, angels. "While engaged in composing this oratorio, Handel became blind, butthis affliction did not seem to lessen his power for work. He was nowsixty-eight, and had conquered and lived down most of the hostilitythat had been so bitter against him. His fortunes also constantlyimproved, so that when he passed away he left twenty thousand pounds. 

The great composer was a big man, both physically and mentally. Afriend describes his countenance as full of fire; "when he smiled itwas like the sun bursting out of a black cloud. It was a sudden flashof intelligence, wit and good humor, which illumined his countenance, which I have hardly ever seen in any other. " He could relish a joke, and had a keen sense of humor. Few things outside his work interestedhim; but he was fond of the theater, and liked to go to picture sales. His fiery temper often led him to explode at trifles. No talking amongthe listeners could be borne by him while he was conducting. He didnot hesitate to visit violent abuse on the heads of those who venturedto speak while he was directing and not even the presence of royaltycould restrain his anger. 

Handel was always generous in assisting those who needed aid, and hehelped found the Society for Aiding Distressed Musicians. His lastappearance in public, was at a performance of the "Messiah, " at CoventGarden, on April 6, 1759. His death occurred on the 14th of the samemonth, at the house in Brook Street where he had lived for many years. Thus, while born in the same year as Sebastian Bach, he outlived himby about a decade. He was buried in Westminster Abbey, and later afine monument was erected to his memory. The most of his manuscriptscame into the possession of King George III, and are preserved in themusical library of Buckingham Palace. 

IV

CHRISTOPH WILLIBALD GLUCK

Christoph Willibald Gluck has been called the "regenerator of theopera" for he appeared just at the right moment to rescue operafrom the deplorable state into which it had fallen. At that time thecomposers often yielded to the caprices of the singers and wrote tosuit them, while the singers themselves, through vanity and ignorance, made such requirements that opera itself often became ridiculous. Gluck desired "to restrict the art of music to its true object, thatof aiding the effect of poetry by giving greater expression to wordsand scenes, without interrupting the action or the plot. " He wroteonly operas, and some of his best works keep the stage to-day. Theyare simple in design yet powerful in appeal: very original and stampedwith refinement and true feeling. 

The boy Christoph, like many another lad who became a great musician, had a sorrowful childhood, full of poverty and neglect. His home wasin the little town of Weissenwangen, on the borders of Bohemia, wherehe was born July 2, 1714. As a little lad he early manifested a lovefor music, but his parents were in very straitened circumstances andcould not afford to pay for musical instruction. He was sent to one ofthe public schools. Fortunately the art of reading music from notes, formation of scales and fundamentals, was taught along with generalschool subjects. 

While his father lived the boy was sure of sympathy and affection, though circumstances were of the poorest. But the good man passed awaywhen the boy was quite young, and then matters were much worse. He wasgradually neglected until he was at last left to shift for himself. 

He possessed not only talent but perseverance and the will to succeed. The violoncello attracted him, and he began to teach himself to playit, with no other help than an old instruction book. Determinationconquered many difficulties however, and before long he had madesufficient progress to enable him to join a troop of travelingminstrels. From Prague they made their way to Vienna. 

Arrived in Vienna, that rich, gay, laughter-loving city, where thepeople loved music and often did much for it, the youth's musicaltalent together with his forlorn appearance and condition won sympathyfrom a few generous souls, who not only provided a home and took careof his material needs, but gave him also the means to continue hismusical studies. Christoph was overcome with gratitude and made thebest possible use of his opportunities. For nearly two years he gavehimself up to his musical studies. 

Italy was the goal of his ambition, and at last the opportunityto visit that land of song was within his grasp. At the age oftwenty-four, in the year 1738, Gluck bade adieu to his many kindfriends in Vienna, and set out to complete his studies in Italy. Milanwas his objective point. Soon after arriving there he had the goodfortune to meet Padre Martini, the celebrated master of musicaltheory. Young Gluck at once placed himself under the great man'sguidance and labored diligently with him for about four years. Howmuch he owed to the careful training Martini was able to give, wasseen in even his first attempts at operatic composition. 

At the conclusion of this long period of devoted study, Gluck began towrite an opera, entitled "Artaxerxes. " When completed it was acceptedat the Milan Theater, brought out in 1741 and met with much success. This success induced one of the managers in Venice to offer him anengagement for that city if he would compose a new opera. Gluck thenproduced "Clytemnestra. " This second work had a remarkable success, and the managers arranged for the composition of another opera, whichwas "Demetrio, " which, like the others was most favorably received. Gluck now had offers from Turin, so that the next two years were spentbetween that city and Milan, for which cities he wrote five or sixoperas. By this time the name of Gluck had become famous all overItaly; indeed his fame had spread to other countries, with theresult that tempting offers for new operas flowed in to him from alldirections. Especially was a London manager, a certain Lord Middlesex, anxious to entice the young composer from Italy to come over toLondon, and produce some of his works at the King's Theater in theHaymarket. 

The noble manager made a good offer too, and Gluck felt he ought toaccept. He reached London in 1745, but owing to the rebellion whichhad broken out in Scotland all the theaters were closed, and the cityin more or less confusion. However a chance to hear the famous Germancomposer, who had traveled such a distance, was not to be lost, andLord Middlesex besought the Powers to re-open the theater. After muchpleading his request was finally granted. The opening opera, writtenon purpose to introduce Gluck to English audiences, was entitled "LaCaduta del Giganti, "--"Fall of the Giants"--and did not seem to pleasethe public. But the young composer was undaunted. His next opera, "Artamene, " pleased them no better. The mind of the people was takenup at that period with politics and political events, and they caredless than usual for music and the arts. Then, too, Handel, at theheight of his fame, was living in London, honored and courted by thearistocracy and the world of fashion. 

Though disappointed at his lack of success, Gluck remained in Englandseveral years, constantly composing operas, none of which seemed towin success. At last he took his way quietly back to Vienna. In 1754, he was invited to Rome, where he produced several operas, among them"Antigone"; they were all successful, showing the Italians appreciatedhis work. He now proceeded to Florence, and while there becameacquainted with an Italian poet, Ranieri di Calzabigi. They weremutually attracted to each other, and on parting had sworn to usetheir influence and talents to reform Italian opera. 

Gluck returned to Vienna, and continued to compose operas. In 1764, "Orfeo" was produced, --an example of the new reform in opera! "Orfeo"was received most favorably and sung twenty-eight times, a long runfor those days. The singing and acting of Guadagni made the operaquite the rage, and the work began to be known in England. Even inParis and Parma it became a great favorite. The composer wasnow fifty, and his greatest works had yet--with the exception or"Orfeo"--to be written. He began to develop that purity of style whichwe find in "Alceste, " "Iphigénie en Tauride" and others. "Alceste" wasthe second opera on the reformed plan which simplified the music togive more prominence to the poetry. It was produced in Vienna in 1769, with the text written by Calzabigi. The opera was ahead of "Orfeo" insimplicity and nobility, but it did not seem to please the critics. The composer himself wrote: "Pedants and critics, an infinitemultitude, form the greatest obstacle to the progress of art. Theythink themselves entitled to pass a verdict on 'Alceste' from someinformal rehearsals, badly conducted and executed. Some fastidiousear found a vocal passage too harsh, or another too impassioned, forgetting that forcible expression and striking contrasts areabsolutely necessary. It was likewise decided in full conclave, thatthis style of music was barbarous and extravagant. "

In spite of the judgment of the critics, "Alceste" increased thefame of Gluck to a great degree. Paris wanted to see the man who hadrevolutionized Italian opera. The French Royale Académie had made himan offer to visit the capital, for which he was to write a new operafor a début. A French poet, Du Rollet, living in Vienna, offered towrite a libretto for the new opera, and assured him there was everychance for success in a visit to France. The libretto was thereuponwritten, or rather arranged from Racine's "Iphigénie en Aulide, " andwith this, Chevalier Gluck, lately made Knight of the papal order ofthe Golden Spur, set out for Paris. 

And now began a long season of hard work. The opera "Iphigénie"took about a year to compose, besides a careful study of the Frenchlanguage. He had even more trouble with the slovenly, ignorantorchestra, than he had with the French language. The orchestradeclared itself against foreign music; but this opposition wassoftened down by his former pupil and patroness, the charming MarieAntoinette, Queen of France. 

After many trials and delays, "Iphigénie" was produced August 19, 1774. The opera proved an enormous success. The beautiful Queenherself gave the signal for applause in which the whole house joined. The charming Sophie Arnould sang the part of Iphigénie and seemedto quite satisfy the composer. Larrivée was the Agamemnon, and otherparts were well sung. The French were thoroughly delighted. Theyfęted and praised Gluck, declaring he had discovered the music of theancient Greeks, that he was the only man in Europe who could expressreal feelings in music. Marie Antoinette wrote to her sister: "We had, on the nineteenth, the first performance of Gluck's 'Iphigénie, ' andit was a glorious triumph. I was quite enchanted, and nothing else istalked of. All the world wishes to see the piece, and Gluck seems wellsatisfied. "

The next year, 1775, Gluck brought out an adaptation suitable forthe French stage, of his "Alceste, " which again aroused the greatestenthusiasm. The theater was crammed at every performance. MarieAntoinette's favorite composer was again praised to the skies, and wasdeclared to be the greatest composer living. 

But Gluck had one powerful opponent at the French Court, who was noneother than the famous Madame du Barry, the favorite of Louis XV. Sincethe Queen had her pet musical composer, Mme. Du Barry wished to havehers. An Italian by birth, she could gather about her a powerfulItalian faction, who were bent upon opposition to the Austrian Gluck. She had listened to his praises long enough, and the tremendoussuccess of "Alceste" had been the last straw and brought things to aclimax. Du Barry would have some one to represent Italian music, andapplied to the Italian ambassador to desire Piccini to come to Paris. 

On the arrival of Piccini, Madame du Barry began activities, aided byLouis XV himself. She gathered a powerful Italian party about her, and their first act was to induce the Grand Opera management to makePiccini an offer for a new opera, although they had already made thesame offer to Gluck. This breach of good faith led to a furious war, in which all Paris joined; it was fierce and bitter while it lasted. Even politics were forgotten for the time being. Part of the presstook up one side and part the other. Many pamphlets, poems and satiresappeared, in which both composers were unmercifully attacked. Gluckwas at the time in Germany, and Piccini had come to Paris principallyto secure the tempting fee offered him. The leaders of the feud keptthings well stirred up, so that a stranger could not enter a café, hotel or theater without first answering the question whether he stoodfor Gluck or Piccini. Many foolish lies were told of Gluck in hisabsence. It was declared by the Piccinists that he went away onpurpose, to escape the war; that he could no longer write melodiesbecause he was a dried up old man and had nothing new to give France. These lies and false stories were put to flight one evening when theAbbé Arnaud, one of Gluck's most ardent adherents, declared in anaristocratic company, that the Chevalier was returning to France withan "Orlando" and an "Armide" in his portfolio. 

"Piccini is also working on an 'Orlando, '" spoke up a follower of thatredoubtable Italian. 

"That will be all the better, " returned the abbé, "for we shall thenhave an 'Orlando' and also an 'Orlandino. '"

When Gluck arrived in Paris, he brought with him the finished opera of"Armide, " which was produced at the Paris Grand Opera on September23, 1777. At first it was merely a _succčs d'estime_, but soon becameimmensely popular. On the first night many of the critics were againstthe opera, which was called too noisy. The composer, however, felt hehad done some of his best work in "Armide"; that the music was writtenin such style that it would not grow old, at least not for a longtime. He had taken the greatest pains in composing it, and declaredthat if it were not properly rehearsed at the Opera he would not letthem have it at all, but would retain the work himself for his ownpleasure. He wrote to a friend: "I have put forth what little strengthis left in me, into 'Armide'; I confess I should like to finish mycareer with it. "

It is said the Gluck composed "Armide" in order to praise the beautyof Marie Antoinette, and she for her part showed the deepest interestin the success of the piece, and really "became quite a slave toit. " Gluck often told her he "rearranged his music according to theimpression it made upon the Queen. "

"Great as was the success of 'Armide, '" wrote the Princess deLamballe, "no one prized this beautiful work more highly than thecomposer of it. He was passionately enamored of it; he told the Queenthe air of France had rejuvenated his creative powers, and the sightof her majesty had given such a wonderful impetus to the flowof ideas, that his composition had become like herself, angelic, sublime. "

The growing success of "Armide" only added fuel to the flame ofcontroversy which had been stirred up. To cap the climax, Piccinihad finished his opera, which was duly brought out and met with abrilliant reception. Indeed its success was greater than that won by"Armide, " much to the delight of the Piccinists. Of course the naturaloutcome was that the other party should do something to surpass thework of their rivals. Marie Antoinette was besought to prevail onGluck to write another opera. 

A new director was now in charge of the Opera House. He conceived thebright idea of setting the two composers at work on the same subject, which was to be "Iphigénie en Tauride. " This plan made great commotionin the ranks of the rival factions, as each wished to have theircomposer's work performed first. The director promised that Piccini'sopera should be first placed in rehearsal. Gluck soon finished hisand handed it in, but the Italian, trusting to the director's word ofhonor, was not troubled when he heard the news, though he determinedto complete his as soon as possible. A few days later, when he went tothe Opera House with his completed score, he was horrified to find thework of his rival already in rehearsal. There was a lively scene, butthe manager said he had received orders to produce the work of Gluckat once, and he must obey. On the 18th of May, 1779, the Gluck operawas first performed. It produced the greatest excitement and had amarvelous success. Even Piccini succumbed to the spell, for the musicmade such an impression on him that he did not wish his own work to bebrought out. 

The director, however, insisted, and soon after the second Iphigénieappeared. The first night the opera did not greatly please; the nextnight proved a comic tragedy, as the prima donna was intoxicated. After a couple of days' imprisonment she returned and sang well. Butthe war between the two factions continued till the death of Gluck, and the retirement of Piccini. 

The following year, in September, Gluck finished a new opera, "Echo etNarcisse, " and with this work decided to close his career, feeling hewas too old to write longer for the lyric stage. He was then nearlyseventy years old, and retired to Vienna, to rest and enjoy the fruitsof all his years of incessant toil. He was now rich, as he had earnednearly thirty thousand pounds. Kings and princes came to do him honor, and to tell him what pleasure his music had always given them. 

Gluck passed away on November 15, 1787, honored and beloved by all. The simple beauty and purity of his music are as moving and expressiveto-day as when it was written, and the "Michael of Music" speaks to usstill in his operas, whenever they are adequately performed. 

V

JOSEF HAYDN

In Josef Haydn we have one of the classic composers, a sweet, gentlespirit, who suffered many privations in early life, and through hisown industrious efforts rose to positions of respect and honor, theresult of unremitting toil and devotion to a noble ideal. Like manyof the other great musicians, through hardship and sorrow he won hisplace among the elect. 

Fifteen leagues south of Vienna, amid marshy flats along the riverLeitha, lies the small village of Rehrau. At the end of the stragglingstreet which constitutes the village, stood a low thatched cottageand next to it a wheelwright's shop, with a small patch of greenswardbefore it. The master wheelwright, Mathias Haydn, was sexton, too, ofthe little church on the hill. He was a worthy man and very religious. A deep love for music was part of the man's nature, and it was sharedto a large extent by his wife Maria. Every Sunday evening he wouldbring out his harp, on which he had taught himself to play, and heand his wife would sing songs and hymns, accompanied by the harp. Thechildren, too, would add their voices to the concert. The littleboy Josef, sat near his father and watched his playing with raptattention. Sometimes he would take two sticks and make believe playthe violin, just as he had seen the village schoolmaster do. Andwhen he sang hymns with the others, his voice was sweet and true. Thefather watched the child with interest, and a new hope rose withinhim. His own life had been a bitter disappointment, for he had beenunable to satisfy his longing for a knowledge of the art he loved. Perhaps Josef might one day become a musician--indeed he might evenrise to be Capellmeister. 

Little Josef was born March 31, 1732. The mother had a secret desirethat the boy should join the priesthood, but the father, as we haveseen, hoped he would make a musical career, and determined, thoughpoor in this world's goods, to aid him in every possible way. 

About this time a distant relative, one Johann Mathias Frankh by name, arrived at the Haydn cottage on a visit. He was a schoolmaster atHainburg, a little town four leagues away. During the regular eveningconcert he took particular notice of Josef and his toy violin. Thechild's sweet voice indicated that he had the makings of a goodmusician. At last he said: "If you will let me take Sepperl, I willsee he is properly taught; I can see he promises well. "

The parents were quite willing and as for little Sepperl, he wassimply overjoyed, for he longed to learn more about the beautifulmusic which filled his soul. He went with his new cousin, as he calledFrankh, without any hesitation, and with the expectation that hischildish day dreams were to be realized. 

A new world indeed opened to the six year old boy, but it was not allbeautiful. Frankh was a careful and strict teacher; Josef not only wastaught to sing well, but learned much about various instruments. He had school lessons also. But his life in other ways was hardand cheerless. The wife of his cousin treated him with the utmostindifference, never looking after his clothing or his well being inany way. After a time his destitute and neglected appearance wasa source of misery to the refined, sensitive boy, but he tried torealize that present conditions could not last forever, and he bravelyendeavored to make the best of them. Meanwhile the training of hisvoice was well advanced and when not in school he could nearly alwaysbe found in church, listening to the organ and the singing. Not longafter, he was admitted to the choir, where his sweet young voicejoined in the church anthems. Always before his mind was a great citywhere he knew he would find the most beautiful music--the music of hisdreams. That city was Vienna, but it lay far away. Josef looked downat his ragged clothing and wondered if he would ever see that magicalcity. 

One morning his cousin told him there would be a procession throughthe town in honor of a prominent citizen who had just passed away. Adrummer was needed and the cousin had proposed Josef. He showed theboy how to make the strokes for a march, with the result that Josefwalked in the procession and felt quite proud of this exhibition ofhis skill. The very drum he used that day is preserved in the littlechurch at Hamburg. 

A great event occurred in Josef's prospects at the end of his secondyear of school life at Hamburg. The Capellmeister, Reutter by name, ofSt. Stephen's cathedral in Vienna, came to see his friend, the pastorof Hamburg. He happened to say he was looking for a few good voicesfor the choir. "I can find you one at least, " said the pastor; "he isa scholar of Frankh, the schoolmaster, and has a sweet voice. "

Josef was sent for and the schoolmaster soon returned leading him bythe hand. 

"Well my little fellow, " said the Capellmeister, drawing him to hisknee, "can you make a shake?"

"No sir, but neither can my cousin Frankh. "

Reutter laughed at this frankness, and then proceeded to show him howthe shake was done. Josef after a few trials was able to perform theshake to the entire satisfaction of his teacher. After testing him ona portion of a mass the Capellmeister was willing to take him to theCantorei or Choir school of St. Stephen's in Vienna. The boy's heartgave a great leap. Vienna, the city of his dreams. And he was reallygoing there! He could scarcely believe in his good fortune. If hecould have known all that was to befall him there, he might not havebeen so eager to go. But he was only a little eight-year-old boy, andchildhood's dreams are rosy. 

Once arrived at the Cantorei, Josef plunged into his studies withgreat fervor, and his progress was most rapid. He was now possessedwith a desire to compose, but had not the slightest idea how to goabout such a feat. However, he hoarded every scrap of music paper hecould find and covered it with notes. Reutter gave no encouragement tosuch proceedings. One day he asked what the boy was about, and whenhe heard the lad was composing a "Salve Regina, " for twelve voices, he remarked it would be better to write it for two voices beforeattempting it in twelve. "And if you must try your hand atcomposition, " added Reutter more kindly, "write variations on themotets and vespers which are played in church. "

As neither the Capellmeister nor any of the teachers offered toshow Josef the principles of composition, he was thrown upon his ownresources. With much self denial he scraped together enough money tobuy two books which he had seen at the second hand bookseller's andwhich he had longed to possess. One was Fox's "Gradus ad Parnassum, "a treatise on composition and counterpoint; the other Matheson's "TheComplete Capellmeister. " Happy in the possession of these books, Josefused every moment outside of school and choir practise to study them. He loved fun and games as well as any boy, but music always camefirst. The desire to perfect himself was so strong that he often addedseveral hours each day to those already required, working sixteen oreighteen hours out of the twenty-four. 

And thus a number of years slipped away amid these happy surroundings. Little Josef was now a likely lad of about fifteen years. It wasarranged that his younger brother Michael was to come to the Cantorei. Josef looked eagerly forward to this event, planning how he would helpthe little one over the beginning and show him the pleasant thingsthat would happen to him in the new life. But the elder brother couldnot foresee the sorrow and privation in store for him. From the momentMichael's pure young voice filled the vast spaces of the cathedral, itwas plain that Josef's singing could not compete with it. His sopranoshowed signs of breaking, and gradually the principal solo parts, which had always fallen to him, were given to the new chorister. Ona special church day, when there was more elaborate music, the "SalveRegina, " which had always been given to Josef, was sung so beautifullyby the little brother, that the Emperor and Empress were delighted, and they presented the young singer with twenty ducats. 

Poor Josef! He realized that his place was virtually taken by thebrother he had welcomed so joyously only a short time before. No onewas to blame of course; it was one of those things that could not beavoided. But what actually caused him to leave St. Stephen's was aboyish prank played on one of the choir boys, who sat in front ofhim. Taking up a new pair of shears lying near, he snipped off, in amischievous moment, the boy's pigtail. For this jest he was punishedand then dismissed from the school. He could hardly realize it, in hisfirst dazed, angry condition. Not to enjoy the busy life any more, notto see Michael and the others and have a comfortable home and singin the Cathedral. How he lived after that he hardly knew. But severalmiserable days went by. One rainy night a young man whom he had knownbefore, came upon him near the Cathedral, and was struck by hiswhite, pinched face. He asked where the boy was living. "Nowhere--I amstarving, " was the reply. Honest Franz Spangler was touched at once. 

"We can't stand here in the rain, " he said. "You know I haven't apalace to offer, but you are welcome to share my poor place for onenight anyway. Then we shall see. "

It was indeed a poor garret where the Spanglers lived, but thecheerful fire and warm bread and milk were luxuries to the starvinglad. Best of all was it to curl up on the floor, beside the dyingembers and fall into refreshing slumber. The next morning the worldlooked brighter. He had made up his mind not to try and see hisbrother; he would support himself by music. He did not know just howhe was going to do this, but determined to fight for it _and nevergive in_. 

Spangler, deeply touched by the boy's forlorn case, offered to lethim occupy a corner of his garret until he could find work, and Josefgratefully accepted. The boy hoped he could quickly find something todo; but many weary months were spent in looking for employment andin seeking to secure pupils, before there was the slightest signof success. Thinly clad as he was and with the vigorous appetite ofseventeen, which was scarcely ever appeased, he struggled on, hopefulthat spring would bring some sort of good cheer. 

But spring came, yet no employment was in sight. His sole earnings hadbeen the coppers thrown to him as he stood singing in the snow coveredstreets, during the long cold winter. Now it was spring, and hope rosewithin him. He had been taught to have simple faith in God, and feltsure that in some way his needs would be met. 

At last the tide turned slightly. A few pupils attracted by the smallfee he charged, took lessons on the clavier; he got a few engagementsto play violin at balls and parties, while some budding composers gothim to revise their manuscripts for a small fee. All these cheeringsigns of better times made Josef hopeful and grateful. One day aspecial piece of good fortune came his way. A man who loved music, at whose house he had sometimes played, sent him a hundred and fiftyflorins, to be repaid without interest whenever convenient. 

This sum seemed to Haydn a real fortune. He was able to leave theSpanglers and take up a garret of his own. There was no stove in itand winter was coming on; it was only partly light, even at midday, but the youth was happy. For he had acquired a little worm-eatenspinet, and he had added to his treasures the first six sonatas ofEmmanuel Bach. 

On the third floor of the house which contained the garret, lived acelebrated Italian poet, Metastasio. Haydn and the poet struck up anacquaintance, which resulted in the musician's introduction to thepoet's favorite pupil, Marianne Martinez. Also through Metastasio, Haydn met Nicolo Porpora, an eminent teacher of singing andcomposition. About this time another avenue opened to him. It was afashion in Vienna to pick up a few florins by serenading prominentpersons. A manager of one of the principal theaters in Vienna, FelixKurz, had recently married a beautiful woman, whose loveliness wasmuch talked of. It occurred to Haydn to take a couple of companionsalong and serenade the lady, playing some of his own music. Soon afterthey had begun to play the house door opened and Kurz himself stoodthere in dressing gown and slippers. "Whose music was that you wereplaying?" he asked. "My own, " was the answer. "Indeed; then just stepinside. " The three entered, wondering. They were presented to Madame, then were given refreshments. "Come and see me to-morrow, " said Kurzwhen the boys left; "I think I have some work for you. "

Haydn called next day and learned the manager had written a librettoof a comic opera which he called "The Devil on two Sticks, " and waslooking for some one to compose the music. In one place there was tobe a tempest at sea, and Haydn was asked how he would represent that. As he had never seen the sea, he was at a loss how to express it. Themanager said he himself had never seen the ocean, but to his mind itwas like this, and he began to toss his arms wildly about. Haydn triedevery way he could think of to represent the ocean, but Kurz was notsatisfied. At last he flung his hands down with a crash on each endof the keyboard and brought them together in the middle. "That's it, that's it, " cried the manager and embraced the youth excitedly. Allwent well with the rest of the opera. It was finished and produced, but did not make much stir, a fact which was not displeasing to thecomposer, as he was not proud of his first attempt. 

His acquaintance with Porpora promised better things. The singingmaster had noticed his skill in playing the harpsichord, and offeredto engage him as accompanist. Haydn gladly accepted at once, hoping topick up much musical knowledge in this way. Old Porpora was veryharsh and domineering at first, treating him more like a valet thana musician. But at last he was won over by Haydn's gentleness andpatience, until he was willing to answer all his questions andto correct his compositions. Best of all he brought Haydn to theattention of the nobleman in whose house he was teaching, so thatwhen the nobleman and his family went to the baths of Mannersdorf forseveral months, Haydn was asked to go along as accompanist to Porpora. 

The distinguished musicians he met at Mannersdorf were all very kindto him and showed much interest in his compositions, many of whichwere performed during this visit. The nobleman, impressed with Haydn'sdesire to succeed, allotted him a pension of a sum equal to fifteendollars a month. The young musician's first act on receiving this wasto buy himself a neat suit of black. 

Good fortune followed him on his return to Vienna. More pupils came, until he was able to raise his prices and move into better lodgings. A wealthy patron of music, the Countess of Thun, sent for him to comeand see her. She had heard one of his clavier sonatas played, foundit charming and wished to see the composer. Her manner was sosympathetic, that Haydn was led to tell her the story of hisstruggles. Tears came into her eyes as she listened. She promised hersupport as friend and pupil, and Haydn left her with a happy, gratefulheart. 

His compositions were heard in the best musical circles in Vienna, andthe future was bright with promise. A wealthy music patron persuadedhim to write a string quartet, the first of many to follow. Throughthis man he received, in 1759, an appointment of music director to arich Bohemian, Count Morzin, who had a small orchestra at his countryseat. In the same year the first Symphony was composed. 

As brighter days dawned, Haydn procured all the works on theoryobtainable, and studied them deeply. He had mastered the difficultiesof the "Gradus, " one of the books purchased years before, and withoutany outside help had worked out his musical independence, uninfluencedby any other musician. He was now twenty-six, and his fame wasgrowing. Meanwhile an affair of the heart had great influence on hislife. Sometime previously Haydn had been engaged to give lessonson the harpsichord to two daughters of a wig-maker named Keller. Anattachment soon sprang up between the teacher and the younger of thegirls. His poverty had stood in the way of making his feelings known. But as prosperity began to dawn, he grew courageous and asked themaiden to become his wife. His disappointment was keen when he foundthe girl had in the meantime decided to take the veil. The wig-makerproved to be a matchmaker, for when he learned how matters stood heurged the composer to take the sister, who was only three years older. The gentle Haydn was unable to withstand the pressure brought to bear, and consented. After his bride was his he found he had won a virago, one who cared nothing for art or for her husband's ideals, if only shecould have enough money to spend. 

The composer was in sad straits for a while, but fortunately a wayopened by means of which he could be free. Count Morzin, where he hadconducted the orchestra, was obliged to reduce his establishment anddismissed his band and its director. As soon as this was known, thereigning Prince of Hungary, Paul Anton Esterházy offered Haydn thepost of assistant Capellmeister at his country seat of Eisenstadt. The head Capellmeister, Werner, was old, but the Prince kept himon account of his long service. Haydn, however, was to haveentire control of the orchestra, and also of most of the musicalarrangements. 

Haydn was blissfully happy over the realization of his highest hopes. In his wildest dreams he had never imagined such magnificence as hefound at the palace of Eisenstadt. The great buildings, troops ofservants, the wonderful parks and gardens, with their flowers, lakesand fountains almost made him believe he was in fairyland. Of coursethere would be some hard work, though it would not seem hard amid suchfascinating surroundings and there would be plenty of leisure for hisown creative activities. Best of all his wife could not be with him. 

Prince Paul Anton passed away after a year and his brother Nikolaussucceeded him. He advanced Haydn still further, and increased hissalary. Werner, the old Capellmeister, died in 1766, and Haydnsucceeded to the full title. This was the father's dream for his boyJosef, and it had been abundantly realized. His mother had passedaway, but his father was living, and had come, on one occasion, to Eisenstadt to see him. His brother Michael who had now becomeConcertmeister in Salzburg, spent several happy days with him also. 

The summer residence of Prince Nikolaus at Esterházy had been rebuilt, enlarged and was more magnificent than Eisenstadt. The music was moreelaborate. The Prince was so fond of the life there that he postponedhis return to town till late in the autumn. 

In order to give him a hint through music, Haydn composed what hecalled the "Farewell Symphony, " in which, toward the close each pairof players in turn rose, extinguished their candles and passed out, until only the first violinist remained. He last of all blew out hislight and left, while Haydn prepared to follow. The Prince at lastunderstood, and treating the whole as a joke, gave orders for thedeparture of the household. 

In 1790 Haydn lost the master to whom he was so devotedly attached. He received a pension of a thousand florins on condition that he wouldretain his post. But Prince Anton, who succeeded his brother, carednothing for music; Haydn was not obliged to live at the palace andreturned to Vienna. Several attempts had already been made to inducehim to visit London, but he always had refused. Now there seemed to beno obstacle in the way. One day a visitor called. "My name is Salomon;I have come from London to fetch you; we will settle terms to-morrow. "On the sail from Calais to Dover, the composer first saw the sea andwas reminded of his boyish efforts to describe it in tones. 

London welcomed Haydn warmly, for his fame had preceded him and hismusic was familiar. The first concert was given March 11, 1790 at theHanover Square Rooms, and was a great success. This was followed by aseries of concerts, and at last a benefit for the composer on May 16, which was an ovation and realized three hundred and fifty pounds. Heheard the "Messiah" for the first time and when, at the "HallelujahChorus, " the audience sprang to its feet, he burst into tears, exclaiming "He is the master of us all!"

At Oxford, in July, he received the honorary degree of Doctor ofMusic, and three great concerts were given in his honor, with specialperformers brought from London. In fact the whole visit to England hadbeen such a success that he repeated the trip in 1794, and receivedeven greater honors. His symphonies were heard on all Londonprograms. He was the lion of the season, and was frequently invited toBuckingham Palace to play for the King and Queen, who always urgedhim to live in England. Haydn was now sixty-five; he had composedquantities of music, but his greatest work, "The Creation, " was notyet written. While in London, Salomon had shown him a poem founded on"Paradise Lost, " written years before in the hope that Handel woulduse it for an oratorio. Haydn decided to try his hand at oratorio onthis subject. As he went on, it grew to be a labor of love and prayer. It was finished and performed in Vienna, March 19, 1799, and madea profound impression. The composer at once began work on a secondoratorio, founded on Thompson's "Seasons. " The desire for work wasstrong within, but his health was failing. "'The Seasons' gave me myfinishing stroke, " he often remarked to friends. 

Haydn was acknowledged on every hand as the father of instrumentalmusic. He laid great stress on melody. "It is the air which isthe charm of music, " he said, "and it is the air which is the mostdifficult to produce. The invention of a fine melody is a work ofgenius. "

Full of years and honors, respected and beloved, Father Haydn passedaway. As Vienna was at that time in the hands of the French, he wasgiven a very simple burial. In 1820 Prince Esterhazy had the remainsreinterred in the upper parish church at Eisenstadt, where a simplestone with Latin inscription is placed in the wall above the vault tomark the spot. 

VI

WOLFGANG MOZART

The early December dusk was closing in over the quaint old city ofSalzburg. Up on the heights above the town the battlements of thegreat castle caught a reflection of the last gleams of light in thesky. But the narrow streets below were quite in shadow. 

In one of the substantial looking houses on a principal thoroughfare, called the Getreide Gasse, lights gleamed from windows on the thirdfloor. Within, all was arranged as if for some special occasion. The larger room, with its three windows looking on the street, wasimmaculate in its neatness. The brass candlesticks shone like gold, the mahogany table was polished like a mirror, the simple furniturelikewise. For today was Father Mozart's birthday and the littlehousehold was to celebrate the event. 

Mother Mozart had been busy all day putting everything in orderwhile Nannerl, the seven year old daughter, had been helping. LittleWolfgang, now three years old, in his childish eagerness to be as busyas the others, had only hindered, and had to be reprimanded once in awhile. One could never be vexed with the little elf, even if he turnedsomersaults in new clean clothes, or made chalk figures all over theliving-room chairs. He never meant to do any harm, and was always sotenderhearted and lovable, it was hard to scold him. 

And this was the Father's birthday, about the most important of allthe family celebrations. Already the roast on the spit was nearingperfection, while in the oven a fine cake was browning. 

When all was ready and Leopold Mozart had received the good wishesof the little household, baby Wolfgang was mounted on a footstool torecite a poem, in honor of the occasion. When he had finished it hestood quietly a moment then reaching out his tiny arms, clasped themtightly about his father's neck, and said:

"Dear papa, I love you very, very much; after God, next comes mypapa. "

Leopold Mozart was a musician and held the post of Vice-Capellmeister. Music was honored in this simple home, and when two of the Courtmusicians, friends of Father Mozart, came in to join the festivitieson this birthday night, a toast was drunk to the honor of _Musica_, the divine goddess of tones. 

"I wonder if even a little of my own musical knowledge and love forthe art will overflow upon the two dear children, " remarked FatherMozart, gazing down tenderly on the little ones. 

"Why not, " answered the mother; "you long ago promised to beginlessons with Nannerl; can she not start this very night?"

"Yes, indeed, Papachen, may I not learn to play the piano? I promiseto work very hard. "

"Very well, " answered the father; "you shall see I am grateful for allthe love you have showed me tonight, and I will begin to teach Nannerlat once. "

"I want to learn music too, " broke in little Wolfgang, looking at hisfather with beaming eyes. 

Every one laughed at this, while the father said baby Wolfgang wouldhave to grow some inches before he could reach the keys. 

The lesson began, and the little girl showed both quickness andpatience to grasp the ideas. No one at first noticed the tiny childwho planted himself at his sister's elbow, the light of the candlesfalling on his delicate, sensitive features and bright brown hair. Hisglance never left Nannerl's fingers as they felt hesitatinglyamong the white and black keys, while his ear easily understood theintervals she tried to play. 

When the little girl left the piano, or the harpsichord, as it wascalled in those days, Wolfgang slipped into her place and began torepeat with his tiny fingers what his father had taught her. He soughtthe different intervals, and when at last he found them, his littleface beamed with joy. In a short time he was able to play all thesimple exercises that had been given his sister. 

The parents listened to their wonder-child with ever increasingastonishment, mingled with tears of emotion. It was plain to be seenthat Wolfgang must have lessons as well as Nannerl. And what joy itwould be to teach them both. 

It was a happy household that retired that night. Nannerl was happybecause she at last had the chance to take piano lessons. Wolfgang, little "Starbeam, " dreamed of the wonderful Goddess of Music, whocarried him away to fairyland which was filled with beautiful music. The parents were filled with joy that heaven had granted them suchblessings in their children. 

The musical progress of the children was quite remarkable. Marianne, which was Nannerl's real name, soon began to play very well indeed, while little Wolfgang hardly had to be told anything in music, forhe seemed to know it already. The father would write Minuets for thelittle girl to study; her tiny brother would learn them in half anhour. Soon Wolfgang was able to compose his own Minuets. Several havecome down to us which he wrote when he was five years old; and theyare quite perfect in form and style. 

One day Father Mozart brought home Schachtner, the Court trumpeter, todinner. Coming suddenly into the living-room, they found the tiny elfbusily writing at his father's desk. 

"Whatever are you doing, Wolferl?" cried his father, gazing at the inkstained fingers of his little son and then at the paper covered withblots. 

"Oh, Papa, a piano sonata, but it isn't finished yet. "

"Never mind that, " said Leopold Mozart, "let us see it, it must besomething very fine. " Taking up the paper the father and his friendlooked at it curiously. The sheets were bedaubed with ink stains thatalmost concealed the notes. For the child had thrust his pen each timeto the bottom of the ink well, so that frequent blots on the paperwere the result. These did not trouble him in the least, for hemerely rubbed his hand over the offending blot and proceeded with hiswriting. 

At first the two friends laughed heartily to see how the littlecomposer had written the notes over smudges, but soon the father'seyes filled with happy tears. 

"Look, my dear Schachtner!" he cried. "See how correct and orderly itall is, all written according to rule. Only one could never play itfor it seems to be too difficult. "

"But it's a sonata, Papa, and one must practice it first, of course, but this is the way it should go. "

He sprang to the piano and began to play. The small fingers could notmaster the more intricate parts, but gave sufficient idea of how heintended the piece to sound. 

They stood in speechless astonishment at this proof of the child'spowers; then Leopold Mozart caught up the little composer and kissinghim cried, "My Wolfgang, you will become a great musician. "

Wolfgang, not content with merely learning the piano, begged to studythe violin also. His violin lessons had hardly begun when one eveninghis father and two friends were about to play a set of six trios, composed by Wentzl, one of the players. Wolfgang begged to be allowedto play the second violin. Needless to say his request was refused. At last he was told he might sit next to Schachtner and make believeplay, though he must make no sound. 

The playing began, when before long it was seen the boy was actuallyplaying the second violin part and doing it correctly. The secondviolin ceased bowing in amazement and allowed Wolfgang to go on alone. After this he was permitted to play all the second violin part ofthe whole six pieces. Emboldened by this success, he volunteeredto attempt the first violin part, an offer which was greeted withlaughter; but nothing daunted, he took up his violin and began. Therewere mistakes here and there, of course, but he persisted to the end, to the astonishment of all. 

Three years had passed swiftly by since little Wolfgang Mozart beganto study music the night of his father's fortieth birthday. He hadmade marvelous progress and already the fame of his powers had passedbeyond the narrow limits of his native town. Leopold Mozart had nomeans other than the salary which he received from the Court. Hischildren's musical gifts induced the father to turn them to advantage, both to supply the family needs and to provide the children a broadeducation in music. He determined to travel with the children. Afirst experiment in January, 1762, had proved so successful that thefollowing September they set out for Vienna. Wolfgang was now sixyears old and Marianne eleven. 

At Linz they gave a successful concert and every one was delightedwith the playing of the children. From here they continued theirjourney as far as the monastery of Ips, where they expected to stayfor the night. It had been a wonderful day, spent in sailing downthe majestic Danube, till they reached the grey old building withits battlemented walls. Soon after they arrived, Father Mozart tookWolfgang into the chapel to see the organ. 

The child gazed with awe at the great pipes, the keyboard and thepedals. He begged his father to explain their working, and then asthe father filled the great bellows the tiny organist pushed asidethe organ bench, stood upon the pedals and trod them, as though he hadalways known how. The monks in the monastery hastened to the chapel, holding their breath as one pointed to the figure of a tiny child inthe organ loft. Was it possible, they asked themselves, that a childcould produce such beautiful music? They remained rooted to the spot, till Wolfgang happened to see them and crept meekly down from hisperch. 

All the rest of the journey to Vienna, Wolfgang was the life of theparty, eager to know the name and history of everything they met. Atthe custom-house on the frontier, he made friends with the officialsby playing for them on his violin, and thus secured an easy pass forthe party. 

Arrived at Vienna, Leopold Mozart found the fame of the children'splaying had preceded them. A kind and gracious welcome awaited thelittle party when they went to the palace of Schönbrunn. The EmperorFranz Josef took to Wolfgang at once, was delighted with his playingand called him his "little magician. " The boy's powers were tested bybeing required to read difficult pieces at sight, and playing with onefinger, as the Emperor jestingly asked him to do. Next, the keyboardwas covered with a cloth, as a final test, but little Wolfgang playedas finely as before, to the great delight of the company who applaudedheartily. The little magician was so pleased with the kindness of boththe Emperor and Empress that he returned it in his own childish way, by climbing into the lap of the Empress and giving her a hug and akiss, just as though she were his own mother. He was also greatlyattracted by the little Princess Marie Antoinette, a beautiful childof about his own age, with long fair curls and laughing blue eyes. Thetwo struck up an immediate friendship. 

After the favor shown them at Court, the gifted children became therage in Vienna society. Invitations poured in from every side, andmany gifts. Those bestowed by the royal family were perhaps the mostvalued. Wolfgang's present was a violet colored suit, trimmed withbroad gold braid, while Nannerl received a pretty white silk dress. Each of the children also received a beautiful diamond ring from theEmperor. A portrait of the boy in his gala suit, which was painted atthe time, is still preserved. 

The following year the Mozarts took the children on a longer journey, this time with Paris in view. They stopped at many towns and citieson the way. At Frankfort the first performance was so successful thatthree more were given. A newspaper of the time says "little Mozartis able to name all notes played at a distance, whether single or inchords, whether played on the piano, or any other instrument, bell, glass or clock. " The father offered as an additional attraction thatWolfgang would play with the keyboard covered. 

The family stayed five months in Paris; the children played beforethe Court at Versailles, exciting surprise and enthusiasm there andwherever they appeared. From Paris they traveled to London, in April, 1764. 

Leopold Mozart's first care on reaching the great English metropoliswas to obtain an introduction at Court. King George III and the Queenwere very fond of music, and it was not long before an invitation camefor the children to attend at the Palace. The King showed the greatestinterest in Wolfgang, asking him to play at sight difficult pieces byBach and Handel. Then the boy, after accompanying the Queen in a song, selected the bass part in a piece by Handel, and improvised a charmingmelody to it. The King was so impressed that he wished him to play theorgan, in the playing of which Wolfgang won a further triumph. 

The King's birthday was to be celebrated on June 4 and London wascrowded with people from all parts of the country. Leopold Mozart hadchosen June 5 as the date for his first public concert. The hall wasfilled to overflowing; one hundred guineas being taken in. Many of theassisting performers would take no fee for their services, which addedto the father's gratitude and happiness. 

Not long after this Leopold Mozart fell ill, and the little familymoved to Chelsea, for the quiet and good air. Later they weregiven another reception at Court, where, after Wolfgang's wonderfulperformances, the children won much applause by playing some pianoduets composed by the boy--a style of composition then quite new. 

In July, 1765, the family left London and traveled in Holland, afterwhich came a second visit to Paris, where they added to their formertriumphs, in addition to playing in many towns on the way back. Finally the long tour was brought to a close by the return to Salzburgin November, 1766. 

At the period of musical history in which the gifted boy lived, amusician's education was not complete unless he went to Italy, forthis country stood first as the home of music. Leopold Mozart had madea couple of trips to Vienna with his children, the account of whichneed not detain us here. He had decided that Wolfgang must go toItaly, and breathe in the atmosphere of that land of song. And so inDecember, 1769, father and son set out for the sunny south, with highhopes for success. 

Mozart's happy nature was jubilant over the journey. He watchedeagerly the peasants as they danced on the vine-clad terraces, overlooking the deep blue lakes, --or listened as they sang at theirwork in the sunny fields. He gazed at the wonderful processions ofpriests through narrow streets of the towns, but above all there wasthe grand music in the cathedrals. 

The young musician had plenty of work to do, more than most boysof thirteen. For, besides the concerts he had to give, he was setdifficult problems by the various professors who wished to test hispowers. The fame of his playing constantly spread, so the further hetraveled into Italy there were more demands to hear him. At Roveredo, where it was announced he would play the organ in St. Thomas's Church, the crowd was so great he could scarcely get to the organ-loft. Thevast audience listened spellbound, and then refused to disperse tillthey had caught a glimpse of the boy player. At Verona he had anothertriumph; one of his symphonies was performed, and his portrait wasordered to be painted. 

When they reached Milan the Chief musician of the city subjected theboy to severe tests, all of which he accomplished to the astonishmentand delight of everybody. It was at Bologna however, where he metthe most flattering reception. Here was the home of the famous PadreMartini, the aged composer of church music. Father Martini was almostworshiped by the Italians; he was a most lovable man and looked up toas a great composer. He had long ago given up attending concerts, sothat every one was astonished when he was present in the brilliantaudience gathered at Count Pallavicini's mansion to listen to theboy's playing. Wolfgang did his best, for he realized the importanceof the event. Father Martini took the boy to his heart at once, invited him to visit him as often as possible during his stay, and gave him several fugue subjects to work out. These the boyaccomplished with ease, and the Padre declared he was perfectlysatisfied with his knowledge of composition. 

The journey to Rome was now continued, and for Wolfgang it was asuccession of triumphs. At Florence he played before the Court of theArchduke Leopold, and solved every problem put to him by the Courtmusic director as easily as though he were eating a bit of bread. 

It was Holy Week when young Mozart and his father entered Rome, andthe city lay under the spell of the great festival of the year. Theysoon joined the throngs that filled the vast temple of St. Peter's, to which all turn during this solemn season. After attending a serviceand viewing the treasures of the Cathedral, they turned their steps tothe Sistine Chapel, which contains the wonderful painting of the LastJudgment by Michael Angelo. It was here that the celebrated Miserereby Allegri was performed. Wolfgang had been looking forward to thismoment all through the latter part of his journey. His father had toldhim how jealously guarded this music was; it could never be performedin any other place, and the singers could never take their parts outof the chapel. He was intensely eager to hear this work. And indeed itwould be difficult to imagine anything more beautiful and impressivethan the singing of the Miserere, which means "Have Mercy. " It followsthe solemn service called Tenebrae, (Darkness) during which the sixtall candles on the altar are extinguished one by one, --till but oneis left, which is removed to a space behind the altar. Then in almostcomplete darkness the Miserere begins. A single voice is heard singingthe antiphon, or short introduction, --and then comes silence, asilence so profound that the listener scarcely dares to breathefor fear of disturbing it. At length the first sad notes of thesupplication are heard, like the softest wailing of an anguishedspirit; they gradually gain force till the whole building seems tothrob with the thrilling intensity of the music. 

The young musician was profoundly moved; the father too was muchaffected by the solemn service. Neither spoke as they left the chapeland sought their lodgings. After they had retired the boy could notsleep; his thoughts were filled with the wonderful music he had heard. He arose, lit the lamp, and got out pens and music paper. He workedindustriously the long night through. When morning dawned the boy satwith his beautiful head upon his folded arms, asleep, while before himon the table lay a score of the Miserere of Allegri, entirely writtenfrom memory. 

The next day, Good Friday, the Miserere was performed for the secondtime. Wolfgang, the boy of fourteen, who had performed the wonderfulfeat of writing this work out after one hearing, again attended theservice, keeping the score in his hat, and found his work was nearlyperfect, needing but a couple of trifling corrections. 

The news of this startling feat gained for the young musician acordial welcome into the houses of the great in Rome; during theirstay father and son were fęted to their hearts' content. 

At Naples, their next stopping place, Wolfgang played before abrilliant company, and excited so much astonishment, that peopledeclared his power in playing came from a ring he wore on his finger. "He wears a charm, " they cried. Mozart smiled, took off the ring andplayed more brilliantly than ever. Then the enthusiasm was redoubled. The Neapolitans showed them every attention and honor. A carriagewas provided for their use, and we have an account of how they drovethrough the best streets, the father wearing a maroon-colored coatwith light blue facings, and Wolfgang in one of apple green, withrose-colored facings and silver buttons. 

It was indeed a wonderful tour which they made in Italy, though thereis not time to tell of many things that happened. On their return toRome, the Pope gave him the order of the Golden Spur, which made himChevalier de Mozart. Arriving at Bologna the young musician was made amember of the Accademia Filharmonica. The test for this admission wassetting an antiphon in four parts. Wolfgang was locked in a room tillthe task should be finished. To the astonishment of everybody he askedto be let out at the end of half an hour, --having completed the work. 

The travelers now proceeded to Milan, where Mozart was to work on hisfirst opera, for which he had received a commission. It was a greattask for a boy to accomplish and we find the young composer writingto his mother and sister to pray for his success. The opera was called"Mitridate, " and was finished after three months' hard work. The firstperformance was given in Milan, December 26, 1770, and was conductedby Wolfgang himself. It was a proud, happy day for the father, indeedfor the whole family. "Mitridate" succeeded beyond their hopes; it wasgiven twenty times before crowded houses; and its success brought anelection to the Accademia, and also a commission to write a dramaticSerenata for an approaching royal wedding. This work also was a greatsuccess. The Empress who had commissioned Mozart to compose the workwas so pleased, that besides the promised fee, she gave the composer agold watch with her portrait set in diamonds on the back. 

Sunshine and success had followed the gifted boy through all histravels; but now shadows and disappointments were to come, due tojealousy, intrigue and indifference of those in power who might havehelped him but failed to recognize his genius. Shortly after thereturn of the father and son to their home town of Salzburg, theirprotector and friend, the good Archbishop of Salzburg, died. Hissuccessor was indifferent to art and held in contempt those whofollowed it as a profession. He persistently refused to appoint theyoung musician to any office worthy his talent or to recognize hisgifts in any way. While Mozart remained at home in Salzburg, hopinghis prospects would improve, he worked at composing with untiringdiligence. By the time he was twenty-one he had accumulated a massof music that embraced every branch of the art. He had a growingreputation as a composer but no settled future. He had the post ofconcertmaster, it is true, but the salary was but a trifle and hewas often pressed for money. Leopold therefore decided to undertakeanother professional tour with his son. The Archbishop howeverprevented the father leaving Salzburg. So the only course left openwas to allow Wolfgang and his mother to travel together. They set outon the morning of September 23, 1777. Wolfgang's spirits rose as thetown of Salzburg faded into the haze of that September morning; thesense of freedom was exhilarating; he had escaped the place associatedin his mind with tyranny and oppression, to seek his fortune in newand wider fields. 

At Munich where they first halted, Wolfgang sought an engagementat the Elector's Court. He had an audience at the Nymphenburg, amagnificent palace on the outskirts of the city. The Elector saidthere was no vacancy; he did not know but later it might be possibleto make one, after Mozart had been to Italy and had made a name forhimself. With these words the Elector turned away. Mozart stood asif stunned. To Italy, when he had concertized there for about sevenyears, and had been showered with honors! It was too much. He shookoff the dust of Munich and he and his mother went on to Mannheim. Here was a more congenial atmosphere. The Elector maintained a fineorchestra, and with the conductor, Cannabich, Mozart became greatfriends, giving music lessons to his daughter. But he could not seemto secure a permanent appointment at Court, worthy his genius andability. Money became more scarce and the father and sister must makemany sacrifices at home to send money to maintain mother and son. Withthe best of intentions Wolfgang failed to make his way except as apiano teacher. The father had resorted to the same means of securingthe extra sums required, and wrote quite sharply to the son to bestirhimself and get something settled for the future. 

For the young genius, Mannheim possessed a special attraction of whichthe father knew nothing. Shortly after their arrival in the city, Wolfgang became acquainted with the Weber family. The two oldestdaughters, Aloysia, fifteen, and Constanza, fourteen, were charminggirls just budding into womanhood. Aloysia had a sweet, pure voice, and was studying for the stage; indeed she had already made her débutin opera. It was not at all strange that young Mozart, who oftenjoined the family circle, should fall in love with the girl's fairbeauty and fresh voice, should write songs for her and teach herto sing them as he wished. They were much together and their earlyattraction fast ripened into love. Wolfgang formed a project forhelping the Webers, who were in rather straitened circumstances, byundertaking a journey to Italy in company with Aloysia and her father;he would write an opera in which Aloysia should appear as prima donna. Of this brilliant plan he wrote his father, saying they could stop inSalzburg on the way, when the father and Nannerl could meet the fairyoung singer, whom they would be sure to love. 

Leopold Mozart was distracted at news of this project. He at oncewrote, advising his son to go to Paris and try there to make a nameand fame for himself. The son dutifully yielded at once. With a heavyheart he prepared to leave Mannheim, where he had spent such a happywinter, and his love dream came to an end. It was a sad parting withthe Weber household, for they regarded Wolfgang as their greatestbenefactor. 

The hopes Leopold Mozart had built on Wolfgang's success in Paris werenot to be realized. The enthusiasm he had aroused as a child prodigywas not awarded to the matured musician. Three months passed away inmore or less fruitless endeavor. Then the mother, who had been hisconstant companion in these trials and travels, fell seriously ill. OnJuly 3, 1778, she passed away in her son's arms. 

Mozart prepared to leave Paris at once, and his father was themore willing, since the Archbishop of Salzburg offered Wolfgangthe position of Court organist, at a salary of 500 florins, withpermission to absent himself whenever he might be called upon toconduct his own operas. Leopold urged Wolfgang's acceptance, as theirjoint income would amount to one thousand florins a year--a sum thatwould enable them to pay their debts and live in comparative comfort. 

To Mozart the thought of settling down in Salzburg under theconditions stated in his father's letter was distasteful, but he hadnot the heart to withstand his father's appeal. He set out from Parisat once, promising himself just one indulgence before entering thebondage which lay before him, a visit to his friends the Webers atMannheim. When he arrived there he found they had gone to Munich tolive. Therefore he pushed on to Munich. The Weber family received himas warmly as of old, but in Aloysia's eyes there was only a friendlygreeting, nothing more. A few short months had cooled her fickleattachment for the young composer. This discovery was a bittertrial to Wolfgang and he returned to his Salzburg home saddened bydisappointed love and ambition. 

Here in his old home he was cheered by a rapturous welcome; it waslittle short of a triumph, this greeting and homage showered on him byfather, sister and friends. In their eyes his success was unshadowedby failure; to them he was Mozart the great composer, the genius amongmusicians. He was very grateful for these proofs of affection andesteem, but he had still the same aversion to Salzburg and his Courtduties. So it was with new-kindled joy that he set out once more forMunich, in November, 1780, to complete and produce the opera he hadbeen commissioned to write for the carnival the following year. 

The new opera, "Idomeneo, " fulfilled the high expectations his Munichfriends had formed of the composer's genius. Its reception at therehearsals proved success was certain, and the Elector who waspresent, joined the performers in expressing his unqualified approval. At home the progress of the work was followed with deepest interest. The first performance of "Idomeneo" took place on January 29, 1781. Leopold and Marianne journeyed to Munich to witness Wolfgang'striumph. It was a proud, happy moment for all three; the enthusiasticacclaim which shook the theater seemed to the old father, who watchedwith swimming eyes the sea of waving hands around him, to set the sealof greatness on his son's career. 

The Archbishop, under whom Mozart held the meager office we havespoken of, grew more overbearing in his treatment; he was undoubtedlyjealous that great people of Vienna were so deferential to one of hisservants, as he chose to call him. At last the rupture came; after astormy scene Mozart was dismissed from his service, and was free. 

Father Mozart was alarmed when he heard the news of the break, andendeavored to induce Wolfgang to reconsider his decision and return toSalzburg. But the son took a firm stand for his independence. "Do notask me to return to Salzburg, " he wrote his father; "ask me anythingbut that. "

And now came a time of struggling for Mozart. His small salary was cutoff and he had but one pupil. He had numerous friends, however, andsoon his fortunes began to mend. He was lodging with his old friendsthe Webers. Aloysia, his former beloved, had married; Madame Weberand her two unmarried daughters were now in Vienna and in reducedcircumstances. Mozart's latest opera, "The Elopement, " had broughthim fame both in Vienna and Prague, and he had the patronage of manydistinguished persons, as well as that of Emperor Josef. 

Mozart had now decided to make a home for himself, and chose as hisbride Constanza Weber, a younger sister of Aloysia, his first love. Inspite of Leopold Mozart's remonstrance, the young people were marriedAugust 16, 1782. 

Constanza, though a devoted wife, was inexperienced in home keeping. The young couple were soon involved in many financial troublesfrom which there seemed no way out, except by means of some Courtappointment. This the Emperor in spite of his sincere interest in thecomposer, seemed disinclined to give. 

Mozart now thought seriously of a journey to London and Paris, buthis father's urgent appeal that he would wait and exercise patience, delayed him. Meanwhile he carried out an ardent desire to pay a visitto his father and sister in Salzburg, to present to them his bride. It was a very happy visit, and later on, when Mozart and his wife wereagain settled in Vienna, they welcomed the father on a return visit. Leopold found his son immersed in work, and it gladdened his heart tosee the appreciation in which his playing and compositions were held. One happy evening they spent with Josef Haydn who, after hearing someof Mozart's quartets played, took the father aside, saying: "I declarebefore God, as a man of honor, that your son is the greatest composerI know, either personally or by reputation. He has taste, but morethan that the most consummate knowledge of the art of composition. "

This happy time was to be the last meeting between father and son. Soon after Leopold's return to Salzburg, he was stricken with illness, and passed away May 28, 1787. The news reached the composer shortlyafter he had achieved one of the greatest successes of his life. Theperformances of his latest opera, "The Marriage of Figaro, " had beenhailed with delight by enthusiastic crowds in Vienna and Prague; itssongs were heard at every street corner, and village ale house. "Neverwas anything more complete than the triumph of Mozart and his 'Nozzedi Figaro, '" wrote a singer and friend. --"And for Mozart himself, Ishall never forget his face when lighted up with the glowing rays ofgenius; it is as impossible to describe as to paint sunbeams. "

Despite the success of Figaro, Mozart was still a poor man, and mustearn his bread by giving music lessons. Finally the Emperor, hopingto keep him in Germany, appointed him Chamber-composer at a salaryof about eighty pounds a year. It must have seemed to Mozart and hisfriends a beggarly sum for the value his Majesty professed to set uponthe composer's services to art. "Too much for the little I am asked toproduce, too little for what I could produce, " were the bitter wordshe penned on the official return stating the amount of his salary. 

Mozart was inclined to be somewhat extravagant in dress and householdexpenditure, also very generous to any one who needed assistance. These trials, added to the fact that his wife was frequently inill health, and not very economical, served to keep the family incontinual straits. Occasionally they were even without fire or food, though friends always assisted such dire distress. Mozart's father haddeclared procrastination was his son's besetting sin. Yet the son wasa tireless worker, never idle. In September, 1787, he was at Prague, writing the score of his greatest opera, "Don Giovanni"; the time wasshort, as the work was to be produced October 29. On the evening ofthe 28th it was found he had not yet written the overture. It onlyhad to be written down, for this wonderful genius had the music quitecomplete in his head. He set to work, while his wife read fairy talesaloud to keep him awake, and gave him strong punch at intervals. Byseven o'clock next morning the score was ready for the copyist. It wasplayed in the evening without rehearsal, with the ink scarcely dry onthe paper. 

Even the successes of "Don Giovanni, " which was received with thundersof applause, failed to remedy his desperate financial straits. Shortlyafter this his pupil and patron, Prince Karl Lichnowsky, proposed heshould accompany him to Berlin. Mozart gladly consented, hoping forsome betterment to his fortunes. The King of Prussia received himwith honor and respect and offered him the post of Capellmeister, ata salary equal to about three thousand dollars. This sum would haveliberated him from all his financial embarrassments, and he wasstrongly tempted to accept. But loyalty to his good Emperor Josefcaused him to decline the offer. 

The month of July, 1791, found Mozart at home in Vienna at work on amagic opera to help his friend Salieri, who had taken a little theaterin the suburb of Wieden. One day he was visited by a stranger, a tallman, who said he came to commission Mozart to compose a Requiem. Hewould neither give his own name nor that of the person who had senthim. 

Mozart was somewhat depressed by this mysterious commission; howeverhe set to work on the Requiem at once. The composing of both this andthe fairy opera was suddenly interrupted by a pressing request that hewould write an opera for the coronation of Leopold II at Prague. Theceremony was fixed for September 6, so no time was to be lost. Mozartset out at once for Prague. The traveling carriage was at the door. As he was about to enter it, the mysterious stranger suddenly appearedand enquired for the Requiem. The composer could only promise tofinish on his return, when hastily entering his carriage, he droveaway. 

The new opera, "La Clemenza di Tito, " was finished in time andperformed, but was received somewhat indifferently. Mozart returned toVienna with spirits depressed and body exhausted by overwork. However, he braced himself anew, and on September 30th, the new fairy opera, the "Magic Flute, " was produced, and its success increased with eachperformance. 

The Requiem was not yet finished and to this work Mozart now turned. But the strain and excitement he had undergone for the past few monthshad done their work: a succession of fainting spells overcame him, andthe marvelous powers which had always been his seemed no longer at hiscommand. He feared he would not live to complete the work. "It is formyself I am writing the Requiem, " he said sadly to Constanza, one day. 

On the evening of December 4, friends who had gathered at his bedside, handed him, at his desire, the score of the Requiem, and, propped upby pillows he tried to sing one of the passages. The effort was toogreat; the manuscript slipped from his nerveless hand and he fell backspeechless with emotion. A few hours later, on the morning of December5, 1791, this great master of whom it was prophesied that he wouldcause all others to be forgotten, passed from the scene of his manystruggles and greater triumphs. 

VII

LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN

The Shakespeare of the realm of music, as he has been called, firstsaw the light on December 16, 1770, in the little University townof Bonn, on the Rhine. His father, Johann Beethoven, belonged to thecourt band of the Elector of Cologne. The family were extremely poor. The little room, where the future great master was born, was so low, that a good-sized man could barely stand upright in it. Very smallit was too, and not very light either, as it was at the back of thebuilding and looked out on a walled garden. 

The fame of young Mozart, who was acclaimed everywhere as a marvelousprodigy, had naturally reached the father's ears. He decided to trainthe little Ludwig as a pianist, so that he should also be hailed asa prodigy and win fame and best of all money for the poverty-strickenfamily. So the tiny child was made to practice scales and fingerexercises for hours together. He was a musically gifted child, but howhe hated those everlasting tasks of finger technic, when he longed tojoin his little companions, who could run and play in the sunshine. Ifhe stopped his practice to rest and dream a bit, the stern face of hisfather would appear at the doorway, and a harsh voice would call out, "Ludwig! what are you doing? Go on with your exercises at once. Therewill be no soup for you till they are finished. "

The father, though harsh and stern, wished his boy to have as thorougha knowledge of music as his means would permit. The boy was also sentto the public school, where he picked up reading and writing, but didnot make friends very quickly with the other children. The factwas the child seemed wholly absorbed in music; of music he dreamedconstantly; in the companionship of music he never could be lonely. 

When Ludwig was nine his father, regarding him with satisfaction andsome pride, declared he could teach him no more--and another mastermust be found. Those childhood years of hard toil had resulted inremarkable progress, even with the sort of teaching he had received. The circumstances of the family had not improved, for poverty hadbecome acute, as the father became more and more addicted to drink. Just at this time, a new lodger appeared, who was something of amusician, and arranged to teach the boy in part payment for his room. Ludwig wondered if he would turn out to be a more severe taskmasterthan his father had been. The times and seasons when his instructionwas given were at least unusual. Tobias Pfeiffer, as the new lodgerwas called, soon discovered that father Beethoven generally spent hisevenings at the tavern. As an act of kindness, to keep his drunkenlandlord out of the way of the police, Tobias used to go to the tavernlate at night and bring him safely home. Then he would go to thebedside of the sleeping boy, and awake him by telling him it was timefor practice. The two would go to the living room, where they wouldplay together for several hours, improvising on original themes andplaying duets. This went on for about a year; meanwhile Ludwig studiedLatin, French, Italian and logic. He also had organ lessons. 

Things were going from bad to worse in the Beethoven home, and in thehope of bettering these unhappy conditions, Frau Beethoven undertooka trip through Holland with her boy, hoping that his playing in thehomes of the wealthy might produce some money. The tour was successfulin that it relieved the pressing necessities of the moment, but thesturdy, independent spirit of the boy showed itself even then. "TheDutch are very stingy, and I shall take care not to trouble themagain, " he remarked to a friend. 

The boy Ludwig could play the organ fairly well, as he had studied itwith Christian Neefe, who was organist at the Court church. He alsocould play the piano with force and finish, read well at sight andknew nearly the whole of Bach's "Well Tempered Clavichord. " This wasa pretty good record for a boy of 11, who, if he went on as he hadbegun, it was said, would become a second Mozart. 

Neefe was ordered to proceed with the Elector and Court to Münster, which meant to leave his organ in Bonn for a time. Before startinghe called Ludwig to him and told him of his intended absence. "I musthave an assistant to take my place at the organ here. Whom do youthink I should appoint?" Seeing the boy had no inkling of his meaning, he continued: "I have thought of an assistant, one I am sure I cantrust, --and that is you, Ludwig. "

The honor was great, for a boy of eleven and a half. To conduct theservice, and receive the respect and deference due the position, quiteoverwhelmed the lad. Honors of this kind were very pleasant, but, alas, there was no money attached to the position, and this was whatthe straitened family needed most sorely. The responsibilities of theposition and the confidence of Neefe spurred Ludwig on to a passion ofwork which nothing could check. He began to compose; three sonatasfor the pianoforte were written about this time. Before completing histhirteenth year, Ludwig obtained his first official appointment fromthe Elector; he became what is called cembalist in the orchestra, which meant that he had to play the piano in the orchestra, andconduct the band at rehearsals. With this appointment there was nosalary attached either, and it was not until a year later when he wasmade second organist to the Court, under the new Elector, Max Franz, that he began to receive a small salary, equal to about sixty-fivedollars a year. We have seen that the straits of the family had notprevented Ludwig from pursuing his musical studies with great ardor. With his present attainments and his ambition for higher achievements, he longed to leave the little town of Bonn, and see something of thegreat world. Vienna was the center of the musical life of Germany; theboy dreamed of this magical city by day as he went about his routineof work, and by night as he lay on his poor narrow cot. Like Haydn, Vienna was the goal of his ambition. When a kind friend, knowing hisgreat longing, came forward with an offer to pay the expenses of thejourney, the lad knew his dream was to become a reality. In Vienna hewould see the first composers of the day; best of all he would see andmeet the divine Mozart, the greatest of them all. 

Ludwig, now seventeen, set out for the city of his dreams with thebrightest anticipations. On his arrival in Vienna he went at once toMozart's house. He was received most kindly and asked to play, butMozart seemed preoccupied and paid but little attention. Ludwig, seeing this stopped playing and asked for a theme on which toimprovise. Mozart gave a simple theme, and Beethoven, taking theslender thread, worked it up with so much feeling and power, thatMozart, who was now all attention and astonishment, stepped into thenext room, where some friends were waiting for him, and said, "Payattention to this young man; he will make a noise in the world someday. "

Shortly after his return home he was saddened by the loss of hisgood, kind, patient mother, and a few months later his little sisterMargaretha passed away. No doubt these sorrows were expressed in someof his most beautiful compositions. But brighter days followed thedark ones. He became acquainted with the Breuning family, a widowlady and four children, three boys and a girl, all young people. Theyoungest boy and the girl became his pupils, and all were very fondof him. He would stay at their house for days at a time and was alwaystreated as one of the family. They were cultured people, and intheir society Beethoven's whole nature expanded. He began to take aninterest in the literature of his own country and in English authorsas well. All his spare time was given to reading and composition. A valuable acquaintance with the young Count Von Waldstein was madeabout this time. The Count called one day and found the composer athis old worn out piano, surrounded by signs of abject poverty. Itwent to his heart to see that the young man, whose music he so greatlyadmired should have to struggle for the bare necessities of life whilehe himself enjoyed every luxury. It seemed to him terribly unjust. Hefeared to offend the composer's self-respect by sending him money, butshortly after the call Beethoven was made happy by the gift of a finenew piano, in place of his old one. He was very grateful for thisfriendship and later dedicated to the Count one of his finest sonatas, the Op. 53, known as the "Waldstein Sonata. "

With a view of aiding the growth of the opera, and operatic art, theElector founded a national theater, and Beethoven was appointed violaplayer in the orchestra besides still being assistant organist in thechapel. In July, 1792, the band arranged a reception for Haydn, whowas to pass through Bonn on his way from London, where he had hada wonderful success, to his home in Vienna. Beethoven seized theopportunity to show the master a cantata he had just composed. Haydnpraised the work and greatly encouraged the young musician to goforward in his studies. The Elector, hearing of Haydn's words ofpraise, felt that Beethoven should have the chance to develop histalents that he might be able to produce greater works. Thereforehe decided to send the young composer, at his own expense, tostudy strict counterpoint with Haydn. He was now twenty-two and hiscompositions already published had brought him considerable fame andappreciation in his vicinity. Now he was to have wider scope for hisgifts. 

He bade farewell to Bonn in November of this year and set out a secondtime for the city of his dreams--Vienna. He was never to see Bonnagain. He arrived in Vienna comparatively unknown, but his fine pianoplaying and wonderful gift for improvising greatly impressed allwho heard him. He constantly played in the homes of the wealthyaristocracy. Many who heard him play, engaged lessons and he waswell on the road to social success. Yet his brusque manners oftenantagonized his patrons. He made no effort to please or conciliate;he was obstinate and self-willed. In spite of all this, the innatenobleness and truth of his character retained the regard of men andwomen belonging to the highest ranks of society. With the Prince andPrincess Lichnowsky Beethoven shortly became very intimate, and wasinvited to stay at the Palace. The Princess looked after his personalcomfort with as motherly an affection as Madame Breuning had done. The etiquette of the Palace however, offended Ludwig's love ofBohemianism, especially the dressing for dinner at a certain time. He took to dining at a tavern quite frequently, and finally engagedlodgings. The Prince and his good lady, far from taking offense atthis unmannerly behavior, forgave it and always kept for Beethoven awarm place in their hearts, while he, on his part was sincere in hisaffection for his kind friends. 

Beethoven began his lessons with Haydn, but they did not seem to geton well together. The pupil thought the master did not give him enoughtime and attention. When Haydn went to England, about a year after thelessons began, Beethoven studied with several of the best musiciansof the city, both in playing and composition. Albrechtsberger, one ofthese, was a famous contrapuntist of his time, and the student gainedmuch from his teaching. The young musician was irresistible when heseated himself at the piano to extemporize. "His improvisating wasmost brilliant and striking, " wrote Carl Czerny, a pupil of Beethoven. "In whatever company he might be, he knew how to produce such aneffect upon the listeners that frequently all eyes would be wet, and some listeners would sob; there was something wonderful in hisexpressive style, the beauty and originality of his ideas and hisspirited way of playing. " Strange to say the emotion he roused inhis hearers seemed to find no response in Beethoven himself. He wouldsometimes laugh at it, at other times he would resent it, saying, "Weartists don't want tears, we want applause. " These expressions howeveronly concealed his inner feelings--for he was very sympatheticwith those friends he loved. His anger, though sharp, was of shortduration, but his suspicions of those whose confidence he had won byhis genius and force of character, were the cause of much suffering tohimself and others. 

Beethoven in appearance was short and stockily built; his face was notat all good looking. It is said he was generally meanly dressed andwas homely, but full of nobility, fine feeling and highly cultivated. The eyes were black and bright, and they dilated, when the composerwas lost in thought, in a way that made him look inspired. A mass ofdark hair surmounted a high broad forehead. He often looked gloomy, but when he smiled it was with a radiant brightness. His hands werestrong and the fingers short and pressed out with much practise. Hewas very particular about hand position when playing. As a conductorhe made many movements, and is said to have crouched below the desk insoft passages; in Crescendos he would gradually lift himself upuntil at the loudest parts he would rise to his full height with armsextended, even springing into the air, as though he would float inspace. 

Beethoven as a teacher, showed none of the impatience and carelessnessthat were seen in his personal habits. He insisted on a pupilrepeating the passage carefully a number of times, until it could beplayed to his satisfaction. He did not seem to mind a few wrong notes, but the pupil must not fail to grasp the meaning or put in the rightexpression, or his anger would be aroused. The first was an accident, the other would be a lack of knowledge of feeling. 

Beethoven loved nature as much or more than any musician ever did. Howhe hailed the spring because he knew the time would soon come when hecould close the door of his lodgings in the hot city, and slip away tosome quiet spot and hold sweet communion with nature. A forest was aparadise, where he could ramble among the trees and dream. Or hewould select a tree where a forking branch would form a seat near theground. He would climb up and sit in it for hours, lost in thought. Leaning against the trunk of a lime tree, his eyes fixed upon thenetwork of leaves and branches above him, he sketched the plan of hisoratorio "The Mount of Olives"; also that of his one opera "Fidelio, "and the third Symphony, known as the "Eroica. " He wrote to a friend, "No man loves the country more than I. Woods, trees and rocks give theresponse which man requires. Every tree seems to say 'Holy, holy. '"

Already, as a young man, symptoms of deafness began to appear, andthe fear of becoming a victim of this malady made the composer moresensitive than ever. He was not yet thirty when this happened, andbelieving his life work at an end, he became deeply depressed. Varioustreatments were tried for increasing deafness; at one time it seemedto be cured by the skill of Dr. Schmidt, to whom out of gratitude hededicated his Septet, arranged as a Trio. By his advice the composerwent for the summer of 1820 to the little village of Heiligenstadt(which means Holy City) in the hope that the calm, sweet environmentwould act as a balm to his troubled mind. During this period of restand quiet his health improved somewhat, but from now on he had to giveup conducting his works, on account of his deafness. 

It may be thought that one so reticent and retiring, of such hastytemper and brusque manners, would scarcely be attracted to women. But Beethoven, it is said, was very susceptible to the charm of theopposite sex. He was however, most careful and high-souled in all hisrelations with women. He was frequently in love, but it was usually aPlatonic affection. For the Countess Julie Guicciardi he protestedthe most passionate love, which was in a measure returned. She wasdoubtless his "immortal beloved, " whose name vibrates through theAdagio of the "Moonlight Sonata, " which is dedicated to her. He wroteher the most adoring letters; but the union, which he seemed to desireso intensely, was never brought about, though the reason is not known. For Bettina von Arnim, Goethe's little friend, he conceived a tenderaffection. Another love of his was for the Countess Marie Erdödy, to whom he dedicated the two fine Trios, Op. 70, but this was alsoa purely Platonic affection. The composer was unfortunate in hisattachments, for the objects were always of a much higher socialstanding than himself. As he constantly associated with people of rankand culture, it was natural that the young girl nobly born, with allthe fascinations of the high bred aristocrat, should attract him farmore than the ordinary woman of his own class. And thus it happenedthat several times he staked his chances of happiness on a love heknew could never be consummated. Yet no one needed a kind, helpful, sympathetic wife more than did our poet-musician. She would havesoothed his sensitive soul when he suffered from fancied wrongs, shielded him from intrusion, shared his sorrows and triumphs, andattended to his house-keeping arrangements, which were always in a sadstate of confusion. This blissful state was seemingly not for him. Itwas best for the great genius to devote himself wholly to his divineart, and to create those masterpieces which will always endure. 

In 1804 Beethoven completed one of his greatest symphonies, the"Eroica. " He made a sketch, as we have seen, two years before. He hadintended it to honor Napoleon, to whose character and career he wasgreatly attracted. But when Napoleon entered Paris in triumph and wasproclaimed Emperor, Beethoven's worship was turned to contempt. Heseized the symphony, tore the little page to shreds and flung the workto the other end of the room. It was a long time before he would lookat the music again, but finally, he consented to publish it under thetitle by which it is now known. 

When we consider the number and greatness of Beethoven's compositionswe stand aghast at the amount of labor he accomplished. "I live onlyin my music, " he wrote, "and no sooner is one thing done than the nextis begun. I often work at two or three things at once. " Music was hislanguage of expression, and through his music we can reach his heartand know the man as he really was. At heart he was a man capable ofloving deeply and most worthy to be loved. 

Of the composer's two brothers, one had passed away and had left hisboy Carl, named after himself, as a solemn charge, to be brought up byUncle Ludwig as his own son. The composer took up this task generouslyand unselfishly. He was happy to have the little lad near him, one ofhis own kin to love. But as Carl grew to young manhood he proved tobe utterly unworthy of all this affection. He treated his good uncleshamefully, stole money from him, though he had been always generouslysupplied with it, and became a disgrace to the family. There is nodoubt that his nephew's dissolute habits saddened the master's life, estranged him from his friends and hastened his death. 

How simple and modest was this great master, in face of his mightyachievements! He wrote to a friend in 1824: "I feel as if I hadscarcely written more than a few notes. " These later years had beenmore than full of work and anxiety. Totally deaf, entirely thrown inupon himself, often weak and ill, the master kept on creating workafter work of the highest beauty and grandeur. 

Ludwig van Beethoven passed from this plane March 26, 1827, havingrecently completed his fifty-sixth year, and was laid to rest in theWähring Cemetery near Vienna. Unlike Mozart, he was buried with muchhonor. Twenty thousand people followed him to his grave. Among themwas Schubert, who had visited him on his deathbed, and was one of thetorch bearers. Several of the Master's compositions were sung by achoir of male voices, accompanied by trombones. At the grave Hummellaid three laurel wreaths on the casket. 

VIII

CARL MARIA VON WEBER

As we have already seen in the life stories of a number of musicians, the career they were to follow was often decided by the father, whodetermined to form them into wonder children, either for monetary gainor for the honor and glory of the family. The subject of this story isan example of such a preconceived plan. 

Franz Anton von Weber, who was a capable musician himself, had alwayscherished the desire to give a wonder child to the world. In hisidea wonder children need not be born such, they could be made by theproper care and training. He had been a wealthy man, but at the timeof our story, was in reduced circumstances, and was traveling aboutSaxony at the head of a troupe of theatrical folk, called "Weber'sCompany of Comedians. "

Little Carl Maria Friedrich Ernst, to give his full name, was bornDecember 18, 1786, at Eutin, a little town in Lower Saxony. He was thefirst child of a second marriage, and before the baby boy couldspeak, his career had been planned; the father had made up his mindto develop his son into an extraordinary musical genius. It is notrecorded what his young mother, a delicate girl of seventeen, thoughtabout it; probably her ideas for her baby son did not enter into thefather's plan. Mother and child were obliged to follow in the trainof the wandering comedians, so baby Carl was brought up amid theproperties of stage business. Scenery, canvas, paints and stage lightswere the materials upon which Carl's imagination was fed. He learnedstage language with his earliest breath; it is no wonder he turned towriting for the stage as to the manner born. 

As a child he was neither robust nor even healthy, which is notsurprising, since he was not allowed to run afield with otherchildren, enjoying the sweet air of nature, the flowers, the sunshineand blue sky. No, he must stay indoors much of the time and find hisplaymates among cardboard castles and painted canvas streets. Thistreatment was not conducive to rosy cheeks and strong, sturdy littlelegs. Then, before the delicate child was six years old, a violin wasput into his hand, and if his progress on it was thought to be tooslow by his impatient father, he was treated to raps and blows by wayof incentive to work yet harder. His teachers, too, were continuallychanging, as the comedians had to travel about from place to place. After awhile he was taken in hand by Michael Haydn, a brother of thegreat Josef. Michael was a famous musician himself and seldom gavelessons to any one. But he was interested in Carl and took charge ofhis musical education for some time. 

It was not long before Carl Maria's genius began definitely to showitself, for he started to write for the lyric stage. Two comic operasappeared, "The Dumb Girl of the Forest, " and "Peter Schmoll and hisNeighbors. " They were both performed, but neither made a hit. 

When Carl was seventeen, the father decided he should go to Vienna, for there he would meet all the great musicians of the time. Theboy was at the most impressionable age: he was lively, witty, withpleasant manners and amiable disposition; he soon became a favorite inthe highest musical circles. It was a gay life and the inexperiencedyouth yielded to its allurements. In the meantime he did some seriousstudying under the famous Abbé Vogler. The following year the Abbérecommended him to the conductorship of the Breslau Opera House. Thiswas a very difficult post for a boy of eighteen, and he encounteredmuch jealousy and opposition from the older musicians, who did notrelish finding themselves under the leadership of such a youth. A yearserved to disgust him with the work and he resigned. During the yearhe had found time to compose most of his opera "Rubezahl. "

For the next few years there were many "ups and downs" in Carl's life. From Breslau he went to Carlsruhe, and entered the service of PrinceEugene. For about a year he was a brilliant figure at the Court. Thenwar clouds gathered and the gay Court life came to an end. Musicunder the present conditions could no longer support him, as the wholesocial state of Germany had altered. The young composer was forced toearn his livelihood in some way, and now became private secretary toPrince Ludwig of Wurtemburg, whose Court was held at Stuttgart. Thegay, dissolute life at the Court was full of temptation for our youngcomposer, yet he found considerable time for composition; his opera"Sylvana" was the result, besides several smaller things. During theStuttgart period, his finances became so low, that on one occasion hehad to spend several days in prison for debt. Determined to recruithis fortunes, he began traveling to other towns to make known his art. In Mannheim, Darmstadt and Baden, he gave concerts, bringing outin each place some of his newer pieces, and earning enough at eachconcert to last a few weeks, when another concert would keep the wolffrom the door a little longer. 

In 1810, when he was twenty-four, he finished his pretty opera "AbuHassan, " which, on the suggestion of his venerable master, Vogler, he dedicated to the Grand Duke. The Duke accepted the dedication withevident pleasure, and sent Carl a purse of gold, in value about twohundred dollars. The opera was performed on February 6, 1811, and itsreception was very gratifying to the composer. The Grand Duke took onehundred and twenty tickets and the performance netted over two hundredflorins clear profit. It was after this that Carl Maria went on a tourof the principal German cities and gave concerts in Munich, Prague, Berlin, Dresden and other places. He was everywhere welcomed, histalents and charming manners winning friends everywhere. Especially inPrague he found the highest and noblest aristocracy ready to bid himwelcome. 

Weber paid a visit to Liebich, director of the Prague theater, almostas soon as he arrived in town. The invalid director greeted himwarmly. 

"So, you are _the_ Weber! I suppose you want me to buy your operas. One fills an evening, the other doesn't. Very well, I will givefifteen hundred florins for the two. Is it a bargain?" Weber accepted, and promised to return the next spring to conduct the operas. He kepthis promise, and the result was much better than he ever dreamed. Forbeyond the performance of his operas, he was offered the post of musicdirector of the Prague theater, which post was just then vacant. The salary was two thousand florins, with a benefit concert at aguaranteed sum of one thousand more, and three months leave of absenceevery year. This assured sum gave young Weber the chance of paying hisdebts and starting afresh, which, he writes "was a delight to him. "

The composer now threw himself heart and soul into improving theorchestra placed in his charge. Before long he had drilled it to ahigh state of excellence. Many new operas were put on the stage inquick succession. Thus Weber worked on with great industry for threeyears. The success he achieved created enemies, and perhaps because ofintrigues, envy and ill feeling which had arisen, he resigned hispost in 1816. The three years in Prague had been fruitful in newcompositions. Several fine piano sonatas, a set of "National Songs, "and the Cantata, "Kampf und Sieg, " (Struggle and Victory). This lastwork soon became known all over Germany and made the gifted youngcomposer very popular. During this period Weber became engaged toCaroline Brandt, a charming singer, who created the title rôle in hisopera of "Sylvana. "

Weber had many kind, influential friends in Prague, who admired hiszeal and efficiency as music director. One of them, Count Vitzhum, didall he could to secure Weber for Dresden. On Christmas morning, 1816, he received the appointment. He wrote to Caroline: "Long did I look onCount Vitzhum's letter without daring to open it. Did it contain joyor sorrow? At length I took courage and broke the seal. It was joy!I am Capellmeister to his Majesty the King of Saxony. I must now rigmyself out in true Court style. Perhaps I ought to wear a pigtail toplease the Dresdeners. What do you say? I ought at least to have anextra kiss from you for this good news. "

He went to Dresden, and at first looked over the situation. On nearerview the prospect was not as bright as it had appeared at first. Therewas a rival faction, strongly opposed to his plans for the promotionof German opera. There had never been anything tolerated at Dresdenbut Italian opera, and there were many talented Italian singers tointerpret them. Weber was encouraged by a new national spirit, whichhe felt would favor German opera, and was determined to conquer atall costs. He finally succeeded, for, as he wrote to a friend, "TheItalians have moved heaven, earth and hell also, to swallow up thewhole German opera and its promoter. But they have found in me aprecious tough morsel; I am not easily swallowed. " It was the samekind of fight that Handel waged in England, and that Gluck foughtagainst the Piccinists. 

"Joseph and his Brethren, " by Mehul, was the first opera to be takenup by the new conductor. He drilled the orchestra much more carefullythan they had been accustomed, and while, in the beginning, some weresulky at the strictness they were subjected to, yet they finally sawthe justice of it and at last took pride in doing their work well. "Joseph" was brought out January 30, 1817. The King and Court werepresent, and everything passed off well, indeed remarkably well. Hismajesty was greatly pleased and did not cough once during the wholeperformance, as he used to do when things did not go to suit him. 

In spite of Italian opposition which still continued, Weber's effortsto establish German opera kept right on, until at last it became aState institution, and the composer was appointed musical director forlife. With this bright prospect in view he was able to wed his belovedCaroline. They were married on November 4. A quotation from his diaryshows the talented musician had become a serious, earnest man. "MayGod bless our union, and grant me strength and power to make mybeloved Lina as happy and contented as my inmost heart would desire. May His mercy lead me in all things. "

Weber was now entering the most prolific and brilliant period of hislife. His music became richer, more noble and beautiful. The happyunion with Caroline seemed to put new life and energy into him, and asa result his works became quickly known all over Europe. His mindwas literally teeming with original themes, which crowded each other, struggling to be expressed. First there was the "Mass in E flat, " abeautiful, original work; then a festal Cantata, "Nature and Love, "written to celebrate the Queen of Saxony's birthday. After this the"Jubilee Cantata, " composed to celebrate the fiftieth anniversaryof the reign of Augustus, of Saxony. The Italian faction prevented aperformance of the whole work, and only the Overture was given. When the entire work was heard it made a great sensation. Now came aJubilee Mass and some piano pieces, among them the charming and famous"Invitation to the Dance, " with which every one is familiar. Whilewriting all these works, the composer was busy with one of hisgreatest operas, "Der Freischütz. " On May 8, 1820, a hundred yearsago, the score of "Der Freischütz, " was sent to the director of theBerlin theater, and directly put in rehearsal. The rehearsals had notproceeded very far before Weber, the tireless ceaseless worker, hadfinished his important opera, "Preciosa, " which was also despatched toBerlin. "Preciosa" was brought out before "Der Freischütz, " which wasjust as it should be, as the public needed to be educated up to the"Freischütz" music. "Preciosa" was founded on a Spanish story, "TheGypsy of Madrid, " and Weber has written for it some of his mostcharming melodies, full of Spanish color, life and vivacity. Nowadaysthe opera is neglected, but we often hear the overture. It is to benoted that the overtures to each of Weber's operas contain the leadingthemes and melodies of the operas themselves, showing with what skillthe artist wrought. When Weber's widow presented the original scoreof "Der Freischütz" to the Royal Library in Berlin, it was found therewas not a single erasure or correction in the whole work. 

On June 18, 1821, came the first performance of Weber's masterpiece, "Der Freischütz. " The theater was beseiged for hours by eager crowds, and when the doors were at last opened, there was a grand rush toenter. The whole house from pit to galleries was soon filled, andwhen the composer entered the orchestra, there was a roar of applause, which it seemed would never end. As the performance proceeded, thelisteners became more charmed and carried away, and at the close therewas a wild scene of excitement. The success had been tremendous, andthe frequent repetitions demanded soon filled the treasury of thetheater. Everybody was happy, the composer most of all. The melodieswere played on every piano in Germany and whistled by every streeturchin. Its fame spread like lightning over Europe, and quicklyreached England. In London the whole atmosphere seemed to vibrate withits melodies. In Paris, however, it did not please on first hearing, perhaps because it was so thoroughly German. But somewhat later, whenrenamed "Robin des Bois, "--"Robin of the Forest, "--it was performedsome three hundred and fifty times before being withdrawn. 

Weber kept ever at work. Two years after the production of "DerFreischütz" the opera of "Euryanthe" was completed. The libretto wasthe work of a half demented woman, Helmine von Chezy, but Weber setout to produce the best opera he was capable of, and to this story hehas joined some wonderful music. It was his favorite work; he wroteto his beloved wife two hours before the first performance: "I relyon God and my 'Euryanthe. '" The opera was produced at the KärnthnertorTheater, in Vienna, on October 25, 1823. The composer, though weak andill, made the long journey to the great city, that he might personallyintroduce his favorite to the Viennese. He wrote his wife after theperformance: "Thank God, as I do, beloved wife, for the glorioussuccess of 'Euryanthe. ' Weary as I am, I must still say a sweet goodnight to my beloved Lina, and cry Victory! All the company seemed ina state of ecstasy; singers, chorus, orchestra;--all were drunk, as itwere, with joy. "

The title rôle was taken by Henrietta Sontag, a young girl, still inher teens, though giving high promise of the great things she achieveda few years later. Strange to say, a short time after its firstappearance, "Euryanthe" failed to draw. One reason might have beenlaid to the poor libretto, another to the rumor, started, it is said, by no less an authority than the great master Beethoven, that themusic of the opera was "only a collection of diminished sevenths. "

The composer lost no time in laying his score before Beethoven, whosaid he should have visited him _before_, not _after_ the performance. He advised him to do what he himself had done to "Fidelio, " cut outnearly a third of the score. Weber took this advice, and remade partsof the opera, where he deemed it necessary. 

The strain of the production of "Euryanthe" told severely on thecomposer's delicate health, and he returned to Dresden in an exhaustedstate. There was no rest for him here, as official duties werepressing. The malady afflicting his lungs had made rapid progress andhe began to fear he should not be long spared to his wife and littleones. 

He shook off the apathy and took up his pen once more. His famewas known all over Europe and many tempting offers came in from alldirections. One of these was from Covent Garden Theater, London, inthe summer of 1824, which resulted in a visit to the English capital. Charles Kemble, the director of Covent Garden, desired Weber to writea new opera for production there. "Oberon" was the subject at lastdecided upon; it was taken from an old French romance. Weber at onceset to work on the music of this fairy opera, and with the exceptionof the overture, had finished the work in time to bring it to Londonin 1826. He was ill and suffering at the time he left home, February7, and it seemed as though he were bidding a final good-by to his wifeand little ones. 

Arrived in London, Sir George Smart invited him to take up hisresidence in his house. Here he had every comfort, a beautiful pianotoo was placed at his disposal by one of the first makers in London. "No King could be served with greater love and affection in allthings, " he wrote; "I cannot be sufficiently grateful to heaven forthe blessings which surround me. " Here he composed the beautifulOverture to "Oberon" which was only completed a few days before thefirst performance of the opera. 

"Oberon" was given at Covent Garden on April 12. The house was packedfrom pit to dome, and the success was tremendous. Next morning thecomposer was in a highly nervous and exhausted state, but felt he mustkeep his promise to Kemble and conduct the first twelve performancesof "Oberon. " He was to have a benefit concert, and hoped through thisto have a goodly sum to take back to his little family. Sad to relate, on the evening chosen, May 26, a heavy rain fell and the hall wasnearly empty. After the concert he was so weak he had to be assistedfrom the room. The physician ordered postponement of the journey home, but he cried continually, "I must go to my own--I must! Let me seethem once more and then God's will be done. "

The next morning, when they came to call him, all was still in hischamber; he had passed away peacefully in sleep. 

Weber was buried in London. His last wish--to return home, --wasfinally fulfilled. Eighteen years after, his remains were brought toDresden, and the composer was at last at home. 

IX

FRANZ SCHUBERT

In the old Lichtenthal quarter of the city of Vienna, in the vicinityof the fortifications, there still stands an old house. It isevidently a public house, for there hangs the sign--"At the Red Crab. "Beside this there is a marble tablet fastened above the doorway, whichsays that Franz Schubert was born in this house. At the right of hisname is placed a lyre crowned with a star, and at the left a laurelwreath within which is placed the date, January 31, 1797. 

This then was the birthplace of the "most poetical composer who everlived, " as Liszt said of him; the man who created over six hundredsongs, eight symphonies, operas, masses, chamber works and muchbeautiful piano music, and yet only lived to be thirty-one. It isalmost unbelievable. Let us get a nearer view of this remarkablemusician. 

His father kept a school here; there were five children, four boys anda girl to provide for, and as there was nothing to depend on butthe school-master's pay, it is easy to see the family was in poorcircumstances, though the wife managed most carefully to make endsmeet. They were a very devoted family altogether. Little Franz earlyshowed a decided fondness for music, and tried to pick out bitsof tunes of his own by ear on an old dilapidated piano the familypossessed. He made friends with a young apprentice who took himsometimes to a piano wareroom in the city, where he was allowed toplay his little tunes on a fine piano. 

When Franz was seven he began to have music lessons at home, thefather teaching him violin and his big brother Ignaz, the piano. Franz, in his eagerness to learn soon outstripped his home teachers, and told them he could go on alone. It was then decided he should goto the parish choir master, Holzer, to learn piano, violin, organ, singing and thorough bass. Soon Holzer was astonished at the boy'sprogress. "Whenever I begin to teach him anything I find he knowsit already; I never had such a pupil before. " By the time Franz waseleven, his voice had come out so well that he was given the place ofhead soprano in the parish church, and played violin solos wheneverthey occurred in the service. He had even begun at home to compose andwrite down little piano pieces and songs. The parents considered thatthis remarkable talent should be cultivated further, if possible, inorder that it might assist the slender purse of the family. There wasa choir school, called the Convict, which trained its boys for theImperial Chapel. If Franz could prove his ability to enter thisschool, he would receive free education in return for his services. 

One fine morning in October, 1808, Franz in his homespun grey suit, spectacles shielding his bright, near-sighted eyes, his bushyblack hair covered by an old fashioned hat, presented himself forexamination by the Court Capellmeister and the singing master. Theother boys jeered at his odd appearance, but he kept his good humor. When his turn came to sing, after solving all the problems given, hissinging of the trial pieces was so astonishing that he was passed inat once, and ordered to put on the uniform of the imperial choristers. 

The boy soon found plenty to fill his time and occupy his mind. Therewas the school orchestra, in which he was able to take a prominentplace. There was daily practise, in which the boys learned theovertures and symphonies of Mozart and Haydn, and even Beethoven. Heloved best Mozart's "Symphony in G minor, " in which he said he heardangels singing. The leader of the orchestra was attracted to thelad's playing the very first day he entered, for he played with suchprecision and understanding. One day Franz mustered courage to talka little to the big conductor, whose name was Spaun, and confessed hehad composed quite a good deal already, adding he would like to doit every day, only he could not afford to get the music paper. Spaunreceived this burst of confidence with sympathy, and saw to it thatthe boy was, in the future, supplied with the necessary music paper. 

Franz had soon made such progress on the violin, that he began to takethe first violin parts and when the conductor was absent he was askedto lead the orchestra. Indeed by his deep earnestness and sincerity, as well as ability, the gifted boy had become a power in the school. When he went home to see his people, which could only be on Sundaysand holidays, it was a happy reunion for all. If he brought home anew string quartet, the father would get out his 'cello, Ignaz andFerdinand would take first and second violins and the young composerthe viola. After it had been played through, then all the playersdiscussed it and offered their criticism. Indeed Franz was composingat such an astonishing rate, that it was difficult to keep himsupplied with music paper. One of his works of this time was afantasia for four hands, in twelve movements. Then came a firstattempt at song writing, a long affair which also contained twelvemovements, and was in melancholy mood. 

Five years the boy Franz Schubert remained at the Convict School andas he had decided to give himself entirely to music, there was noreason for his remaining longer in the school. At the end of the year1813, he left, and his departure was celebrated by the composition ofhis first Symphony, in honor of Dr. Lang, the musical director. Thelad, now seventeen, stood at the beginning of his career; he was fullof hope and energy, and determined to follow in the footsteps of thegreat masters of music. Of all his compositions so far produced, hissongs seemed to be the most spontaneous. He probably did not guessthat he was to open up new paths in this field. 

Hardly had he left the school when he was drafted for the army. Thismeant several years of virtual captivity, for conscription could notbe avoided. The only other thing he could do was to return home andbecome a teacher in his father's school. He chose the lesser evil andqualified at once to become his father's assistant, which would alsoassure him a certain amount of leisure. We can imagine him installedas teacher of the infant class, and realize how distasteful was thedaily round of school work, and how he longed to have it over, that hemight put on paper all the lovely themes that had come to him throughthe school day. Other bright spots were the happy hours he spent withthe Grob family, who lived also in the district of Lichtenthal. The family consisted of a mother, a son and daughter. They were allmusical. Therese Grob had a fine voice and she enjoyed the songsSchubert brought her to sing, while her brother Heinrich could playboth piano and 'cello. Many evenings filled with music were passed bythe young people. His friends at the Convict too, welcomed each newpiece he wrote. Nor did he forget his old master Holzer, the organistof the little church where the composer himself regularly attended. During 1814, Schubert composed his first mass, which was performedOctober 16. It excited so much interest that it was repeated ten dayslater at the Augustine church. Franz conducted, the choir was ledby Holzer, Ferdinand sat at the organ, and Therese sang the sopranosolos. In the audience sat old Salieri, Court Capellmeister of Vienna, with whom Beethoven had studied. Salieri praised Schubert for hiswork, and said that he should become his pupil. He kept his word andgave the young composer daily lessons for some time. The father wasso proud and happy that he bought a five octave piano for his boy, tocelebrate the event. 

Schubert added many compositions to his list this year, among themseventeen songs, including "Gretchen at the Spinning Wheel. " Hisacquaintance with the poet Johann Mayrhofer, with whom he soon becameintimate, was of benefit to both. The poet produced verses thathis friend might set to music. The following year, 1815, he wrote ahundred and thirty-seven songs, to say nothing of six operas, and muchmusic for church and piano. Twenty-nine of these songs were writtenin the month of August. One day in August eight songs were created; onanother day seven. Some of the songs were quite long, making betweentwenty and thirty pages when printed. 

A new friend came into Schubert's life the next year. His name wasFranz Schober, and he intended entering the University in Vienna. Being a great lover of music and also familiar with some of Schubert'smanuscript songs, he lost no time, on arriving in Vienna, in seekingout the composer. He found the young musician at his desk very busilywriting. School work was over for the day, and he could compose inpeace. The two young men became friends at once, for they felt thesympathetic bond between them. They were soon talking as though theyhad always known each other. In a few words Schubert told his newfriend how he was situated at home, and how he disliked the dailydrudgery of school teaching. On hearing of these trials Schobersuggested they should make a home together, which arrangement wouldfree the composer from the grinding life he was living and enable himto give his whole time to his art. The proposal delighted Franz, andthe father willingly gave his consent. And so it came about thatthe composer was free at last, and took up his abode at his friend'slodgings. He insisted on giving him musical instruction, to make somereturn for all his kindness, though this did not last long, owing tothe dislike Franz always had for teaching of any sort. 

Schubert, at the age of twenty-four, had composed a great quantityof music, but none of it had as yet been published. He was almostunknown, and publishers were unwilling to undertake issuing the workof an unknown man. When his songs were performed by good artists, as had been done a number of times, they won instant recognition andsuccess. Seeing that the publishers were unwilling to print the workof an unknown musician, two of Schubert's friends undertook to publishthe "Erlking, " one of his first songs, at their own risk. At theSonnleithner mansion, where musicals were regularly held, the"Erlking" had been much applauded, and when it was decided to have itpublished, the decision was announced. A hundred copies were at oncesubscribed for, and with this encouragement the engraving of the"Erlking" and "Gretchen at the Spinning Wheel" was forthwith begun. The pieces were sold by the music publishers on commission. The plansucceeded beyond expectation, so that other songs were issued in thesame way, until, when seven had appeared the publishers were willingto risk the engraving of other songs themselves. Before all this hadtaken place, Johann Vogl, an admired opera singer in Vienna at thetime, had learned Schubert's "Erlking, " and had sung it in March, 1821, at a public concert patronized by royalty. The song was receivedwith storms of applause. Schober, who knew the singer, constantlytalked to him about the gifts of his friend and begged him to come andsee Schubert. At last one day he consented. They found the composerhard at work as usual, music sheets covering the floor as well as thetable and chair. Vogl, used to the highest society, made himself quiteat home and did his best to put Schubert at his ease, but thecomposer remained shy and confused. The singer began looking over somemanuscripts. When he left he shook Schubert's hand warmly, remarking;"There is stuff in you, but you squander your fine thoughts instead ofmaking the most of them. "

Vogl had been much impressed by what he had seen that day, andrepeated his visit. Before long the two were close friends. Schubertwrote to his brother: "When Vogl sings and I accompany him, we seemfor the moment to be one. " Vogl wrote of Schubert's songs that theywere "truly divine inspirations. "

Schubert's residence with his friend Schober only lasted six months, for Schober's brother came to live with him, and the composer had toshift for himself. Teaching was exceedingly distasteful to him, yet ashis music did not bring in anything for years after he left home, he had to find some means of making a living. In these straits heaccepted a position as music teacher in the family of Count JohannEsterházy. This meant that he must live with the family in theirVienna home in winter, and go with them to their country seat in thesummer. The change from the free life he had enjoyed with hisfriends who idolized him and his beautiful music, to the etiquette ofaristocratic life, was great. But there were many comforts amid hisnew surroundings; the family was musical, the duties were not heavy, and so Schubert was not unhappy. 

At the Esterházy country estate of Zelész, he heard many Hungarianmelodies sung or played by the gipsies, or by servants in the castle. He has employed some of these tunes in his first set of Valses. Inhis present position he had much leisure for composition. Indeed FranzSchubert's whole life was spent in giving out the vast treasures ofmelody with which he had been so richly endowed. These flowed from hispen in a constant stream, one beautiful work after another. He wrotethem down wherever he happened to be and when a scrap of paper couldbe had. The exquisite song "Hark, Hark the Lark" was jotted down onthe back of a bill of fare, in a beer garden. The beautiful workswhich he produced day after day brought him little or no money, perhaps because he was so modest and retiring, modestly undervaluingeverything he did. He had no desire to push himself, but wrote becauseimpelled to by the urge within. So little did he sometimes value hiswork that a fine composition would be tucked away somewhere and quiteforgotten. His physical strength was not robust enough to stand thestrain of constant composition. Then too, when funds were very low, as they often were, he took poor lodgings, and denied himself thenecessary nourishing food. If he could have had a dear companion tolook after his material needs and share his aims and aspirations, hisearthly life might have been prolonged for many a year. With no one toadvise him, and often pressed with hunger and poverty, he was inducedto sell the copyrights of twelve of his best songs, including the"Erlking" and the "Wanderer, " for a sum equal to about four hundreddollars. It is said the publishers made on the "Wanderer" alone, up tothe year 1861, a sum of about five thousand five hundred dollars. Itis true that "everything he touched turned to music, " as Schumann oncesaid of him. The hours of sleep were more and more curtailed, for hewrote late at night and rose early the next day. It is even said heslept in his spectacles, to save the trouble and time of putting themon in the morning. 

In Schubert's boyhood, the music of Mozart influenced him most. Thisis seen in his earlier compositions. Beethoven was a great masterto him then, but as time went on the spell of his music always grewstronger. In 1822, he wrote and published a set of variations on aFrench air, and dedicated them to Beethoven. He greatly desired topresent them in person to the master he adored, but was too shy to goalone. Diabelli, the publisher, finally went with him. Beethoven wascourteous but formal, pushing paper and pencil toward his guest, as hewas totally deaf. Schubert was too shy to write a single word. However he produced his Variations. Beethoven seemed pleased with thededication, and looked through the music. Soon he found something init he did not approve of and pointed it out. The young author, losinghis presence of mind, fled from the house. But Beethoven really likedthe music and often played it to his nephew. 

Five years later, during his last illness, a collection of some sixtyof Schubert's songs was placed in his hands. He turned them over andover with amazement and delight. "Truly Schubert has the divine fire, "he exclaimed. He wanted to see the composer of such beautiful music. Schubert came and was allowed to have a talk with him first, beforeother friends who were waiting. When Schubert paid another visit tothe bedside of the master, it was almost the end of his life, thoughhe could recognize all who stood about him. Overcome with emotion, Schubert left the room. 

A couple of weeks after this Schubert was one of the torch bearers whoaccompanied the great master to the last resting place. Little did theyoung man of thirty dream that he would soon follow after. His life atthis time was full of disappointments. He had always longed to writefor the lyric stage. He composed numerous operas; but they were alwaysrejected, for one reason or another. The last, "Fierabras, " which wason the point of being produced, was finally given up. The composerbecame very dejected, and believed himself to be the most unfortunate, the most miserable being on earth. But, fortunately for Schubert, his cheerfulness again asserted itself and the stream of productionresumed its flow. With his temperament, at one moment he would beutterly despairing, the next his troubles would seem to be forgotten, and he would be writing a song, a symphony or a sonata. At allevents, constant work filled his days. The last year of his life wasproductive of some of his finest works. 

About the end of October, 1828, he began to show signs of a seriousbreakdown. He was living at the home of his brother Ferdinand, in oneof the suburbs of the city. Although he revived a little duringthe early part of November, so that he could resume walks in theneighborhood, the weakness increased, and eleven days passed withoutfood or drink. Lingering till the nineteenth of November, he passedpeacefully away, still in his early manhood. The old father, theschoolmaster at the old home, hoped to have his son buried in thelittle cemetery near by. But Ferdinand knew his brother's wish, to beplaced near Beethoven in Währinger Cemetery. The monument, erected byhis friends and admirers the following year, bears, above the name, this inscription:

 "Music has here entombed a rich treasure, but much fairer hopes. "

X

FELIX MENDELSSOHN-BARTHOLDY

Mendelssohn has often been named "Felix the Happy, " and he trulydeserved the title. Blest with a most cheerful disposition, with thepower to make friends of every one he met, and wherever he went, theson of a rich banker, surrounded with everything that wealth couldgive, it was indeed no wonder that Felix Mendelssohn was happy. He didnot have to struggle with poverty and privation as most of theother great musicians were forced to do. Their music was often theexpression of struggle and sorrow. He had none of these things tobear; he was carefree and happy, and his music reflects the joyouscontentment of his life. 

The Mendelssohn family originally lived in Hamburg. Their house facedone of the fine squares of the city, with a handsome church onthe opposite side. The building is still there and well preserved, although the principal story is used as public dining rooms. A largetablet has been placed above the doorway, with a likeness of thecomposer encircled by a wreath of laurel. Here little Felix was born, February 3, 1809. There were other children, Fanny a year or twoolder, then after Felix came Rebekka and little Paul. When Frenchsoldiers occupied the town in 1811, life became very unpleasant forthe German residents, and whoever could, sought refuge in other citiesand towns. Among those who successfully made their escape was theMendelssohn-Bartholdy family, the second name belonged to the familyand was used to distinguish their own from other branches of theMendelssohn family. With his wife and children, Abraham Mendelssohnfled to Berlin, and made his home for some years with the grandmother, who had a house on the Neue Promenade, a fine broad street, withhouses only on one side, the opposite side descended in a grassy slopeto the canal, which flowed lazily by. 

It was a happy life the children led, amid ideal surroundings. Felixvery early showed a great fondness for music, and everything was doneto foster his budding talent. With his sister Fanny, to whom he wasdevotedly attached, he began to have short music lessons fromhis mother when he was only four years old. Their progress was sosatisfactory, that after a while, professional musicians were engagedto teach them piano, violin and composition, as a regular part oftheir education. Besides these, they must study Greek, Latin, drawingand school subjects. With so much study to be done each day, it wasnecessary to begin work at five o'clock in the morning. But in spiteof hard work all were happy, and as for Felix nothing could dampen theflow of his high spirits; he enjoyed equally work and play, giving thesame earnest attention to each. Both he and Fanny were beginningto compose, and Felix's attempts at improvising upon some comicalincident in their play time would call forth peals of laughter fromthe inseparable children. 

Soon more ambitious attempts at composition were made, the aim beingto write little operas. But unless they could be performed, it wasuseless to try and make operas. This was a serious difficulty; butFelix was deeply in earnest in whatever he undertook, and decided hemust have an orchestra to try out his operatic efforts. It looked likean impossibility, but love and money can accomplish wonders. A smallorchestra was duly selected from among the members of the Court band. The lad Felix was to conduct these sedate musicians, which he didmodestly but without embarrassment, standing on a footstool beforehis men, waving the baton like a little general. Before the firstperformance was quite ready, Felix felt there must be some one presentwho could really judge of the merits of his little piece. Who woulddo so better than his old professor of thorough bass and composition, Carl Zelter, the director of the Berlin Singakademie. Zelter agreedto accept this delicate office, and a large number of friends wereinvited for the occasion. 

This was only the beginning of a series of weekly musical evenings atthe Mendelssohn home. Felix, with his dark curls, his shining eyes, and charming manners, was the life of anything he undertook. Heoften conducted his little pieces, but did not monopolize the time. Sometimes all four children took part, Fanny at the piano, Rebekkasinging, Paul playing the 'cello and Felix at the desk. Old Zelter wasgenerally present, and though averse to praising pupils, would oftensay a few words of encouragement at the close. 

Felix was at this time but little more than twelve years old. He hadwithin the last year composed fifty or sixty pieces, including a triofor piano and strings, containing three movements, several sonatas forthe piano, some songs and a musical comedy in three scenes, forpiano and voices. All these were written with the greatest care andprecision, and with the date of each neatly added. He collected hispieces into volumes; and the more work he did the more neatly hewrote. 

The boy Felix had a wonderful gift for making friends. One day hesuddenly caught sight of Carl Maria von Weber walking along thestreets of Berlin, near his home. He recognized the famous composer atonce, as he had lately visited his parents. The boy's dark eyes glowedwith pleasure at the recognition, and tossing back his curls, hesprang forward and threw his arms about Weber's neck, begging him togo home with him. When the astonished musician recovered himself, hepresented the boy to Jules Benedict, his young friend and pupil whowalked at his side, saying, "This is Felix Mendelssohn. " For responseFelix, with a bright look, seized the young man's hand in both hisown. Weber stood by smiling at the boy's enthusiasm. Again Felixbesought them to come home with him, but Weber had to attend arehearsal. "Is it for the opera?" the boy cried excitedly. 

"Yes, " answered the composer. 

"Does he know all about it?" asked Felix, pointing to Benedict. 

"Indeed he does, " answered the composer laughing, "or if he doesn't heought to for he has been bored enough with it already. " The boy's eyesflashed. 

"Then _you_, will come with me to my home, which is quite near, willyou not?" There was no refusing those appealing dark eyes. Felix againembraced Weber, and then challenged his new friend, Mr. Benedict, torace him to the door of his house. On entering he dragged the visitorupstairs to the drawing-room, exclaiming, "Mama, Mama, here is agentleman, a pupil of Carl Weber, who knows all about the new opera, 'Der Freischütz. '"

The young musician received a warm welcome, and was not able to leaveuntil he had played on the piano all the airs he could rememberfrom the wonderful new opera, which Weber had come to Berlin tosuperintend. Benedict was so pleased with his first visit that he cameagain. This time he found Felix writing music and asked what it was. "I am finishing my new quartet for piano and strings, " was the simplereply. To say that Benedict was surprised at such an answer from a boyof twelve hardly expresses what he felt. It was quite true he did notyet know Felix Mendelssohn. "And now, " said the boy, laying down hispen, "I will play to you, to prove how grateful I am that you playedto us last time. " He then sat down at the piano and played correctlyseveral melodies from "Der Freischütz, " which Benedict had played onhis first visit. After that they went into the garden, and Felix forthe moment, became a rollicking boy, jumping fences and climbing treeslike a squirrel. 

Toward the close of this year, 1821, his teacher Zelter announced heintended going to Wiemar, to see Goethe, the aged poet of Wiemar, andwas willing to take Felix with him. The poet's house at Wiemar wasindeed a shrine to the elect, and the chance of meeting the objectof so much hero worship, filled the impressionable mind of Felix withreverential awe. Zelter on his part, felt a certain pride in bringinghis favorite pupil to the notice of the great man, though he would nothave permitted Felix to guess what he felt for anything he possessed. 

When they arrived, Goethe was walking in his garden. He greeted bothwith kindness and affection, and it was arranged that Felix shouldplay for him next day. Zelter had told Goethe much about his pupil'sunusual talents, but the poet wished to prove these accounts by hisown tests. Selecting piece after piece of manuscript music from hiscollection, he asked the boy to play them at sight. He was able to doso with ease, to the astonishment of the friends who had come in tohear him. They were more delighted when he took a theme from one ofthe pieces and improvised upon it. Withholding his praise, Goetheannounced he had a final test, and placed on the music desk a sheetwhich seemed covered with mere scratches and blotches. The boylaughingly exclaimed, "Who could ever read such writing as that?"Zelter rose and came to the piano to look at this curiosity. "Why, itis Beethoven's writing; one can see that a mile off! He always wroteas if he used a broomstick for a pen, then wiped his sleeve over thewet ink!"

The boy picked out the strange manuscript bit by bit; when he came tothe end he cried, "Now I will play it through for you, " which he didwithout a mistake. Goethe was well pleased and begged Felix to comeevery day and play, while he was in the city. The two became fastfriends; the poet treated him as a son, and at parting begged he wouldsoon return to Wiemar, that they might again be together. During thefollowing summer the whole family made a tour through Switzerland, much to the delight of Felix, who enjoyed every moment. There waslittle time for real work in composition, but a couple of songs andthe beginning of a piano quartet were inspired by the view of LakeGeneva and its exquisite surroundings. 

When Felix returned to Berlin, he had grown much, physically as wellas mentally. He was now tall and strong, his curling locks had beenclipped, and he seemed at a single bound to have become almost a man. His happy, boyish spirits, however, had not changed in the least. About this time the family removed from their home on the NeuePromenade, to a larger and more stately mansion, No. 3 LeipsigerStrasse, then situated on the outskirts of the town, near the PotsdamGate. As those who know the modern city realize, this house, now nolonger a private residence, stands in the very heart of traffic andbusiness. The rooms of the new home were large and elegant, witha spacious salon suitable for musicals and large functions. A finegarden or park belonged to the house, where were lawns shaded byforest trees, winding paths, flowering shrubs and arbors in shadynooks, offering quiet retreats. Best of all there was a garden house, with a central hall, which would hold several hundred people, havinglong windows and glass doors looking out upon the trees and flowers. Sunday concerts were soon resumed and given in the garden house, where, on week days the young people met, with friends and elders, toplay, and act and enjoy the social life of the home. The mansion andits hospitality became famous, and every great musician, at one timeor another, came to pay his respects and become acquainted with thisart-loving family. 

At a family party in honor of Felix's fifteenth birthday, his teacherZelter saluted him as no longer an apprentice, but as an "assistant"and member of the Brotherhood of Art. Very soon after this the youngcomposer completed two important works. The first was an Octet forstrings. He was not yet seventeen when the Octet was finished, which was pronounced the most fresh and original work he had yetaccomplished. It marked a distinct stage in the gifted youth'sdevelopment. The composition which followed was the beautiful"Midsummer Night's Dream" music. He and his sister Fanny had latelymade the acquaintance of Shakespeare through a German translation, andhad been fascinated by this fairy play. The young people spent much oftheir time in the lovely garden that summer, and amid these delightfulsurroundings the music was conceived. 

The Overture was first to spring into being. When it was writtenout, Felix and Fanny often played it as a duet. In this form thecomposer-pianist Moscheles heard it and was impressed by its beauty. The fascinating Scherzo and dreamy Nocturne followed. When all wereelaborated and perfected, the complete work was performed by thegarden house orchestra for a crowded audience, who abundantlyexpressed their delight. Sir G. Macfarren has said of it: "No onemusical work contains so many points of harmony and orchestration thatare novel yet none of them have the air of experiment, but all seem tohave been written with a certainty of their success. "

And now a great plan occupied Mendelssohn's mind, a project which hadbeen forming for some time; this was nothing less than to do somethingto arouse people to know and appreciate the great works of JohannSebastian Bach. Two years before Felix had been presented with amanuscript score of Bach's "Passion according to St. Matthew, " whichZelter had allowed to be copied from the manuscript preserved in theSingakademie. The old man was a devoted lover of Bach's music, andhad taught his pupil in the same spirit. When Felix found himself thepossessor of this wonderful book, he set to work to master it, untilhe knew every bit of it by heart. As he studied it deeply he was moreand more impressed with its beauty and sublimity. He could hardlybelieve that this great work was unknown throughout Germany, sincemore than a hundred years had passed since it had been written. Hedetermined to do something to arouse people from such apathy. 

Talking the matter over with musicians and friends, he began tointerest them in the plan to study the music of the Passion. Soonhe had secured sixteen good voices, who rehearsed at his home oncea week. His enthusiasm fired them to study the music seriously, andbefore very long they were anxious to give a public performance. There was a splendid choir of nearly four hundred voices conducted byZelter, at the Singakademie; if he would only lend his chorus to givea trial performance, under Mendelssohn's conducting, how splendid thatwould be! But Felix knew that Zelter had no faith in the public takingany interest in Bach, so there was no use asking. This opinion wasopposed by one of his little choir, named Devrient, who insisted thatZelter should be approached on the subject. As he himself had beena pupil of Zelter, he persuaded Mendelssohn to accompany him to thedirector's house. 

Zelter was found seated at his instrument, enveloped by a cloud ofsmoke from a long stemmed pipe. Devrient unfolded the plan of bringingthis great work of Bach to the knowledge of the public. The old manlistened to their plea with growing impatience, until he became quiteexcited, rose from his chair and paced the floor with great strides, exclaiming, "No, it is not to be thought of--it is a mad scheme. " ToFelix argument then seemed useless and he beckoned his friend tocome away, but Devrient refused to move, and kept up his persuasiveargument. Finally, as though a miracle had been wrought, Zelter beganto weaken, and at last gave in, and besides promised all the aid inhis power. 

How this youth, not yet twenty, undertook the great task of preparingthis masterpiece, and what he accomplished is little short of themarvelous. The public performance, conducted by Mendelssohn, tookplace March 11, 1829, with every ticket sold and more than a thousandpersons turned away. A second performance was given on March 21, theanniversary of Bach's birth, before a packed house. These performancesmarked the beginning of a great Bach revival in Germany and England, and the love for this music has never been lost, but increases eachyear. 

And now it seemed best for Felix to travel and see something of othercountries. He had long wished to visit England, and the present seemeda favorable time, as his friends there assured him of a warmwelcome. The pleasure he felt on reaching London was increased by theenthusiastic greeting he received at the hands of the musical public. He first appeared at a Philharmonic concert on May 25, when hisSymphony in C minor was played. The next day he wrote to Fanny: "Thesuccess of the concert last night was beyond all I had ever dreamed. It began with my Symphony. I was led to the desk and received animmense applause. The Adagio was encored, but I went on; the Scherzowas so vigorously applauded that I had to repeat it. After the Finalethere was lots more applause, while I was thanking the orchestra andshaking hands, till I left the room. "

A continual round of functions interspersed with concerts at which heplayed or conducted, filled the young composer's time. The overture to"Midsummer Night's Dream" was played several times and always receivedwith enthusiasm. On one occasion a friend was so careless as to leavethe manuscript in a hackney coach on his way home and it was lost. "Never mind, I will write another, " said Mendelssohn, which he wasable to do, without making a single error. 

When the London season closed, Mendelssohn and his friend Klingemannwent up to Scotland, where he was deeply impressed with the variedbeauty of the scenery. Perhaps the Hebrides enthralled him most, withtheir lonely grandeur. His impressions have been preserved in theOverture to "Fingal's Cave, " while from the whole trip he gainedinspiration for the Scottish Symphony. 

On his return to London and before he could set out for Berlin, Felixinjured his knee, which laid him up for several weeks, and preventedhis presence at the home marriage of his sister Fanny, to WilliamHensel, the young painter. This was a keen disappointment to all, butFanny was not to be separated from her family, as on Mendelssohn'sreturn, he found the young couple had taken up their residence in theGartenhaus. 

Mendelssohn had been greatly pleased with his London visit, and thoughthe grand tour he had planned was really only begun, he felt a strongdesire to return to England. However, other countries had to bevisited first. The following May he started south, bound for Vienna, Florence and Rome. His way led through Wiemar and gave opportunity fora last visit to Goethe. They passed a number of days in sympatheticcompanionship. The poet always wanted music, but did not seem to carefor Beethoven's compositions, which he said did not touch him at all, though he felt they were great, astonishing. 

After visiting numerous German cities, Switzerland was reached andits wonderful scenery stirred Mendelssohn's poetic soul to the depths. Yet, though his passionate love of nature was so impressed by thegreat mountains, forests and waterfalls, it was the sea which he lovedbest of all. As he approached Naples, and saw the sea sparkling inthe sun lighted bay, he exclaimed: "To me it is the finest object innature! I love it almost more than the sky. I always feel happy whenI see before me the wide expanse of water. " Rome, of course, was acenter of fascination. Every day he picked out some special objectof interest to visit, which made that particular day one never tobe forgotten. The tour lasted until the spring of 1832, beforeMendelssohn returned to his home in Berlin, only to leave it shortlyafterwards to return to London. This great city, in spite of its fogs, noises and turmoil, appealed to him more than the sunshine of Naples, the fascination of Florence or the beauty of Rome. 

The comment on Mendelssohn that "he lived years where others onlylived weeks, " gives a faint idea of the fulness with which his timewas occupied. It is only possible to touch on his activities incomposition, for he was always at work. In May 1836 when he wastwenty-seven, he conducted in Düsseldorf the first performance of hisoratorio of "St. Paul. " At this period he wrote many of those charmingpiano pieces which he called "Songs without Words. " This same yearbrought deepest happiness to Mendelssohn, in his engagement to CécileJean-Renaud, the beautiful daughter of a French Protestant clergyman. The following spring they were married, a true marriage of love andstedfast devotion. 

The greatest work of Mendelssohn's career was his oratorio of"Elijah" which had long grown in his mind, until it was on the eveof completion in the spring of 1846. In a letter to the famous singerJenny Lind, an intimate friend, he writes: "I am jumping about myroom for joy. If my work turns out half as good as I fancy it is, howpleased I shall be. "

During these years in which he conceived the "Elijah, " his fame hadspread widely. Honors had been bestowed on him by many royalties. The King of Saxony had made him Capellmeister of his Court, and QueenVictoria had shown him many proofs of personal regard, which endearedhim more than ever to the country which had first signally recognizedhis genius. 

It was Leipsic perhaps which felt the power of his genius mostconclusively. The since famous Leipsic Conservatory was foundedby him, and he was unceasing in his labors to advance art in everydirection. He also found time to carry out a long cherished plan toerect, at the threshold of the Thomas School, Leipsic, a monument tothe memory of Sebastian Bach. 

Let us take one more glimpse of our beloved composer. It was themorning of August 26, 1846. The Town Hall of Birmingham, England, was filled with an expectant throng, for today the composer of the"Elijah" was to conduct his greatest work, for the first time beforean English audience. When Mendelssohn stepped upon the platform, hewas greeted by a deafening shout; the reception was overwhelming, andat the close the entire audience sprang to its feet in a frenzy ofadmiration. He wrote to his brother Paul that evening: "No work ofmine ever went so admirably at the first performance, or was receivedwith such enthusiasm both by musicians and public. " During April thefollowing year, four performances of the "Elijah" took place in ExeterHall, the composer conducting, the Queen and Prince Albert beingpresent on the second occasion. This visit to England which was to behis last, had used his strength to the limit of endurance, and therewas a shadow of a coming breakdown. Soon after he rejoined his familyin Frankfort, his sister Fanny suddenly passed away in Berlin. The news was broken to him too quickly, and with a shriek he fellunconscious to the floor. 

From this shock he never seemed to rally, though at intervals for awhile, he still composed. His death occurred November 4, 1847. Itcan be said of him that his was a beautiful life, in which "there wasnothing to tell that was not honorable to his memory and profitable toall men. "

Mendelssohn's funeral was imposing. The first portion was solemnizedat Leipsic, attended by crowds of musicians and students, one of thelatter bearing on a cushion a silver crown presented by his pupils ofthe Conservatory. Beside the crown rested the Order "Pour le Mérite, "conferred on him by the King of Prussia. The band, during the longprocession, played the E minor "Song without Words, " and at the closeof the service the choir sang the final chorus from Bach's "Passion. "The same night the body was taken to Berlin and placed in the familyplot in the old Dreifaltigkeit Kirch-hof, beside that of his devotedsister Fanny. 

XI

ROBERT SCHUMANN

Many of the composers whose life stories we have read were surroundedby musical atmosphere from their earliest years; Robert Schumann seemsto have been an exception. His father, August Schumann, was the sonof a poor pastor, and the boy August was intended to be brought up amerchant. At the age of fifteen he was put into a store in Nonneburg. He was refined in his tastes, loved books, and tried even in boyhoodto write poetry. He seemed destined, however, to live the life markedout for him, at least for a time. It grew so distasteful, that laterhe gave it up and, on account of extreme poverty, returned to hisparents' home, where he had the leisure to write. At last he secureda position in a book store in Zeitz. In this little town he met thedaughter of his employer. The engagement was allowed on the conditionthat he should leave the book store and set up his own business. Butwhere was the money to come from? He left the store, returned homeand in a year and a half had earned a thousand thalers, then quite ahandsome sum. 

He now claimed the hand of his chosen love and established in the bookbusiness, labored so unceasingly, that the business increased. Thenhe moved to a more favorable location, choosing the mining town ofZwickau, in Saxony. 

Here, this industrious, honorable man and his attractive, intelligent, but rather narrow and uneducated young wife lived out their lives, andbrought up their children, of whom Robert, born June 8, 1810, wasthe youngest; before him there were three brothers and a sister. Allpassed away before Robert himself. 

He was the so-called "handsome child" of the family, and much pettedby the women. Besides his mother there was his god-mother, who wasvery fond of him, and at her home he would spend whole days andnights. As his talents developed, the boy became the spoilt darling ofeverybody. This lay at the foundation of his extreme susceptibility, even the obstinacy of his riper years. 

Little Robert at six was sent to a popular private school and now forthe first time mingled with a number of children of his own age. The first symptoms of ambition, the source of much of his laterachievement, began to show itself, though quite unconsciously. It madehim the life of all childish games. If the children played "soldiers, "little Robert was always captain. The others loved his good nature andfriendliness, and always yielded to him. 

He was a good student in the primary school, but in no waydistinguished himself in his studies. The following year he wasallowed to take piano lessons of an old pedantic professor fromZwickau High School. This man had taught himself music, but had heardlittle of it. The kind of instruction he was able to give may beimagined, yet Robert was faithful all his life to this kind oldfriend. 

In spite of inadequate guidance, music soon kindled the boy's soul. He began to try to make music himself, though entirely ignorant ofthe rules of composition. The first of these efforts, a set of littledances, were written during his seventh or eighth year. It was soondiscovered that he could improvise on the piano; indeed he couldsketch the disposition of his companions by certain figures on thepiano, so exactly and comically that every one burst out laughingat the portraits. He was fond of reading too, much to his father'sdelight, and early tried his hand at authorship. He wrote robberplays, which he staged with the aid of the family and such of hisyouthful friends as were qualified. The father now began to hopehis favorite son would become an author or poet; but later Robert'sincreasing love for music put this hope to flight. 

The father happened to take his boy with him to Carlsbad in the summerof 1819, and here he heard for the first time a great pianist, IgnatzMoscheles. His masterful playing made a great impression on the nineyear old enthusiast, who began now to wish to become a musician, andapplied himself to music with redoubled zeal. He also made suchgood progress at school that at Easter 1820 he was able to enter theZwickau Academy. 

The love for music grew with each day. With a boy of his own age, as devoted as himself to music, four-hand works of Haydn, Mozart andBeethoven, as well as pieces by Weber, Hummel and Czerny, were playedalmost daily. The greatest ecstasy was caused by the arrival of aSteck piano at the Schumann home, which showed that father Schumannendeavored to further his boy's taste for music. About this timeRobert found by chance, the orchestral score of an old Italianoverture. He conceived the bold idea of performing it. So a bit ofan orchestra was gathered among the boys he knew, who could play aninstrument. There were two violins, two flutes, a clarinet and twohorns. Robert, who conducted with great fervor, supplied as best hecould the other parts on the piano. 

This effort was a great incentive to the boys, principally to Robert, who began to arrange things for his little band and composed music forthe one hundred fiftieth Psalm. This was in his twelfth year. 

August Schumann was more and more convinced that Providence hadintended his son to become a musician, and though the mother struggledagainst it, he resolved to see that Robert had a musical education. Carl Maria von Weber, then living in Dresden, was written to, andanswered he was willing to accept the boy as a student. The plan nevercame to anything however, for what reason is not known. The boy wasleft now to direct his own musical studies, just when he needed anexpert guiding hand. He had no rivals in his native town, where hesometimes appeared as a pianist. It was no wonder he thought he was onthe right road, and that he tried more than ever to win his mother'sconsent to his following music as a life work. 

And now a great change took place in the lively, fun-loving boy. He seemed to lose his gay spirits and become reflective, silent andreserved. This condition of mind never left him, but grew into adeeper reserve as the years passed. 

Two events deeply stirred Robert's nature with great force--the deathof his father in 1826, and his acquaintance with the works of JeanPaul. The Jean Paul fever attacked him in all its transcendentalism, and this influence remained through life, with more or less intensity. 

After his father left him, Robert found he must make a choice of aprofession. His mother had set her heart on his making a study of law, while his heart was set on music. Yielding to her wishes for a time hewent to Leipsic in March 1828 to prepare to enter the University asa student of law. He also gained consent to study piano at the sametime, and began lessons with Frederick Wieck. The desire to study withWieck was inspired by the piano playing of his little daughter, Clara, then nine years old, who had already gained a considerable degree ofmusical culture and promised to make her mark as a pianist. 

Under his new teacher, Robert for the first time was obliged to studya rational system of technic and tone production. He was also expectedto learn harmony correctly, but strangely enough he seemed to take nointerest in it, even saying he thought such knowledge useless. He heldto this foolish idea for some time, not giving it up till forced to byrealizing his total ignorance of this branch of the art. 

Robert now became greatly impressed by the genius of Franz Schubert. He eagerly played everything the master had composed for the piano, both for two and four hands, and Schubert's death during this year, filled him with profound grief. The young musical friends with whomRobert had become intimate, while living in Leipsic, shared hisenthusiasm about his hero of German song, and they desired to enlargetheir knowledge of Schubert's work. They did more, for they decidedto take one representative composition and practise together till theyhad reached the highest perfection. The choice fell on the Trio in Bflat major, Op. 99, whose beauties had greatly impressed them. Aftermuch loving labor the performance was well nigh perfect. Schumannarranged a musical party at which the Trio was played. Besidesstudents and friends, Wieck was invited and given the seat of honor. 

This musical evening was the forerunner of many others. Weeklymeetings were held in Robert's room, where much music was playedand discussed. The talk often turned to grand old Bach and his"Well-tempered Clavichord, " to which in those early days, he gaveardent study. 

With all this music study and intercourse with musical friends therewas very little time left for the study of law. Yet he still keptup appearances by attending the lectures, and had intended for somemonths to enter the Heidelberg University. This decision was put intoexecution in May 1829, when he started by coach for Heidelberg. 

We find Robert Schumann at nineteen domiciled in the beautiful city ofHeidelberg, and surrounded by a few musical friends, who were kindredspirits. With a good piano in his room, the "life of flowers, " ashe called it, began. Almost daily they made delightful trips in aone-horse carriage into the suburbs. For longer trips they went toBaden-Baden, Wurms, Spires and Mannheim. Whenever Robert went withhis friends he always carried a small "dumb piano" on which heindustriously practised finger exercises, meanwhile joining in theconversation. During the following August and September, Robert andtwo or three chosen companions made a delightful journey throughItaly, the young man preparing himself by studying Latin, in which hebecame so fluent that he could translate poems from one language tothe other. 

The next winter Robert devoted himself to music more thanever--"played the piano much, " as he says. His skill as a pianistgradually became known in Heidelberg and he frequently played inprivate houses. But he was not content with the regular study ofthe piano. He wanted to get ahead faster and invented some sort of adevice to render his fourth finger more firm and supple. It did nothave the desired effect however, but was the means in time of injuringhis hands so that he never could attain the piano virtuosity hedreamed of. 

Before starting on the trip to Italy just mentioned, he felt that adecision must be reached about his music. It had become as the breathof life to him. He wrote his mother and laid bare his heart to her. "My whole life has been a twenty years struggle between poetry andprose, or let us say--between music and law. If I follow my own bent, it points, as I believe correctly, to music. Write yourself to Wieckat Leipsic and ask him frankly what he thinks of me and my plan. Beghim to answer at once and decisively. " The letter was duly written toWieck, who decided in favor of Robert and his plans. 

Robert on hearing his decision was wild with joy. He wrote anexuberant letter to Wieck promising to be most submissive as a pianopupil and saying "whole pailfuls of very very cold theory can do me noharm and I will work at it without a murmur. I give myself up whollyto you. "

With a heart full of hope, young Schumann returned to Leipsic, whichhe had gladly left more than a year before. It was during this earlyresumption of piano lessons with Wieck that he began the treatmentwhich he thought would advance his technic in such a marvelouslyshort time. He fastened his third finger into a machine, of his owninvention, then practised unceasingly with the other four. At lasthe lost control over the muscles of the right hand, to his greatdistress. He now practised unremittingly with the left hand, whichgained great facility, remarkable long after he had given up pianoplaying. 

Under these difficulties piano lessons with Wieck had to be givenup and were never resumed. He studied theory for a short time withKupach, but soon relinquished this also. He was now free to direct hisown path in music and to study--study, and compose. 

One of the first pieces he wrote was "ThePapillons"--"Butterflies, "--published as Op. 2. It was dedicated tohis three sisters-in-law, of all of whom he was very fond. In thevarious scenes of the Butterflies there are allusions to persons andplaces known to the composer; the whimsical spirit of Jean Paul broodsover the whole. 

Robert began to realize more and more his lack of thorough theoreticalknowledge and applied to Dorn, who stood high in the musicalprofession in Leipsic. On his introduction, in spite of his lame handhe played his "Abegg Variations, " published as Op. 1, and Dorn waswilling to accept the timid quiet youth as pupil. He studied withgreat ardor, going from the A. B. C. To the most involved counterpoint. 

Thus passed two or three busy years. Part of the time Schumann hada room in the house of his teacher Wieck and thus was thrown more orless in the society of Clara Wieck, now a young girl of thirteen orfourteen. Later he gave up his room--though not his intimate relationswith the family--and moved to a summer residence in Riedel's Garden, where he spent the days in music and the evenings with his friends. 

The year 1833, was one of the most remarkable in his life so far. Not the least important event was the establishment of the "NeueZeitschrift für Musik. " Schumann himself says of this:--

"At the close of the year '33, a number of musicians, mostly young, met in Leipsic every evening, apparently by accident at first, butreally for the interchange of ideas on all musical subjects. One daythe young hot heads exclaimed: 'Why do we look idly on? Let's takehold and make things better. ' Thus the new Journal for music began. 

"The youthful, fresh and fiery tone of the Journal is to be insharp contrast to the characterless, worn-out Leipsic criticism. Theelevation of German taste, the encouragement of young talent must beour goal. We write not to enrich tradespeople, but to honor artists. "

Schumann took up arms in favor of the younger generation of musiciansand helped make the fame of many now held in the world's highestesteem. Sometimes, he admits, his ardor carried him too far inrecognition of youthful talent, but in the main he was very justin his estimates. We do not forget how his quick commendation aidedBrahms. 

The young musicians who founded the paper had formed themselves alsointo an alliance, which they called the Davidsbündlerschaft. Theidea of this alliance, which was derived from David's war with thePhilistines, seemed to exist only in the mind of Schumann himself. It gave him a chance to write under the name of different characters, chief of whom were Florestan and Eusebius, between whom stood MasterRaro. In Florestan Schumann expressed the powerful, passionate side ofhis nature, and in Eusebius the mild and dreamy side. 

He wrote to a friend: "Florestan and Eusebius are my double nature, which I would gladly--like Raro--melt down into one man. " As timepassed however, he made less and less use of these fanciful imagesuntil they finally seemed to fade out of his mind. 

An important event of 1834, was Schumann's acquaintance with Ernestinevon Fricken, who came to Leipsic from the little town of Asch, onthe Bohemian border. She lived at the Wiecks', expecting to become apianist under Papa Wieck's tuition. Schumann became greatly interestedin Ernestine and for some time he had in mind an engagement with her. The noble "Études Symphoniques" were written this year. The theme wassuggested by Ernestine's father. The "Carnival" was partly writtenin this year, but not completed till the following year. In thiscollection of charming short pieces he brings in the characters of hisdreams, --Florestan, Eusebius, Chiarina (Clara), Estrella (Ernestine). There is the March against the Philistines, and the titles of manyother of the little pieces are characteristic. It is a true Schumanncomposition, full of his traits. Here we have the sweet, graceful, elegant and the very humorous and comical finale. 

The tone creations of 1835 consist of the two Sonatas, F sharp minor, Op. 11 and G minor, Op. 22, which are held by pianists to be among hismost interesting and poetical works. 

By the next year Schumann had suffered a deep sorrow in the loss ofhis mother, and also his love for Ernestine began to cool, until thepartial bond was amicably dissolved. Meanwhile his affection forClara Wieck, who was just budding into womanhood, began to ripen intodevoted love. This, too, was the beginning of the long struggle forthe possession of his beloved, since the father had opposed such aconnection from beginning to end. Schumann wrote a friend in 1839:"Truly from the struggle Clara has cost me, much music has been causedand created; the Concerto, Sonatas, Davidsbündler Dances, Kreislerianaand Novellettes are the result. " Beyond the compositions justmentioned, he relieved his oppressed heart by a composition rich inmeaning--nothing less than the great Fantaisie, Op. 17. He meant tocontribute the profits from its sale to the fund for the erection of amonument to Beethoven. The titles to the three movements were "Ruins, ""Triumphal Arch, " "Starry Crown. " He afterwards gave up the wholeidea, and dedicated the work to Franz Liszt. 

Schumann lived a quiet, busy life, and if he could have gainedthe consent of Clara's father for their union, he would have beensupremely happy. He feared the principal reason of Wieck's refusal wasthat the young man should earn more money first, before thinking ofsettling down with a wife. Robert therefore reverted more seriously toa plan he had thought of, to go to Vienna, and move his paper to thatcity, hoping to better his fortunes. He felt, too, that he ought totravel, as he had remained in Leipsic for eight years without change. 

Thus, by the end of September, 1838, Schumann started for Vienna withmany high hopes. A friend invited him to remain at his house, whichwas of much advantage. He made many calls and visits, saw musiciansand publishers, and really learned to know the city for itself. Hefound it would not be profitable for him to publish the Journal there, also that the Austrian capital was a no more propitious place to makeone's fortune than the smaller town of Leipsic. However he was able tocompose a number of works which have become among the best known andbeloved of all, including the "Arabesque, " "Faschingsschwank, " or"Carnival Strains from Vienna, " the "Night Pieces, " Op. 24, and othershort compositions. 

When Robert discovered Vienna was not the city to prosper in, hethought of a return to Leipsic, to win his bride. He came back inApril, and succeeded, with the help of legal proceedings, in securingClara's hand in marriage. This was in 1840. From now on Schumann beganto write songs. In this one year he composed as many as a hundred andthirty-eight songs, both large and small. He writes at this time: "Thebest way to cultivate a taste for melody, is to write a great deal forthe voice and for independent chorus. "

He now began to express himself not only in song but in orchestralmusic. His first effort was the beautiful B flat major Symphony, which, with the songs of that time seems to embody all the happinesshe enjoyed in winning his Clara. She proved a most admirable helpmate, trying to shield him from interruptions and annoyance of every sort, so he should have his time undisturbed for his work. Thus many ofhis best compositions came into being in the early years of weddedhappiness. 

This retirement was interrupted in 1844, by a long concert tourplanned by Clara. She was firmly decided to go and made Robertsolemnly promise to accompany her to St. Petersburg. He was loathto leave the quiet he loved, but it had to be done. Clara had greatsuccess everywhere, as a pianist, giving many recitals during theirtravels from place to place. From Russia the artist pair went toHelsingfors, Stockholm and Copenhagen. They started on their tour inJanuary and did not reach home till the first of June. 

Schumann now seemed to lose interest in the Journal and expresseda wish to withdraw from it and live only for his creative art. Analarming state of health--both mind and body--seemed to make thisretirement desirable. Perhaps owing to this condition of health hedecided to leave Leipsic for good and make his home in Dresden. He andhis wife took formal leave of Leipsic in a Matinée musical given onthe eighth of December. 

But life in Dresden became even more strenuous and more racking thanit had been in Leipsic. He threw himself into the labor of composingthe epilogue of Goethe's "Faust" with such ardor that he fell intoan intensely nervous state where work was impossible. However, withspecial medical treatment he so far recovered that he was able toresume the work, but still was not himself. We can divine from briefremarks he let drop from time to time, that he lived in constantfear--fear of death, insanity or disaster of some kind. He couldnot bear the sight of Sonnenstein, an insane asylum near Dresden. Mendelssohn's sudden death in November, 1847, was a great shock andpreyed on his mind. 

Schumann had intervals of reprieve from these morbid dreams, andhe again began to compose with renewed--almost abnormal--vigor andproductiveness. 

The artist pair took a trip to Vienna where Clara gave severalconcerts. They spent some weeks there and before returning to Dresden, gave two splendid concerts in Prague, where Schumann received aperfect ovation for his piano quintette and some songs. A littlelater the two artists made a trip north. In Berlin Robert conducteda performance of "Paradise and the Peri" at the Singakademie, whileClara gave two recitals. 

This year of 1847 was a very active one outside of the musicaljourneys. The master composed several piano trios, much choral music, and began the opera "Genevieve, " which was not completed however, until the middle of 1848. All the compositions of the previous yearwere perfectly lucid and sane. The opera unfortunately had a text fromwhich all the beauty and romance had been left out. 

The music, however, revealed a rare quality of creative power, combined with deep and noble feeling. Schumann's nature was morelyric than dramatic; he was not born to write for the stage. The lyricportions of his opera are much the best. He did not realize thathe failed on the dramatic side in his work, indeed seemed quiteunconscious of the fact. 

"Genevieve" was given in Leipsic in June 1850, directed by thecomposer. Two more performances were given and then the work was laidaway. 

In 1848, Schumann, who loved children dearly and often stopped hismore serious work to write for them, composed the "Album for theYoung, " Op. 68, a set of forty-two pieces. The title originally was:"Christmas Album for Children who like to play the Piano. " How manychildren, from that day to this have loved those little pieces, the"Happy Farmer, " "Wild Rider, " "First Loss, " "Reaper's Song, " and allthe rest. Even the great pianists of our time are not above performingthese little classics in public. They are a gift, unique in musicalliterature, often imitated, but never equaled by other writers. Schumann wrote of them: "The first thing in the Album I wrote for myoldest child's birthday. It seems as if I were beginning my life as acomposer anew, and there are traces of the old human here and there. They are decidedly different from 'Scenes from Childhood' which areretrospective glances by a parent, and for elders, while 'Album forthe Young' contains hopes, presentments and peeps into futurity _forthe young_. "

After the children's Album came the music to Byron's "Manfred. " Thisconsists of an overture and fifteen numbers. The whole work, with oneexception, is deep in thought and masterly in conception. Theoverture especially is one of his finest productions, surpassing otherorchestral works in intellectual grandeur. 

A choral club of sixty-seven members, of which Schumann was thedirector, inspired him to compose considerable choral music, and hiscompositions of this time, 1848-9, were numerous. 

The intense creative activity of 1849 was followed by a period ofrest when the artist pair made two trips from Dresden, early in 1850. Leipsic, Bremen, and Hamburg were visited. Most of the time in Hamburgwas spent with Jenny Lind, who sang at his last two concerts. 

The late summer of 1850 brought Schumann an appointment of director ofmusic in Düsseldorf, left vacant by the departure of Ferdinand Hillerfor Cologne. Schumann and his wife went to Düsseldorf the first weekof September and were received with open arms. A banquet and concertwere arranged, at which some of the composer's important works wereperformed. His duties in the new post were conducting the subscriptionconcerts, weekly rehearsals of the Choral Club and other musicalperformances. He seemed well content with the situation and it did notrequire too much of his physical strength. 

Outside of his official duties his passion for work again gained theascendent. From November 2, to December 9, he sketched and completedthe Symphony in E flat in five parts, a great work, equal to any ofthe other works in this form. 

From this time on, one important composition followed another, untilincreasing illness forshadowed the sad catastrophe of the early partof 1854. He wrote in June 1851, "we are all tolerably well, exceptthat I am the victim of occasional nervous attacks; a few days ago Ifainted after hearing Radecke play the organ. " These nervous attacksincreased in 1852. He could not think music in rapid tempo and wishedeverything slow. He heard special tones to the exclusion of allothers. 

The close of 1853, brought two joyful events to Schumann. In Octoberhe met Johann Brahms, whom he had introduced to the world through hisJournal, as the "Messiah of Art. " In November he and his wife took atrip through Holland, which was a triumphal procession. He found hismusic almost as well known in Holland as at home. In Rotterdam andUtrecht his third symphony was performed; in The Hague the second wasgiven, also "The Pilgrimage of the Rose. " Clara also played at manyconcerts. 

Just before Christmas the artist pair returned to Düsseldorf. 

The hallucinations which had before obsessed him now returned withalarming force. He could no longer sleep--he seemed to be lost inmental darkness. 

One day in February 1854, his physician made a noon call upon him. They sat chatting when suddenly Schumann left the room without a word. The doctor and his friends supposed he would return. His wife went insearch of him. It seems he had left the house in dressing-gown, goneto the Rhine bridge and thrown himself into the river. Some sailorsrescued him. 

He now received constant care, and it was found best to place him ina private hospital near Bonn. Here he remained till the end of July, 1856, when the end came. 

In his death the world of music lost one of the most highly giftedspirits. His life was important and instructive for its moral andintellectual grandeur, its struggles for the noblest, loftiestsubjects as well as for its truly great results. 

XII

FREDERIC CHOPIN

What would the piano playing world do without the music of FredericChopin? We can hardly think of the piano without thinking of Chopin, since he wrote almost exclusively for the universal instrument. Hismusic touches the heart always rather than the head, the emotionalmessage far outweighs the intellectual meaning. It is vitalmusic--love music, winning the heart by its tenderness, voicing thehighest sentiments by its refinement, its purity, its perfection ofdetail and finish. 

And the man who could compose with such refinement, with suchappealing eloquence, must have possessed those qualities whichshine out in his music. He must have been gentle, chivalrous, high-thoughted. We cannot avoid expressing ourselves in our work--inwhatever we do. 

The father of this beloved composer was a Frenchman, born in Nancy, Lorraine, in 1770, the same year Beethoven saw the light in Bonn. Hewas carefully brought up, well-bred and well-educated. When a friendof his in Warsaw, Poland, in the tobacco and snuff trade, then in highrepute with the nobility, needed help with his book-keeping, he sentfor the seventeen-year-old lad. Thus it happened that Nicholas Chopincame to Warsaw in 1787. It was a time of unrest, when the nation wasstruggling for liberty and independence. The young man applied himselfto master the language, and study the character and needs of hisadopted country, that he might be well informed. During the period ofinsecurity in political affairs, the tobacco factory had to be closedand Nicholas Chopin looked for other activity. A few years later wefind him in the household of Countess Skarbek, as a tutor to her son, Frederic. Here he met his bride, Justina de Krzyzanowska, a younglady of noble but poor family, whom he married in 1806. She became themother of his four children, three girls and a boy. 

The boy Frederic Chopin, was born on March 1, 1809, in the littlevillage of Zelazowa Wola, belonging to the Countess Skarbek, abouttwenty-eight miles from Warsaw. It is probable the family did notremain here long, for the young husband was on the lookout for moreprofitable employment. He was successful, for on October 1, 1810, he was appointed Professor of French in the newly founded Lyceum inWarsaw. He also soon organized a boarding school for boys in his ownhome, which was patronized by the best Polish families of the country. 

Surrounded by refined, cultivated people, in an atmosphere at oncemoral and intellectual, little Frederic passed a fortunate childhood. He soon manifested such fondness for music, especially for the piano, that his parents allowed him to have lessons, his teacher beingAdalbert Zywny, the best-known master of the city. It is related thatZywny only taught his little pupil first principles, for the child'sprogress was so extraordinary that before long he had mastered allhis teacher could impart, and at twelve he was left to shape his ownmusical destiny. 

He early gave proofs of his talents. Before he was eight years oldhe played at a large evening company, with such surprising clevernessthat it was predicted he would become another Mozart. The next year hewas invited to take part in a large concert given under distinguishedpatronage. The boy was a simple, modest child, and played the piano asthe bird sings, with unconscious art. When he returned home after thisconcert, his mother asked: "What did the people like best?" and heanswered naďvely: "Oh, mama, every one was looking at my collar. "

After this, little Frederic became more than ever the pet of thearistocracy of Warsaw; his charming manners, his unspoiled nature, hismusical gifts made him welcome in princely homes. He had also begunto compose; indeed these efforts started soon after he began pianolessons, and before he could handle a pen. His teacher had to writedown what the little composer played. Among those early pieces weremazurkas, polonaises, valses and the like. At the age of ten hededicated a march to Grand Duke Constantine, who had it scored forband and played on parade. He started lessons in composition withJoseph Eisner, a celebrated teacher, who became a life-long adviserand friend. 

Up to the age of fifteen, Frederic was taught at home, in his father'sschool. He now entered the Warsaw Lyceum, and proved a good student, twice carrying off a prize. With this studiousness was joined a gaietyand sprightliness that manifested itself in all sorts of fun andmischief. He loved to play pranks on his sisters, comrades and others, and had a fondness for caricature, taking off the peculiarities ofthose about him with pose and pen. Indeed it was the opinion of aclever member of the profession, that the lad was born to become agreat actor. All the young Chopins had a great fondness for literatureand writing; they occasionally tried their hand at poetry, and theproduction of original one-act plays, written for birthday fętes andfamily parties. 

The most important event of Frederic's fifteenth year was thepublication of his first composition for piano, a Rondo in C minor. This was soon followed by a set of Variations, Op. 2, on an air fromMozart's "Don Giovanni. " In these early pieces, written perhaps evenbefore he was fifteen, we find the first stages of his peculiar style. Even at this early time he was pleased with chords that had the tonesspread apart in extended harmony. As his hands were small he inventeda contrivance which separated the fingers as far apart as possible, in order that he might reach the new chords more easily. This he woreeven during the night. The contrivance however, did not result ininjury to his hands, as did Schumann's efforts to strengthen hisfourth finger. 

In 1827, Chopin finished his studies at the Lyceum and determinedto adopt music as his profession. He was now seventeen, of slenderfigure, finely cut features, high forehead, delicate brows abovedreamy, soulful eyes. Though not weak or sickly, as some accounts makeout, he was never very robust; he would far rather lie under beautifultrees in delightful day dreams, than take long excursions afoot. Oneof his aversions was smoking or tobacco in any form; he never used itin his whole life. He was vivacious, active, hard working at music andreasonably healthy in early youth, but not of a hardy organism. Hismother and sisters constantly cautioned him to wrap up in cold or dampweather, and like an obedient son and good brother, he obeyed. 

Young Chopin greatly wished to travel and see something of theworld. A much longed-for opportunity to visit Berlin came to him thefollowing year. An old friend of his father's, Dr. Jarocki, Professorin the Warsaw University, was invited to attend a PhilosophicCongress, presided over by Alexander von Humboldt, to be held in thatcity. The good Professor was willing to take his friend's son underhis wing, and Frederic was quite beside himself with joy, for now hebelieved he could meet some of the musical celebrities of Berlin, andhear some great music. As to the latter his hopes were realized, buthe did not meet many musicians, and could only gaze at them from adistance. It may have been a certain shyness and reticence that stoodin the way, for he wrote home about a concert in the Singakademie:"Spontini, Zelter and Felix Mendelssohn were all there, but I spoke tonone of these gentlemen, as I did not think it becoming to introducemyself. " Music and things connected with music, music-shops and pianofactories, took up most of his time, as he declined to attend themeetings of the Congress. 

"At the time of the Berlin visit, " writes Niecks, his biographer, "Chopin was a lively, well-educated, well-mannered youth, who walkedthrough life, pleased with its motley garb, but as yet unconsciousof the deeper truths, the immensities of joy and sadness, of love andhate, which lie beneath the surface. "

After a stay of two weeks in the Prussian capital, Professor Jarockiand Frederic started on their return to Poland. During the journeythey were obliged to halt an hour for fresh horses. Chopin began tolook about the little inn for some sort of amusement to while away thetime. He soon discovered in a corner, an old piano, which proved tobe in tune. Of course he lost no time, but sat down and began toimprovise on Polish melodies. Soon his fellow passengers of thestage-coach began to drop in one after another; at last came the postmaster with his wife and pretty daughter. Even when the hour wasup and the horses had been put to the chaise, they begged the youngmusician to go on and on. Although he remonstrated, saying it was nowtime to go, they protested so convincingly that the boy sat down againand resumed his playing. Afterwards wine was brought in and they alldrank to the health of the young master. Chopin gave them a mazurkafor farewell, then the tall post master caught him up and carried himout to the coach, and all travelers started away in high spirits. 

About the middle of July, 1829, Chopin with three young friends, started out for Vienna. In those days an artist, in order to makehimself and his work known, had to travel about the world and arrangeconcerts here and there, introduce himself to prominent people in eachplace and make them acquainted with his gifts. The present journey hadfor its object Vienna, the city of Beethoven and Schubert and othergreat masters. 

Of course the young musician carried many letters of introduction, both to publishers and influential persons, for whom he played. Everyone told him he ought to give a concert, that it would be a disgraceto parents, teachers and to himself not to appear in public. At lastFrederic overcame his hesitation. In a letter home he writes; "I havemade up my mind; they tell me I shall create a furore, that I am anartist of the first rank, worthy of a place beside Moscheles, Herzand Kalbrenner, " well-known musicians of the day. One must forgive thenineteen year old boy, if he felt a little pride in being classed withthese older and more famous musicians. 

The concert took place in the Imperial Opera House, just ten daysafter his arrival, and from all accounts was a great success. Chopinwas more than satisfied, he was delighted. Indeed his success was soemphatic that a second concert was given the following week. In bothhe played some of his own compositions and improvised as well. 

"It goes crescendo with my popularity here, and this gives me muchpleasure, " he wrote home, at the end of the fortnight, and on the eveof starting to return. On the way back the travelers visited Prague, Teplitz and Dresden. A couple of days were spent in each, and then theparty arrived safely in Warsaw. 

With such an intense nature, friendship and love were two vital forcescontrolling life and action. Chopin was devoted to his friends; heclung to them with effusive ardor, incomprehensible to those lesssensitive and romantic. With Titus Woyciechowski he was heart to heartin closest intimacy, and wrote him the most adoring letters when theychanced to be separated. Titus was less demonstrative, but alwaysremained devoted. 

Love for women was destined to play a large part in the inner life ofChopin. The first awakening of this feeling came from his admirationof Constantia Gladowska, a beautiful girl and vocal pupil at theConservatory at Warsaw. Strangely enough he admired the young lady forsome time at a distance, and if report be true, never really declaredhimself to her. But she filled his thoughts by day, and he confessedto dreaming of her each night. When she made her début in opera, hehung on every note she sang and rejoiced in her success but did notmake his feelings known to her. All this pent-up emotion was confinedto his piano, in impassioned improvisations. 

Seeing no suitable field for his genius in Warsaw and realizing heought to leave home and strike out for himself, he yet delayed makingthe break. He continued putting off the evil day of parting from homeand friends, and especially putting a wide distance between himselfand the object of his adoration, Constantia. 

The two years of indecision were fruitful in producing much pianomusic and in completing the beautiful E minor Concerto, which wasrehearsed with orchestra and was performed at the third and lastconcert he ever gave in Warsaw. This concert was arranged for October11, 1830. Chopin requested Constantia Gladowska, whom he had nevermet, to sing an aria. In the success of the evening sorrow wasforgotten. He wrote to his friend: "Miss Gladowska wore a white gownwith roses in her hair and was wondrously beautiful; she had neversung so well. "

After this event, Chopin decided the time had come for him to depart. His trunk was bought, his clothing ready, pocket-handkerchiefs hemmed;in fact nothing remained but the worst of all, the leave-taking. OnNovember I, 1830, Elsner and a number of friends accompanied him toWola, the first village beyond Warsaw. There they were met by a groupof students from the Conservatory, who sang a cantata, composed byElsner for the occasion. Then there was a banquet. During this lastmeal together, a silver goblet filled with Polish earth was presentedto Chopin in the name of them all. 

We can imagine the tender leave-takings after that. "I am convinced, "he said, "I am saying an eternal farewell to my native country; I havea presentiment I shall never return. " And so indeed it proved. 

Again to Vienna, by way of Breslau, Dresden and Prague. In Viennaall was not as rosy as it had been on his first visit. Haslinger wasunwilling to publish more of his compositions, though there were thetwo concertos, études and many short pieces. The way did not open togive a concert. He was lonely and unhappy, constantly dreaming of homeand the beloved Constantia. From graphic letters to one of his dearestfriends, a few sentences will reveal his inner life. 

"To-day is the first of January (1831). Oh, how sadly this year beginsfor me! I love you all above all things. My poor parents! How are myfriends faring? I could die for you all. Why am I doomed to be here solonely and forsaken? You can at least open your hearts to each other. Go and see my parents--and--Constantia. "

Although it did not seem advisable to give concerts in Vienna, yetChopin made many pleasant acquaintances among the musicians andprominent people, and was constantly invited. He had planned togo from Vienna to either Italy or France. As there were politicaltroubles in the former country, he decided to start for Paris, stopping on the way at a few places. In Munich he gave a morningconcert, in the hall of the Philharmonie, which won him renown. FromMunich he proceeded to Stuttgart, and during a short stay there, heardthe sad news of the taking of Warsaw by the Russians. This event, itis said, inspired him to compose the C minor Etude, Op. 10, No. 12. 

The Poles and everything Polish were at that time the rage in Paris. The young Polish master found ready entrance into the highest musicaland literary circles of this most delightful city of the world. Allwas romance, fantasy, passion, which fitted with Chopin's sensitiveand romantic temperament. Little wonder that he became inspired bycontact with some of the greatest in the world of arts and letters. 

There were Victor Hugo. King of the romanticists, Heine, poet andnovelist; De Musset, Flaubert, Zola, Lamartine, Chateaubriand, Baudelaire, Ary Scheffer, Mérimée, Gautier, Berlioz, Balzac, Rossini, Meyerbeer, Hiller, Nourrit, to mention a few. Liszt was there too, andGeorge Sand, Mendelssohn and Kalkbrenner. Chopin called on the lastnamed, who was considered the first pianist of the day, and played forhim. Kalkbrenner remarked he had the style of Cramer and the touch ofField. He proposed that Chopin should study three years with him, and he would then become a great virtuoso. Of course the young artistmight have learned something-on the mechanical side, but at the riskof injuring the originality and style of his playing. His old friendand teacher Elsner, kept him from doing this. 

The first year in Paris Chopin played at a number of concerts andfunctions, with ever increasing success. But in spite of the artisticsuccess, his finances ran low, and he began to consider a trip toAmerica. Fortunately he met Prince Radziwill on the street at thistime, and was persuaded to play at a Rothschild soirée in the evening. From this moment, it is said, his prospects brightened, and he secureda number of wealthy patrons as pupils. Whether this be true or not, hecame to know many titled personages. One has only to turn the pages ofhis music to note how many pieces are dedicated to Princess This andCountess That. This mode of life was reflected in his music, whichbecame more elegant and aristocratic. 

During the season of 1833 and 1834, Chopin continued to make his wayas composer, pianist and teacher. A letter to friends in Poland, says:"Frederic looks well and strong; he turns the heads of all the Frenchwomen, and makes the men jealous. He is now the fashion. "

In the spring of 1834 Chopin had been persuaded by Ferdinand Hillerto accompany him to Aix-la-Chapelle, to attend the Lower Rhine MusicFestival. Before they started Chopin found he had not the money to go, as it had been spent or given to some needy countryman. Hiller did notlike to go alone, and asked if his friend could think of no way out ofthe dilemma. At last Chopin took the manuscript of the E flat Valse, Op. 18, went with it to Pleyel the publisher, and returned with fivehundred francs. They could now go and enjoy the trip they had planned. 

In July, 1835, Chopin met his parents at Carlsbad, where his fatherhad been sent by the Warsaw physicians to take the cure. The youngmusician, now famous, had not seen his parents in nearly five years, and the reunion must have been a happy one. From here he went toDresden and Leipsic, meeting Schumann and Mendelssohn. Schumannadmired the young Pole greatly and wrote much about him in his musicalmagazine. Mendelssohn considered him a "really perfect virtuoso, whosepiano playing was both original and masterly, " but he was not surewhether his compositions were right or wrong. Chopin also stoppedin Heidelberg on the way to Paris, visiting the father of his pupilAdolph Gutman. He must have been back in Paris about the middle ofOctober, for the papers mention that "M. Chopin, one of the mosteminent pianists of our epoch, has just made a tour of Germany, whichhas been for him a real ovation. Everywhere his admirable talentobtained the most flattering reception and excited much enthusiasm. "

The story of Chopin's attraction for Marie Wodzinski and his reportedengagement to her, is soon told. During his visit in Dresden, afterleaving his parents in Carlsbad, he saw much of his old friends, CountWodzinski and his family. The daughter, Marie, aged nineteen, wastall and slender, not beautiful but charming, with soft dark hair andsoulful eyes. Chopin spent all his evenings at their home and saw muchof Marie. The last evening the girl gave him a rose, and he composed avalse for her. 

The next summer the two met again at Marienbad, and resumed theirwalks, talks and music. She drew his portrait, and one day Chopinproposed. She assured him she would always remain his friend, but herfamily would never consent to their marriage. So that brief romancewas over. 

An attachment of a different sort was that with Mme. Dudevant, knownin literature as George Sand. Books have been written about thisremarkable woman. The family at Nohant where she had spent herchildhood, where her two children, Maurice and Solange, lived, andwhere her husband sometimes came, became distasteful to her; shewanted to see life. Paris offered it. Although possessing ample means, she arranged to spend six months in Paris each year, and live on twohundred and fifty francs a month. She came in 1831. Her _ménage_was of the simplest--three small rooms, with meals from a near-byrestaurant at two francs; she did the washing herself. Woman's attirewas too expensive, so, as she had worn man's attire when riding andhunting at Nohant, she saw nothing shocking in wearing it in Paris. 

Her literary student life, as she called it, now began. She went aboutthe streets at all times, in all weathers; went to garrets, studios, clubs, theaters, coffee-houses, everywhere but the _salons_. Theromance of society-life as it was lived in the French capital, werethe studies she ardently pursued. From these studies of life grew theseveral novels she produced during the years that followed. 

It is said that Chopin met Mme. Sand at a musical matinée, given bythe Marquis of C, where the aristocracy of genius, wealth and beautyhad assembled. Chopin had gone to the piano and was absorbed in animprovisation, when lifting his eyes from the keys he encountered thefiery glances of a lady standing near. Perhaps the truer account oftheir first meeting is that given by Chopin's pupil Gutman. Mme. Sand, who had the faculty of subjugating every man of genius she came incontact with, asked Liszt repeatedly to introduce her. 

One morning, early in the year 1837, Liszt called on his brotherartist and found him in good spirits over some new compositions. Hewished to play them to some friends, so it was arranged that a partyof them should come to his rooms that evening. Liszt came with hisspecial friend, Mme. D'Agoult and George Sand. Afterwards thesemeetings were frequently repeated. Liszt poetically describes one suchevening, in his "Life of Chopin. "

The fastidious musician was not at first attracted to the rathermasculine-looking woman, addicted to smoking, who was short, stout, with large nose, coarse mouth and small chin. She had wonderful eyes, though, and her manners were both quiet and fascinating. 

Her influence over Chopin began almost at once; they were soon seentogether everywhere. Sand liked to master a reserved, artistic naturesuch as that of the Polish musician. She was not herself musical, butappreciated all forms of art. 

In 1838 Mme. Sand's son Maurice became ill, and she proposed a trip toMajorca. Chopin went with the party and fell ill himself. There weremany discomforts during their travels, due to bad weather and otherinconveniences. 

Chopin's health now began to be a source of anxiety to his friends. He had to be very careful, gave fewer lessons during the season, andspent his vacations at Nohant. He played rarely in public, thoughthere were two public concerts in 1841 and '42 at Pleyel's rooms. From1843 to 1847 he lived quietly and his life was apparently happy. Hewas fond of the Sand children, and amused himself with them when atNohant. 

But the breach, which had started some years before, between Mme. Sandand Chopin, widened as time passed, and they parted in 1847. It wasthe inevitable, of course. Chopin never had much to say about it; Sandsaid more, while the students asserted she had killed their belovedmaster. Probably it all helped to undermine the master's feeblehealth. His father passed away in 1844, his sister also, of pulmonarytrouble; he was lonely and ill himself. He gave his last concert inParis, February 16, 1848. Though weak he played beautifully. Some onesaid he fainted in the artist's room. The loss of Sand, even though hehad long wearied of her was the last drop. 

To secure rest and change, he undertook a trip to London, for thesecond and last time, arriving April 21, 1848. He played at differentgreat houses and gave two matinées, at the homes of Adelaide Kembleand Lord Falmouth, June 23, and July 7. These were attended by manytitled personages. Viardot Garcia sang. The composer was thin, pale, and played with "wasted fingers, " but the money helped replenish hisdepleted purse. 

Chopin visited Scotland in August of the same year, and stayed withhis pupil Miss Jane Stirling, to whom he dedicated the two Nocturnes, Op. 55. He played in Manchester, August 28; his playing was ratherweak, but retained all its elegance, finish and grace. He was encoredfor his familiar Mazurka, Op. 7, No. 1, and repeated it with quitedifferent nuances. One survivor of this audience remarked subsequentlyin a letter to a friend: "My emotion was so great I was compelled toretire to recover myself. I have heard all the celebrated stars ofthe musical firmament, but never has one left such an impression on mymind. "

Chopin returned to London in November, and left England in January1849. His purse was very low and his lodgings in the Rue Chaillot, Paris, were represented as costing half their value, the balance beingpaid by a Russian Countess, who was touched by his need. The generoushearted Miss Stirling raised 25, 000 francs for the composer, so hislast days were cheered by every comfort. He passed away October 17, 1849, and every writer agrees it was a serene passing. His face wasbeautiful and young, in the flower-covered casket, says Liszt, for friends filled his rooms with blossoms. He was buried fromthe Madeleine, October thirtieth. The B flat minor Funeral March, orchestrated by Reber, was given, and during the service LefebureWely played on the organ the E and B minor Preludes. His grave in PčreLachaise is sought out by many travelers who admire his great art. Itis difficult to find the tomb in that crowded White City, but nodoubt all music lovers seek to bring away at least a leaf--as did thewriter--from the earthly resting place of the most ideal pianist andcomposer who ever lived. 

Chopin was preeminently a composer for the piano. With the exceptionof the Trio, Op. 8 and a book of Polish songs, everything he wrote wasfor his favorite instrument. There are seventy-one opus numbers in thelist, but often whole sets of pieces are contained in one opus number, as is the case with the Études, of which there are twelve in Op. 10, and the same in Op. 25. These Études take up every phase of pianotechnic; each one has a definite aim, yet each is a beautiful finishedwork as music. They have been edited and re-edited by the greatestmasters. 

The twenty-four Preludes were composed before the trip to Majorca, though they were perfected and polished while there. Written early inhis career, they have a youthful vigor not often found in laterworks. "Much in miniature are these Preludes of the Polish poet, " saysHuneker. 

There are four Impromptus and four Ballades, also four Scherzos. Inthem the composer is free, fascinating, often bold and daring. Thegreat Fantaisie, Op. 49, is an epic poem, much as the Barcarolle is apoem of love. The two Sonatas, not to mention an early effort in thisform, are among the modern classics, which are bound to appear on theprograms of every great pianist of the present, and doubtless ofthe future. The two Concertos are cherished by virtuosi and audiencealike, and never fail to make an instant and lasting appeal. 

And think of the eleven Polonaises, those courtly dances, the mostcharacteristic and national of his works; the fourteen Valses, belovedof every young piano student the world over; the eighteen Nocturnes, of starry night music; the entrancing Mazurkas, fifty-two in number. One marvels, in merely glancing over the list, that the composer, wholived such a super-sensitive hectic life, whose days were so occupiedwith lesson giving, ever had the time to create such a mass of music, or the energy to write it. 

When one considers the amount of it, the beauty, originality and gloryof it, one must acknowledge Frederic Chopin as one of the greatestpiano geniuses of all time. 

XIII

HECTOR BERLIOZ

In the south of France, near Grenoble, is found a romantic spot, LaCôte Saint-André. It lies on a hillside overlooking a wide green andgolden plain, and its dreamy majesty is accentuated by the line ofmountains that bounds it on the southeast. These in turn are crownedby the distant glory of snowy peaks and Alpine glaciers. Here one ofthe most distinguished men of the modern movement in French musicalart, Hector Berlioz, first saw the light, on December 11, 1803. 

He was an only son of a physician. His father, a learned man, withthe utmost care, taught his little boy history, literature, geography, languages, even music. Hector was a most romantic, impressionablechild, who peopled nature with fairies and elves, as he lay undergreat trees and dreamed fantastic day dreams. Poetry and romantictales were his delight and he found much to feed his imagination inhis father's large library. 

His mother's father lived at Meylan, a little village not far fromGrenoble, and there, in this picturesque valley, the family used tospend a part of each summer. 

Above Meylan, in a crevice of the mountain, stood a white house amidits vineyards and gardens. It was the home of Mme. Gautier and her twonieces, of whom the younger was called Estelle. When the boy Hectorsaw her for the first time, he was twelve, a shy, retiring littlefellow. Estelle was just eighteen, tall, graceful, with beautifuldusky hair and large soulful eyes. Most wonderful of all, with hersimple white gown, she wore pink slippers. The shy boy of twelve fellin desperate love with this white robed apparition in pink slippers. He says himself:

"Never do I recall Estelle, but with the flash of her large darkeyes comes the twinkle of her dainty pink shoes. To say I loved hercomprises everything. I was wretched, dumb, despairing. By night Isuffered agonies--by day I wandered alone through the fields of Indiancorn, or, like a wounded bird, sought the deepest recesses of mygrandfather's orchard. 

"One evening there was a party at Mme. Gautier's and various gameswere played. In one of them I was told to choose first. But I darednot, my heart-beats choked me. Estelle, smiling, caught my hand, saying: 'Come, I will begin; I choose Monsieur Hector. ' But, ah, shelaughed!

"I was thirteen when we parted. I was thirty when, returning fromItaly, I passed through this district, so filled with early memories. My eyes filled at sight of the white house: I loved her still. Onreaching my old home I learned she was married!"

With pangs of early love came music, that is, attempts at musicalcomposition. His father had taught him the rudiments of music, andsoon after gave him a flute. On this the boy worked so industriouslythat in seven or eight months he could play fairly well. He alsotook singing lessons, as he had a pretty soprano voice. Harmony waslikewise studied by this ambitious lad, but it was self taught. He hadfound a copy of Rameau's "Harmony" among some old books and spent manyhours poring over those labored theories in his efforts to reduce themto some form and sense. 

Inspired by these studies he tried his hand at music making inearnest. First came some arrangements of trios and quartettes. Thenfinally he was emboldened to write a quintette for flute, two violins, viola and 'cello. Two months later he had produced another quintette, which proved to be a little better. At this time Hector was twelveand a half. His father had set his heart on the boy's following hisfootsteps and becoming a doctor; the time was rapidly approaching whena decision had to be made. Doctor Berlioz promised if his son wouldstudy anatomy and thoroughly prepare himself in this branch of theprofession, he should have the finest flute that could be bought. Hiscousin Robert shared these anatomical lessons; but as Robert was agood violinist, the two boys spent more time over music than overosteology. The cousin, however, really worked over his anatomy, andwas always ready at the lessons with his demonstrations, while Hectorwas not, and thus drew upon himself many a reprimand. However hemanaged to learn all his father could teach him, and when he wasnineteen consented to go to Paris, with Robert, and--though muchagainst his will--become a doctor. 

When the boys reached Paris, in 1822, Hector loyally tried to keep hispromise to his father and threw himself into the studies which wereso repugnant to him. He says he might have become a common-placephysician after all, had he not one night gone to the opera. Thatnight was a revelation; he became half frantic with excitement andenthusiasm. He went again and again. Learning that the Conservatoirelibrary, with its wealth of scores, was open to the public, he beganto study the scores of his adored Gluck. He read, re-read and copiedlong parts and scenes from these wonderful scores, even forgettingto eat, drink or sleep, in his wild enthusiasm. Of course, now, thecareer of doctor must be given up; there was no question of that. Hewrote home that in spite of father, mother, relations and friends, amusician he would be and nothing else. 

A short time after this the choir master of Saint Roch, suggested thatHector should write a mass for Innocents' Day, promising a chorus andorchestra, with ample rehearsals, also that the choir boys would copythe parts. He set to work with enthusiasm. But alas, after one trialof the completed work, which ended in confusion owing to the countlessmistakes the boys had made in copying the score, he rewrote the wholecomposition. Fearing another fiasco from amateur copyists, the youngcomposer wrote out all the parts himself. This took three months. Withthe help of a friend who advanced funds, the mass was performed atSaint Roch, and was well spoken of by the press. 

The hostility of Hector's family to music as a profession, died downa bit, owing to the success of the mass, but started up withrenewed vigor when the son and brother failed to pass the entranceexaminations at the Conservatoire. His father wrote that if hepersisted in staying on in Paris his allowance would be stopped. Lesueur, his teacher, promised to intercede and wrote an appealingletter, which really made matters worse instead of better. ThenHector went home himself, to plead his cause in person. He was coldlyreceived by his family; his father at last consented to his returnto Paris for a time, but his mother forbade it absolutely. In case hedisobeyed her will, she would disown him and never again wished to seehis face. So Hector at last set out again for Paris with no kind lookor word from his mother, but reconciled for the time being with therest of the family. 

The young enthusiast began life anew in Paris, by being veryeconomical, as he must pay back the loan made for his mass. He founda tiny fifth floor room, gave up restaurant dinners and contentedhimself with plain bread, with the addition of raisins, prunesor dates. He also secured some pupils, which helped out in thisemergency, and even got a chance to sing in vaudeville, at theenormous sum of 50 francs per month!

These were strenuous days for the eager ardent musician. Teaching fromnecessity, in order to live, spending every spare moment on composing;attending opera whenever he got a free ticket; yet, in spite of manyprivations there was happiness too. With score under arm, he alwaysmade it a point to follow the performance of any opera he heard. Andso in time, he came to know the sound--the voice as it were, ofeach instrument in the orchestra. The study of Beethoven, Weber andSpontini--watching for rare and unusual combinations of sounds, beingwith artists who were kind enough to explain the compass and powers oftheir instruments, were the ways and means he used to perfect his art. 

When the Conservatoire examinations of 1827, came on, Hector triedagain, and this time passed the preliminary test. The task set forthe general competition was to write music for Orpheus torn by theBacchantes. An incompetent pianist, whose duty it was to play over thecompositions, for the judges, could seem to make nothing of Hector'sscore. The six judges, headed by Cherubini, the Director of theConservatoire, voted against the aspirant, and he was thrown out asecond time. 

And now came to Berlioz a new revelation--nothing less than therevelation of the art of Shakespeare. An English company of actors hadcome to Paris, and the first night Hamlet was given, with HenriettaSmithson--who five years later became his wife--as Ophelia. 

In his diary Berlioz writes: "Shakespeare, coming upon me unawares, struck me down as with a thunderbolt. His lightning spirit opened tome the highest heaven of Art, and revealed to me the best and grandestand truest that earth can give. " He began to worship both the geniusof Shakespeare and the art of the beautiful English actress. Everyevening found him at the theater, but days were spent in a kind ofdumb despair, dreaming of Shakespeare and of Miss Smithson, who hadnow become the darling of Paris. 

At last this sort of dumb frenzy spent itself and the musician in himawoke and he returned to his normal self. A new plan began to takeshape in his mind. He would give a concert of his own works: up tothat time no French musician had done so. Thus he would compel herto hear of him, although he had not yet met the object of his devotedadmiration. 

It was early spring of the year 1828, when he set to work with franticenergy, writing sixteen hours a day, in order to carry through thewonderful plan. The concert, the result of so much labor, was giventhe last of May, with varying success. But alas, Miss Smithson, adsorbed in her own affairs, had not even heard of the excitable youngcomposer who had dared and risked so much to make a name that mightattract her notice. 

As Berlioz pčre again stopped his allowance, Hector began to writefor musical journals. At first ignorant of the ways of journalism, hiswild utterances were the despair of his friends; later his trenchantpen was both admired and feared. 

For the third time, in June of this year, he entered the Conservatoirecontest, and won a second prize, in this case a gold medal. Two yearslater he won the coveted Prix de Rome, which gives the winner fiveyears' study, free of expense, in the Eternal City. 

Before this honor was achieved, however, a new influence came into hislife, which for a time overshadowed the passion for Shakespeare andMiss Smithson. It happened on this wise. 

Ferdinand Hiller, composer, pianist and one of Hector's intimatefriends, fell deeply in love with Marie Moke, a beautiful, talentedgirl who, later on, won considerable fame as a pianist. She becameinterested in the young French composer, through hearing of his mentalsuffering from Hiller. They were thrown together in a school whereboth gave lessons, she on the piano and he on the--guitar! Meeting soconstantly, her dainty beauty won a warm place in the affections ofthe impressionable Hector. She was but eighteen, while her admirer wastwenty-five. 

Hiller saw how things were going and behaved admirably. He called itfate, wished the pair every happiness, and left for Frankfort. 

Then came the Prix de Rome, which the poor boy had struggled so longto win, and now did not care so much for, as going to Italy would meanto leave Paris. On August 23, 1830, he wrote to a friend:

"I have gained the Prix de Rome. It was awarded unanimously--a thingnever known before. My sweet Ariel was dying of anxiety when I toldher the news; her dainty wings were all ruffled, till I smoothed themwith a word. Even her mother, who does not look too favorably on ourlove, was touched to tears. 

"On November 1, there is to be a concert at the Theater Italien. Iam asked to write an Overture and am going to take as subjectShakespeare's Tempest; it will be quite a new style of thing. My greatconcert, with the Symphonie Fantastique, will take place November14, but I must have a theatrical success; Camille's parents insist onthat, as a condition of our marriage. I hope I shall succeed. "

These concerts were both successful and the young composer passed fromdeepest anxiety to exuberant delight. He wrote to the same friend;

"The Tempest is to be played a second time at the opera. It is new, fresh, strange, grand, sweet, tender, surprising. Fétis wrote twosplendid articles about it for the Revue Musicale. --My marriage isfixed for Easter, 1832, on condition that I do not lose my pension, and that I go to Italy for one year. My blessed Symphonie has done thedeed. "

The next January Berlioz went home to his family, who were nowreconciled to his choice of music as a profession, and deluged himwith compliments, caresses and tender solicitude. The parents hadfully forgiven their gifted son. 

"There is Rome, Signore. "

It was true. The Eternal City lay spread out in purple majesty beforethe young traveler, who suddenly realized the grandeur, the poetryof this heart of the world. The Villa Medici, the venerable ancientpalace, centuries old, had been reserved by the Academié of France ashome for her students, whose sole obligation was to send, once a year, a sample of their work to the Academié in Paris. 

When Hector Berlioz arrived in Rome he was twenty-seven, and ofstriking appearance. A mass of reddish auburn hair crowned a highforehead; the features were prominent, especially the nose; theexpression was full of sensitive refinement. He was of an excitableand ardent temperament, but in knowledge of the world's ways oftensimple as a child. 

Berlioz, who was welcomed with many humorous and friendly jests on hisappearance among the other students, had just settled down to work, when he learned that his Ariel--otherwise Marie Moke--had forsaken himand had married Pleyel. In a wild state of frenzy he would go to Parisat once and seek revenge. He started, got as far as Nice, grew calmer, remained at Nice for a month, during which time the Overture to "KingLear" was written, then returned to Rome by the way of Genoa andFlorence. 

By July 1832, Berlioz had returned to La Côte Saint André for a homevisit. He had spent a year in Italy, had seen much, composed a numberof important things, but left Rome without regrets, and found thefamiliar landscape near his home more fascinating than anything Italycould show. 

The rest of the summer was spent in the beautiful Dauphiny country, working on the "Damnation of Faust. " In the fall he returned to Paris. The vision of his Ophelia, as he used to call Miss Smithson, wasseldom long absent from his thoughts, and he now went to the housewhere she used to live, thinking himself very lucky to be able to findlodging there. Meeting the old servant, he learned Miss Smithson wasagain in Paris, and would manage a new English theater, which wasto open in a few days. But Berlioz was planning a concert of his owncompositions, and did not trust himself to see the woman he had solong adored until this venture was over. It happened, however, thatsome friends induced her to attend the concert, the success of whichis said to have been tremendous. The composer had the happiness ofmeeting the actress the same evening. The next day he called on her. Their engagement lasted nearly a year, opposed by her mother andsister, and also by Hector's family. The following summer HenriettaSmithson, all but ruined from her theatrical ventures, and weak froma fall, which made her a cripple for some years, was married to HectorBerlioz, in spite of the opposition of their two families. 

And now there opened to Berlioz a life of stress and struggle, inseparable from such a nature as his. At one moment he would bein the highest heaven of happiness, and the next in the depths ofdespair. His wife's heavy debts were a load to carry, but he manfullydid his best to pay them. We can be sure that every work he everproduced was composed under most trying circumstances, of one kindor another. One of his happiest ventures was a concert of his owncompositions, given at the Conservatoire on October 22, 1833. Of it hewrote: "The concert, for which I engaged the very best artists, was atriumphant success. My musicians beamed with joy all evening, and tocrown all, I found waiting for me a man with long black hair, piercingeyes and wasted form. Catching my hand, he poured forth a flood ofburning praise and appreciation. It was Paganini!"

Paganini commissioned Berlioz to write a solo for his beautiful Strad. Viola. The composer demurred for a time, and then made the attempt. While the result was not just what the violinist wished, yet thethemes afterward formed the basis for Berlioz' composition "ChildeHarold. "

The next great work undertaken by Berlioz was the Requiem. It seemsthat, in 1836, the French Minister of the Interior set aside yearly, 3, 000 francs to be given to a native composer, chosen by the Minister, to compose a religious work, either a mass or an oratorio, to beperformed at the expense of the Government. 

"I shall begin with Berlioz, " he announced: "I am sure he could writea good Requiem. "

After many intrigues and difficulties, this work was completed andperformed in a way the composer considered "a magnificent triumph. "

Berlioz, like most composers, always wished to produce an opera. "Benvenuto Cellini" was the subject finally chosen. It took a longtime to write, and perhaps would never have been finished, sinceBerlioz was so tied to bread-winning journalistic labors, if a kindfriend--Ernest Legouvé--had not offered to lend him two thousandfrancs. This loan made him independent for a little time, and gave himthe necessary leisure in which to compose. 

The "Harold" music was now finished and Berlioz advertised both thisand the Symphonie Fantastique for a concert at the Conservatoire, December 16, 1838. Paganini was present, and declared he had neverbeen so moved by music before. He dragged the composer back on theplatform, where some of the musicians still lingered, and there kneltand kissed his hand. The next day he sent Berlioz a check for twentythousand francs. 

Berlioz and his wife, two of the most highly strung individuals to befound anywhere, were bound to have plenty of storm and stress in theirdaily life. And so it came about that a separation, at least for atime, seemed advisable. Berlioz made every provision in his powerfor her comfort, and then started out on various tours to make hiscompositions known. Concerts were given in Stuttgart, Heckingen, Weimar, Leipsic, and in Dresden two, both very successful. Others tookplace in Brunswick, Hamburg, Berlin, Hanover, finishing at Darmstadt, where the Grand Duke insisted not only on the composer taking the fullreceipts for the concert, but, in addition, refused to let him pay anyof the expenses. 

And now back in Paris, at the treadmill of writing again. Berlioz hadthe sort of mentality which could plan, and also execute, big musicalenterprises on a grand scale. It was proposed that he and Straussshould give a couple of monster concerts in the Exhibition Building. He got together a body of 1022 performers, all paid except the singersfrom the lyric theaters, who volunteered to help for the love ofmusic. 

It was a tremendous undertaking, and though an artistic success, theexertion nearly finished Berlioz, who was sent south by his physician. Resting on the shores of the Mediterranean, he afterwards gaveconcerts in Marseilles, Lyons, and Lille and then traveled to Vienna. He writes of this visit:

"My reception by all in Vienna--even by my fellow-plowmen, thecritics--was most cordial; they treated me as a man and a brother, forwhich I am heartily grateful. 

"After my third concert, there was a grand supper, at which my friendspresented me with a silver-gilt baton, and the Emperor sent me elevenhundred francs, with the odd compliment: 'Tell Berlioz I was reallyamused. '"

His way now led through Hungary. Performances were given in Pesth andPrague, where he was royally entertained and given a silver cup. 

On returning to Paris, he had much domestic trouble to bear. His wifewas paralyzed and his only son, Louis, wished to leave home and becomea sailor--which he did eventually, though much against the wishes ofhis parents. 

The "Damnation of Faust, " now finished, was given at the Opéra, andwas not a success. Berlioz then conceived the idea of going to Russiato retrieve his fortunes. With the help of kind friends, who advancedthe money, he was able to carry out the plan. He left for Russia onFebruary 14, 1847. The visits to both St. Petersburg and Moscow provedto be very successful financially as well as artistically. To cap theclimax, "Romeo and Juliette" was performed at St. Petersburg. Then theKing of Prussia, wishing to hear the "Faust, " the composer arranged tospend ten days in Berlin: then to Paris and London, where success wasalso achieved. 

Shadows as well as sunshine filled the next few years. The composerwas saddened by the passing of his father. Then a favorite sister alsoleft, and last of all his wife passed quietly away, March 3, 1854. With all these sorrows Berlioz was at times nearly beside himself. Butas he became calmer he decided, after half a year, to wed a woman whohad been of great assistance to him in his work for at least fourteenyears. 

The remaining span of Berlioz' life was outwardly more peaceful andhappy. He continued to travel and compose. Everywhere he went he washonored and admired. 

Among his later compositions were the Te Deum, "Childhood of Christ, ""Lelio, " "Beatrice and Benedict" and "The Trojans. "

At last, after what he called thirty years of slavery, he was ableto resign his post of critic. "Thanks to 'The Trojans, ' the wretchedquill driver is free!"

A touching episode, told in his vivid way, was the meeting, late inlife, with his adored Estelle of the pink shoes. He called on her andfound a quiet widow, who had lost both husband and children. Theyhad a poignant hour of reminiscence and corresponded for some timeafterwards. 

Hector Berlioz passed away March 8, 1869. The French Institute sent adeputation, the band of the National Guard played selections from hisFuneral Symphony; on the casket lay wreaths from the Saint CéciliaSociety, from the youths of Hungary, from Russian nobles and from thetown of Grenoble, his old home. 

The music of Berlioz is conceived on large lines, in broad masses oftone color, with new harmonies and imposing effects. He won a nobleplace in art through many trials and hardships. His music is theexpression, the reflection of the mental struggles of a most intensenature. The future will surely witness a greater appreciation of itsmerits than has up to now been accorded it. 

XIV

FRANZ LISZT

Franz Liszt, in his day the king of pianists, a composer whosecompositions still glow and burn with the fire he breathed into them;Liszt the diplomat, courtier, man of the world--always a conqueror!How difficult to tell, in a few pages, the story of a life so complexand absorbing!

A storm outside: but all was warmth and simple comfort in the largesitting-room of a steward's cottage belonging to the small estate ofRaiding, in Hungary. 

It was evening and father Liszt, after the labors of the day wereover, could call these precious hours his own. He was now at the oldpiano, for with him music was a passion. He used all his leisure timefor study and had some knowledge of most instruments. He had taughthimself the piano, indeed under the circumstances had become quiteproficient on it. To-night he was playing something of Haydn, for hegreatly venerated that master. Adam Liszt made a striking figure ashe sat there, his fine head, with its mass of light hair, thrown back, his stern features softened by the music he was making. 

At a table near sat his wife, her dark head with its glossy braidsbent over her sewing. Hers was a sweet, kindly face, and she endearedherself to every one by her simple, unassuming manners. 

Quite near the old piano stood little Franz, not yet six. He wasabsolutely absorbed in the music. The fair curls fell about hischildish face and his deep blue eyes were raised to his father, as though the latter were some sort of magician, creating all thisbeauty. 

When the music paused, little Franz awoke as from a trance. 

"Did you like that, Franzerl?" asked his father, looking down at him. The child bent his curly head, hardly able to speak. 

"And do you want to be a musician when you grow up?" Franzerlnodded, then, pointing to a picture of Beethoven hanging on the wall, exclaimed with beaming eyes: "I want to be such a musician as he is!"

Adam Liszt had already begun to teach his baby son the elements ofmusic, at the child's earnest and oft-repeated request. He had no realmethod, being self-taught himself, but in spite of this fact Franzmade remarkable progress. He could read the notes and find the keyswith as much ease as though he had practised for years. He had awonderful ear, and his memory was astonishing. The father hoped hisboy would become a great musician, and carry out the dream which hehad failed to realize in himself. 

Little Franz was born in the eventful year of 1811, --the "year of thecomet. " The night of October 21, the night of his birth, the tailof the meteor seemed to light up the roof of the Liszt home and wasregarded as an omen of destiny. His mother used to say he was alwayscheerful, loving, never naughty but most obedient. The child seemedreligious by nature, which feeling was fostered by his good mother. Heloved to go to church on Sundays and fast days. The midnight mass onChristmas eve, when Adam Liszt, carrying a lantern, led the way tochurch along the country road, through the silent night, filled thechild's thoughts with mystic awe. 

Those early impressions have doubtless influenced the creations ofLiszt, especially that part of his "Christus" entitled "ChristmasOratorio. "

Before Franz was six, as we have seen, he had already begun hismusical studies. If not sitting at the piano, he would scribblenotes--for he had learned without instruction how to write them longbefore he knew the letters of the alphabet, or rudiments of writing. His small hands were a source of trouble to him, and he resorted toall kinds of comical expedients, such as sometimes playing extra noteswith the tip of his nose. Indeed his ingenuity knew no bounds, when itcame to mastering some musical difficulty. 

Franz was an open minded, frank, truth-loving child, always readyto confess his faults, though he seemed to have but few. Strangelyenough, though born an Hungarian, he was never taught to speak hisnative tongue, which indeed was only used by the peasants. German, thepolite language of the country, was alone used in the Liszt home. 

The pronounced musical talent of his boy was a source of pride to AdamLiszt, who spoke of it to all his friends, so that the little fellowbegan to be called "the artist. " The result was that when a concertwas to be given at the neighboring Oldenburg, Adam was requested toallow his wonder child to play. 

When Franz, now a handsome boy of nine, heard of the concert, he wasoverjoyed at the prospect of playing in public. It was a happy day forhim when he started out with his father for Oldenburg. He was to playa Concerto by Reis, and a Fantaisie of his own, accompanied by theorchestra. In this his first public attempt Franz proved he possessedtwo qualities necessary for success--talent and will. All who heardhim on this occasion were so delighted, that Adam then and there madearrangements to give a second concert on his own account, which wasattended with as great success as the first. 

The father had now fully made up his mind Franz was to be a musician. He decided to resign his post of steward at Raiding and take the boyto Vienna for further study. 

On the way to Pressburg, the first stop, they halted to call atEisenstadt, on Prince Esterhazy. The boy played for his delightedhost, who gave him every encouragement, even to placing his castle atPressburg at his disposal for a concert. The Princess, too, was mostcordial, and gave the boy costly presents when they left. 

At Pressburg Adam Liszt succeeded in arranging a concert whichinterested all the Hungarian aristocracy of the city. It was givenin the spacious drawing-rooms of the Prince's palace, and a notableaudience was present. Little Franz achieved a triumph that night, because of the fire and originality of his playing. Elegant womenshowered caresses upon the child and the men were unanimous that suchgifts deserved to be cultivated to the utmost without delay. 

When it was learned that father Liszt had not an ample purse, andthere would be but little for Franz's further musical education, sixHungarian noblemen agreed to raise a subscription which would providea yearly income for six years. With this happy prospect in view, whichrelieved him of further anxiety, the father wrote to Hummel, now inemploy of the Court at Weimar, asking him to undertake Franz's musicaleducation. Hummel, though a famous pianist, was of a grasping nature;he wrote back that he was willing to accept the talented boy as apupil, but would charge a louis d'or per lesson!

As soon as the father and his boy arrived in Vienna, the best teacherswere secured for Franz. Carl Czerny was considered head of the pianoprofession. Czerny had been a pupil of Beethoven, and was so overrunwith pupils himself, that he at first declined to accept another. Butwhen he heard Franz play, he was so impressed that he at once promisedto teach him. His nature was the opposite of Hummel's, for he was mostgenerous to struggling talent. At the end of twelve lessons, when AdamLiszt wished to pay the debt, Czerny would accept nothing, and for thewhole period of instruction--a year and a half--he continued to teachFranz gratuitously. 

At first the work with such a strict master of technic as Czerny, wasvery irksome to the boy, who had been brought up on no method at all, but was allowed free and unrestrained rein. He really had no technicalfoundation; but since he could read rapidly at sight and could glideover the keys with such astonishing ease, he imagined himself alreadya great artist. Czerny soon showed him his deficiencies; proving tohim that an artist must have clear touch, smoothness of execution andvariety of tone. The boy rebelled at first, but finally settled downto hard study, and the result soon astonished his teacher. For Franzbegan to acquire a richness of feeling and beauty of tone wonderfulfor such a child. Salieri became his teacher of theory. He was nowmade to analyze and play scores, also compose little pieces and shorthymns. In all these the boy made fine progress. 

He now began to realize he needed to know something besides music, and set to work by himself to read, study and write. He also hadgreat opportunity, through his noble Hungarian patrons, to meet thearistocracy of Vienna. His talents, vivacity and grace, his attractivepersonality, all helped to win the notice of ladies--even in thoseearly days of his career. 

After eighteen busy months in Vienna, father Liszt decided to bringhis boy out in a public concert. The Town Hall was placed at hisdisposal and a number of fine artists assisted. With beaming face andsparkling eyes, the boy played with more skill, fire and confidencethan he had ever done before. The concert took place December 1, 1822. On January 12, 1823, Franz repeated his success in another concert, again at the Town Hall. 

It was after this second concert that Franz's reputation reached theears of Beethoven, always the object of the boy's warmest admiration. Several times Franz and his father had tried to see the great master, but without success. Schindler was appealed to and promised to do hisbest. He wrote in Beethoven's diary, as the master was quite deaf:

"Little Liszt has entreated me to beg you to write him a theme forto-morrow's concert. He will not break the seal till the concertbegins. Czerny is his teacher--the boy is only eleven years old. Docome to his concert, it will encourage the child. Promise me you willcome. "

It was the thirteenth of April, 1823. A very large audience filled theRedouten Saal. When Franz stepped upon the platform, he perceived thegreat Beethoven seated near. A great joy filled him. Now he was toplay for the great man, whom all his young life he had worshiped fromafar. He put forth every effort to be worthy of such an honor. Neverhad he played with such fire; his whole being seemed thrilled--neverhad he achieved such success. In the admiration which followed, Beethoven rose, came upon the platform, clasped the boy in his armsand kissed him repeatedly, to the frantic cheers of the audience. 

The boy Franz Liszt had now demonstrated that already at eleven yearsold, he was one of the leading virtuosi of the time; indeed his greatreputation as a pianist dates from this third Vienna concert. Thepress praised him highly, and many compared him to the wonderfulgenius, Mozart. Adam Liszt wished him now to see more of the world, and make known his great talents, also to study further. He decidedto take the boy to Paris, for there lived the celebrated composer, Cherubini, at that time Director of the Paris Conservatoire. 

On the way to Paris, concerts were given in various cities. In Munichhe was acclaimed "a second Mozart. " In Strassburg and Stuttgart he hadgreat success. 

Arrived in Paris, father and son visited the Conservatoire at once, for it would have been a fine thing for the boy to study there fora time, as it was the best known school for counterpoint andcomposition. Cherubini, however, refused to even read the lettersof recommendation, saying no foreigner, however talented, could beadmitted to the French National School of Music. Franz was deeplyhurt by this refusal, and begged with tears to be allowed to come, butCherubini was immovable. 

However they soon made the acquaintance of Ferdinand Paër, who offeredto give the child lessons in composition. 

Franz made wonderful progress, both in this new line of study, andin becoming known as a piano virtuoso. Having played in a few of thegreat houses, he soon found himself the fashion; everybody was anxiousfor "le petit Litz" as he was called, to attend and play at theirsoirées. Franz thus met the most distinguished musicians of the day. When he played in public the press indulged in extravagant praise, calling him "the eighth wonder of the world, " "another Mozart, " andthe like. Of course the father was overjoyed that his fondest hopeswere being realized. Franz stood at the head of the virtuosi, andin composition he was making rapid strides. He even attempted anoperetta, "Don Sancho, " which later had several performances. 

The eminent piano maker, Erard, who had a branch business in Londonand was about to start for that city, invited Liszt to accompanyhim and bring Franz. They accepted this plan, but in order to saveexpense, it was decided that mother Liszt, who had joined them inParis, should return to Austria and stay with a sister till theprojected tours were over. 

Franz was saddened by this decision, but his entreaties were useless;his father was stern. The separation was a cruel one for the boy. Fora long time thereafter the mere mention of his mother's name wouldbring tears. 

In May, 1824, father and son, with Erard, started for England, and onJune 21 Franz gave his first public concert in London. He had alreadyplayed for the aristocracy in private homes, and had appeared atCourt by command of King George IV. The concert won him great success, though the English were more reserved in their demonstrations, and notlike the impulsive, open-hearted French people. He was happy to returnto Paris, after the London season, and to resume his playing in theFrench salons. 

The next spring, accompanied by his father, he made a tour of theFrench provinces, and then set out for a second trip to England. Hewas now fourteen; a mere boy in years, but called the greatest pianistof the day. He had developed so quickly and was so precocious thatalready he disliked being called "le petit Litz, " for he felt himselffull grown. He wished to be free to act as he wished. Adam, however, kept a strict watch on all his movements, and this became irksome tothe boy, who felt he was already a man. 

But father Liszt's health became somewhat precarious; constanttraveling had undermined it. They remained in Paris quietly, till theyear 1826, when they started on a second tour of French citiestill Marseilles was reached, where the young pianist's success wasoverwhelming. 

Returning to Paris, Franz devoted much of his time to ardent study ofcounterpoint, under Anton Reicha. In six months' study he had masteredthe difficulties of this intricate art. 

Adam Liszt and Franz spent the winter of 1826-7 in Switzerland, theboy playing in all important cities. They returned to Paris in thespring, and in May, set out again for England on a third visit. Franzgave his first concert in London on June ninth and proved how much hehad gained in power and brilliancy. Moscheles, who was present, wrote: "Franz Liszt's playing surpasses in power and the overcoming ofdifficulties anything that has yet been heard. "

The strain of constant travel and concert playing was seriouslytelling on the boy's sensitive, excitable nature. He lost his sunnygaiety, grew quiet, sometimes almost morose. He went much to church, and wanted to take orders, but his father prevented this step. Indeed the father became alarmed at the boy's pale face andchanged condition, and took him to the French watering place ofBoulogne-sur-Mer. Here both father and son were benefited by thesea baths and absolute rest. Franz recovered his genial spirits andconstantly gained in health and strength. 

But with Adam Liszt the gain was only temporary. He was attacked witha fever, succumbed in a few days and was buried at Boulogne. The lossof his father was a great blow to Franz. He was prostrated for days, but youth at last conquered. Aroused to his responsibilities, he beganto think for the future. He at once wrote his mother, telling her whathad happened, saying he would give up his concert tours and make ahome for her in Paris, by giving piano lessons. 

Looking closer into his finances, of which he had no care before, Franz found the expenses of his father's illness and death hadexhausted their little savings, and he was really in debt. He decidedto sell his grand piano, so that he should be in debt to no one. Thiswas done, every one was paid off and on his arrival in Paris his oldfriend Erard invited him to his own home till the mother came. 

It was a sweet and happy meeting of mother and son, after such along separation. The two soon found a modest apartment in the RueMontholon. 

As soon as his intention to give lessons became known, manyaristocratic pupils came and found him a remarkable teacher. Among hisnew pupils was Caroline Saint Cricq, youngest daughter of Count SaintCricq, then Minister of the Interior, and Madame his wife. 

Caroline, scarcely seventeen, the same age as her young teacher, wasa beautiful girl, as pure and refined as she was talented. Under theeyes of the Countess, the lessons went on from month to month, and themother did not fail to see the growing attachment between the youngpeople. But love's young dream was of short duration. The Countessfell ill and the lessons had to be discontinued. Caroline did not seeher devoted teacher till all was over. 

There was now another bond between them, the sympathy over the lossof their dear ones. The Count had requested that the lessons should beresumed. But when the young teacher remained too long in converse withhis pupil after the lessons, he was dismissed by the Count, and alltheir sweet intercourse came to an abrupt end. 

Mme. Liszt did all she could to soothe the grief and despair of herson. For days and weeks he remained at home, neglecting his piano andhis work. He again thought of the church with renewed ardor and toldhis mother he now had decided to become a monk. His spirits sank verylow; he became ill, unable to leave the house and it was reportedeverywhere he had passed away. 

Again he rallied and his strong constitution conquered. As strengthslowly returned, so also did his activity and love of life. 

During his long convalescence he was seized with a great desire forknowledge, and read everything he could lay hands on. He would oftensit at the piano, busying his fingers with technic while reading abook on the desk before him. He had formerly given all his time tomusic and languages; now he must know literature, politics, historyand exact sciences. A word casually dropped in conversation, wouldstart him on a new line of reading. Then came the revolution of 1830. Everybody talked politics, and Franz, with his excitable spirits, would have rushed into the conflict if his mother had not restrainedhim. 

With all this awakening he sought to broaden his art, to make hisinstrument speak of higher things. Indeed the spirit must speakthrough the form. This he realized the more as he listened to thethrilling performances of that wizard of the violin, Paganini, who appeared in Paris in 1831. This style of playing made a deepimpression on Liszt. He now tried to do on the piano what Paganiniaccomplished on the violin, in the matter of tone quality andintensity. He procured the newly published Caprices for violin andtried to learn their tonal secrets, also transcribing the pieces forpiano. 

Liszt became fast friends with the young composer, Hector Berlioz, and much influenced by his compositions, which were along new harmoniclines. Chopin, the young Polish artist, now appeared in Paris, playinghis E minor Concerto, his Mazurkas and Nocturnes, revealing new phasesof art. Chopin's calm composure tranquilized Liszt's excitable nature. From Chopin, Liszt learned to "express in music the poetry of thearistocratic salon. " Liszt ever remained a true and admiring friend ofthe Pole, and wrote the poetic study sketch of him in 1849. 

Liszt was now twenty-three. Broadened and chastened by all he hadpassed through, he resumed his playing in aristocratic homes. He alsoappeared in public and was found to be quite a different artist fromwhat the Parisians had previously known. His bold new harmonies inhis own compositions, the rich effects, showed a deep knowledge ofhis art. He had transcribed a number of Berlioz's most strikingcompositions to the piano and performed them with great effect. 

The handsome and gifted young artist was everywhere the object ofadmiration. He also met George Sand, and was soon numbered among thatwonderful and dangerous woman's best friends. Later he met the youngand beautiful Countess Laprunarčde, and a mutual attraction ensued. The elderly Count, her husband, pleased with the dashing youngmusician, invited him to spend the winter at his chateau, inSwitzerland, where the witty Countess virtually kept him prisoner. 

The following winter, 1833-34, when the salons opened again, Lisztfrequented them as before. He was in the bloom of youth and fame, whenhe met the woman who was to be linked with his destiny for the nextten years. 

We have sketched the childhood and youth of this wonderful artist upto this point. We will pass lightly over this decade of his career, merely stating briefly that the lady--the beautiful Countess d'Agoult, captivated by the brilliant talents of the Hungarian virtuoso, lefther husband and child, and became for ten years the faithful companionof his travels and tours over Europe. Many writers agree that Lisztendeavored to dissuade her from this attraction, and behaved ashonorably as he could under the circumstances. A part of the timethey lived in Switzerland, and it was there that many of Liszt'scompositions were written. 

Of their three children, the boy died very young. Of the girls, Blandine became the wife of Émile Ollivier, a French literary man andstatesman. Her sister, Cosima, married first Hans von Bülow and laterRichard Wagner. 

In 1843 Liszt intended to take Madame with him to Russia, but instead, left her and her children in Paris, with his mother, as the Countesswas in failing health. His first concert, in St. Petersburg, realizedthe enormous sum of fifty thousand francs--ten thousand dollars. Instead of giving one concert in Moscow, he gave six. Later he playedin Bavaria, Saxony and other parts of Germany. He then settled inWeimar for a time, being made Grand Ducal Capellmeister. Then, in1844-45, longing for more success, he toured Spain and Portugal. 

A generous act was his labor in behalf of the Beethoven monument, tobe erected in the master's birthplace, Bonn. The monument was to begiven by subscriptions from the various Princes of Germany. Liszthelped make up the deficit and came to Bonn to organize a Festival inhonor of the event. He also composed a Cantata for the opening day ofthe Festival, and in his enthusiasm nearly ruined himself by payingthe heavy expenses of the Festival out of his own pocket. 

The political events of 1848 brought him back to Weimar, and heresumed his post of Court Music Director. He now directed his energiestoward making Weimar the first musical city of Germany. Greatlyadmiring Wagner's genius, he undertook to perform his works in Weimar, and to spread his name and fame. Indeed it is not too much to say thatwithout Liszt's devoted efforts, Wagner would never have attained hisvogue and fame. Wagner himself testified to this. 

While living in Weimar, Liszt made frequent journeys to Rome and toParis. In 1861 there was a rumor that the object of his visits toRome was to gain Papal consent to his marriage with the PrincessSayn-Wittgenstein. During a visit to Rome in 1864, the musician wasunable to resist longer the mysticism of the church. He decided totake orders and was made an Abbé. 

Since that time, Abbé Franz Liszt did much composing. He alsocontinued to teach the piano to great numbers of pupils, who flockedto him from all parts of the world. Many of the greatest artists nowbefore the public were numbered among his students, and owe much oftheir success to his artistic guidance. 

In 1871, the Hungarian Cabinet created him a noble, with a yearlypension of three thousand dollars. In 1875, he was made Director ofthe Academy at Budapest. In addition, Liszt was a member of nearly allthe European Orders of Chivalry. 

Franz Liszt passed away August 1, 1886, in the house of his friend, Herr Frohlich, near Wagner's Villa Wahnfried, Bayreuth, at the age ofseventy-five. As was his custom every summer, Liszt was in Bayreuth, assisting in the production of Wagner's masterpieces, when hesuccumbed to pneumonia. Thus passed a great composer, a world famouspiano virtuoso, and a noble and kindly spirit. 

For the piano, his chosen instrument, Liszt wrote much that wasbeautiful and inspiring. He created a new epoch for the virtuoso. Hisfifteen Hungarian Rhapsodies, B minor Sonata, Concert Études and manytranscriptions, appear on all modern programs, and there are manypieces yet to be made known. He is the originator of the SymphonicPoem, for orchestra; while his sacred music, such as the Oratorio"Christus, " and the beautiful "Saint Elizabeth, " a sacred opera, aremonuments to his great genius. 

XV

GIUSEPPE VERDI

In the little hamlet of Le Roncole, at the foot of the Apeninnes, a place that can hardly be found on the map, because it is just acluster of workmen's houses, Giuseppe Verdi, one of the greatestoperatic composers, was born, October 9, 1813. 

There were great wars going on in Europe during that time. WhenGiuseppe was a year old, the Russian and Austrian soldiers marchedthrough Italy, killing and destroying everywhere. Some of them cameto Le Roncole for a few hours. All the women and children ran to thechurch and locked themselves in for safety. But these savage men hadno respect for the house of God. They took the hinges off the doorsand rushing in murdered and wounded the helpless ones. Luigia Verdi, with the baby Giuseppe in her arms, escaped, ran up a narrow staircaseto the belfry, and hid herself and child among some old lumber. Hereshe stayed in her hiding place, until the drunken troops were far awayfrom the little village. 

The babe Giuseppe was born among very poor, ignorant workingpeople, though his father's house was one of the best known and mostfrequented among the cluster of cottages. His parents Carlo Verdiand Luigia his wife, kept a small inn at Le Roncole and also a littleshop, where they sold sugar, coffee, matches, spirits, tobacco andclay pipes. Once a week the good Carlo would walk up to Busseto, threemiles away, with two empty baskets and would return with them filledwith articles for his store, carrying them slung across his strongshoulders. 

Giuseppe Verdi who was to produce such streams of beautiful, sparkling music, --needing an Act of Parliament to stop them, as oncehappened, --was a very quiet, thoughtful little fellow, always good andobedient; sometimes almost sad, and seldom joined in the boisterousgames of other children. That serious expression found in all ofVerdi's portraits as a man was even noticeable in the child. The onlytime he would rouse up, was when a hand organ would come through thevillage street; then he would follow it as far as his little legswould carry him, and nothing could keep him in the house, when heheard this music. Intelligent, reserved and quiet, every one lovedhim. 

In 1820, when Giuseppe was seven years old, Carlo Verdi committed agreat extravagance for an innkeeper; he bought a spinet for his son, something very unheard of for so poor a man to do. 

Little Giuseppe practised very diligently on his spinet. At first hecould only play the first five notes of the scale. Next he triedvery hard to find out chords, and one day was made perfectly happyat having sounded the major third and fifth of C. But the next dayhe could not find the chord again, and began to fret and fume andgot into such a temper, that he took a hammer and tried to breakthe spinet in pieces. This made such a commotion that it brought hisfather into the room. When he saw what the child was doing, he gave ablow on Giuseppe's ear that brought the little fellow to his sensesat once. He saw he could not punish the good spinet because he did notknow enough to strike a common chord. 

His love of music early showed itself in many ways. One day hewas assisting the parish priest at mass in the little church ofLe Roncole. At the moment of the elevation of the Host, such sweetharmonies were sounding from the organ, that the child stood perfectlymotionless, listening to the beautiful music, all unconscious ofeverything else about him. 

"Water, " said the priest to the altar boy. Giuseppe, not hearing him, the priest repeated the call. Still the child, who was listening tothe music, did not hear. "Water, " said the priest a third time andgave Giuseppe such a sharp kick that he fell down the steps of thealtar, hitting his head on the stone floor, and was taken unconsciousinto the sacristy. 

After this Giuseppe was allowed to have music lessons withBaistrocchi, the organist of the village church. At the end of ayear Baistrocchi said there was nothing more he could teach his youngpupil, so the lessons came to an end. 

Two years later, when old Baistrocchi died, Giuseppe, who was thenonly ten, was made organist in his place. This pleased his parentsvery much, but his father felt the boy should be sent to school, wherehe could learn to read and write and know something of arithmetic. This would have been quite impossible had not Carlo Verdi had a goodfriend living at Busseto, a shoemaker, named Pugnatta. 

Pugnatta agreed to give Giuseppe board and lodging and send him tothe best school in the town, all for a small sum of three pence a day. Giuseppe went to Pugnatta's; and while he was always in his place inschool and studied diligently, he still kept his situation as organistof Le Roncole, walking there every Sunday morning and back again toBusseto after the evening service. 

His pay as organist was very small, but he also made a little moneyplaying for weddings, christenings and funerals. He also gained a fewlire from a collection which it was the habit of artists to make atharvest time, for which he had to trudge from door to door, with asack upon his back. The poor boy's life had few comforts, and thiscustom of collections brought him into much danger. One night whilehe was walking toward Le Roncole, very tired and hungry, he did notnotice he had taken a wrong path, when suddenly, missing his footing, he fell into a deep canal. It was very dark and very cold and hislimbs were so stiff he could not use them. Had it not been for an oldwoman who was passing by the place and heard his cries, the exhaustedand chilled boy would have been carried away by the current. 

After two years' schooling, Giuseppe's father persuaded his friend, Antonio Barezzi of Busseto, from whom he was in the habit of buyingwines and supplies for his inn and shop, --to take the lad into hiswarehouse. That was a happy day for Giuseppe when he went to live withBarezzi, who was an enthusiastic amateur of music. The PhilharmonicSociety, of which Barezzi was the president, met, rehearsed and gaveall its concerts at his house. 

Giuseppe, though working hard in the warehouse, also found time toattend all the rehearsals of the Philharmonics, and began the taskof copying out separate parts from the score. His earnestness in thiswork attracted the notice of the conductor, Ferdinando Provesi, whobegan to take great interest in the boy, and was the first one tounderstand his talent and advised him to devote himself to music. ACanon in the Cathedral offered to teach him Latin, and tried to make apriest of him, saying, "What do you want to study music for? Youhave a gift for Latin and it would be much better for you to become apriest. What do you expect from your music? Do you think that someday you will become organist of Busseto? Stuff and nonsense! That cannever be. "

A short time after this, there was a mass at a chapel in Busseto, where the Canon had the service. The organist was unable to attend, and Verdi was called at the last moment to take his place. Very muchimpressed with the unusually beautiful organ music, the priest, at theclose of the service desired to see the organist. His astonishment wasgreat when he saw his scholar whom he had been seeking to turn fromthe study of music. "Whose music did you play?" he asked. "It was mostbeautiful. "

"Why, " timidly answered the boy, "I had no music, I was playingextempore--just as I felt. "

"Ah, indeed, " replied the Canon; "well I am a fool and you cannot dobetter than to study music, take my word for it. "

Under the good Provesi, Verdi studied until he was sixteen and madesuch rapid progress that both Provesi and Barezzi felt he must be sentto Milan to study further. The lad had often come to the help of hismaster, both at the organ and as conductor of the Philharmonic. Therecords of the society still have several works written by Verdi atthat time--when he was sixteen--composed, copied, taught, rehearsedand conducted by him. 

There was an institution in Busseto called the Monte di Pietŕ, whichgave four scholarships of three hundred francs a year, each given forfour years to promising young men needing money to study science orart. Through Barezzi one of these scholarships was given to Verdi, itbeing arranged that he should have six hundred francs a year for twoyears, instead of three hundred francs for four years. Barezzi himselfadvanced the money for the music lessons, board and lodging in Milanand the priest gave him a letter of introduction to his nephew, aprofessor there, who received him with a hearty welcome, and insistedupon his living with him. 

Like all large music schools, there were a great many who presentedthemselves for admittance by scholarship and only one to be chosen. And Verdi did not happen to be that one, Basili not considering hiscompositions of sufficient worth. This was not because Verdi wasreally lacking in his music, but because Basili had other plans. Thisdid not in the least discourage Giuseppe, and at the suggestion ofAlessando Rolla, who was then conductor of La Scala, he asked Lavignato give him lessons in composition and orchestration. 

Lavigna was a former pupil of the Conservatoire of Naples and an ablecomposer. Verdi showed him some of the same compositions he had shownBasili. After examining them he willingly accepted the young aspirantas a pupil. 

Verdi spent most of his evenings at the home of the master, whenLavigna was not at La Scala and there met many artists. One night itchanced that Lavigna, Basili and Verdi were alone, and the two masterswere speaking of the deplorable result of a competition for theposition of Maître di Capelle and organist of the Church of SanGiovanni di Monza. Out of twenty-eight young men who had taken partin the competition, not one had known how to develop correctly thesubject given by Basili for the construction of a fugue. Lavigna, witha bit of mischief in his eyes, began to say to his friend:--"It isreally a remarkable fact. Well, look at Verdi, who has studied fuguefor two short years. I lay a wager he would have done better than youreight and twenty candidates. "

"Really?" replied Basili, in a somewhat vexed tone. 

"Certainly. Do you remember your subject? Yes, you do? Well, write itdown. "

Basili wrote and Lavigne, giving the theme to Verdi, said:

"Sit down there at the table and just begin to work out this subject. "

Then the two friends resumed their conversation, until Verdi, comingto them said simply: "There, it is done. "

Basili took the paper and examined it, showing signs of astonishmentas he continued to read. When he came to the conclusion hecomplimented the lad and said: "But how is it that you have written adouble canon on my subject?"

"It is because I found it rather poor and wished to embellishit, " Verdi replied, remembering the reception he had had at theConservatoire. 

In 1833 his old master Provesi died. Verdi felt the loss keenly, forProvesi was the one who first taught him music and who showed him howto work to become an artist. Though he wished to do greater things, hereturned to Busseto to fulfill his promise to take Provesi's place asorganist of the Cathedral and conductor of the Philharmonic, ratherbig positions to fill for a young man of twenty. 

And now Verdi fell in love with the beautiful Margherita, the oldestdaughter of Barezzi, who did not mind giving his daughter to a pooryoung man, for Verdi possessed something worth far more than money, and that was great musical talent. The young people were married in1836, and the whole Philharmonic Society attended. 

About the year 1833-34 there flourished in Milan a vocal societycalled the Philharmonic, composed of excellent singers under theleadership of Masini. Soon after Verdi came to the city, the Societywas preparing for a performance of Haydn's "Creation. " Lavigna, withwhom the young composer was studying composition, suggested his pupilshould attend the rehearsals, to which he gladly agreed. It seems thatthree Maestri shared the conducting during rehearsals. One day none ofthem were present at the appointed hour and Masini asked young Verdito accompany from the full orchestral score, adding, "It will besufficient if you merely play the bass. " Verdi took his place at thepiano without the slightest hesitation. The slender, rather shabbylooking stranger was not calculated to inspire much confidence. However he soon warmed to his work, and after a while grew so excitedthat he played the accompaniment with the left hand while conductingvigorously with the right. The rehearsal went off splendidly, andmany came forward to greet the young conductor, among them wereCounts Pompeo Belgiojoso and Remato Borromes. After this proof of hisability, Verdi was appointed to conduct the public performance, whichwas such a success that it was repeated by general request, and wasattended by the highest society. 

Soon after this Count Borromes engaged Verdi to write a Cantata forchorus and orchestra, to honor the occasion of a marriage in thefamily. Verdi did so but was never paid a sou for his work. The nextrequest was from Masini, who urged Verdi to compose an opera forthe Teatro Filodramatico, where he was conductor. He handed him alibretto, which with a few alterations here and there became "Oberto, Conte di San Bonifacio. " Verdi accepted the offer at once, and beingobliged to move to Busseto, where he had been appointed organist, remained there nearly three years, during which time the opera wascompleted. On returning to Milan he found Masini no longer conductor, and lost all hope of seeing the new opera produced. After long waitinghowever, the impressario sent for him, and promised to bring out thework the next season, if the composer would make a few changes. Youngand as yet unknown, Verdi was quite willing. "Oberto" was producedwith a fair amount of success, and repeated several times. On thestrength of this propitious beginning, the impressario, Merelli, madethe young composer an excellent offer--to write three operas, oneevery eight months, to be performed either in Milan or in Vienna, where he was impressario of both the principal theaters. He promisedto pay four thousand lire--about six hundred and seventy dollars--foreach, and share the profits of the copyright. To young Verdi thisseemed an excellent chance and he accepted at once. Rossi wrote alibretto, entitled "Proscritto, " and work on the music was about tobegin. In the spring of 1840, Merelli hurried from Vienna, saying heneeded a comic opera for the autumn season, and wanted work begun onit at once. He produced three librettos, none of them very good. Verdidid not like them, but since there was no time to lose, chose theleast offensive and set to work. 

The Verdis were living in a small house near the Porta Ticinesa; thefamily consisted of the composer, his wife and two little sons. Almostas soon as work was begun on the comic opera, Verdi fell ill and wasconfined to his bed several days. He had quite forgotten that the rentmoney, which he always liked to have ready on the very day, was due, and he had not sufficient to pay. It was too late to borrow it, butquite unknown to him the wife had taken some of her most valuabletrinkets, had gone out and brought back the necessary amount. Thissweet act of devotion greatly touched her husband. 

And now sudden sorrow swept over the little family. At the beginningof April one of the little boys fell ill. Before the doctors couldunderstand what was the matter, the little fellow breathed his lastin the arms of his desperate mother. A few days after this, the otherchild sickened and died. In June the young wife, unable to bear thestrain, passed away and Verdi saw the third coffin leave his doorcarrying the last of his dear ones. And in the midst of these crushingtrials he was expected to compose a comic opera! But he bravelycompleted his task. "Un Giorno di Regno" naturally proved a deadfailure. In the despondency that followed, the composer resolved togive up composition altogether. Merelli scolded him roundly for sucha decision, and promised if, some day, he chose to take up his penagain, he would, if given two months' notice, produce any opera Verdimight write. 

At that time the composer was not ready to change his mind. He couldnot live longer in the house filled with so many sad memories, butmoved to a new residence near the Corsia di Servi. One evening onthe street, he ran against Merelli, who was hurrying to the theater. Without stopping he linked his arm in that of the composer and madehim keep pace. The manager was in the depths of woe. He had secureda libretto by Solera, which was "wonderful, marvelous, extraordinary, grand, " but the composer he had engaged did not like it. What was tobe done? Verdi bethought him of the libretto "Proscritto, " which Rossihad once written for him, and he had not used. He suggested thisto Merelli. Rossi was at once sent for and produced a copy of thelibretto. Then Merelli laid the other manuscript before Verdi. "Look, here is Solera's libretto; such a beautiful subject! Take it home andread it over. " But Verdi refused. "No, no, I am in no humor to readlibrettos. "

"It won't hurt you to look at it, " urged Merelli, and thrust it intothe coat pocket of the reluctant composer. 

On reaching home, Verdi pulled the manuscript out and threw it on thewriting table. As he did so a stanza from the book caught his eye; itwas almost a paraphrase from the Bible, which had been such a solaceto him in his solitary life. He began to read the story and was moreand more enthralled by it, yet his resolution to write no more wasnot altered. However, as the days passed there would be here a linewritten down, there a melody--until at last, almost unconsciously theopera of "Nabucco" came into being. 

The opera once finished, Verdi hastened to Merelli, and reminded himof his promise. The impressario was quite honorable about it, butwould not agree to bring the opera out until Easter, for the season of1841-42, was already arranged. Verdi refused to wait until Easter, as he knew the best singers would not then be available. After manyarguments and disputes, it was finally arranged that "Nabucco" shouldbe put on, but without extra outlay for mounting. At the endof February 1842, rehearsals began and on March ninth the firstperformance took place. 

The success of "Nabucco" was remarkable. No such "first night" hadbeen known in La Scala for many years. "I had hoped for success, " saidthe composer, "but such a success--never!"

The next day all Italy talked of Verdi. Donizetti, whose wealth ofmelodious music swayed the Italians as it did later the English, was so impressed by it that he continually repeated, "It is fine, uncommonly fine. "

With the success of "Nabucco" Verdi's career as a composer may besaid to have begun. In the following year "I Lombardi" was produced, followed by "Ernani. " Then came in quick succession ten more operas, among them "Attila" and "Macbeth. "

In 1847, we find Verdi in London, where on July 2, at Her Majesty'sTheater, "I Masnadieri" was brought out, with a cast includingLablanche, Gardoni, Colletti, and above all Jenny Lind, in a partcomposed expressly for her. All the artists distinguished themselves;Jenny Lind acted admirably and sang her airs exquisitely, but theopera was not a success. No two critics could agree as to its merits. Verdi left England in disgust and took his music to other cities. 

The advantage to Verdi of his trips through Europe and to England isshown in "Rigoletto, " brought out in Vienna in 1851. In this operahis true power manifests itself. The music shows great advance indeclamation, which lifts it above the ordinary Italian style of thattime. With this opera Verdi's second period begins. Two years later"Trovatore" was produced in Rome and had a tremendous success. Each scene brought down thunders of applause, until the very wallsresounded and outside people took up the cry, "Long live Verdi, Italy's greatest composer! Vive Verdi!" It was given in Paris in 1854, and in London the following year. In 1855, "La Traviata" was producedin Vienna. This work, so filled with delicate, beautiful music, nearlyproved a failure, because the consumptive heroine, who expires on thestage, was sung by a prima donna of such extraordinary stoutness thatthe scene was received with shouts of laughter. After a number ofunsuccessful operas, "Un Ballo in Maschera" scored a success in Romein 1859, and "La Forza del Destino, " written for Petrograd, had arecent revival in New York. 

When Rossini passed away, November 13, 1868, Verdi suggested a requiemshould be written jointly by the best Italian composers. The work wascompleted, but was not satisfactory on account of the diversity ofstyles. It was then proposed that Verdi write the entire work himself. The death of Manzoni soon after this caused the composer to carry outthe idea. Thus the great "Manzoni Requiem" came into being. 

In 1869, the Khedive of Egypt had a fine opera house built in Cairo, and commissioned Verdi to write an opera having an Egyptian subject, for the opening. The ever popular "Aida" was then composed and broughtout in 1871, with great success. This proved to be the beginning ofthe master's third period, for he turned from his earlier style whichwas purely lyric, to one with far more richness of orchestration. 

Verdi had now retired to his estate of Sant'Agata, and it was supposedhis career as composer had closed, as he gave his time principallyto the care of his domain. From time to time it was rumored he waswriting another opera. The rumor proved true, for on February 5, 1887, when Verdi was seventy-four years old, "Otello" was produced at LaScala, Milan, amid indescribable enthusiasm. Six years later themusical world was again startled and overjoyed by the production ofanother Shakespearean opera, "Falstaff, " composed in his eightiethyear. In all, his operas number over thirty, most of them serious, allof them containing much beautiful music. 

At Sant'Agata the master lived a quiet, retired life. The estate wassituated about two miles from Busseto, and was very large, with agreat park, a large collection of horses and other live stock. Theresidence was spacious, and the master's special bedroom was on thefirst floor. It was large, light and airy and luxuriously furnished. Here stood a magnificent grand piano, and the composer often rose inthe night to jot down the themes which came to him in the silence ofthe midnight hours. Here "Don Carlos" was written. In one of the upperrooms stood the old spinet that Verdi hacked at as a child. 

Verdi was one of the noblest of men as well as one of the greatest ofmusical composers. He passed away in Milan, January 27, 1901, at theage of eighty-eight. 

XVI

RICHARD WAGNER

One of the most gigantic musical geniuses the world has yet known wasRichard Wagner. Words have been exhausted to tell of his achievements;books without number have been written about him; he himself, inhis Autobiography, and in his correspondence, has told with minutestdetail how he lived and what his inner life has been. What we shallstrive for is the simple story of his career, though in the simpletelling, it may read like a fairy tale. 

Richard Wagner first saw the light on May 22, 1813, in Leipsic. Thosewere stirring times in that part of the world, for revolution wasoften on the eve of breaking out. The tiny babe was but six monthsold when the father passed away. There were eight other children, theeldest son being only fourteen. The mother, a sweet, gentle littlewoman, found herself quite unable to support her large family ofgrowing children. No one could blame her for accepting the hand of herhusband's old friend, Ludwig Geyer, in less than a year after theloss of her first husband. Geyer was a man of much artistic talent, an actor, singer, author and painter. He thought little Richard mightbecome a portrait painter, or possibly a musician, since the child hadlearned to play two little pieces on the piano. 

Geyer found employment in a Dresden theater, so the family removed tothat city. But he did not live to see the blossoming of his youngeststep-son's genius, as he passed away on September 30, 1821, when thechild was eight years old. 

Little Richard showed wonderful promise even in those years ofchildhood. At the Kreuzschule, where his education began, he developedan ardent love for the Greek classics, and translated the first twelvebooks of the Odyssey, outside of school hours. He devoured all storiesof mythology he could lay hands on, and soon began to create vasttragedies. He revelled in Shakespeare, and finally began to writea play which was to combine the ideas of both Hamlet and King Lear. Forty-two persons were killed off in the course of the play and hadto be brought back as ghosts, as otherwise there would have been nocharacters for the last act. He worked on this play for two years. 

Everything connected with the theater was of absorbing interest tothis precocious child. Weber, who lived in Dresden, often passed theirhouse and was observed with almost religious awe by little Richard. Sometimes the great composer dropped in to have a chat with themother, who was well liked among musicians and artists. Thus Weberbecame the idol of the lad's boyhood, and he knew "Der Freischütz"almost by heart. If he was not allowed to go to the theater tolisten to his favorite opera, there would be scenes of weeping andbeseeching, until permission was granted for him to run off to theperformance. 

In 1827 the family returned to Leipsic, and it was at the famousGewandhaus concerts that the boy first heard Beethoven's music. Hewas so fired by the Overture to "Egmont, " that he decided at once tobecome a musician. But how--that was the question. He knew nothing ofcomposition, but, borrowing a treatise on harmony, tried to learn thewhole contents in a week. 

It was a struggle, and one less determined than the fourteen-year-oldboy would have given up in despair. He was made of different stuff. Working alone by himself, he composed a sonata, a quartette andan aria. At last he ventured to announce the result of his secretstudies. At this news his relatives were up in arms; they judgedhis desire for music to be a passing fancy, especially as they knewnothing of any preparatory studies, and realized he had never learnedto play any instrument, not even the piano. 

The family, however, compromised enough to engage a teacher for him. But Richard would never learn slowly and systematically. His mind shotfar ahead, absorbing in one instance the writings of Hoffmann, whoseimaginative tales kept the boy's mind in a continual state of nervousexcitement. He was not content to climb patiently the mountain;he tried to reach the top at a bound. So he wrote overtures fororchestras, one of which was really performed in Leipsic--a marvelousaffair indeed, with its tympani explosions. 

Richard now began to realize the need of solid work, and settled downto study music seriously, this time under Theodor Weinlig, who wascantor in the famous Thomas School. 

In less than six months the boy was able to solve the most difficultproblems in counterpoint. He learned to know Mozart's music, and triedto write with more simplicity of style. A piano sonata, a polonaisefor four hands and a fantaisie for piano belong to this year. Afterthat he aspired to make piano arrangements of great works, such asBeethoven's "Ninth Symphony. " Then came his own symphony, whichwas really performed at Gewandhaus, and is said to have shown greatmusical vigor. 

Instrumental music no longer satisfied this eager, aspiring boy; hemust compose operas. He was now twenty, and went to Würzburg, wherehis brother Albert was engaged at the Würzburg Theater as actor, singer and stage manager. Albert secured for him a post as chorusmaster, with a salary of ten florins a month. 

The young composer now started work on a second opera, the first, called "The Marriage, " was found impracticable. The new work wasentitled "The Fairies. " This he finished, and the work, performedyears later, was found to be imitative of Beethoven, Weber, andMarschner; the music was nevertheless very melodious. 

Wagner returned to Leipsic in 1834. Soon there came another impetusto this budding genius: he heard for the first time the great singerWilhelmina Schroeder-Devrient, whose art made a deep impression onhim. 

It was a time for rapid impressions to sway the ardent temperament ofthis boy genius of twenty-one. He read the works of Wilhelm Heinse, who depicts both the highest artistic pleasures and those of theopposite sort. Other authors following the same trend made him believein the utmost freedom in politics, literature and morals. Freedom ineverything--the pleasures of the moment--seemed to him the highestgood. 

Under the sway of such opinions he began to sketch the plot ofhis next opera, "Prohibition of Love" (Liebesverbot), founded onShakespeare's "Measure for Measure. " This was while he was in Teplitzon a summer holiday. In the autumn he took a position as conductorin a small operatic theater in Magdeburg. Here he worked at his newopera, hoping he could induce the admired Schroeder-Devrient to be hisheroine. 

Wagner remained in this place about two years and finished his operathere. The performance of it, for which he labored with great zeal, was a fiasco. The theater, too, failed soon after and the youngcomposer was thrown out of work. His sojourn there influenced hisafter career, as he met Wilhelmina Planer, who was soon to become hiswife. 

Hearing there was an opening for a musical director at Königsberg, he traveled to that town, and in due course secured the post. MinnaPlaner also found an engagement at the theater, and the two weremarried on November 24, 1836; he was twenty-three and she somewhatyounger. Kind, gentle, loving, she was quite unable to understand shewas linked with a genius. Wagner was burdened with debts, begun inMagdeburg and increased in Königsberg. She was almost as improvidentas he. They were like two children playing at life, with fatefulconsequences. It was indeed her misfortune, as one says, that thisgentle dove was mismated with an eagle. But Minna learned later, through dire necessity, to be more economical and careful, which ismore than can be said of her gifted husband. 

After a year the Königsberg Theater failed and again Wagner was outof employment. Through the influence of his friend Dorn, he secureda directorship at Riga, Minna also being engaged at the theater. Atfirst everything went well; the salary was higher and the people amongwhom they were placed were agreeable. But before long debts began topress again, and Wagner was dissatisfied with the state of the lyricdrama, which he was destined to reform in such a wonderful way. He wasonly twenty-four, and had seen but little of the world. Paris was thegoal toward which he looked with longing eyes, and to the gay Frenchcapital he determined to go. 

When he tried to get a passport for Paris, he found it impossiblebecause of his debts. Not to be turned from his purpose, he, Minna andthe great Newfoundland dog, his pet companion, all slipped away fromRiga at night and in disguise. At the port of Pillau the trio embarkedon a sailing vessel for Paris, the object of all his hopes. Theyoung composer carried with him one opera and half of a secondwork--"Rienzi, " which he had written during the years of struggle inMagdeburg and Königsberg. In Riga he had come upon Heine's versionof the Flying Dutchman legend, and the sea voyage served to make thestory more vital. 

He writes: "This voyage I shall never forget as long as I live; itlasted three weeks and a half, and was rich in mishaps. Thrice weendured the most violent storms, and once the captain had to putinto a Norwegian haven. The passage among the crags of Norway made awonderful impression on my fancy, the legends of the Flying Dutchman, as told by the sailors, were clothed with distinct and individualcolor, heightened by the ocean adventures through which we passed. "

After stopping a short time in London, the trio halted for severalweeks in Boulogne, because the great Meyerbeer was summering there. Wagner met the influential composer and confided his hopes andlongings. Meyerbeer received the poor young German kindly, praised hismusic, gave him several letters to musicians in power in Paris, buttold him persistence was the most important factor in success. 

With a light heart, and with buoyant trust in the future, thoughwith little money for present necessities, Wagner and his companionsarrived in Paris in September, 1839. Before him lay, if he had butknown it, two years and a half of bitter hardship and privation;but--"out of trials and tribulations are great spirits molded. "

There were many noted musicians in the French capital at that time, and many opportunities for success. The young German produced hisletters of introduction and received many promises of assistance fromconductors and directors. Delighted with his prospects he located inthe "heart of elegant and artistic Paris, " without regarding cost. 

Soon the skies clouded; one hope after another failed. Hiscompositions were either too difficult for conductors to grasp, ortheaters failed on which he depended for assistance. He became ingreat distress and could not pay for the furniture of the apartment, which he had bought on credit. It was now that he turned to writingfor musical journals, to keep the wolf from the door, meanwhileworking on the score of "Rienzi, " which was finished in November, 1840and sent to Dresden. In later years it was produced in that city. 

But the Wagners, alas, were starving in Paris. One of Richard'sarticles at this time was called "The End of a Musician in Paris, "and he makes the poor musician die with the words; "I believe inGod--Mozart and Beethoven. " It was almost as bad as this for Wagnerhimself. He determined to turn his back on all the intrigues andhardships he had endured for over two years, and set out for thehomeland, which seemed the only desirable spot on earth. 

The rehearsals for "Rienzi" began in Dresden in July 1842. Wagner hadnow finished "The Flying Dutchman, " and had completed the outline of"Tannhäuser, " based on Hoffmann's story of the Singers' Contest at theWartburg. 

And now Wagner's star as a composer began to rise and light was seenahead. On October 20, 1842 "Rienzi" was produced in the Dresden OperaHouse and the young composer awoke the next morning to find himselffamous. The performance was a tremendous success, with singers, publicand critics alike. The performance lasted six hours and Wagner, nextday, decided the work must be cut in places, but the singers loudlyprotested: "The work was heavenly, " they assured him, "not a measurecould be spared. "

With this first venture Wagner was now on the high road to success, and spent a happy winter in the Saxon capital. He could have gone onwriting operas like "Rienzi, " to please the public, but he aimed farhigher. To fuse all the arts in one complete whole was the idea thathad been forming in his mind. He first illustrated this in "The FlyingDutchman, " and it became the main thought of his later works. Thistheory made both vocal and instrumental music secondary to thedramatic plan, and this, at that time, seemed a truly revolutionaryidea. 

"The Flying Dutchman" was produced at the Dresden Opera House January2. 1843, with Mme. Schroeder-Devrient as Senta. Critics and publichad expected a brilliant and imposing spectacle like "Rienzi" and weredisappointed. In the following May and June "The Dutchman" was heardin Riga and Cassel, conducted by the famous violinist and composer, Spohr. 

In spite of the fact that "The Flying Dutchman" was not then asuccess, and in Dresden was shelved for twenty years, Wagner securedthe fine post of Head Capellmeister, at a salary of nearly twelvehundred dollars. This post he retained for seven years, gaining agreat deal of experience in orchestral conducting, and producingBeethoven's symphonies with great originality, together with much thatwas best in orchestral literature. 

"Tannhäuser" was now complete, and during the following summer, atMarienbad, sketches for "Lohengrin" and "Die Meistersinger" weremade. During the winter, the book being made he began on the musicof "Lohengrin. " In March of the exciting year 1848, the music of"Lohengrin" was finished. There was a wide difference in style betweenthat work and "Tannhäuser. " And already the composer had in mind a newwork to be called "The Death of Siegfried. " He wrote to Franz Liszt, with whom he now began to correspond, that within six months he wouldsend him the book of the new work complete. As he worked at the drama, however, it began to spread out before him in a way that he could notcondense into one opera, or even two; and thus-it finally grew intothe four operas of the "Ring of the Nibelungen. "

It must not be imagined that Wagner had learned the lesson ofcarefulness in money matters, or that, with partial success he alwayshad plenty for his needs. He had expensive tastes, loved fine clothingand beautiful surroundings. Much money, too, was needed to produce newworks; so that in reality, the composer was always in debt. The manyletters which passed between Wagner and Liszt, which fill two largevolumes, show how Liszt clearly recognized the brilliant genius of hisfriend, and stood ready to help him over financial difficulties, andhow Wagner came to lean more and more on Liszt's generosity. 

Just what part Wagner played in the revolution of 1848 is not quiteclear. He wrote several articles which were radical protests forfreedom of thought. At all events he learned it would be better forhim to leave Dresden in time. In fact he remained in exile from hiscountry for over eleven years. 

Wagner fled to Switzerland, leaving Minna still in Dresden, though indue time he succeeded in scraping together funds for her to follow himto Zurich. He was full of plans for composing "Siegfried, " while shecontinually urged him to write pleasing operas that Paris wouldlike. Wagner believed the world should take care of him while he wascomposing his great works, whereas Minna saw this course meant livingon the charity of friends, and at this she rebelled. But Wagner grewdiscouraged over these petty trials, and for five years creative workwas at a standstill. 

How to meet daily necessities was the all absorbing question. Akind friend, who greatly admired his music, Otto Wesendonck, made itpossible for him to rent, at a low price, a pretty chalet near LakeZurich, and there he and Minna lived in retirement, and here he wrotemany articles explaining his theories. 

During the early years at Zurich Wagner's only musical activity wasconducting a few orchestral concerts. Then, one day, he took out thescore of his "Lohengrin, " and read it, something he rarely did withany of his works. Seized with a deep desire to have this opera broughtout, he sent a pleading letter to Liszt, begging him to produce thework. Liszt faithfully accomplished this task at Weimar, where he wasconducting the Court Opera. The date chosen was Goethe's birthday, August 28, and the year 1850. Wagner was most anxious to be present, but the risk of arrest prevented him from venturing on German soil. It was not till 1861, in Vienna, that the composer heard this the mostpopular of all his operas. Liszt was profoundly moved by the beautifulwork, and wrote his enthusiasm to the composer. 

Wagner now took up his plan of the Nibelung Trilogy, that is the threeoperas and a prologue. Early in 1853 the poem in its new form wascomplete, and in February he sent a copy to Liszt, who answered: "Youare truly a wonderful man, and your Nibelung poem is surely the mostincredible thing you have ever done!"

So Wagner was impelled by the inner flame of creative fire, to workincessantly on the music of the great epic he had planned. And work hemust, in spite of grinding poverty and ill health. It was indeed to bethe "Music of the Future. "

After a brief visit to London, to conduct some concerts for the LondonPhilharmonic, Wagner was back again in Zurich, hard at work on the"Walküre, " the first opera of the three, as the "Rheingold" wasconsidered the introduction. By April 1856, the whole opera wasfinished and sent to Liszt for his opinion. Liszt and his greatfriend, Countess Wittgenstein, studied out the work together, and bothwrote glowing letters to the composer of the deep effect his musicmade upon them. 

And now came a halt in the composition of these tremendous musicdramas. Wagner realized that to produce such great works, a specialtheater should be built, of adaptable design. But from where would thefunds be forthcoming? While at work on the "Walküre, " the stories of"Tristan" and "Parsifal" had suggested themselves, and the plan ofthe first was already sketched. He wrote to Liszt: "As I have never inlife felt the bliss of real love, I must erect a monument to the mostbeautiful of all my dreams. " The first act of "Tristan and Isolde"was finished on the last day of the year 1857. In his retreat inSwitzerland, the composer longed for sympathetic, intellectualcompanionship, which, alas, Minna could not give him. He found it inthe society of Marie Wesendonck, wife of the kind friend and musiclover, who had aided him in many ways. This marked attention toanother aroused Minna's jealousy and an open break was imminent. Thestorm, however, blew over for a time. 

In June, 1858, Wagner was seized with a desire for luxury and quiet, and betook himself to Venice, where he wrote the second act of"Tristan. " Then came the trouble between Wagner and the Wesendonckswhich caused the composer to leave Zurich finally, on August 17, 1859. Minna returned to Dresden while Wagner went to Paris, where Minnajoined him for a time, before the last break came. 

What promised to be a wonderful stroke of good luck came to him here. His art was brought to the notice of the Emperor, Napoleon III, whorequested that one of his operas should be produced, promising carteblanche for funds. All might have gone well with music of the acceptedpattern. But "Tannhäuser" was different, its composer particular as towho sang and how it was done. The rehearsals went badly, an opposingfaction tried to drown the music at the first performance. Matterswere so much worse at the second performance that Wagner refused toallow it to proceed. In spite of the Emperor's promises, he had bornemuch of the expense, and left Paris in disgust, burdened with debt. 

From Paris Wagner went to Vienna, where he had the great happiness ofhearing his "Lohengrin" for the first time. He hoped to have "Tristan"brought out, but the music proved too difficult for the singers ofthat time to learn. After many delays and disappointments, the wholething was given up. Reduced now to the lowest ebb, Wagner planned aconcert tour to earn a living. Minna now left him finally; she couldno longer endure life with this "monster of genius. " She went back toher relatives in Leipsic, and passed away there in 1866. 

The concert tours extended over a couple of years, but broughtfew returns, except in Russia. Wagner became despondent and almostconvinced he ought to give up trying to be a composer. People calledhim a freak, a madman and ridiculed his efforts at music making. And yet, during all this troublesome time, he was at work on his onehumorous opera, "Die Meistersinger. " On this he toiled incessantly. 

And now, when he was in dire need, and suffering, a marvelous boon wascoming to him, as wonderful as any to be found in fairy tale. A fairyPrince was coming to the rescue of this struggling genius. This Princewas the young monarch of Bavaria, who had just succeeded to the throneleft by the passing of his father. The youthful Prince, ardent andgenerous, had long worshiped in secret the master and his music. One of his first acts on becoming Ludwig of Bavaria, was to send forWagner to come to his capital at once and finish his life work inpeace. "He wants me to be with him always, to work, to rest, toproduce my works, " wrote Wagner to a friend in Zurich, where he hadbeen staying. "He will give me everything I need; I am to finish myNibelungen and he will have them performed as I wish. All troublesare to be taken from me; I shall have what I need, if I only stay withhim. "

The King placed a pretty villa on Lake Starnberg, near Munich, atWagner's disposal, and there he spent the summer of 1864. The King'ssummer palace was quite near, and monarch and composer were muchtogether. In the autumn a residence in the quiet part of Munichwas set apart for Wagner. Hans von Bülow was sent for as one of theconductors; young Hans Richter lived in Munich and later became one ofthe most distinguished conductors of Wagner's music. 

The Bülows arrived in Munich in the early autumn, and almost at oncebegan the attraction of Mme. Cosima von Bülow and Wagner. She, the daughter of Liszt, was but twenty five, of deeply artistictemperament, and could understand the aims of the composer as noother woman had yet done. This ardent attraction led later to Cosima'sseparation from her husband and finally to her marriage with Wagner. 

The first of the Wagner Festivals under patronage of the King, tookplace in Munich June 10, 13, 19, and July 1, 1865. The work was"Tristan and Isolde, " perhaps the finest flower of Wagner's genius, and already eight years old. Von Bülow was a superb conductor andLudwig an inspired Tristan. Wagner was supremely happy. Alas, suchhappiness did not last. Enemies sprang up all about him. The Kinghimself could not stem the tide of false rumors, and besought thecomposer to leave Munich for a while, till public opinion calmeddown. So Wagner returned to his favorite Switzerland and settledin Triebschen, near Lucerne, where he remained till he removed toBayreuth in 1872. 

In 1866, the feeling against Wagner had somewhat declined and the Kingdecided to have model performances of "Tannhäuser" and "Lohengrin"at Munich. The Festival began June 11, 1867. The following year "DieMeistersinger" was performed--June 21, 1868. 

And now the King was eager to hear the "Ring. " It was not yet completebut the monarch could not wait and ordered "Das Rheingold, " theIntroduction to the Trilogy, to be prepared. It was poorly givenand was not a success. Not at all discouraged, he wished for "DieWalküre, " which was performed the following year, June 26, 1870. 

It had long been Wagner's desire to have a theater built, in which hiscreations could be properly given under his direction. Bayreuth hadbeen chosen, as a quiet spot where music lovers could come for thesole purpose of hearing the music. He went to live there withhis family in April, 1872. Two years later they moved into VillaWahnfried, which had been built according to the composer's ideas. Meanwhile funds were being raised on both sides of the water, throughthe Wagner Societies, to erect the Festival Theater. The corner stonewas laid on Wagner's birthday--his fifty-ninth--May 22, 1872. It wasplanned to give the first performances in the summer of 1876; by thattime Wagner's longed-for project became a reality. 

The long-expected event took place in August, 1876. The Festivalopened on the thirteenth with "Das Rheingold, " first of the Ring musicdramas. On the following night "Die Walküre" was heard; then came"Siegfried" and "Götterdämmerung, " the third and fourth dramas beingheard for the first time. Thus the Ring of the Nibelungen, on whichthe composer had labored for a quarter of a century at last founda hearing, listened to by Kings and Potentates, besides a mostdistinguished audience of musicians from all parts of the world. 

At last one of Wagner's dreams was realized and his new gospel of artvindicated. 

One music drama remained to be written--his last. Failing healthprevented the completion of the drama until 1882. The firstperformance of this noble work was given on July 26, followed byfifteen other hearings. After the exertions attending these, Wagnerand his wife, their son Siegfried, Liszt and other friends, went toItaly and occupied the Vendramin Palace, on the Grand Canal, Venice. Here he lived quietly and comfortably, surrounded by those he loved. His health failed more and more, the end coming February 13, 1883. 

Thus passed from sight one of the most astonishing musicians of alltime. He lives in his music more vitally than when his bodily presencewas on earth, since the world becomes more familiar with his music astime goes on. And to know this music is to admire and love it. 

XVII

CÉSAR FRANCK

Whatever we learn of César Franck endears him to all who would knowand appreciate the beautiful character which shines through his art. He was always kind, loving, tender, and these qualities are felt inthe music he composed. Some day we shall know his music better. It hasbeen said of this unique composer: "Franck is enamored of gentlenessand consolation; his music rolls into the soul in long waves, as onthe slack of a moonlit tide. It is tenderness itself. "

In Ličge, Belgium, it was that César Franck was born, December 10, 1822. Chopin had come a dozen years earlier, so had Schumann, Lisztand other gifted ones; it was a time of musical awakening. 

The country about Ličge was peculiarly French, not only in outwardappearance, but in language and sentiment. Here were low hills coveredwith pines and beeches, here charming valleys; there wide plainswhere the flowering broom flourished in profusion. It was the Wallooncountry, and the Francks claimed descent from a family of earlyWalloon painters of the same name. The earliest of these painters wasJérome Franck, born away back in 1540. Thus the name Franck had stoodfor art ideals during a period of more than two and a half centuries. 

When César and his brother were small children, the father, a manof stern and autocratic nature--a banker, with many friends in theartistic and musical world--decided to make both his sons professionalmusicians. 

His will had to be obeyed, there was no help for it. In the case ofCésar, however, a musician was what he most desired to become, so thatmusic study was always a delight. 

Before he was quite eleven years old, his father took him on a tour ofBelgium. It looked then as though he had started on a virtuoso career, as the wonder children--Mozart, Chopin, Thalberg, Liszt and others whohad preceded him, had done. The future proved, however, that César'slife work was to be composing, teaching and organ playing, with aquiet life, even in busy Paris, instead of touring the world to makeknown his gifts. 

During this youthful tour of Belgium, he met a child artist, a yearor two older than himself, a singer, also touring as a virtuoso. Thelittle girl was called Pauline Garcia, who later became famous as Mme. Pauline Viardot Garcia. 

When César was twelve he had learned what they could teach him atthe Ličge Conservatory, and finished his studies there. His father, ambitious for the musical success of his sons, emigrated withhis family to Paris, in 1836. César applied for entrance to theConservatoire, but it was not until the following year, 1837, that hegained admission, joining Leborne's class in composition, and becomingZimmermann's pupil in piano playing. At the end of the year the boywon a prize for a fugue he had written. In piano he chose Hummel'sConcerto in A minor for his test, and played it off in fine style. When it came to sight reading, he suddenly elected to transpose thepiece selected a third below the key in which it was written, which hewas able to do at sight, without any hesitation or slip. 

Such a feat was unheard of and quite against the time-honored rules ofcompetition. And to think it had been performed by an audaciousslip of a boy of fifteen! The aged Director, none other than MaestroCherubini, was shocked out of the even tenor of his way, and declaredthat a first prize could not be awarded, although he must haverealized the lad deserved it. To make amends, however, he proposeda special award to the audacious young pianist, outside the regularcompetition, to be known as "The Grand Prize of Honor. " This was thefirst time, and so far as is known, the only time such a prize hasbeen awarded. 

César Franck won his second prize for fugue composition in 1839. Fuguewriting had become so natural and easy for him, that he was able tofinish his task in a fraction of the time allotted by the examiners. When he returned home several hours before the other students hadfinished, his father reproached him roundly for not spending more timeon the test upon which so much depended. With his quiet smile the boyanswered he thought the result would be all right. And it was! Thenext year he again secured the first prize for fugue; this was in July1840. The year following he entered the organ contest, which was asurprise to the examiners. 

The tests for organ prizes have always been four. First, theaccompaniment of a plain chant, chosen for the occasion; second, theperformance of an organ piece with pedals; third, the improvising ofa fugue; fourth, improvising a piece in sonata form. Both theimprovisations to be on themes set by the examiners. César at oncenoticed that the two themes could be combined in such a way that onewould set off the other. He set to work, and soon became so absorbedin this interweaving of melodies that the improvisation extended tounaccustomed lengths, which bewildered the examiners and they decidedto award nothing to such a tiresome boy. Benoist, teacher of thisingenious pupil, explained matters with the result that César wasawarded a second prize for organ. 

He now began to prepare for the highest honor, the Prix de Rome. Buthere parental authority interfered. For some unexplained reason, hisfather compelled him to leave the Conservatoire before the year wasup. It may have been the father desired to see his son become a famousvirtuoso pianist and follow the career of Thalberg and Liszt. At anyrate he insisted his boy should make the most of his talents as aperformer and should also compose certain pieces suitable for publicplaying. To this period of his life belong many of the compositionsfor piano solo, the showy caprices, fantaisies and transcriptions. Being obliged to write this kind of music, the young composer soughtfor new forms in fingering and novel harmonic effects, even in hismost insignificant productions. Thus among the early piano works, theEclogue, Op. 3, and the Ballade, Op. 9, are to be found innovationswhich should attract the pianist and musician of to-day. 

His very first compositions, a set of three Trios, Op. 1, werecomposed while he was still at the Conservatoire, and his fatherwished them dedicated "To His Majesty, Leopold I, King of theBelgians. " He wished to secure an audience with the King and have hisson present the composition to his Majesty in person. It may havebeen for this reason he withdrew the boy so suddenly from theConservatoire. However this may have been, the Franck family returnedto Belgium for two years. At the end of that time, they all returnedto Paris, with almost no other resources than those earned by thetwo young sons, Josef and César, by private teaching and concertengagements. 

And now began for César Franck that life of regular and tirelessindustry, which lasted nearly half a century. This industry wasexpressed in lesson-giving and composing. 

One of the first works written after his return to Paris, was amusical setting to the Biblical story of "Ruth. " The work was givenin the concert room of the Conservatoire, on January 4, 1846, when theyouthful composer was twenty-three. The majority of the criticsfound little to praise in the music, which, they said, was but a poorimitation of "Le Desert, " by David. One critic, more kindly disposedthan the others, said: "M. César Franck is exceedingly naďve, and thissimplicity we must confess, has served him well in the composition ofhis sacred oratorio of 'Ruth. '" A quarter of a century later, a secondperformance of "Ruth" was given, and the same critic wrote: "It isa revelation! This score, which recalls by its charm and melodicsimplicity Mehul's 'Joseph, ' but with more tenderness and modernfeeling, is certainly a masterpiece. "

But alas, hard times came upon the Franck family. The rich pupils, whoformed the young men's chief clientčle, all left Paris, alarmed by theforebodings of the revolution of 1848. Just at this most inopportunemoment, César decided to marry. He had been in love for some timewith a young actress, the daughter of a well-known tragedienne, MadameDesmousseaux, and did not hesitate to marry in the face of bad timesand the opposition of his parents, who strongly objected to hisbringing a theatrical person into the family. 

César Franck was then organist in the church of Notre Dame de Lorette, and the marriage took place there, February 22, 1848, in the verythick of the revolution. Indeed, to reach the church, the weddingparty were obliged to climb a barricade, helped over by theinsurgents, who were massed behind this particular fortification. 

Soon after the wedding, Franck, having now lost his pupils--or mostof them--and being continually blamed by his father, whom he could nolonger supply with funds, decided to leave the parental roof and setup for himself in a home of his own. Of course he had now to worktwice as hard, get new pupils and give many more lessons. But with allthis extra labor, he made a resolve, which he always kept sacredly, which was to reserve an hour or two each day for composition, or forthe study of such musical and literary works as would improve andelevate his mind. Nothing was ever allowed to interfere with thisresolution, and to it we owe all his great works. 

Franck made his first attempt at a dramatic work in 1851, with alibretto entitled "The Farmer's Man. " As he must keep constantly athis teaching during the day, he devoted the greater part of the nightto composition. He worked so hard that the opera, begun in December1851, was finished in two years, but he paid dearly for all this extralabor. He fell ill--a state of nervous prostration--and was unable forsome time to compose at all. 

It was indeed a time of shadows for the young musician, but the skiesbrightened after a while. He had the great good fortune to secure thepost of organist and choir master in the fine new basilica of SainteClothilde, which had lately been erected, and which had an organthat was indeed a masterpiece. This wonderful instrument kept all itsfulness of tone and freshness of timbre after fifty years of use. "Ifyou only knew how I love this instrument, " Father Franck used to sayto the curé of Sainte Clothilde; "it is so supple beneath my fingersand so obedient to all my thoughts. "

As Vincent d'Indy, one of Franck's most gifted and famous pupils, writes:

"Here, in the dusk of this organ-loft, which I can never think ofwithout emotion, he spent the best part of his life. Here he cameevery Sunday and feast day--and toward the end of his life, everyFriday morning too, fanning the fire of his genius by pouring out hisspirit in wonderful improvisations, which were often far more lofty inthought than many skilfully elaborated compositions. And here, too, he must have conceived the sublime melodies which afterward formed thegroundwork of his 'Beatitudes. '"

"Ah, we knew it well, we who were his pupils, the way up to thatthrice-blessed organ loft, a way as steep and difficult as that whichthe Gospels tell us leads to Paradise. But when we at last reached thelittle organ chamber, all was forgotten in the contemplation of thatrapt profile, the intellectual brow, from which seemed to flow withouteffort a stream of inspired melody and subtle, exquisite harmonies. "

César Franck was truly the genius of improvisation. It is said noother modern organist, not excepting the most renowned players, couldhold any comparison to him in this respect. Whether he played for theservice, for his pupils or for some chosen musical guest, Franck'simprovisations were always thoughtful and full of feeling. It was amatter of conscience to do his best always. "And his best was a sane, noble, sublime art. "

For the next ten years Franck worked and lived the quiet life of ateacher and organist; his compositions during this time were organpieces and church music. But a richer inner life was the outgrowth ofthis period of calm, which was to blossom into new, deeper and moreprofoundly beautiful compositions. 

One of these new works was "The Beatitudes. " For years he had had thelonging to compose a religious work on the Sermon on the Mount. In1869, he set to work on the poem, and when that was well under way, began to create, with great ardor, the musical setting. 

In the very midst of this absorbing work came the Franco-Prussian war, and many of his pupils must enter the conflict, in one way or another. Then early in 1872, he was appointed Professor of Organ at theConservatoire, which was an honor he appreciated. 

The same year, while occupied with the composition of the"Beatitudes, " he wrote and completed his "Oratorio of the Redemption. "After this he devoted six years to the finishing of the "Beatitudes, "which occupied ten years of his activity, as it was completed in 1879. A tardy recognition of his genius by the Government granted him thepurple ribbon as officer of the Academy, while not until five or sixyears later did he receive the ribbon of a Chevalier of the Legion ofHonor. 

In consequence of this event his pupils and friends raised a fundto cover expenses of a concert devoted entirely to the master'scompositions. These works were given--conducted by Pasdeloup:Symphonic Poem--"Le Chasseur Maudit, " Symphonic Variations, pianoand orchestra, Second Part of "Ruth. " Part II was conducted by thecomposer and consisted of March and Air de Ballet, with chorus, from"Hulda" and the Third and Eighth Beatitudes. 

The Franck Festival occurred January 30, 1887, and was not a veryinspiring performance. The artist pupils of the master voiced to himtheir disappointment that his works should not have been more worthilyperformed. But he only smiled on them and comforted them with thewords: "No, no, you are too exacting, dear boys; for my part I amquite satisfied. "

No wonder his pupils called him "Father Franck, " for he was ever kind, sympathetic and tender with them all. 

During the later years of César Franck's earthly existence, heproduced several masterpieces. Among them the Violin Sonata, composedfor Eugene and Théophile Ysaye, the D minor Symphony, the StringQuartet, the two remarkable piano pieces, Prelude, Chorale and Fugue, Prelude, Aria and Finale, and finally the Three Chorales for organ, his swan song. His health gradually declined, due to overwork and anaccident, and he passed quietly away, November 8, 1890. 

Chabrier, who only survived Franck a few years, ended his touchingremarks at the grave with these words:

"Farewell, master, and take our thanks, for you have done well. In youwe salute one of the greatest artists of the century, the incomparableteacher, whose wonderful work has produced a whole generation offorceful musicians and thinkers, armed at all points for hard-foughtand prolonged conflicts. We salute, also, the upright and just man, so humane, so distinguished, whose counsel was sure, as his words werekind. Farewell!"

XVIII

JOHANNES BRAHMS

It has been truly said that great composers cannot be compared onewith another. Each is a solitary star, revolving in his own orbit. For instance it is impossible to compare Wagner and Brahms; the formercould not have written the German Requiem or the four Symphonies anymore than Brahms could have composed "Tristan. " In the combination ofarts which Wagner fused into a stupendous whole, he stands without arival. But Brahms is also a mighty composer in his line of effort, for he created music that continually grows in beauty as it is betterknown. 

Johannes Brahms was born in Hamburg, May 7, 1833. The house at 60Speckstrasse still stands, and doubtless looks much as it did seventyyears ago. A locality of dark, narrow streets with houses tall andgabled and holding as many families as possible. Number 60 stands ina dismal court, entered by a close narrow passage. A steep woodenstaircase in the center, used to have gates, closed at night. Jakob and Johanna lived in the first floor dwelling to the left. Itconsisted of a sort of lobby or half kitchen, a small living roomand a tiny sleeping closet--nothing else. In this and other smalltenements like it, the boy's early years were spent. It certainly wasan ideal case of low living and high thinking. 

The Brahms family were musical but very poor in this world's goods. The father was a contra bass player in the theater; he often had toplay in dance halls and beer gardens, indeed where he could. Later hebecame a member of the band that gave nightly concerts at the AlsterPavillion. The mother, much older than her husband, tried to help outthe family finances by keeping a little shop where needles and threadwere sold. 

Little Johannes, or Hannes as he was called, was surrounded from hisearliest years by a musical atmosphere, and must have shown a greatdesire to study music. We learn that his father took him to OttoCossel, to arrange for piano lessons. Hannes was seven years old, paleand delicate looking, fair, with blue eyes and a mass of flaxen hair. The father said:

"Herr Cossel, I wish my son to become your pupil; he wants so muchto learn the piano. When he can play as well as you do it will beenough. "

Hannes was docile, eager and quick to learn. He had a wonderful memoryand made rapid progress. In three years a concert was arranged forhim, at which he played in chamber music with several other musiciansof Hamburg. The concert was both a financial and artistic success. Notlong after this, Cossel induced Edward Marxsen, a distinguished masterand his own teacher, to take full charge of the lad's further musicaltraining. Hannes was about twelve at the time. 

Marxsen's interest in the boy's progress increased from week to week, as he realized his talents. "One day I gave him a composition ofWeber's, " he says. "The next week he played it to me so blamelesslythat I praised him. 'I have also practised it in another way, ' heanswered, and played me the right hand part with the left hand. " Partof the work of the lessons was to transpose long pieces at sight;later on Bach's Preludes and Fugues were done in the same way. 

Jakob Brahms, who as we have seen was in very poor circumstances, wasready to exploit Hannes' gift whenever occasion offered. He had theboy play in the band concerts in the Alster Pavillion, which areamong the daily events of the city's popular life, as all know who areacquainted with Hamburg, and his shillings earned in this and similarways, helped out the family's scanty means. But late hours began totell on the boy's health. His father begged a friend of his, a wealthypatron of music, to take the lad to his summer home, in return forwhich he would play the piano at any time of day desired and givemusic lessons to the young daughter of the family, a girl of about hisown age. 

Thus it came about that early in May, 1845, Hannes had his first tasteof the delights of the country. He had provided himself with a smalldumb keyboard, to exercise his fingers upon. Every morning, after hehad done what was necessary in the house, Hannes was sent afield bythe kind mistress of the household, and told not to show himself tilldinner time. Perhaps the good mistress did not know that Hannes hadenjoyed himself out of doors hours before. He used to rise at fouro'clock and begin his day with a bath in the river. Shortly after thisthe little girl, Lischen, would join him and they would spend a coupleof hours rambling about, looking for bird's nests, hunting butterfliesand picking wild flowers. Hannes' pale cheeks soon became plump andruddy, as the result of fresh air and country food. Musical workwent right on as usual. Studies in theory and composition, begun withMarxsen, were pursued regularly in the fields and woods all summer. 

When the summer was over and all were back in Hamburg again, Lischenused to come sometimes to Frau Brahms, of whom she soon grew veryfond. But it troubled her tender heart to see the poor little flat sodark and dreary; for even the living room had but one small window, looking into the cheerless courtyard. She felt very sorry for herfriends, and proposed to Hannes they should bring some scarlet runnersto be planted in the court. He fell in with the idea at once and itwas soon carried out. But alas, when the children had done their part, the plants refused to grow. 

Johannes had returned home much improved in health, and able to playin several small concerts, where his efforts commanded attention. The winter passed uneventfully, filled with severe study by day andequally hard labor at night in playing for the "lokals. " But the nextsummer in Winsen brought the country and happiness once more. 

Hannes began to be known as a musician among the best families ofWinsen, and often played in their homes. He also had the chance toconduct a small chorus of women's voices, called the Choral Society ofWinsen. He was expected to turn his theoretical studies to account bycomposing something for this choir. It was for them he produced his"A B C" song for four parts, using the letters of the alphabet. Thecomposition ended with the words "Winsen, eighteen-hundred seven andforty, " sung slowly and fortissimo. The little piece was tuneful andwas a great favorite with the teachers, from that day to this. 

The boy had never heard an opera. During the summer, when Carl Formes, then of Vienna, was making a sensation in Hamburg, Lischen got herfather to secure places and take them. The opera was the "Marriageof Figaro. " Hannes was almost beside himself with delight. "Lischen, listen to the music! there was never anything like it, " he cried overand over again. The father, seeing it gave so much pleasure, took thechildren again to hear another opera, to their great delight. 

But the happy summer came to an end and sadness fell, to thinkJohannes must leave them, for he had found many kind friends inWinsen. He was over fifteen now and well knew he must make his way asa musician, help support the family, and pay for the education of hisbrother Fritz, who was to become a pianist and teacher. There was afarewell party made for him in Winsen, at which there was much music, speech making and good wishes for his future success and for hisreturn to Winsen whenever he could. 

Johannes made his new start by giving a concert of his own onSeptember 21, 1848. The tickets for this concert were one mark; hehad the assistance of some Hamburg musicians. In April next, 1849, heannounced a second concert, for which the tickets were two marks. Atthis he played the Beethoven "Waldstein Sonata, " and the brilliant"Don Juan Fantaisie. " These two works were considered about the topof piano virtuosity. Meanwhile the boy was always composing and stillwith his teacher Marxsen. 

The political revolution of 1848, was the cause of many refugeescrowding into Hamburg on their way to America. One of these was theviolinist, Edward Remenyi, a German Hungarian Jew, whose real namewas Hofmann. But it seemed Remenyi was really in no haste to leaveHamburg. Johannes, engaged as accompanist at the house of a wealthypatron, met the violinist and was fascinated by his rendering ofnational Hungarian music. Remenyi, on his side, saw the advantage ofhaving such an accompanist for his own use. So it happened the twoplayed together frequently for a time, until the violinist disappearedfrom Germany, for several years. He reappeared in Hamburg at the closeof the year 1852. He was then twenty-two, while Brahms was nineteen. It was suggested that the two musicians should do a little concertwork together. They began to plan out the trip which became quitea tour by the time they had included all the places they wished tovisit. 

The tour began at Winsen, then came Cella. Here a curious thinghappened. The piano proved to be a half tone below pitch, but Brahmswas equal to the dilemma. Requesting Remenyi to tune his violin ahalf tone higher, making it a whole tone above the piano, he then, at sight, transposed the Beethoven Sonata they were to play. It wasreally a great feat, but Johannes performed it as though it were anevery day affair. 

The next place was Luneburg and there the young musician had suchsuccess that a second concert was at once announced. Two were nextgiven at Hildesheim. Then came Leipsic, Hanover and after that Weimer, where Franz Liszt and his retinue of famous pupils held court. HereJohannes became acquainted with Raff, Klindworth, Mason, Prükner andother well-known musicians. 

By this time his relations with Remenyi had become somewhat irksomeand strained and he decided to break off this connection. One morninghe suddenly left Weimar, and traveled to Göttingen. There he metJoseph Joachim, whom he had long wished to know, and who was thereigning violinist of his time. Without any announcement, Johanneswalked in on the great artist, and they became fast friends almostat once. Joachim had never known what it was to struggle; he had hadsuccess from the very start; life had been one long triumph, whereasJohannes had come from obscurity and had been reared in privation. Atthis time Johannes was a fresh faced boy, with long fair hair and deepearnest blue eyes. Wüllner, the distinguished musician of Cologne, thus describes him: "Brahms, at twenty, was a slender youth, withlong blond hair and a veritable St. John's head, from whose eyes shoneenergy and spirit. "

Johannes was at this time deeply engaged on his piano Sonata in Fminor, Op. 5. He had already written two other piano sonatas, as yetlittle known. The Op. 5, is now constantly heard in concert rooms, played by the greatest artists of our time. 

In disposition Hannes was kindly and sincere; as a youth merry andgay. A friend in Düsseldorf, where he now spent four weeks, thusdescribes him:

"He was a most unusual looking young musician, hardly more than a boy, in his short summer coat, with his high-pitched voice and long fairhair. Especially fine was his energetic, characteristic mouth, and hisearnest, deep gaze. His constitution was thoroughly healthy; the moststrenuous mental exercise hardly fatigued him and he could go to sleepat any hour of the day he pleased. He was apt to be full of pranks, too. At the piano he dominated by his characteristic, powerful, andwhen necessary, extraordinarily tender playing. " Schumann, whom he nowcame to know in Düsseldorf, called him the "young eagle--one of theelect. " In fact Schumann, in his musical journal, praised the youngmusician most highly. And his kindness did not stop there. He wrote toHannes' father, Jakob Brahms, in Hamburg, commending in glowing termshis son's compositions. This letter was sent to Johannes and theresult was the offering of some of his compositions to Breitkopf andHärtel for publication. He had already written two Sonatas, a Scherzo, and a Sonata for piano and violin. The Sonata in C, now known as Op. I, although not his first work, was the one in which he introducedhimself to the public. For, as he said: "When one first shows one'sself, it is to the head and not to the heels that one wishes to drawattention. "

Johannes made his first appearance in Leipsic, as pianist andcomposer, at one of the David Quartet Concerts, at which he played hisC major Sonata and the Scherzo. His success was immediate, and as aresult, he was able to secure a second publisher for his Sonata Op. 5. 

And now, after months of traveling, playing in many towns and meetingwith many musicians and distinguished people, Johannes turned hissteps toward Hamburg, and was soon in the bosom of the home circle. It is easy to imagine the mother's joy, for Hannes had always been theapple of her eye, and she had kept her promise faithfully, to writehim a letter every week. But who shall measure the father's pride andsatisfaction to have his boy return a real musical hero?

The concert journey just completed was the bridge over which JohannesBrahms passed from youth to manhood. With the opening year of 1854, hemay be said to enter the portals of a new life. 

He now betook himself to Hanover, to be near his devoted friendJoachim, plunged into work and was soon absorbed in the compositionof his B major Piano Trio. Later Schumann and his charming wife, thepianist, came to Hanover for a week's visit, which was the occasionfor several concerts in which Brahms, Joachim and Clara Schumann tookpart. Soon after this Schumann's health failed and he was removed toa sanatorium. In sympathy for the heavy trial now to be borne by ClaraSchumann, both young artists came to Düsseldorf, to be near the wifeof their adored master, Robert Schumann. There they remained and bytheir encouragement so lifted the spirits of Frau Clara that she wasable to resume her musical activities. 

Johann had been doing some piano teaching when not occupied withcomposition. But now, on the advice of his musical friends, he decidedto try his luck again as a concert pianist. He began by joining FrauClara and Joachim in a concert at Danzig. Each played solos. Johann'swere Bach's "Chromatic Fantaisie" and several manuscript pieces ofhis own. After this the young artist went his own way. He played withsuccess in Bremen, also in Hamburg. It is said he was always nervousbefore playing, but especially so in his home city. However all passedoff well. He now settled definitely in Hamburg, making musical tripsto other places when necessary. 

Robert Schumann rallied for a while from his severe malady, and hopeswere held out of his final recovery. Frau Clara, having her littlefamily to support, resumed her concert playing in good earnest, andappeared with triumphant success in Vienna, London and many othercities. When possible Brahms and Joachim accompanied her. ThenSchumann's malady took an unfavorable turn. When the end was near, Brahms and Frau Clara went to Endenich and were with the master tillall was over. On July 31, 1856, a balmy summer evening, the mortalremains of the great composer were laid to rest in the little cemeteryat Bonn, on the Rhine. The three chief mourners were: Brahms--whocarried a laurel wreath from the wife--Joachim and Dietrich. 

Frau Schumann returned to Düsseldorf the next day, accompanied byBrahms and Joachim. Together they set in order the papers left by thecomposer, and assisted the widow in many little ways. A little latershe went to Switzerland to recover her strength, accompanied byBrahms and his sister Elise. A number of weeks were spent in rest andrecuperation. By October the three musicians were ready to take uptheir ordinary routine again. Frau Clara began practising for herconcert season, Joachim returned to his post in Hanover, and Johannturned his face toward Hamburg, giving some concerts on the way, inwhich he achieved pronounced success. 

The season of 1856-7, was passed uneventfully by Brahms, in composing, teaching and occasional journeys. He may be said to have had fourhomes, besides that of his parents in Hamburg. In Düsseldorf, Hanover, Göttingen and Bonn he had many friends and was always welcome. 

It may be asked why Brahms, who had the faculty of endearing himselfso warmly to his friends, never married. It is true he sometimesdesired to found a home of his own, but in reality the mistress ofhis absorbing passion was his art, to which everything else remainedsecondary. He never swerved a hair's breadth from this devotion tocreative art, but accepted poverty, disappointment, loneliness andoften failure in the eyes of the world, for the sake of this, his truelove. 

Johannes was now engaged as conductor of a Choral Society in Detmold, also as Court Pianist and teacher in the royal family. The postcarried with it free rooms and living, and he was lodged at the HotelStadt Frankfort, a comfortable inn, exactly opposite the Castle, andthus close to the scene of his new labors. 

He began his duties by going through many short choral works of theolder and modern masters. With other musicians at Court much chambermusic was played, in fact almost the entire repertoire. The youngmusician soon became a favorite at Court, not only on account of hismusical genius but also because of the general culture of his mind. He could talk on almost any subject. "Whoever wishes to play well mustnot only practise a great deal but read many books, " was one of hisfavorite sayings. One of his friends said, of meetings in Brahms'rooms at night, when his boon companions reveled in music: "And howBrahms loved the great masters! How he played Haydn and Mozart! Withwhat beauty of interpretation and delicate shading of tone. And thenhis transposing!" Indeed Johann thought nothing of taking up a newcomposition and playing it in _any_ key, without a mistake. His scorereading was marvelous. Bach, Handel, Mozart, Haydn, all seemed to flownaturally from under his fingers. 

The post in Detmold only required Brahms' presence a part of the year, but he was engaged for a term of years. The other half of the yearwas spent in Hamburg, where he resumed his activities of composing andteaching. The summer after his first winter in Detmold was spentin Göttingen with warm friends. Clara Schumann was there with herchildren, and Johann was always one of the family--as a son to her. He was a famous playfellow for the children, too. About this timehe wrote a book of charming Children's Folk Songs, dedicated to thechildren of Robert and Clara Schumann. Johann was occupied with hisPiano Concerto in D minor. His method of working was somewhat likeBeethoven's, as he put down his ideas in notebooks. Later on he formedthe habit of keeping several compositions going at once. 

The prelude to Johann's artistic life was successfully completed. Thencame a period of quiet study and inward growth. A deeper activity wasto succeed. It opened early in the year 1859, when the young musiciantraveled to Hanover and Leipsic, bringing out his Concerto in D minor. He performed it in the first named city, while Joachim conducted theorchestra. It was said the work "with all its serious striving, its rejection of the trivial, its skilled instrumentation, seemeddifficult to understand; but the pianist was considered not merely avirtuoso but a great artist of piano playing. "

The composer had now to hurry to Leipsic, as he was to play with thefamous Gewandhaus orchestra. How would Leipsic behave towards this newand serious music? Johann was a dreamer, inexperienced in the waysof the world; he was an idealist--in short, a genius gifted with an"imagination, profound, original and romantic. " The day after theconcert he wrote Joachim he had made a brilliant and decided failure. However he was not a whit discouraged by the apathy of the Leipsigerstoward his new work. He wrote: "The Concerto will please some day, when I have made some improvements, and a second shall sound quitedifferent. "

It has taken more than half a century to establish the favor of theConcerto, which still continues on upward wing. The writer heard thecomposer play this Concerto in Berlin, toward the end of his life. He made an unforgettable figure, as he sat at the piano with his longhair and beard, turning to gray; and while his technic was not ofthe virtuoso type, he created a powerful impression by his vividinterpretation. 

After these early performances of the Concerto, Johann returnedto Hamburg, to his composing and teaching. He, however, played theConcerto in his native city on a distinguished occasion, when Joachimwas a soloist in Spohr's Gesang-Scene, Stockhausen in a magnificentAria, and then Johann, pale, blond, slight, but calm and selfcontrolled. The Concerto scored a considerable success at last, andthe young composer was content. 

In the autumn of this year, Johann paid his third visit to Detmold, and found himself socially as well as musically the fashion. It wasthe correct thing to have lessons from him and his presence gavedistinction to any assemblage. But Johann did not wish to waste histime at social functions; when obliged to be present at some of theseevents he would remain silent the entire evening, or else say sharpor biting things, making the hosts regret they had asked him. Hisrelations with the Court family, however, remained very pleasant. Yet he began to chafe under the constant demands on his time, and therigid etiquette of the little Court. The next season he definitelydeclined the invitation to revisit Detmold, the reason given was thathe had not the time, as he was supervising the publication of a numberof his works. Brahms had become interested in writing for the voice, and had already composed any number of beautiful vocal solos and partsongs. 

We are told that Frau Schumann, Joachim and Stockhausen camefrequently to Hamburg during the season of 1861, and all three mademuch of Johannes. All four gave concerts together, and Johannes tookpart in a performance of Schumann's beautiful Andante and Variations, for two pianos, while Stockhausen sang entrancingly Beethoven'sLove Songs, accompanied by Brahms. On one occasion Brahms played hisVariations on a Handel Theme, "another magnificent work, splendidlylong, the stream of ideas flowing inexhaustibly. And the work waswonderfully played by the composer; it seemed like a miracle. Thecomposition is so difficult that none but a great artist can attemptit. " So wrote a listener at the time. That was in 1861. We know thiswonderful work in these days, for all the present time artists performit. At each of Frau Schumann's three appearances in Hamburg during theautumn of this year, she performed one of Brahms' larger compositions;one of them was the Handel Variations. 

Although one time out of ten Johann might be taciturn or sharp, the other nine he would be agreeable, always pleased--good humored, satisfied, like a child with children. Every one liked his earnestnature, his gaiety and humor. 

Johann had had a great longing to see Vienna, the home of so manygreat musicians; but felt that when the right time came, the way wouldopen. And it did. Early in September, 1862, he wrote a friend: "I amleaving on Monday, the eighth, for Vienna. I look forward to it like achild. "

He felt at home in Vienna from the start, and very soon met theleading lights of the Austrian capital. On November 16, he gave hisfirst concert, with the Helmesberger Quartet, and before a crowdedhouse. It was a real success for "Schumann's young prophet. " Althoughconcert giving was distasteful, he appeared again on December 20, andthen gave a second concert on January 6, 1863, when he played Bach'sChromatic Fantaisie, Beethoven's Variations in C minor, his own SonataOp. 5, and Schumann's Sonata OP. 11. 

Johann returned home in May, and shortly after was offered the postof Conductor of the Singakademie, which had just become vacant. He hadmany plans for the summer, but finally relinquished them and sent anacceptance. By the last of August he was again in Vienna. 

Now followed years of a busy musical life. Brahms made hisheadquarters in Vienna, and while there did much composing. Thewonderful Piano Quintette, one of his greatest works, the GermanRequiem, the Cantata Rinaldo and many beautiful songs came into beingduring this period. Every little while concert tours and musicaljourneys were undertaken, where Brahms often combined with otherartists in giving performances of his compositions. A series of threeconcerts in Vienna in February and March, 1869, given by Brahms andStockhausen, were phenomenally successful, the tickets being soldas soon as the concerts were announced. The same series was given inBudapest with equal success. 

Early in the year 1872, when our composer was nearly forty, we findhim installed in the historic rooms in the third floor of Number 4Carl's Gasse, Vienna, which were to remain to the end of his lifethe nearest approach to an establishment of his own. There were threesmall rooms. The largest contained his grand piano, writing table, asofa with another table in front of it. The composer was stillsmooth of face and looked much as he did at twenty, judging from hispictures. It was not until several years later, about 1880, thathe was adorned by the long heavy beard, which gave his face such avenerable appearance. 

The year 1874, was full of varied excitement. Many invitationswere accepted to conduct his works in North Germany, the Rhine, Switzerland, and other countries. A tour in Holland in 1876, broughtreal joy. He played his D minor Concerto in Utrecht and other cities, conducted his works and was everywhere received with honors. But thegreatest event of this year was the appearance of his first Symphony. It was performed for the first time from manuscript in Carlsruhe andlater in many other cities. In this work "Brahms' close affinity withBeethoven must become clear to every musician, who has not alreadyperceived it, " wrote Hanslick, the noted critic. 

We have now to observe the unwearied energy with which Brahms, duringthe years that followed added one after another to his list, in eachand every branch of serious music; songs, vocal duets, choral andinstrumental works. In the summer of 1877 came the Second Symphony. In1879 appeared the great Violin Concerto, now acclaimed as one of thefew masterpieces for that instrument. It was performed by Joachim atthe Gewandhaus, Leipsic, early in the year. There were already fourSonatas for Piano and Violin. The Sonata in G, the Rhapsodies Op. 79and the third and fourth books of Hungarian Dances, as duets, were thepublications of 1880. He now wrote a new Piano Concerto, in B flat, which he played in Stuttgart for the first time, November 22, 1881. In1883 the Third Symphony appeared, which revealed him at the zenith ofhis powers. This work celebrated his fiftieth birthday. 

The Fourth Symphony was completed during the summer of 1885. Then camethe Gipsy Songs. 

From 1889 onward, Brahms chose for his summer sojourn the town ofIschl, in the Salzkammergut. The pretty cottage where he stayed wason the outskirts of the town, near the rushing river Traun. He alwaysdined at the "Keller" of the Hotel Elizabeth, which was reached bya flight of descending steps. In this quiet country, among mountain, valley and stream, he could compose at ease and also see his friendsat the end of the day. 

A visit to Italy in the spring of 1890, afforded rest, refreshment andmany pleasant incidents. 

The "Four Serious Songs, " were published in the summer of 1896. Atthis time Brahms had been settled in his rooms at Ischl scarcely afortnight when he was profoundly shaken by news of Clara Schumann'sdeath. She passed peacefully away in Frankfort, and was laid besideher husband, in Bonn, May 24. Brahms was present, together with manymusicians and celebrities. 

The master felt this loss keenly. He spent the summer in Ischl asusual, composing, among other things, the Eleven Choral Preludes. Mostof these have death for their subject, showing that his mind was takenup with the idea. His friends noticed he had lost his ruddy color andthat his complexion was pale. In the autumn he went to Carlsbad forthe cure. 

After six weeks he returned to Vienna, but not improved, as he hadbecome very thin and walked with faltering step. He loved to be withhis friends, the Fellingers, as much as possible, as well as withother friends. He spent Christmas eve with them, and dined there thenext day. From this time on he grew worse. He was very gentle the lastmonths of his life, and touchingly grateful for every attention shownhim. Every evening he would place himself at the piano and improvisefor half an hour. When too fatigued to continue, he would sit at thewindow till long after darkness had fallen. He gradually grew weakertill he passed peacefully away, April 3, 1897. 

The offer of an honorary grave was made by the city of Vienna, andhe has found resting place near Beethoven and Mozart, just as he hadwished. 

Memorial tablets have been placed on the houses in which Brahms livedin Vienna, Ischl and Thun, also on the house of his birth, in Hamburg. 

XIX

EDWARD GRIEG

 "_From every point of view Grieg is one of the most original geniuses in the musical world of the present or past. His songs are a mine of melody, surpassed in wealth only by Schubert, and that only because there are more of Schubert's. In originality of harmony and modulation he has only six equals. Bach, Schubert, Chopin, Schumann, Wagner and Liszt. In rhythmic invention and combination he is inexhaustible, and as orchestrator he ranks among the most fascinating_. "

 HENRY T. FINCK

Edward Hargarup Grieg, "the Chopin of the North, " was a uniquepersonality, as well as an exceptional musician and composer. Whilenot a "wonder child, " in the sense that Mozart, Chopin and Liszt were, he early showed his love for music and his rapt enjoyment of the musicof the home circle. Fortunately he lived and breathed in a musicalatmosphere from his earliest babyhood. His mother was a fine musicianand singer herself, and with loving care she fostered the desire forit and the early studies of it in her son. She was his first teacher, for she kept up her own musical studies after her marriage, andcontinued to appear in concerts in Bergen, where the family lived. Little Edward, one of five children, seemed to inherit the mother'smusical talent and had vivid recollections of the rhythmic animationand spirit with which she played the works of Weber, who was one ofher favorite composers. 

The piano was a world of mystery to the sensitive musical child. Hisbaby fingers explored the white keys to see what they sounded like. When he found two notes together, forming an interval of a third, theypleased him better than one alone. Afterwards three keys as a triad, were better yet, and when he could grasp a chord of four or five toneswith both hands, he was overjoyed. Meanwhile there was much music tohear. His mother practised daily herself, and entertained her musicalfriends in weekly soirées. Here the best classics were performed withzeal and true feeling, while little Edward listened and absorbed musicin every pore. 

When he was six years old piano lessons began. Mme. Grieg proved astrict teacher, who did not allow any trifling; the dreamy child foundhe could not idle away his time. As he wrote later: "Only too soon itbecame clear to me I had to practise just what was unpleasant. Had Inot inherited my mother's irrepressible energy as well as her musicalcapacity, I should never have succeeded in passing from dreams todeeds. "

But dreams were turned into deeds before long, for the child tried toset down on paper the little melodies that haunted him. It is said hebegan to do this at the age of nine. A really serious attempt wasmade when he was twelve or thirteen. This was a set of variations forpiano, on a German melody. He brought it to school one day to show oneof the boys. The teacher caught sight of it and reprimanded the youngcomposer soundly, for thus idling his time. It seems that in school hewas fond of dreaming away the hours, just as he did at the piano. 

The truth was that school life was very unsympathetic to him, very narrow and mechanical, and it is no wonder that he took everyopportunity to escape and play truant. He loved poetry and knewall the poems in the reading books by heart; he was fond, too, ofdeclaiming them in season and out of season. 

With the home atmosphere he enjoyed, the boy Grieg early becamefamiliar with names of the great composers and their works. One ofhis idols was Chopin, whose strangely beautiful harmonies were justbeginning to be heard, though not yet appreciated. His music must havehad an influence over the lad's own efforts, for he always remainedtrue to this ideal. 

Another of his admirations was for Ole Bull, the famous Norwegianviolinist. One day in summer, probably in 1858, when Edward wasabout fifteen, this "idol of his dreams" rode up to the Grieg home onhorseback. The family had lived for the past five years at the fineestate of Landaas, near Bergen. The great violinist had just returnedfrom America and was visiting his native town, for he too was born inBergen. That summer he came often to the Griegs' and soon discoveredthe great desire of young Edward for a musical career. He got the boyto improvise at the piano, and also to show him the little pieces hehad already composed. There were consultations with father and mother, and then, finally, the violinist came to the boy, stroked his cheekand announced; "You are to go to Leipsic and become a musician. "

Edward was overjoyed. To think of gaining his heart's desire so easilyand naturally; it all seemed like a fairy tale, too good to be true. 

The Leipsic Conservatory, which had been founded by Mendelssohn, andlater directed for a short time by Schumann, was now in the hands ofMoscheles, distinguished pianist and conductor. Richter and Hauptmann, also Papperitz, taught theory; Wenzel, Carl Reinecke and Plaidy, piano. 

Some of these later gained the reputation of being rather dry andpedantic; they certainly were far from comprehending the romantictrend of the impressionable new pupil, for they tried to curb hisoriginality and square it with rules and customs. This process wasvery irksome, for the boy wanted to go his own gait. 

Among his fellow students at the Conservatory were at least a halfdozen who later made names for themselves. They were: Arthur Sullivan, Walter Bache, Franklin Taylor, Edward Dannreuther and J. F. Barnett. All these were making rapid progress in spite of dry methods. SoEdward Grieg began to realize that if he would also accomplishanything, he must buckle down to work. He now began to study withfrantic ardor, with scarcely time left for eating and sleeping. Theresult of this was a complete breakdown in the spring of 1860, withseveral ailments, incipient lung trouble being the most serious. Indeed it was serious enough to deprive Grieg of one lung, leaving himfor the remainder of his life somewhat delicate. 

When his mother learned of his illness, she hurried to Leipsic andtook him back to Bergen, where he slowly regained his health. Hisparents now begged him to remain at home, but he wished to return toLeipsic. He did so, throwing himself into his studies with great zeal. In the spring of 1862, after a course of four years, he passed hisexaminations with credit. On this occasion he played some of hiscompositions--the four which have been printed as Op. 1--and achievedsuccess, both as composer and pianist. 

After a summer spent quietly with his parents at Landaas, he beganto prepare for coming musical activities. The next season he gavehis first concert in Bergen, at which the piano pieces of Op. 1, FourSongs for Alto, and a String Quartet were played. With the proceedsof this concert he bought orchestral and chamber music, and began tostudy score, which he had not previously learned to do. In the springof 1863--he was hardly twenty then--he left home and took up hisresidence in Copenhagen, a much larger city, offering greateropportunities for an ambitious young musician. It was also the home ofNiels W. Gade, the foremost Scandinavian composer. 

Of course Grieg was eager to meet Gade, and an opportunity soonoccurred. Gade expressed a willingness to look at some of hiscompositions, and asked if he had anything to show him. Edwardmodestly answered in the negative. "Go home and write a symphony, " wasthe retort. This the young composer started obediently to do, but thework was never finished in this form. It became later Two SymphonicPieces for Piano, Op. 14. 

Two sources of inspiration for Grieg were Ole Bull and RichardNordraak. We remember that Ole Bull was the means of influencing hisparents to send Edward to Leipsic. That was in 1858. Six years later, when Ole Bull was staying at his country home, near Bergen, wherehe always tried to pass the summers, the two formed a more intimatefriendship. They played frequently together, sonatas by Mozart andothers, or trios, in which Edward's brother John played the 'celloparts. Or they wandered together to their favorite haunts amongmountains, fjords or flower clad valleys. They both worshiped naturein all her aspects and moods, and each, the one on his instrument, theother in his music, endeavored to reproduce these endless influences. 

Richard Nordraak was a young Norwegian composer of great talent, who, in his brief career, created a few excellent works. The two musiciansmet in the winter of 1864 and were attracted to each other at once. Nordraak visited Grieg in his home, where they discussed music andpatriotism to their hearts' content. Nordraak was intensely patriotic, and wished to see the establishment of Norse music. Grieg, who hadbeen more or less influenced by German ideas, since Leipsic days, now cast off the fetters and placed himself on the side of Norwegianmusic. To prove this he composed the Humoresken, Op. 6, and dedicatedthem to Nordraak. From now on he felt free to do as he pleased inmusic--to be himself. 

In 1864 Grieg became engaged to his cousin, Nina Hargerup, a slendergirl of nineteen, who had a lovely voice and for whom he wrote many ofhis finest songs. He returned to Christiania from a visit to Rome, anddecided to establish himself in the Norwegian capital. Soon after hisarrival, in the autumn of 1856, he gave a concert, assisted by hisfiancée and Mme. Norman Neruda, the violinist. The program was madeup entirely of Norwegian music, and contained his Violin Sonata Op. 8, Humoresken, Op. 6, Piano Sonata, Op. 7. There were two groups ofsongs, by Nordraak and Kjerulf respectively. The concert was asuccess with press and public and the young composer's position seemedassured. He secured the appointment of Conductor of the PhilharmonicSociety, and was quite the vogue as a teacher. He married NinaHargerup the following June, 1867, and they resided in Christiania forthe next eight years. 

Grieg could not endure "amateurish mediocrity, " and made war upon it, thus drawing jealous attacks upon himself. His great friend and ally, Nordraak, passed away in 1868, and the next year his baby daughter, aged thirteen months, the only child he ever had, left them. 

In spite of these discouragements, some of his finest compositionscame into being about this period of his life. Songs, piano pieces andthe splendid Concerto followed each other in quick succession. 

Another satisfaction to Grieg was a most sympathetic and cordialletter from Liszt on making acquaintance with his Sonata for violinand piano, Op. 8, which he praised in high terms. He invited Griegto come and visit him, that they might become better acquainted. Thisunsolicitated appreciation from the famous Liszt was a fine honorfor the young composer, and was the means of inducing the NorwegianGovernment to grant him an annuity. This sum enabled him the followingyear, to go to Rome and meet Liszt personally. 

He set out on this errand in October, and later wrote his parents ofhis visits to Liszt. The first meeting took place at a monastery nearthe Roman Forum, where Liszt made his home when in town. 

"I took with me my last violin Sonata, the Funeral March on the deathof Nordraak and a volume of songs. I need not have been anxious, forLiszt was kindness itself. He came smiling towards me and said in themost genial manner:

"'We have had some little correspondence, haven't we?'

"I told him it was thanks to his letters that I was now here. He eyedsomewhat hungrily the package under my arm, his long, spider-likefingers approaching it in such an alarming manner that I thought itadvisable to open at once. He turned over the leaves, reading throughthe Sonata. He had now become interested, but my courage dropped tozero when he asked me to play the Sonata, but there was no help forit. 

"So I started on his splendid American Chickering grand. Right in thebeginning, where the violin starts in, he exclaimed: 'How bold thatis! Look here, I like that; once more please. ' And where the violinagain comes in _adagio_, he played the part on the upper octaves withan expression so beautiful, so marvelously true and singing, it mademe smile inwardly. My spirits rose because of his lavish approval, which did me good. After the first movement, I asked his permission toplay a solo, and chose the Minuet, from the Humoresken. "

At this point Grieg was brave enough to ask Liszt to play for him. This the master did in a superb manner. To go on with the letter:

"When this was done, Liszt said jauntily, 'Now let us go on withthe Sonata'; to which I naturally retorted, 'No thank you, not afterthis. '

"'Why not? Then give it to me, I'll do it. ' And what does Liszt do?He plays the whole thing, root and branch, violin and piano; nay more, for he plays it fuller and more broadly. He was literally over thewhole piano at once, without missing a note. And how he did play! Withgrandeur, beauty, unique comprehension. 

"Was this not geniality itself? No other great man I have met is likehim. I played the Funeral March, which was also to his taste. Then, after a little talk, I took leave, with the consciousness of havingspent two of the most interesting hours of my life. "

The second meeting with Liszt took place soon after this. Of it hewrites in part:

"I had fortunately received the manuscript of my Concerto fromLeipsic, and took it with me. A number of musicians were present. 

"'Will you play?' asked Liszt. I answered in the negative, as youknow I had never practised it. Liszt took the manuscript, went to thepiano, and said to the assembled guests: 'Very well, then, I will showyou that I also cannot. ' Then he began. I admit that he took thefirst part too fast, but later on, when I had a chance to indicate thetempo, he played as only he can play. His demeanor is worth any priceto see. Not content with playing, he at the same time converses, addressing a bright remark now to one, now to another of his guests, nodding from right to left, particularly when something pleases him. In the Adagio, and still more in the Finale, he reached a climax, bothin playing and in the praise he bestowed. 

"When all was over, he handed me the manuscript, and said, in apeculiarly cordial tone: 'Keep steadily on; you have the ability, and--do not let them intimidate you!'

"This final admonition was of tremendous importance to me; therewas something in it like a sanctification. When disappointment andbitterness are in store for me, I shall recall his words, and theremembrance of that hour will have a wonderful power to uphold me indays of adversity. "

When Edward Grieg was a little over thirty, in the year 1874, theNorwegian Government honored him with an annuity of sixteen hundredcrowns a year, for life. Another good fortune was a request from thedistinguished poet, Henrik Ibsen, to produce music for his drama of"Peer Gynt. "

With the help of the annuity Grieg was able to give up teaching andconducting and devote himself to composition. He left Christiania, where he and Mme. Grieg had resided for eight years, and came backfor a time to Bergen. Here, in January 1874, Ibsen offered him theproposition of writing music for his work, for which he was arranginga stage production. 

Grieg was delighted with the opportunity, for such a task was verycongenial. He completed the score in the autumn of 1875. The firstperformance was given on February 24, 1876, at Christiania. Grieghimself was not present, as he was then in Bergen. The play proveda real success and was given thirty-six times that season, for whichsuccess the accompanying original and charming music was largelyresponsible. 

Norway is a most picturesque country, and no one could be morepassionately fond of her mountains, fjords, valleys and waterfallsthan Edward Grieg. For several years he now chose to live at Lofthus, a tiny village, situated on a branch of the Hardanger Fjord. Itis said no spot could have been more enchanting. The little study, consisting of one room, where the composer could work in perfectquiet, was perched among the trees above the fjord, with a dashingwaterfall near by. No wonder Grieg could write of the "Butterfly, " the"Little Bird, " and "To the Spring, " in such poetical, vivid harmonies. He had only to look from his window and see the marvels of natureabout him. 

A few years later he built a beautiful villa at Troldhaugen, notfar from Bergen, where he spent the rest of his life. Some Americanfriends who visited them in 1901, speak of the ideal existence ofthe artist pair. Grieg himself is described as very small and fraillooking, with a face as individual, as unique and attractive as hismusic--the face of a thinker, a genius. His eyes were keen and blue;his hair, almost white, was brushed backward like Liszt's. His handswere thin and small; they were wonderful hands and his touch on thepiano had the luscious quality of Paderewski's. Mme. Grieg receivedthem with a fascinating smile and won all hearts by her appearance andcharm of manner. She was short and plump, with short wavy gray hairand dark blue eyes. Her sister, who resembled her strongly, made upthe rest of the family. Grieg called her his "second wife" and theyseemed a most united family. 

Here, too, Grieg had his little work cabin away from the house, downa steep path, among the trees of the garden. In this tiny retreat hecomposed many of his unique pieces. 

As a pianist, there are many people living who have heard Grieg play, and all agree that his performance was most poetical and beautiful. Henever had great power, for a heavy wagon had injured one of his hands, and he had lost the use of one of his lungs in youth. But he alwaysbrought out lyric parts most expressively, and had a "wonderfullycrisp and buoyant execution in rhythmical passages. " He continued toplay occasionally in different cities, and with increased frequencymade visits to England, France and Germany, to make known hiscompositions. He was in England in the spring of 1888, for on May3, the London Philharmonic gave almost an entire program of Grieg'smusic. He acted in the three-fold capacity of composer, conductor andpianist. It was said by one of the critics: "Mr. Grieg played hisown Concerto in A minor, after his own manner; it was a revelation. "Another wrote; "The Concerto is very beautiful. The dreamy charm ofthe opening movement, the long-drawn sweetness of the Adagio, thegraceful, fairy music of the final Allegro--all this went straightto the hearts of the audience. Grieg as a conductor gave equalsatisfaction. It is to be hoped the greatest representative of 'oldNorway' will come amongst us every year. "

Grieg did return the next year and appeared with the Philharmonic, March 14, 1889. The same critic then wrote:

"The hero of the evening was unquestionably Mr. Grieg, the heroinebeing Madame Grieg, who sang in her own unique and most artisticfashion, a selection of her husband's songs, he accompanying withgreat delicacy and poetic feeling. Grieg is so popular in London, bothas composer and pianist, that when he gave his last concert, peoplewere waiting in the street before the doors from eleven in themorning, quite as in the old Rubinstein days. "

In only a few cities did the artist pair give their unique piano andsong recitals. These were: Christiania, Copenhagen, Leipsic, Rome, Paris, London and Edinburgh. They were indeed artistic events, inwhich Nina Grieg was also greatly admired. While not a great singer, it was said she had the captivating abandon, dramatic vivacity andsoulful treatment of the poem, which reminded of Jenny Lind. 

Mme. Grieg made her last public appearance in London in 1898. Afterthat she sang only for her husband and his friends. Grieg's sixtiethbirthday, June 15, 1903, was celebrated in the cities of Scandanavia, throughout Europe and also in America: thus he lived to see therecognition of his unique genius in many parts of the world. 

Grieg was constantly using up his strength by too much exertion. To afriend in 1906, he wrote: "Yes, at your age it is ever hurrah-vivat. At my age we say, sempre diminuendo. And I can tell you it is not easyto make a beautiful diminuendo. " Yet he still gave concerts, sayinghe had not the strength of character to refuse. Indeed he had numerousoffers to go to America, which he refused as he felt he could notendure the sea voyage. Always cheerful, even vivacious, he kept upbravely until almost the end of his life, but finally, the last ofAugust, 1907, he was forced to go to a hospital in Bergen. On thenight of September 3, his life ebbed away in sleep. 

The composer who through his music had endeared himself to the wholeworld, was granted a touching funeral, at which only his own musicwas heard, including his Funeral March, which he had composed for hisfriend Nordraak. The burial place is as romantic as his music. Nearhis home there is a steep cliff, about fifty feet high, projectinginto the fjord. Half way up there is a natural grotto, which can onlybe reached by water. In this spot, chosen by Grieg himself, the urncontaining his ashes was deposited some weeks after the funeral. Thenthe grotto was closed and a stone slab with the words "Edward Grieg"cut upon it, was cemented in the cliff. 

XX

PETER ILYITCH TSCHAIKOWSKY

Russian composers and Russian music are eagerly studied by thosewho would keep abreast of the time. This music is so saturated withstrong, vigorous life that it is inspiring to listen to. Its ruggedstrength, its fascinating rhythms, bring a new message. It isdifferent from the music of other countries and at once attracts byits unusual melodies and its richness of harmony. 

Among the numerous composers of modern Russia, the name of PeterIlyitch Tschaikowsky stands out most prominently. This distinctivecomposer was born on April 28, 1840, in Votinsk, where his father, whowas a mining engineer, had been appointed inspector of the minesat Kamsko-Votinsk. The position of manager of such important minescarried with it much luxury, a fine house, plenty of servants and anample salary. Thus the future young musician's home life was not oneof poverty and privation, as has been the lot of so many gifted ones, who became creators in the beautiful art of music. 

Peter Ilyitch was less than five years old when a new governess cameinto the family, to teach his elder brother Nicholas and his cousinLydia. As a little boy he was apt to be untidy, with buttons missingand rumpled hair. But his nature was so affectionate and sympatheticthat he charmed every one with his pretty, loving ways. This naturalgift he always retained. The governess was a very superior person andher influence over her young charges was healthful and beneficial. Thechild Peter was most industrious at his lessons; but for recreationoften preferred playing the piano, reading, or writing poetry, toplaying with other children. 

When Peter was eight, the family moved to St. Petersburg, and the twoyounger boys were sent to boarding school. The parting from his homebut especially from his mother--though he saw her once a week--nearlybroke his heart. Such a school was no place for a sensitive, high-strung boy like Peter, who needed the most tender fostering care. The work of the school was very heavy, the hours long. The boys oftensat over their books till far into the night. Besides the schoolwork, Peter had music lessons of the pianist Philipov, and made rapidprogress. At this time music in general excited the boy abnormally;a hand organ in the street would enchant him, an orchestra strangelyagitated him. He seemed to live at a high strung, nervous tension, andhad frequent ailments, which kept him out of school. 

In 1849 the father secured another appointment, this time at Alapaiev, a little town, where, though there was not so much luxury, the familytried to revive the home life of Votinsk. 

No one at Alapaiev seemed to take any interest in the boy Peter'smusic. He was really making great progress, for he had learned much inthe lessons he had taken in St. Petersburg. He studied many pieces byhimself, and often improvised at the piano. His parents did nothingto further his musical education; this may have been because theywere afraid of a return of the nervous disorders that the quiet of thepresent home surroundings had seemed to cure. 

From the fact that the father had held government appointments, hissons were eligible for education at the School of Jurisprudence. Peterwas accordingly entered there as a scholar, and completed his courseat the age of nineteen. In those nine years the child Peter developedinto maturity. During this period he suffered the loss of his mother, a handsome and very estimable woman, whom he adored with passionatedevotion, and from whom he could never bear to be separated. 

While attending the Law School, music had to be left in thebackground. His family and companions only considered it as a pastimeat best, and without serious significance; he therefore kept hisaspirations to himself. The old boyish discontent and irritability, which were the result of his former nervous condition, had now givenplace to his natural frankness of character and charm of manner, whichattracted all who came in contact with him. 

In 1859, when Peter had finished his studies at the School ofJurisprudence, he received an appointment in the Ministry of Justice, as clerk of the first class. This would have meant much to some youngmen, but did not greatly impress Peter, as he did not seem to take hiswork very seriously. During the three years in which he held the post, he followed the fashion of the day, attended the opera and theater, meanwhile receiving many impressions which molded his character andtastes. The opera "Don Giovanni, " Mozart's masterpiece, made a deepimpression upon him, also the acting of Adelaide Ristori and thesinging of Lagrona. 

The new Conservatoire of Music was founded at St. Petersburg in 1862, with Anton Rubinstein as director, and Tschaikowsky lost no time inentering as a pupil, studying composition and kindred subjects withProfessor Zaremba. His progress was so rapid in the several brancheshe took up--piano, organ and flute--that Rubinstein advised him tomake music his profession, and throw his law studies to the winds. Thanks to Rubinstein, he secured some pupils and also engagements asaccompanist. Meanwhile he worked industriously at composition, and oneof his pieces was a Concert Overture in F, scored for small orchestra. In 1865 he took his diploma as a musician and also secured a silvermedal for a cantata. One year after this the Moscow Conservatoirewas founded, with Nicholas Rubinstein at its head. The positionof Professor of Composition and Musical History was offered toTschaikowsky, then only twenty-six. It was a flattering offer for soyoung a man, when many older heads would have liked to secure suchan honor. He moved to Moscow, and retained his position in theConservatoire for at least twelve years, in the meantime making manyfriends for himself and his art, as his fame as a composer grew. Oneof these friends was the publisher Jurgenson, who was to play ratheran important part in the composer's life, through accepting andputting forth his compositions. 

During those first years in Moscow, Tschaikowsky made his home withNicholas Rubinstein. His life was of the simplest, his fare always so. Later on when money was more abundant, and he had his own house in thecountry, he lived with just the same simplicity. One would think thatall this care and thought for expense would have taught him the valueof money. Not at all. He never could seem to learn its value, nevercared for it, and never could keep it. He liked to toss his smallchange among groups of street boys, and it is said he once spent hislast roubles in sending a cablegram to von Bülow in America, to thankhim for his admirable performance of his first Piano Concerto. Oftenhis friends protested against this prodigality, but it was no use toprotest, and at last they gave up in despair. 

Soon after he began his professorship in Moscow, he composed a ConcertOverture in C minor. To his surprise and disappointment, Rubinsteindisapproved of the work in every way. This was a shock, after the lackof encouragement in St. Petersburg. But he recovered his poise, thoughhe made up his mind to try his next work in St. Petersburg instead ofMoscow. He called the new piece a Symphonic Poem, "Winter Daydreams, "but it is now known as the First Symphony, Op. 13. About the end of1866, he started out with it, only to be again rebuffed and cast down. The two men whose good opinion he most desired, Anton Rubinstein andProfessor Zaremba, could find nothing good in his latest work, andthe young composer returned to Moscow to console himself with renewedefforts in composition. Two years later the "Winter Daydreams"Symphony was produced in Moscow with great success, and its authorwas much encouraged by this appreciation. He was, like most composers, very sensitive to criticism and had a perfect dread of controversy. Efforts to engage him in arguments of this sort only made him withdrawinto himself. 

Tschaikowsky held the operas of Mozart before him as his ideal. Hecared little for Wagner, considering his music dramas to be built onfalse principles. Thus his first opera, "Voivoda, " composed in 1866, evidently had his ideal, Mozart, clearly in mind. It is a somewhatcurious fact that Tschaikowsky, who was almost revolutionary in otherforms of music, should go back to the eighteenth century for his idealof opera. Soon after it was completed "Voivoda" was accepted to beproduced at the Moscow Grand Theater. The libretto was written byOstrowsky, one of the celebrated dramatists of the day. The firstperformance took place on January 30, 1869. We are told it had severalperformances and considerable popular success. But the composer wasdissatisfied with its failure to win a great artistic success, andburnt the score. He did the same with his next work, an orchestralfantaisie, entitled "Fatum. " Again he did the same with the score ofa complete opera, "Undine, " finished in 1870, and refused at the St. Petersburg Opera, where he had offered it. 

"The Snow Queen, " a fairy play with music, was the young Russian'snext adventure; it was mounted and produced with great care, yet itfailed to make a favorable impression. But these disappointments didnot dampen the composer's ardor for work. Now it was in the realm ofchamber music. Up to this time he had not seemed to care greatlyfor this branch of his art, for he had always felt the lack of tonecoloring and variety in the strings. The first attempt at a StringQuartet resulted in the one in D major, Op. 11. To-day, fifty yearsafter, we enjoy the rich coloring, the characteristic rhythms of thismusic; the Andante indeed makes special appeal. A bit of history aboutthis same Andante shows how the composer prized national themes andfolk tunes, and strove to secure them. It is said that morning aftermorning he was awakened by the singing of a laborer, working on thehouse below his window. The song had a haunting lilt, and Tschaikowskywrote it down. The melody afterwards became that touching air whichfills the Andante of the First String Quartet. Another String Quartet, in F major, was written in 1814, and at once acclaimed by all whoheard it, with the single exception of Anton Rubinstein. 

Tschaikowsky wrote six Symphonies in all. The Second, in C minorwas composed in 1873; in this he used themes in the first and lastmovements, which were gathered in Little Russia. The work was producedwith great success in Moscow in 1873. The next orchestral compositionwas a Symphonic Poem, called "The Tempest, " with a regular program, prepared by Stassow. It was brought out in Paris at the same timeit was heard in Moscow. Both at home and in France it made a deepimpression. The next work was the splendid piano Concerto in B flatminor, Op. 23, the first of three works of this kind. At a trialperformance of it, his friend and former master, Nicholas Rubinstein, to whom it was dedicated, and who had promised to play the piano part, began to criticize it unmercifully and ended by saying it was quiteunplayable, and unsuited to the piano. 

No one could blame the composer for being offended and hurt. He atonce erased the name of Nicholas Rubinstein from the title page anddedicated the work to Hans von Billow, who not long after performedit with tremendous success in America, where he was on tour. When wethink of all the pianists who have won acclaim in this temperamental, inspiring work, from Carreno to Percy Grainger, to mention two whohave aroused special enthusiasm by their thrilling performance of it, we can but wonder that his own countrymen were so short sighted atthe time it was composed. Later on Nicholas Rubinstein gave a superbperformance of the Concerto in Moscow, thus making some tardy amendsfor his unkindness. 

Tschaikowsky was now thirty-five. Most of his time was given to theConservatoire, where he often worked nine hours a day. Besides, he hadwritten a book on harmony, and was contributing articles on music totwo journals. In composition he had produced large works, includingup to this time, two Symphonies, two Operas, the Concerto, two StringQuartets and numerous smaller pieces. To accomplish such an amountof work, he must have possessed immense energy and devotion to hisideals. 

One of the operas just mentioned was entitled "Vakoula the Smith. "It bears the date of 1874, and was first offered in competition withothers. The result was that it not only was considered much thebest work of them all but it won both the first and second prizes. "Vakoula" was splendidly mounted and performed in St. Petersburg, atthe Marinsky Theater at least seventeen times. Ten years later, inJanuary 1887, it appeared again. The composer meanwhile had re-writtena good part of it and now called it "Two Little Shoes. " This timeTschaikowsky was invited to conduct his own work. The invitationfilled him with alarm, for he felt he had no gift in that direction, as he had tried a couple of times in the early years of his career andhad utterly failed. However, he now, through the cordial sympathy offriends, decided to make the attempt. Contrary to his own fears, heobtained a successful performance of the opera. 

It proved an epoch-making occasion. For this first success asconductor led him to undertake a three months' tour through westernEurope in 1888. On his return to St. Petersburg he conducted a programof his own compositions for the Philharmonic Society, which wasalso successful, in spite of the intense nervousness which he alwayssuffered. As a result of his concert he received offers to conductconcerts in Hamburg, Dresden, Leipsic, Vienna, Copenhagen and London, many of which he accepted. 

To go back a bit in our composer's life story, to an affair ofthe heart which he experienced in 1868. He became engaged to thewell-known singer Désirée Artôt; the affair never went further, forwhat reason is not known. He was not yet thirty, impressionable andintense. Later on, in the year 1877, at the age of thirty-seven, hebecame a married man. How this happened was doubtless told in hisdiaries, which were written with great regularity: but unfortunatelyhe destroyed them all a few years before his death. The few facts thathave been gleaned from his intimate friend, M. Kashkin, are that hewas engaged to the lady in the spring of this year, and married hera month or so afterward. It was evidently a hasty affair andsubsequently brought untold suffering to the composer. Whenthe professors of his Conservatoire re-assembled in the autumn, Tschaikowsky appeared among them a married man, but looking thepicture of despair. A few weeks later he fled from Moscow, and whennext heard of was lying dangerously ill in St. Petersburg. One thingwas evident, the ill-considered marriage came very near ruining hislife. The doctors ordered rest and change of scene, and his brotherModeste Ilyitch took him to Switzerland and afterward to Italy. Thepeaceful life and change of scene did much to restore his shatterednerves. Just at this time a wealthy widow lady, Madame von Meek, agreat admirer of Tschaikowsky's music, learning of his sad condition, settled on him a generous yearly allowance for life. He was nowindependent and could give his time to composition. 

The following year he returned to Moscow and seemed quite his naturalself. A fever of energy for work took possession of him. He began anew opera, "Eugen Onégin, " and completed his Fourth Symphony, in Fminor. The score of the opera was finished in February, 1878, andsent at once to Moscow, where the first performance was given in March1879. In the beginning the opera had only a moderate success, butgradually grew in favor till, after five years, it was performedin St. Petersburg and had an excellent reception. It is consideredTschaikowsky's most successful opera, sharing with Glinka's "Life ofthe Tsar" the popularity of Russian opera. In 1881 he was invitedto compose an orchestral work for the consecration of the Temple ofChrist in Moscow. The "Solemn Overture 1812, " Op. 49, was the outcomeof this. Later in the year he completed the Second Piano Concerto. The Piano Trio in A minor, "To the memory of a great artist, " Op. 50, refers to his friend and former master, Nicholas Rubinstein, whopassed away in Paris, in 1881. 

Tschaikowsky's opera, "Mazeppa, " was his next important work. In thesame year the Second Orchestral Suite, Op. 53, and the Third, Op. 55, followed. Two Symphonic Poems, "Manfred" and "Hamlet" came next. Thelatter of these was written at the composer's country house, whosepurchase had been made possible by the generosity of his benefactress, and to which he retired at the age of forty-five, to lead a peacefulcountry life. He had purchased the old manor house of Frovolo, on theoutskirts of the town of Klin, near Moscow. Here his two beautifulballets and two greatest Symphonies, the Fifth and Sixth, werewritten. The Fifth Symphony was composed in 1888 and published thenext year. On its first hearing it made little impression and wasscarcely heard again till Nikisch, with unerring judgment, rescued itfrom neglect; then the world discovered it to be one of the composer'sgreatest works. 

Tschaikowsky's two last operas, the "Pique Dame" (Queen of Spades), Op. 68, and "King Rene's Daughter" are not considered in any waydistinctive, although the former was performed in New York, at theMetropolitan. The Third Piano Concerto, Op. 75, occupied the masterduring his last days at Frovolo; it was left unfinished by him and wascompleted by the composer Taneiev. The wonderful Sixth Symphony, Op. 74, is a superb example of Tschaikowsky's genius. It was composed in1893, and the title "Pathetic" was given it by the composer after itsfirst performance, in St. Petersburg, shortly before his death, as thereception of it by the public did not meet his anticipations. In thiswork the passion and despair which fill so many of the master'sfinest compositions, rise to the highest tragic significance. Thelast movement, with its prophetic intimation of his coming death, isheart-breaking. One cannot listen to its poignant phrases withoutdeep emotion. The score is dated August 81, 1893. On October twelfth, Tschaikowsky passed away in St. Petersburg, a victim of cholera. 

A couple of years before he passed away, Tschiakowsky came to America. In May, 1891, he conducted four concerts connected with the formalopening of Carnegie Hall, New York. We well remember his interestingpersonality, as he stood before the orchestra, conducting many of hisown works, with Adele Aus der Ohe playing his famous Concerto in Bflat minor. 

The music of this representative Russian composer has made rapidheadway in the world's appreciation, during the last few years. Onceheard it will always be remembered. For we can never forget the deeplyhuman and touching message which is brought to us through the music ofPeter Ilyitch Tschaikowsky. 

XXI

EDWARD MACDOWELL

Edward MacDowell has been acclaimed America's greatest composer. Ifwe try to substitute another name in its place, one of equal potencycannot be found. 

Our composer's ancestors were Irish and Scotch, though his father wasborn in New York City and his mother was an American girl. Edward wastheir third son, and appeared December 18, 1861; this event happenedat the home of his parents, 220 Clinton Street, New York. 

The father was a man of artistic instincts, and as a youth, fond ofdrawing and painting. His parents had been Quakers of a rather severesort and had discouraged all such artistic efforts. Little Edwardseems to have inherited his father's artistic gifts, added to his owninclination toward music. 

The boy had his first piano lessons when he was about eight years old, from a family friend, Mr. Juan Buitrago, a native of Bogota, SouthAmerica. Mr. Buitrago became greatly interested in Edward and askedpermission to teach him his notes. At that time the boy was notconsidered a prodigy, or even precocious, though he seemed to havevarious gifts. He was fond of covering his music and exercise bookswith little drawings, which showed he had the innate skill of a bornartist. Then he liked to scribble bits of verses and stories andinvent fairy tales. He could improvise little themes at the piano, butwas not fond of technical drudgery at the instrument in those earlydays. 

The lessons with Mr. Buitrago continued for several years, and then hewas taken to a professional piano teacher, Paul Desvernine, withwhom he remained till he was fifteen. During this time he receivedoccasional lessons from the brilliant Venezuelan pianist, TeresaCarreńo, who admired his gifts and later played his piano concertos. 

Edward was now fifteen, and his family considered he was to becomea musician. In those days and for long after, even to the presentmoment, it was thought necessary for Americans to go to Europe forserious study and artistic finish. It was therefore determined theboy should go to Paris for a course in piano and theory at theConservatoire. In April, 1876, accompanied by his mother, he leftAmerica for France. 

He passed the examinations and began the autumn term as a pupil ofMarmontel in piano and of Savard in theory and composition. 

Edward's knowledge of French was very uncertain, and while he couldget along fairly well in the piano class, he had considerable troublein following the lessons in theory. He determined to make a specialstudy of the language, and a teacher was engaged to give him privatelessons. 

His passion for drawing was liable to break out at any moment. Duringone of the lesson hours he was varying the monotony by drawing, behind his book, a picture of his teacher, whose special facialcharacteristic was a very large nose. Just as the sketch was finishedhe was detected and was asked to show the result. The professor, instead of being angry, considered it a remarkable likeness and askedto keep it. Shortly after this the professor called on Mrs. MacDowell, telling her he had shown the drawing to an eminent painter, alsoan instructor at the École des Beaux Arts. The painter had been sogreatly impressed with the boy's talent that he offered him a threeyears' course of free instruction, under his own supervision. He alsopromised to be responsible for Edward's support during that time. 

This was a vital question to decide; the boy's whole future hung inthe balance. Mrs. MacDowell, in her perplexity, laid the whole matterbefore Marmontel, who strongly advised against diverting her son froma musical career. The decision was finally left to Edward himself, andhe chose to remain at the Conservatoire. 

Conditions there, however, were not just to his liking, and after twoyears he began to think the school was not the place for him. It wasthe summer of 1878, the year of the Exposition. Edward and his motherattended a festival concert and heard Nicholas Rubinstein play theTschaikowsky B flat minor piano Concerto. His performance was arevelation. "I can never learn to play the piano like that if I stayhere, " exclaimed Edward, as they left the hall. 

They began to consider the merits of the different European schoolsof music, and finally chose Stuttgart. Mrs. MacDowell and her son wentthere in November hoping that in this famous Conservatory could befound the right kind of instruction. 

But alas, MacDowell soon found out his mistake. He discovered thathe would have to unlearn all he had acquired and begin from thebeginning. And even then the instruction was not very thorough. 

They now thought of Frankfort, where the composer Joachim Raff was thedirector and Carl Heymann, a very brilliant pianist, was one of theinstructors. 

After months of delay, during which young MacDowell worked under theguidance of Ehlert, he at last entered the Frankfort Conservatory, studying composition with Raff, and piano with Heymann. Both provedvery inspiring teachers. For Heymann he had the greatest admiration, calling him a marvel, whose technic was equal to anything. "In hearinghim practise and play, I learned more in a week than I ever knewbefore. "

Edward MacDowell remained in close study at the Frankfort Conservatoryfor two years, his mother having in the meantime returned to America. He had hoped to obtain a place as professor on the teaching staff ofthe institution. Failing to do this he took private pupils. One ofthese, Miss Marian Nevins, he afterwards married. He must have been arather striking looking youth at this time. He was nineteen. Tall andvigorous, with blue eyes, fair skin, rosy cheeks, very dark hair andreddish mustache, he was called "the handsome American. " He seemedfrom the start, to have success in teaching, though he was painfullyshy, and always remained so. 

In 1881, when he was twenty, he applied for the position of head pianoteacher in the Darmstadt Conservatory, and was accepted. It meantforty hours a week of drudgery, and as he preferred to live inFrankfort, he made the trip each day between the two towns. Besidesthis he went once a week to a castle about three hours away, andtaught some little counts and countesses, really dull and sleepychildren, who cared but little if anything for music. However thetwelve hours spent in the train each week, were not lost, as hecomposed the greater part of his Second Modern Suite for piano, Op. 14; the First Modern Suite had been written in Frankfort the yearbefore. He was reading at this period a great deal of poetry, bothGerman and English, and delving into the folk and fairy lore ofromantic Germany. All these imaginative studies exerted greatinfluence on his subsequent compositions, both as to subject andcontent. 

MacDowell found that the confining labors at Darmstadt were tellingon his strength, so he gave up the position and remained in Frankfort, dividing his time between private teaching and composing. He hopedto secure a few paying concert engagements, as those he had alreadyfilled had brought in no money. 

One day, as he sat dreaming before his piano, some one knocked atthe door, and the next instant in walked his master Raff, of whom theyoung American stood in great awe. In the course of a few moments, Raff suddenly asked what he had been writing. In his confusion the boystammered he had been working on a concerto. When Raff started to go, he turned back and told the boy to bring the concerto to him the nextSunday. As even the first movement was not finished, its author set towork with vigor. When Sunday came only the first movement was ready. Postponing the visit a week or two, he had time to complete the work, which stands today, as he wrote it then, with scarcely a correction. 

At Raff's suggestion, MacDowell visited Liszt in the spring of 1882. The dreaded encounter with the master proved to be a delightfulsurprise, as Liszt treated him with much kindness and courtesy. EugenD'Albert, who was present, was asked to accompany the orchestral partof the concerto on a second piano. Liszt commended the work in warmterms: "You must bestir yourself, " he warned D'Albert, "if you do notwish to be outdone by our young American. " Liszt praised his pianoplaying too, and MacDowell returned to Frankfort in a happy frame ofmind. 

At a music Convention, held that year in Zurich, in July, MacDowellplayed his First Piano Suite, and won a good success. The followingyear, upon Liszt's recommendation, both the First and Second ModernSuites were brought out by Breitkopf and Haertel. "Your two PianoSuites are admirable, " wrote Liszt from Budapest, in February, 1883, "and I accept with sincere pleasure and thanks the dedication of yourpiano Concerto. "

The passing of Raff, on June 25, 1882, was a severe blow to MacDowell. It was in memory of his revered teacher that he composed the "SonataTragica, " the first of the four great sonatas he has left us. The slowmovement of this Sonata especially embodies his sorrow at the loss ofthe teacher who once said to him: "Your music will be played when mineis forgotten. "

For the next two years MacDowell did much composing. Then in June 1884he returned to America, and in July was married to his former pupil, Miss Marian Nevins, a union which proved to be ideal for both. Shortlyafter this event the young couple returned to Europe. 

The next winter was spent in Frankfort, instructing a few privatepupils, but mostly in composing, with much reading of the literatureof various countries, and, in the spring, with long walks in thebeautiful woods about Frankfort. Wiesbaden became their home duringthe winter of 1885-6. The same year saw the completion of the second. Piano Concerto, in D minor. 

In the spring of 1887, MacDowell, in one of his walks about the town, discovered a deserted cottage on the edge of the woods. It overlookedthe town, with the Rhine beyond, and woods on the other side of theriver. Templeton Strong, an American composer, was with him at thetime, and both thought the little cottage an ideal spot for a home. It was soon purchased, and the young husband and wife lived an idylliclife for the next year. A small garden gave them exercise out ofdoors, the woods were always enticing and best of all, MacDowell wasable to give his entire time to composition. Many beautiful songsand piano pieces were the result, besides the symphonic poem "Lamia, ""Hamlet and Ophelia, " the "Lovely Aida, " "Lancelot and Elaine, " andother orchestral works. 

In September, 1888, the MacDowells sold their Wiesbaden cottage andreturned to America, settling in Boston. Here MacDowell made himselffelt as a pianist and teacher. He took many pupils, and made aconspicuous number of public appearances. He also created some of hisbest work, among which were the two great Sonatas, the "Tragica" and"Eroica. " One of the important appearances was his playing of theSecond Concerto with the Philharmonic Orchestra of New York, underAnton Seidl, in December, 1894. 

In the spring of 1896 a Department of Music was founded at ColumbiaUniversity, of New York, the professorship of which was offered toMacDowell. He had now been living eight years in Boston; his fame as apianist and teacher was constantly growing; indeed more pupils came tohim than he could accept. The prospect of organizing a new departmentfrom the very beginning was a difficult task to undertake. At first hehesitated; he was in truth in no hurry to accept the offer, and wishedto weigh both sides carefully. But the idea of having an assuredincome finally caused him to decide in favor of Columbia, and he movedfrom Boston to New York the following autumn. 

He threw himself into this new work with great ardor and entiredevotion. With the founding of the department there were two distinctideas to be carried out. First, to train musicians who would be ableto teach and compose. Second, to teach musical history and aesthetics. 

All this involved five courses, with many lectures each week, taking up form, harmony, counterpoint, fugue, composition, vocal andinstrumental music, both from the technical and interpretativeside. It was a tremendous labor to organize and keep all this going, unaided. After two years he was granted an assistant, who took overthe elementary classes. But even with this help, MacDowell's laborswere increasingly arduous. He now had six courses instead of five, which meant more classes and lectures each week. Perhaps the mostsevere drain on his time and strength was the continual correction ofexercise books and examination papers, a task which he performed withgreat patience and thoroughness. Added to all this, he devoted everySunday morning to his advanced students, giving them help and advicein their piano work and in composition. 

Amid all this labor his public playing had to be given up, butcomposition went steadily on. During the eight years of the Columbiaprofessorship, some of the most important works of his life wereproduced; among them were, Sea Pieces the two later Sonatas, the Norseand the Keltic, Fireside Tales, and New England Idyls. The WoodlandSketches had already been published and some of his finest songs. Indeed nearly one quarter of all his compositions were the fruit ofthose eight years while he held the post at Columbia. 

In 1896 he bought some property near Peterboro, New Hampshire--fifteenacres with a small farmhouse and other buildings, and fifty acres offorest. The buildings were remodeled into a rambling but comfortabledwelling, and here, amid woods and hills he loved, he spent the summerof each year. He built a little log cabin in the woods near by, andhere he wrote some of his best music. 

In 1904 MacDowell left Columbia, but continued his private pianoclasses, and sometimes admitted free such students as were unableto pay. After his arduous labors at Columbia, which had been a greatdrain on his vitality, he should have had a complete rest and change. Had he done so, the collapse which was imminent might have beenaverted. But he took no rest though in the spring of 1905 he began toshow signs of nervous breakdown. The following summer was spent, asusual, in Peterboro but it seemed to bring no relief to the exhaustedcomposer. In the fall of that year his ailment appeared worse. Although he seemed perfectly well in body, his mind gradually becamelike that of a child. The writer was privileged to see him on oneoccasion, and retains an ineffaceable memory of the composer in hiswhite flannels, seated in a large easy chair, taking little noticeof what was passing about him, seldom recognizing his friends orvisitors, but giving the hand of his devoted wife a devoted squeezewhen she moved to his side to speak to him. 

This state continued for over two years, until his final release, January 23, 1908, as he had just entered his forty-seventh year. Theold Westminster Hotel had been the MacDowell home through the longillness. From here is but a step to St. George's Episcopal Church, where a simple service was held. On the following day the composer wastaken to Peterboro, his summer home, a spot destined to play its part, due to the untiring efforts of Mrs. MacDowell, in the development ofmusic in America. 

Mr. Gilman tells us:

"His grave is on an open hill-top, commanding one of the spacious andbeautiful views he had loved. On a bronze tablet are these lines ofhis own, used as a motto for his 'From a Log Cabin, ' the last music heever wrote:

 'A house of dreams untold It looks out over the whispering tree-tops And faces the setting sun. '"

XXII

CLAUDE ACHILLE DEBUSSY

 "_I love music too much to speak of it otherwise than passionately_. " DEBUSSY

 "_Art is always progressive; it cannot return to the past, which is definitely dead. Only imbeciles and cowards look backward. Then--Let us work_!" DEBUSSY

It is difficult to learn anything of the boyhood and youth of thisrare French composer. Even his young manhood and later life were soguarded and secluded that few outside his intimate circle knew muchof the man, except as mirrored in his music. After all that is just asthe composer wished, to be known through his compositions, for inthem he revealed himself. They are transparent reflections of hischaracter, his aims and ideals. 

Only the barest facts of his early life can be told. We know that hewas born at Saint Germain-en-Laye, France, August 22, 1862. From thevery beginning he seemed precociously gifted in music, and began at avery early age to study the piano. His first lessons on the instrumentwere received from Mme. De Sivry, a former pupil of Chopin. At ten heentered the Paris Conservatoire, obtaining his Solfčge medals in 1874, '75, and '76, under Lavignac; a second prize for piano playingfrom Marmontel in 1877, a first prize for accompanying in 1880; anaccessory prize for counterpoint and fugue in 1882, and finally theGrande Prix de Rome, with his cantata, "L'Enfant Prodigue, " in 1884, as a pupil of Guirand. 

Thus in twelve years, or at the age of twenty-two, the youngmusician was thoroughly furnished for a career. He had worked throughcarefully, from the beginning to the top, with thoroughness andcompleteness, gaining his honors, slowly, step by step. All thispainstaking care, this overcoming of the technical difficulties of hisart, is what gave him such complete command and freedom in using themedium of tone and harmony, in his unique manner. 

While at work in Paris, young Debussy made an occasional side trip toanother country. In 1879 he visited Russia, where he learned to knowthe music of that land, yet undreamed of by the western artists. Whenhis turn came to go to Rome, for which honor he secured the prize, hesent home the required compositions, a Symphonic Suite "Spring, " anda lyric poem for a woman's voice, with chorus and orchestra, entitled"La Demoiselle Elue. "

From the first Claude Debussy showed himself a rare spirit, who lookedat the subject of musical art from a different angle than othershad done. For one thing he must have loved nature with whole souleddevotion, for he sought to reflect her moods and inspirations in hiscompositions. Once he said: "I prefer to hear a few notes from anEgyptian shepherd's flute, for he is in accord with his scenery andhears harmonies unknown to your treatises. Musicians too seldom turnto the music inscribed in nature. It would benefit them more to watcha sunrise than to listen to a performance of the Pastorale Symphony. Go not to others for advice but take counsel of the passing breezes, which relate the history of the world to those who can listen. "

Again he says, in a way that shows what delight he feels in beautythat is spontaneous and natural:

"I lingered late one autumn evening in the country, irresistiblyfascinated by the magic of old world forests. From yellowing leaves, fluttering earthward, celebrating the glorious agony of the trees, from the clangorous angelus bidding the fields to slumber, rose asweet persuasive voice, counseling perfect oblivion. The sun wassetting solitary. Beasts and men turned peacefully homeward, havingaccomplished their impersonal tasks. "

When as a youth Debussy was serving with his regiment in France, herelates of the delight he experienced in listening to the tones ofthe bugles and bells. The former sounded over the camp for the variousmilitary duties; the latter belonged to a neighboring convent andrang out daily for services. The resonance of the bugles and thefar-reaching vibrations of the bells, with their overtones andharmonics, were specially noted by the young musician, and used by himlater in his music. It is a well-known fact that every tone orsound is accompanied by a whole series of other sounds; they arethe vibrations resulting from the fundamental tone. If the tone Cis played in the lower octave of the piano, no less than sixteenovertones vibrate with it. A few of these are audible to the ordinarylistener, but very keen ears will hear more of them. In ClaudeDebussy's compositions, his system of harmony and tonality isintimately connected with these laws of natural harmonics. His chords, for instance, are remarkable for their shifting, vapory quality; theyseem to be on the border land between major and minor--consonance anddissonance; again they often appear to float in the air, without anyresolution whatever. It was a new aspect of music, a new style ofchord progression. At the same time the young composer was well versedin old and ancient music; he knew all the old scales, eight in number, and used them in his compositions with compelling charm. The influenceof the old Gregorian chant has given his music a certain fluidity, free rhythm, a refinement, richness and variety peculiarly its own. 

We can trace impressions of early life in Debussy's music, through hisemployment of the old modes, the bell sounds which were familiar tohis boyhood, and also circumstances connected with his later life. As a student in Rome, he threw himself into the study of the musicof Russian composers, especially that of Moussorgsky; marks of theOriental coloring derived from these masters appear in his own latermusic. When he returned to Paris for good, he reflected in music theatmosphere of his environment. By interest and temperament he wasin sympathy with the impressionistic school in art, whether it be inpainting, literature or in music. In Debussy's music the qualities ofimpressionism and symbolism are very prominent. He employs sounds asthough they were colors, and blends them in such a way as literally topaint a picture in tones, through a series of shaded, many-hued chordprogressions. Fluid, flexible, vivid, these beautiful harmonies, seemingly woven of refracted rays of light, merge into shadowy melody, and free, flowing rhythm. 

What we first hear in Debussy's music, is the strangeness of theharmony, the use of certain scales, not so much new as unfamiliar. Also the employment of sequences of fifths or seconds. He often takeshis subjects from nature, but in this case seems to prefer a sky lessblue and a landscape more atmospheric than those of Italy, more likehis native France. His music, when known sufficiently, will reveal asense of proportion, balance and the most exquisite taste. It may lackstrength at times, it may lack outbursts of passion and intensity, butit is the perfection of refinement. 

Mr. Ernest Newman, in writing of Debussy, warmly praises thedelightful naturalness of his early compositions. "One would feeljustified in building the highest hopes on the young genius who canmanipulate so easily the beautiful shapes his imagination conjuresup. "

The work of the early period shows Debussy developing freely andnaturally. The independence of his thinking is unmistakable, but itdoes not run into wilfulness. There is no violent break with the past, but simply the quickening of certain French qualities by the infusionof a new personality. It seemed as if a new and charming miniaturisthad appeared, who was doing both for piano and song what had neverbeen done before. The style of the two Arabesques and the moresuccessful of the Ariettes oubliées is perfect. A liberator seemed tohave come into music, to take up, half a century later, the work ofChopin--the work of redeeming the art from the excessive objectivityof German thought, of giving it not only a new soul but a new body, swift, lithe and graceful. And that this exquisitely clear, pellucidstyle could be made to carry out not only gaiety and whimsicality butemotion of a deeper sort, is proved by the lovely "Clair de Lune. "

Among Debussy's best known compositions are "The Afternoon of a Faun, "composed in 1894 and called his most perfect piece for orchestra, which he never afterward surpassed. There are also Three Nocturnes fororchestra. In piano music, as we have briefly shown, he created anew school for the player. All the way from the two Arabesques justmentioned, through "Gardens in the Rain, " "The Shadowy Cathedral, " "ANight in Granada, " "The Girl with Blond Hair, " up to the two books ofremarkable Preludes, it is a new world of exotic melody and harmony towhich he leads the way. "Art must be hidden by art, " said Rameau, longago, and this is eminently true in Debussy's music. 

Debussy composed several works for the stage, one of which was"Martyrdom of Saint Sebastien, " but his "Pélleas and Mélisande" isthe one supreme achievement in the lyric drama. As one of his criticswrites: "The reading of the score of 'Pélleas and Mélisande' remainsfor me one of the most marvelous lessons in French art: it would beimpossible for him to express more with greater restraint of means. "The music, which seems so complicated, is in reality very simple. Itsounds so shadowy and impalpable, but it is really built up withas sure control as the most classic work. It is indeed music whichappeals to refined and sensitive temperaments. 

This mystical opera was produced in Paris, at the Opéra Comique, in April, 1902, and at once made a sensation. It had any number ofperformances and still continues as one of the high lights of theFrench stage. Its fame soon reached America, and the first performancewas given in New York in 1907, with a notable cast of singing actors, among whom Mary Garden, as the heroine gave an unforgettable, poeticinterpretation. 

Many songs have been left us by this unique composer. He wasespecially fond of poetry and steeped himself in the verse ofVerlaine, Villon, Baudelaire and Mallarmé. He chose the mostunexpected, the most subtle, and wedded it to sounds which invariablyexpressed the full meaning. He breathed the breath of life into thesevague, shadowy poems, just as he made Maeterlinck's "Pélleas" liveagain. 

As the years passed, Claude Debussy won more and more distinction asa unique composer, but also gained the reputation of being a veryunsociable man. Physically it has been said that in his youth heseemed like an Assyrian Prince; through life he retained his somewhatAsiatic appearance. His eyes were slightly narrowed, his black haircurled lightly over an extremely broad forehead. He spoke littleand often in brusque phrase. For this reason he was frequentlymisunderstood, as the irony and sarcasm with which he sometimes spokedid not tend to make friends. But this attitude was only turned towardthose who did not comprehend him and his ideals, or who endeavored tofalsify what he believed in and esteemed. 

A friend of the artist writes:

"I met Claude Debussy for the first time in 1906. Living myself ina provincial town, I had for several years known and greatly admiredsome of the songs and the opera, 'Pélleas and Mélisande, ' and Imade each of my short visits to Paris an opportunity of improving myacquaintance with these works. A young composer, André Caplet, withwhom I had long been intimate, proposed to introduce me to Debussy;but the rumors I had heard about the composer's preferred seclusionalways made me refuse in spite of my great desire to know him. Inow had a desire to express the feelings awakened in me, andto communicate to others, by means of articles and lectures, myadmiration for, and my belief in, the composer and his work. Theresult was that one day, in 1906, Debussy let me know througha friend, that he would like to see me. From that day began ourfriendship. "

Later the same friend wrote:

"Debussy was invited to appear at Queen's Hall with the LondonSymphony Orchestra, on February 1, 1908, to conduct his 'Afternoonof a Faun, ' and 'The Sea. ' The ovation he received from the Englishpublic was exceptional. I can still see him in the lobby, shakinghands with friends after the concert, trying to hide his emotion, andsaying repeatedly: 'How nice they are--how nice they are!'"

He went again the next year to London, but the state of his healthprevented his going anywhere else. For a malady, which finally provedfatal, seemed to attack the composer when in his prime, and eventuallyput an end to his work. We cannot guess what other art works he mighthave created. But there must be some that have not yet seen the light. It is known that he was wont to keep a composition for some time inhis desk, correcting and letting it ripen, until he felt it was readyto be brought out. 

One of his cherished dreams had been to compose a "Tristan. "

The characters of Tristan and Iseult are primarily taken from a Frenchlegend. Debussy felt the story was a French heritage and should berestored to its original atmosphere and idea. This it was his ardentdesire to accomplish. 

Debussy passed away March 26, 1918. 

Since his desire to create a Tristan has been made impossible, let uscherish the rich heritage of piano, song and orchestral works, whichthis original French artist and thinker has left behind, to benefitart and his fellow man. 

XXIII

ARTURO TOSCANINI

The sharp rap of Arturo Toscanini's baton that cuts the ear like awhiplash brought the rehearsal of the NBC Symphony Orchestra toa sudden, shocking stop. Overtones from chords of Wagner's "FaustOverture, " killed in mid-career, vibrated through the throat-grippingsilence. 

The men stared at their music, bowed their heads a little inanticipation of the storm. "Play that again, " the Maestro commandedWilliam Bell, the bass tuba player, who had just finished a solo. OnMr. Bell's face there was an expression of mixed worry and wonderment. Mr. Toscanini noticed the troubled anxious look. 

"No, no, no, " he said, with that childlike smile of his that suffuseshis whole face with an irresistible light. "There is nothing wrong. Play it again; please, play it again, just for me. It is so beautiful. I have never heard these solo passages played with such a lovelytone. "

There you have a side of Mr. Toscanini that the boys have forgotten totell you about. For years newspaper and magazine writers (in the lastcouple of seasons the Maestro has even "made" the Broadway columns!)have doled out anecdotes concerning his terrible temper. 

From these stories there emerged a demoniacal little man with thetantrums of a dozen prima donnas, a temperamental tyrant who, atthe dropping of a stitch in the orchestral knitting, tore his hair, screamed at the top of his inexhaustible Latin lungs, doused histrembling players with streams of blistering invective. 

That's how you learned that, to the king of conductors, a musicianplaying an acid note is a "shoemaker, " a "swine, " an "assassin" oreven something completely unprintable. 

So far as they went the stories were true. Mr. Toscanini, as all theworld knows by now, is the world's No. 1 musical purist. Nothing butperfection satisfies him. He hates compromise, loathes the half-bakedand mediocre, refuses to put up with "something almost as good. "

As Stefan Zweig puts it: "In vain will you remind him that theperfect, the absolute, are rarely attainable in this world; that, even to the sublimest will, no more is possible than an approach toperfection.... His glorious unwisdom makes it impossible to recognizethis wise dispensation. "

His rages, then, are the spasms of pain of a perfectionist woundedby imperfection. It was his glorious unwisdom that caused him, at arehearsal not long ago, to fling a platinum watch to the floor, where, of course, it was smashed into fragments. 

In the shadows of the studio that afternoon lurked John F. Royal, program director of NBC. Next day he presented the Maestro with two $1watches, both inscribed, "For Rehearsals Only. " Mr. Toscanini was soamused that he forgot to get angry with Mr. Royal for breakingthe grimly enforced rule barring all but orchestra members fromrehearsals. 

The sympathetic program director also had the shattered platinum watchput together by what must have been a Toscanini among watchmakers. Bythat time the incident had become such a joke that the orchestramen dared to give the Maestro a chain, of material and constructionguaranteed to be unbreakable, to attach the brace of Ingersolls to thedark, roomy jacket which for years he has worn at rehearsals. 

Less than a week later that same choleric director, with the burningdeep-set black eyes, the finely chiseled features and the halo ofsilver hair surrounding a bald spot that turns purple in his passions, walked into a room where a girl of this reporter's acquaintance stoodbeside a canary cage, making a rather successful attempt at whistling, in time and tune with the bird. 

For a moment the man who can make music like no one else on earthlistened to the girl and her pet. Then he sighed and said:

"Oh, if I could only whistle!"

Those who know Mr. Toscanini intimately find in those six simple wordsthe key to his character. He is, they say, the most modest man whoever lived, a man sincerely at a loss to understand the endless fussthat is made about him. 

Time and again he has told his friends that he has no fonder desirethan to be able to walk about undisturbed, to saunter along theavenue, look into shop-windows, do the thousand-and-one common littlethings that are permitted other human beings. 

That same humility, that same incurable bewilderment at public acclaimmust have been apparent to all who ever attended a Toscanini concert, saw him at the close of a superb interpretation bowing as one of thegroup of players and making deprecating gestures that seemed tosay: "What you have heard was a great score brought to life by theseexcellent musicians--why applaud me?"

At rehearsals he is the strictest of disciplinarians but not a primadonna conductor. He demands the utmost attention and concentrationfrom his men, brooks no disturbance or interruption. On the otherhand, he is punctual to a fault, arrives fifteen minutes ahead oftime, never asks for special privileges of any kind. 

He has been described as the world's most patient and impatientorchestral director. In rehearsal he will take the men through apassage, a mere phrase, innumerable times to achieve a certain tonalor dynamic effect. But he explodes when he feels that he is faced withstupidity or stubbornness. 

Some famous conductors have added the B of Barnum to the threeimmortal B's of music--Bach, Beethoven and Brahms. Those wielders ofthe stick are great showmen as well as great musicians. 

Not so Mr. Toscanini. In his platform manner there is nothingcalculated for theatrical effect. He doesn't care in the least what helooks like "from out front. " His gestures are designed not to impress, enrapture or englamour the musical groundlings, but to convey hissharply defined wishes to his men and transmit to them the flamingenthusiasm that consumes him. 

His motions are patiently sincere, almost unconscious. He enterscarrying his baton under his right arm, like a riding crop. Orchestraand audience rise. He acknowledges this mark of respect and thetumultuous applause with a quick bow, an indulgent smile and a gesturethat plainly say: "Thanks, thanks, all this is very nice, you're alot of kind, good children, but for heaven's sake let's get down tobusiness. "

While waiting a few seconds for listeners and players to settlethemselves he rests his baton against his right shoulder, like asword. Then the sharp rap. The Maestro closes his eyes. Another rap, sharper than the first. Oppressive, electrical silence. He lifts thebaton as if saluting the orchestra. The concert begins. 

As a rule the right hand gives the tempo and tracks down everysmallest melody, wherever it may hide in the score. In passages forthe strings, the baton indicates the type of bowing the conductorwants from the violins, violas or cellos. 

The left hand, with the long thumb separate from the other fingers, is the orchestra's guide to the Maestro's interpretative desires. Itwheedles the tone from the men. It coaxes, hushes, demands increasedvolume. It moves, trembling, to the heart to ask for feeling, closesinto a fist to get sound and fury from the brasses, thunder from thedrums. Through it all, the Maestro talks, sings, whistles and blowsout his cheeks for the benefit of trumpeters and trombonists. 

After a concert, keyed to feverish excitement, he often plays overpiano scores of every number that appeared on the program. Then hemay lie awake all night, worrying over two possible tempi in whichhe might have taken some passage--shadings in rhythm that the averagelistener would not, could not discern. 

He is never satisfied with himself. Some years ago, when he was stillconducting at the Scala in Milan, he came home one night after theopera. Mr. Toscanini does not eat before a performance, and his familywait with the evening meal until he joins them. 

As he stepped into the hall he saw his wife and daughters walking intothe dining room. "Where are you going?" he asks them. "In to supper, of course, " one of them told him. The Maestro exploded: "What? AfterTHAT performance? Oh, no, you're not. It shall never be said of myfamily that they could eat after such a horrible show!" All of them, including the great man himself, went to bed without supper thatnight. 

It stands to reason that a man of this type detests personalpublicity. The interviews he has granted in the fifty-six years ofhis career--Mr. Toscanini, who is seventy-five, began conducting atnineteen--can be counted on the fingers of one hand. He feels and hasoften told friends that all he has to say he can say in musical terms;that he gladly leaves to others what satisfaction they may derive frompublicly bandying words. 

But his frequent brushes with news photographers don't come under thishead. The existence of numerous fine camera studies of the Maestroproves that he doesn't dislike being photographed. Nor does he dislikephotographers. But he hates flashlights because they hurt his eyes. 

This has bolstered the popular notion--based on the fact that heconducts from memory--that his sight is so poor as to amount almost toblindness. 

Mr. Toscanini is neither blind nor half-blind. He does not use astrong magnifying glass to study his scores, note by note. He isnear-sighted, but not more so than millions of others, and reads withthe aid of ordinary spectacles. 

He has always conducted from memory because he believes that havingthe score in his head gives a conductor greater freedom and authorityto impose his musical will upon his men. At rehearsals the score iskept on a stand a few feet from the Maestro. From time to time heconsults it to verify a point at dispute. He has never been known tobe wrong. 

His memory is, of course, phenomenal. Anything he has once seen, read and particularly, heard, he not only remembers but is unable toforget. The other day he and a friend were discussing the concertoplayed by a certain pianist on his American debut in 1911. Mr. Toscanini remembered it as Beethoven's Fourth Piano Concerto; thefriend maintained it was the Second. 

The Maestro said: "I recall the concert very well. He was soloist withthe Philharmonic. " And he reeled off all the other compositions onthat program of twenty-seven years ago. 

To settle the argument the skeptical friend called the office ofthe Philharmonic. Mr. Toscanini had been right about the BeethovenConcerto and had correctly remembered the purely orchestral numbers aswell. 

He is a profound student, not only of music but of all availableliterature bearing upon it. A music critic who visited him inSalzburg a few years ago, just before he was to conduct Wagner's "DieMeistersinger, " found him in a room littered with books on the opera, books on Wagner, volumes of the composer's correspondence. 

The Maestro, who has been coming to this country since 1908, speaksbetter English than most of us. He knows his English literature and isin the sometimes disconcerting habit of quoting by the yard from theworks of Shakespeare, Keats, Shelley and Swinburne. 

Almost as great a linguist as he is a musician, he coaxes and curseshis men in perfect, idiomatic French, German and Spanish as well asEnglish and Italian. 

He likes reading, listening to the radio--he is fond of good jazz--anddriving out in the country. He loves speed. An American friend whosome years ago accompanied him on a motor trip from Milan to Venicegroaned when the speedometer began hovering around 78. "What's thematter with you?" the Maestro wanted to know. "We're only joggingalong. " Whenever possible he flies. 

Since 1926 he and Mrs. Toscanini have occupied an apartment in theAstor--the same suite of four smallish rooms. The place isfurnished by the hotel, but the Maestro always brings his belovedknickknacks--his miniature of Beethoven, his Wagner and Verdimanuscripts, his family photographs. 

He has no valet and dislikes being pawed by barbers. He shaveshimself, and Mrs. Toscanini or one of the daughters cuts his hair. Heeats very little--two plates of soup (preferably minestrone), a pieceof bread and a glass of chianti do him nicely for dinner. 

He begrudges the time spent in eating and sleeping. Like the childhe is at heart, he loves staying up late. Occasionally he takes anocturnal prowl. 

The other night, after a concert, he asked a friend to take himsomewhere--"some place where they won't know me and make a fuss overme. "

The friend took him to a little place in the Village. The moment Mr. Toscanini entered, the proprietor dashed forward, bowed almost to theground and said: "Maestro, I am greatly honored ... I'll never forgetthis hour ... " Then he led the party to the most conspicuous spot inthe room. 

Mr. Toscanini wanted a nip of brandy, but the innkeeper insisted thathe try some very special wine of the house's own making. From ahuge jug he poured a brownish-red, viscous liquid into a couple oftumblers. The Maestro's companion says it tasted like a mixture ofcastor oil, hair tonic and pitch. 

Turning white at the first sip, Mr. Toscanini drained his glass ata gulp. Outside, his friend asked him: "Why did you drink that vilestuff?"

The Maestro said: "The poor fellow meant well, and I didn't want torefuse. A man can do anything. "

XXIV

LEOPOLD STOKOWSKI

Many years ago this reporter was traveling, as a non-fiddling, non-tooting member of the Philadelphia Orchestra, on a train thatcarried the organization on one of its Pennsylvania-Maryland-Ohiotours. 

It was 2 o'clock in the morning, Mr. Stokowski, the conductor, wassecluded in his drawing room, perhaps asleep, but more likely tryingto digest three helpings of creamed oysters in which he had indulgedat the home of an effusive Harrisburg hostess. Mr. Stokowski in thosedays couldn't let creamed oysters alone, but neither could he takethem. 

In the Pullman smoker sat the handsome gentleman who was then managerof the orchestra and your correspondent. "Tell me, " said the reporter, "just between you and me--where did Stoky get that juicy accent?"

The manager removed his cigar to reply:

"God alone knows. "

Mr. Stokowski then had been in this country nearly twenty years. Hehas been here now more than thirty years, and still no one on earth, with the possible exception of Mr. Stokowski himself, can tell youwhere he dug up his rich luscious accent that trickles down theportals of the ear as the sauce of creamed oysters trickles down thegullet. 

Surely he didn't get it in London where, on April 18, 1882, he wasborn. Nor did he learn it in Queens College, Oxford, where he wasconsidered a bright student, or on Park Avenue, New York, where helanded in 1905 to play the organ at St. Bartholomew's. 

Mr. Stokowski's dialectic vagaries are among the mysteries in which, for his own good reasons, he has chosen to wrap himself. Another oneconcerns his name and origin. Is he really Leopold Antoni StanislawStokowski? Was his father one Joseph Boleslaw Kopernicus Stokowski, aPolish emigre who became a London stockbroker? Was his mother an Irishcolleen and the granddaughter of Tom Moore, who wrote "Believe MeIf All Those Endearing Young Charms"? Or is Stoky just plain LionelStokes, the sprout of a humble cockney family?

Nobody knows. But everybody knows that Leopold Stokowski is one of theworld's really great orchestra conductors, a true poet of the stick(though he has dispensed with the baton in recent years), and that hehas made the name of the Philadelphia Orchestra synonymous with superbsinging, beauty of tone and dazzling brilliance. 

Everybody knows, too, that he has few peers as an interpreter of Bach, many of whose compositions he unearthed from the organ repertoire andgave to the general public in shimmering orchestral arrangements, andthat critics trot out their choicest adjectives to praise his playingof Brahms and all Russian composers. 

Everybody knows, further, that he and his orchestra have made a largernumber of phonograph recordings of symphonic music than any otherconductor and band, and that the Philadelphia organization was thefirst of its kind to dare the raised eyebrows of the musical tories bygoing on the air as a commercially sponsored attraction. 

The list, here necessarily condensed, is one of impressive musicalachievements, which many an artist of a more placid temperament thanMr. Stokowski's would have considered ample to insure his fame. 

But the slender, once golden-locked, now white-thatched Leopold isand always was a restless fellow, a bundle of nervous energy, aninsatiable lover of experiment, innovation and--the limelight. 

Those traits began to come to the surface in 1922, when he had beenbossing the Philadelphia band for ten years. About that time he seemedno longer satisfied with merely playing to his audiences--he startedtalking to them. 

There were (and still are) two groups of Philadelphia Orchestrasubscribers--the Friday afternoon crowd, consisting largely of stuffydowagers, and the Saturday night clientele, composed mostly of personsgenuinely interested in music. 

The old society gals went to the Friday matinees because it wasthe thing to do. While "that dear, handsome boy" and his men on theplatform were discoursing Beethoven, Schubert and Wagner, the ladiesswapped gossip, recipes and lamented the scarcity of skillful, loyalbut inexpensive domestics. 

It was at one of those whispering bees (your reporter, who was there, swears it really happened) that, during the playing of a gossamerpianissimo passage, a subscriber informed her neighbor in a resonantcontralto:

"I always mix butter with MINE!" Mr. Stokowski did not address theaudience on that occasion. He gave his first lecture at anotherconcert, and then he scolded the women not for talking but forapplauding. 

Many of the Friday afternoon customers were in such a rush to catchtrains for their Main Line suburbs that they seldom remained longenough to give conductor and orchestra a well-deserved ovation. Sonobody ever quite knew whether the dead-pan Stoky was in earnestor moved by an impish sense of humor when, following the usual thinsmattering of applause, he said:

"This strange beating together of hands has no meaning, and to meit is very disturbing. I do not like it. It destroys the mood mycolleagues and I have been trying to create with our music. "

Shortly afterward, the Philadelphia Orchestra and its blond, romanticconductor invaded New York. Their Tuesday night concerts at CarnegieHall became the rage. The uninhibited music lovers of this town notonly applauded Stoky but cheered, yelled and stamped to express theirfrenzied approval. He never lectured THEM. 

But in Philadelphia he continued his extra-conductorial antics. Whenthe audience hissed an ultra-modern composition, he told them: "I amglad you are hissing. It is so much better than apathy. " Another time, when they booed an atonal piece, he repeated it immediately. 

He scolded the audience for coming late. He scolded them for leavingearly. Once he scolded them for coughing. They continued the raspingnoise. After the intermission, on Stoky's orders, the 100-odd men ofthe orchestra walked out on the stage barking as if in the last stagesof an epidemic bronchial disease. 

All those didoes promptly made the front page. Thereafter Mr. Stokowski, who had tasted blood, or rather, printer's ink, came out onthe average of once a month with a new notion to astound the Quakers. 

He shocked them with a demand for Sunday concerts--then a heresy inPhiladelphia. He changed the seating arrangement of the orchestra. Hediscarded the wooden amphitheatre on which, since the dark symphonicages, the players had sat in tiers, and put them on chairs directly onthe stage. Then he shuffled the men, making the cellos change placeswith the second violins, the battery with the basses. There must havebeen some merit in all this switching, for several conductors copiedit. 

Next he announced that light was a distraction at a concert. Henceforth, the Philadelphia Orchestra would play in darkness. Wailsof dismay from the Friday afternoon dowagers. How on earth was any onegoing to see what her friends were wearing?

At the next matinee the Academy of Music was black as a crypt. Onthe stage, at each of the players' desks, hung a small, green-shadedlight. Then Mr. Stokowski walked out on the podium. The moment he hadmounted the dais, a spotlight was trained on his head, turning hishair into a glittering golden halo. The ladies forgot all about theirfriends' dresses. Why, the darling boy looked like an angel descendedinto a tomb to waken the dead!

Stoky explained to the press that the spot was necessary to enable hismen to follow the play of his facial expressions. 

Most conductors make their appearance in a leisurely manner. Carryingthe stick, they stride out on the platform, acknowledge the audience'sreception with a courtly bow, say a few kind words to the men, andwhen musicians and listeners have composed themselves, begin theconcert. 

Leopold changed all that. Leander-like, he leaped from the wings, dashed to the center of the stage, nodded curtly to the customers, then accepted the baton which was handed to him, with a flourish, byone of the viola players, and, before you could say "Wolfgang AmadeusMozart, " plunged into the opening number. 

His audiences, particularly the ladies, doted on his conductingtechnique. His slim, youthful, virile figure was held erect, his feetremained still as if nailed to the floor, while his arms went througha series of sensuously compelling, always graceful motions. The viewfrom the back was enhanced by the fact that the tailor who cut hismorning and evening coats was almost as great as Stoky himself. Andhis hands! Ah, my dear, those hands----!

There was so much ecstatic comment on those slender, nervous, expressive hands that Mr. Stokowski decided to give the gals a full, unhampered view. He did away with the baton. 

About the same time he invented a new way of rehearsing theorchestra--the remote-control method. An assistant conductor wieldedthe stick while Stoky sat in the rear of the dark hall manipulating anintricate system of colored lights that made known his wishes to hisunderstudy on the platform. 

Mr. Stokowski is inordinately fond of gadgets and fancies himself asquite a technical expert. When he first conducted for the radio hestrenuously objected to the arrangement whereby the engineers in thecontrol room had the last word as to the volume of sound that was togo out on the air. 

Radio executives pacified him by rigging up an elaborate set of dialson his desk. These he happily twirled, completely unaware that thedoodads were dead. 

Meanwhile--and please don't lose sight of this cardinal fact--he madetranscendently beautiful music. His stature as a conductor grewwith the years and so did the repertoire of scores he conducted frommemory. This feat involved heartbreaking work, for his memory, whilegood, is not unusually retentive. In the middle years of his career, he devoted from ten to twelve hours a day to studying scores. 

In periods when the Stokowski brain was unproductive of new stunts, his private life and his recurrent rows with the directors of theorchestra about matters of salary and control kept him in the papers. 

His divorce from Mme. Olga Samaroff, the pianist, a Texan born as LucyHickenlooper, whom he married in the dim days when he conducted inCincinnati, provided Rittenhouse Square with chit-chat for a wholewinter. So did his marriage to Evangeline Brewster Johnson, anextremely wealthy, eccentric and independent young woman, who laterdivorced him. 

Mr. Stokowski's doings of the last few years can no longer be classedas minor-league musical sensations. They have become Hot HollywoodStuff. First, there was his appearance in films. Then hiscollaboration with Mickey Mouse. Then his friendship with Greta Garbo. Then his five-month sentimental journey over half of Europe with theDuse of the screen. Today he is as big a feature of the fan magazinesas Clark Gable and Robert Taylor. 

Upon his return from Europe in August, Stoky made the most amusingremark of a long amusing career. He told this reporter:

"I am not interested in publicity. "

XXV

SERGE KOUSSEVITZKY

In the official biographies of Serge Alexandrovitch Koussevitzky youwill find that the boss of the Boston Symphony learned the art andmystery of conducting at the Royal Hochschule in Berlin under thegreat Artur Nikisch, but in this town there lives and breathes arather well-known Russian pianist who tells a different story. 

Long ago, says this key-tickler, when he was a youth, he was hired byKoussevitzky, then also a young fellow, to play the piano scores ofthe entire standard symphony repertoire. 

He pounded away by the hour, the day and the week, while Koussevitzkyconducted, watching himself in a set of three tall mirrors in a cornerof the drawing room of his Moscow home. 

The job lasted just about a year, and our pianist has never looked ata conductor since. 

There's also an anecdote to the effect that, much earlier, when Sergewas still a little boy in his small native town in the province ofTver, in northern Russia, he would arrange the parlor chairs in rowsand, with some score open in front of him, conduct them. Once ina while he'd stop short and berate the chairs. Then little Serge'slanguage was something awful. 

Whether these stories are true or not, the fact remains that Mr. Koussevitzky became a conductor and a great one--one of the greatest. The yarn of the mirrors is the most credible of the lot, for theRussian batonist's platform appearance is so meticulous and hismovements are so obviously studied to produce the desired effects thathe seems to conduct before an imaginary pier glass. 

For elegant tailoring he has no peer among orchestral chiefs, except, perhaps, Mr. Stokowski. It's a toss-up between the two. Both are assleek as chromium statues. Mr. Stokowski, slim, lithe, romantic ina virile way, looks as a poet should look, but never does. Mr. Koussevitzky, broad-shouldered, narrow-waisted, extremely military andvirile in a dramatic way, looks as a captain of dragoons in civviesshould have looked but never did. 

Mr. Koussevitzy's conductorial gestures are literally high, wide andhandsome. His wing-spread, so to speak, is much larger than that ofeither Mr. Stokowski or Mr. Toscanini, and he has a greater repertoireof unpredictable motions than both of them put together. Time cannotwither, nor custom stale, the infinite variety of his shadow boxing. 

Those who knew his history look upon Mr. Koussevitzky's joyous, unrestrained gymnastics with tolerant eyes. They realize that, foryears, he was forced to hide his fine figure and athletic prowess fromthousands of potential admirers. 

For Mr. Koussevitzky, before he became a conductor, was a world-famousperformer on the double bass, that big growling brute of an instrumentpopularly known as the bull fiddle. In those days all that was visibleof his impressive person was his head, one of his shoulders and hisarms. 

He didn't want to be a bull fiddler any more than you or you oryou, and it's greatly to his credit and indicative of his iron will, consuming ambition and extraordinary musicianship that he developed, according to authoritative opinion, into the best bull fiddler of histime. 

Here's what happened:

Serge was the son of a violinist who scratched away for a meagerliving in a third-rate theatre orchestra. The boy, intensely musical, wished to be a fiddler like his father. When he was fourteen, hisfamily gave him their blessing, which was all they had to give, and sent him to Moscow to try for a scholarship at the PhilharmonicSchool. 

He arrived with three rubles in his pocket. At the school he was toldthat the only available scholarship was one in bull fiddling. Sergetried for it and won. He was, so far as is known, the first musicianto make the barking monster into a solo instrument. 

An overburdened troubadour, he dragged the cumbersome thing all overRussia and played it in recitals with amazing success. In 1903, whenMr. Koussevitzky was twenty-nine (he's sixty-eight now but looksa mettlesome fifty), the Czar decorated him--the only instance inhistory of a decoration bestowed for bull fiddling. 

That same year, while giving a concert in Moscow, the virtuosohappened to look into the audience and his eyes met those of astunning brunette in the front row. The owner of the lovely eyes, Natalya Konstantinova Ushkova, became his wife two years later. 

Natalya, the daughter of a wealthy merchant and a rich girl in her ownright, promised him anything he wanted for a wedding gift. "Give me asymphony orchestra. " was Koussevitzky's startling request. The bridewas taken aback, for it was with the bull fiddle that he had wooed andwon her and she hated to see him give it up, but she kept her word. 

Now here is where our old pianist comes in. It was at that time, hesays, that Mr. Koussevitzky sent for him and began an intensive courseof study before the triple mirror. 

A year or so later Natalya hired eighty-five of the best musicians inMoscow. After a season of rehearsals Mr. Koussevitzky took his band ontour aboard a steamer--a little gift from his father-in-law. 

They rode up and down the Volga. Every evening the vessel--a sort ofmusical showboat--tied up at a different city, town or village and theorchestra gave a concert, often before peasants and small-townfolk who had never heard symphony music before. In seven years Mr. Koussevitzky and his men traveled some 3, 000 miles. 

Came the revolution. Kerensky ordered Koussevitzy and his men: "Keepup with your music. " They did, but it wasn't easy. It was a terriblysevere winter; the country was in the killing grip of cold and famine. 

Koussevitzky and his players starved for weeks on end. The bossconducted in mittens. The men wore mittens, too, but they had holes inthem, so they could finger the strings and keys of their instruments. 

The Bolsheviks made Mr. Koussevitzky director of the state orchestraswhich, in those early Soviet days, were at low musical ebb. He laboredin that job for three years, from 1917 to 1920, but he was out ofsympathy with the Lenin-Trotzky regime and asked permission to leavethe country. It was refused because officials said, "Russia needs yourmusic. "

The fiery Koussevitzky told the Government that, unless he wereallowed to travel abroad, he'd never play or conduct another note inRussia. They let him go. 

Mr. Koussevitzky says that the Bolsheviks robbed him of about amillion in money, land and other property. In illustration of thestate of things that impelled him to leave his native land, he likesto tell this story:

A minor Bolshevik official came in one day to check up on the affairsof the orchestra. "Who are those people?" he asked, pointing to agroup of players at the conductor's left. "Those, " said Koussevitzky, "are the first violins. "

"And those over there?" asked the inspector, indicating a group at theconductor's right. "The second violins, " was the reply. 

"What!" yelled the official. "Second violins in a Soviet stateorchestra? Clear them out!"

Mr. Koussevitzky went to Paris, where he conducted a series oforchestral concerts and performances of Moussorgsky's "BorisGodounoff" and Tschaikowsky's "Pique Dame" at the Opera. Between 1921and 1924 he also appeared in Barcelona, Rome and Berlin. In Parishe established a music publishing house (still in existence), whichissued the works of such modern Russian composers as Stravinsky, Scriabine, Medtner, Prokofieff and Rachmaninoff. 

In 1924, the offer of a $50, 000 salary and the opportunity ofrebuilding the Boston Symphony Orchestra, which had sadly deterioratedsince the days of Dr. Karl Muck, lured him to this country. 

American customs, he now admits, at first appalled him. He was amazedto find musicians smoking in intermissions at rehearsals and concert. This he called "an insult to art. " He forbade smoking. The playersraised an unholy rumpus, but Koussevitzky persisted. The men haven'ttaken a puff in Symphony Hall since that time. 

The next unpopular move he made was to fire a number of the oldstandbys who had sat in the orchestra for most of its forty-four-yearhistory. "I vant yongk blott!" he cried in his then still very thickaccent. "If dose old chentlemen vant to sleep, let dem sleep in deirhouses!"

The Boston music lovers didn't like it. To them the Symphony is asacred cow and they regarded the older members in the light ofspecial pets. But when, at the opening of the new season, they hearda brilliant, completely rejuvenated orchestra, they forgave the newconductor. Since then, he has restored the Symphony to its old-timeglory. Today Beacon Hill has no greater favorite than SergeAlexandrovitch Koussevitzky. 

The orchestra men, too, learned to like him. They discovered that, with all his public histrionics, he was on the level as a musician. He is a merciless task master, but in rehearsals he gives himself noairs. Dressed in an old pair of pants and a disreputable brown woolensweater, which he has worn in private since the day he landed inBoston, he works like a stevedore. When he, the pants and the sweaterhad been with the Symphony ten years, the men gave him a testimonialdinner. 

Next to Mr. Toscanini he's the world's most temperamental conductor, but he has the ability to keep himself in check--when he wants to. "Koussevitzky, " says Ernest Newman, the eminent English music critic, "has a volcanic temperament, yet never have I known it to run awaywith him. It is precisely when his temperament is at the boiling pointthat his hand on the regulator is steadiest. "

At a concert in Carnegie Hall four years ago he gave a dramaticdemonstration of self-control. He was conducting Debussy's "Preludeto the Afternoon of a Faun, " when smoke from an incinerator fire in aneighboring building penetrated the hall. The smoke grew dense. Peoplerose, rushed for the exits in near-panic. Women screamed. 

He stopped the orchestra, turned to the audience, held up his hand andshouted:

"Come back! Sit down! Sit down--all of you! Everything is all right!"

The customers meekly resumed their seats. Mr. Koussevitzky swung'round and continued playing Debussy's brooding, sensuous dreampieceas if nothing had happened. 

Because he has done so much, both as conductor and publisher, forliving composers (he is the high priest of the Sibelius cult), he hasbeen called a modernist. The label infuriates him. 

"Nonsense!" he snarls. "I'm not a modernist and I'm not a classicist. I'm a musician! The first movement of the Ninth Symphony of Beethovenis the greatest music ever written and George Gershwin's 'Rhapsody inBlue' is a masterpiece. "

"There you are! Make the best of it!"

[Transcriber's Notes:a. The spelling of names and places are noted as having changedbetween the publication of this book and the year 2004:Chapter I (Palestrina):'Michael Angelo' vs. 'Michaelangelo' (also in Chapter VI)Chapter II (Bach):Leipsic vs. Leipzig (repeated in following chapters)Lüneberg vs. LüneburgChapter X (Mendelssohn):'Dreifaltigkeit Kirch-hof' vs. 'Dreifaltigkeit Kirchhof''Wiemar' vs. 'Weimar'Chapter XIII (Berlioz):Academié vs. AcadémieChapter XIV (Verdi):'Sant' Agata' vs. 'Sant'Agata''Apeninnes' vs. 'Apennines''Corsia di Servi' vs. 'Corsia dei Servi'Chpater XXI (McDowell):Frankfort vs. Frankfurt (Germany)Peterboro vs. Peterborough (New Hampshire) * * * * *b. Spelling errors found, not corrected:beseiged (besieged);Esterhazy (spelled unaccented twice) vs. Esterházy (spelled with accent6 times)Carreno vs. Carreńo (Teresa; each spelling used once. )Academié (Académie)Scandanavia (Scandinavia) * * * * *c. Obvious spelling errors corrected:Lüneberg (in 1 place) to Lüneburg (this spelling found in 3 places)Febuary to February (One day in February ... );obsorbed to absorbed (... Soon became so absorbed ... );polish to Polish (... A Polish emigre ... );Intrumental to Instrumental (Instrumental music no longer satisfied ... );Opportunties to opportunities (... Greater opportunties for anambitious ... );financée to fiancée (... Assisted by hisfinancée ... );turing to turning (... Turing his hair ... ) * * * * *d. Chapter numbers (Roman numerals) omittedfor start of chapters on Toscanini, Stokowski and Koussevitzky, but were present in the Table of Contents;so the proper numbers (XXIII, XXIV, XXV) were entered in the properplaces. ]