[Frontispiece: The Tone Masters. Haydn, Mozart, Handel, Beethoven. From painting by Hans Temple. ]

Among the Great

Masters of Music

Scenes in the Lives of Famous Musicians

_Thirty-two Reproductions of Famous Paintings_

_with Text by_

Walter Rowlands

London

E. Grant Richards

1906

TO

Miss Jane Rowlands

CONTENTS. 

 ST. CECILIA PALESTRINA LULLI STRADIVARIUS TARTINI BACH HANDEL GLUCK MOZART LINLEY HAYDN WEBER BEETHOVEN SCHUBERT ROUGET DE LISLE PAGANINI MENDELSSOHN CHOPIN MEYERBEER WAGNER LISZT

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 

 THE TONE MASTERS . . . . . . . . . _Frontispiece_ ST. CECILIA PALESTRINA THE YOUNG LULLI STRADIVARIUS TARTINI'S DREAM BACH'S PRELUDES MORNING DEVOTIONS IN THE FAMILY OF BACH FREDERICK THE GREAT AND BACH THE CHILD HANDEL HANDEL AND GEORGE I. GLUCK AT THE TRIANON MOZART AND HIS SISTER BEFORE MARIA THERESA MOZART AND MADAME DE POMPADOUR MOZART AT THE ORGAN THE LAST DAYS OF MOZART SHERIDAN AT THE LINLEYS' HAYDN CROSSING THE ENGLISH CHANNEL THE "LAST THOUGHTS" OF VON WEBER BEETHOVEN AT BONN BEETHOVEN IN HIS STUDY A SYMPHONY BY BEETHOVEN BEETHOVEN'S DREAM SCHUBERT AT THE PIANO ROUGET DE LISLE SINGING THE MARSEILLAISE PAGANINI IN PRISON SONG WITHOUT WORDS CHOPIN AT PRINCE RADZIWILL'S THE DEATH OF CHOPIN MEYERBEER WAGNER AT HOME A MORNING WITH LISZT

PREFACE. 

The compiler's thanks are due to Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin & Co. , andto Mrs. Elizabeth Stuart Phelps Ward, for permission to use a selectionfrom "The Silent Partner. "

Music is the link between spiritual and sensual life. --_Beethoven_. 

 And while we hear The tides of Music's golden sea Setting toward eternity, Uplifted high in heart and hope are we. --_Tennyson_. 

Music in the best sense has little need of novelty, on the contrary, the older it is, the more one is accustomed to it, the greater is theeffect it produces. --_Goethe_. 

Music is a kind of inarticulate, unfathomable speech, which leads us tothe edge of the infinite, and lets us for moments gaze intothat. --_Carlyle_. 

AMONG THE GREAT MASTERS OF MUSIC. 

ST. CECILIA. 

One of the most ancient legends handed down to us by the early Churchis that of St. Cecilia, the patroness of music and musicians. She isknown to have been honoured by Christians as far back as the thirdcentury, in which she is supposed to have lived. 

Doubtless much of fancy has been added, in all the ensuing years, tothe facts of Cecilia's life and death. Let us, however, take thelegend as it stands. It says that St. Cecilia was a noble Roman lady, who lived in the reign of the Emperor Alexander Severus. Her parents, who secretly professed Christianity, brought her up in their own faith, and from her earliest childhood she was remarkable for her enthusiasticpiety: she carried night and day a copy of the Gospel concealed withinthe folds of her robe; and she made a secret but solemn vow to preserveher chastity, devoting herself to heavenly things, and shunning thepleasures and vanities of the world. As she excelled in music, sheturned her good gift to the glory of God, and composed hymns, which shesang herself with such ravishing sweetness, that even the angelsdescended from heaven to listen to her, or to join their voices withhers. She played on all instruments, but none sufficed to breatheforth that flood of harmony with which her whole soul was filled;therefore she invented the organ, consecrating it to the service ofGod. When she was about sixteen, her parents married her to a youngRoman, virtuous, rich, and of noble birth, named Valerian. He was, however, still in the darkness of the old religion. Cecilia, inobedience to her parents, accepted the husband they had ordained forher; but beneath her bridal robes she put on a coarse garment ofpenance, and, as she walked to the temple, renewed her vow of chastity, praying to God that she might have strength to keep it. And it so fellout; for, by her fervent eloquence, she not only persuaded her husband, Valerian, to respect her vow, but converted him to the true faith. Shetold him that she had a guardian angel who watched over her night andday, and would suffer no earthly lover to approach her. And whenValerian desired to see this angel, she sent him to seek the aged St. Urban, who, being persecuted by the heathen, had sought refuge incatacombs. After listening to the instructions of that holy man, theconversion of Valerian was perfected, and he was baptised. Returningthen to his wife, he heard, as he entered, the most entrancing music;and, on reaching her chamber, beheld an angel, who was standing nearher, and who held in his hand two crowns of roses gathered in Paradise, immortal in their freshness and perfume, but invisible to the eyes ofunbelievers. With these he encircled the brows of Cecilia andValerian, as they knelt before him; and he said to Valerian, "Becausethou hast followed the chaste counsel of thy wife, and hast believedher words, ask what thou wilt, it shall be granted to thee. " AndValerian replied, "I have a brother named Tiburtius, whom I love as myown soul; grant that his eyes, also, may be opened to the truth. " Andthe angel replied, with a celestial smile, "Thy request, O Valerian, ispleasing to God, and ye shall both ascend to his presence, bearing thepalm of martyrdom. " And the angel, having spoken these words, vanished. Soon afterward Tiburtius entered the chamber, and perceivingthe fragrance of the celestial roses, but not seeing them, and knowingthat it was not the season for flowers, he was astonished. ThenCecilia, turning to him, explained to him the doctrines of the Gospel, and set before him all that Christ had done for us, --contrasting hisdivine mission, and all he had done and suffered for men, with thegross worship of idols made of wood and stone; and she spoke with sucha convincing fervour, such heaven-inspired eloquence, that Tiburtiusyielded at once, and hastened to Urban to be baptised and strengthenedin the faith. And all three went about doing good, giving alms, andencouraging those who were put to death for Christ's sake, whose bodieswere buried honourably. 

Now there was in those days a wicked prefect of Rome, named Almachius, who governed in the emperor's absence; and he sent for Cecilia and herhusband and brother, and commanded them to desist from the practice ofChristian charity. And they said, "How can we desist from that whichis our duty, for fear of anything that man can do unto us?" The twobrothers were then thrown into a dungeon, and committed to the chargeof a centurion named Maximus, whom they converted, and all three, refusing to join in the sacrifice to Jupiter, were put to death. AndCecilia, having washed their bodies with her tears, and wrapped them inher robes, buried them together in the cemetery of Calixtus. Then thewicked Almachius, covetous of the wealth which Cecilia had inherited, sent for her, and commanded her to sacrifice to the gods, threateningher with horrible tortures in case of refusal. She only smiled inscorn, and those who stood by wept to see one so young and so beautifulpersisting in what they termed obstinacy and rashness, and entreatedher to yield; but she refused, and by her eloquent appeal so touchedtheir hearts that forty persons declared themselves Christians, andready to die with her. Then Almachius, struck with terror and rage, exclaimed, "What art thou, woman?" and she answered, "I am a Roman ofnoble race. " He said, "I ask of thy religion;" and she said, "Thoublind one, thou art already answered!" Almachius, more and moreenraged, commanded that they should carry her back to her own house, and fill her bath with boiling water, and cast her into it; but it hadno more effect on her body than if she had bathed in a fresh spring. Then Almachius sent an executioner to put her to death with the sword;but his hand trembled, so that, after having given her three wounds inthe neck and breast, he went his way, leaving her bleeding and halfdead. She lived, however, for the space of three days, which she spentin prayers and exhortation to the converts, distributing to the poorall she possessed; and she called to her St. Urban, and desired thather house, in which she then lay dying, should be converted into aplace of worship for the Christians. Thus, full of faith and charity, and singing with her sweet voice praises and hymns to the last moment, she died at the end of three days. The Christians embalmed her body, and she was buried by Urban in the same cemetery with her husband. 

As the saint had wished, her house was consecrated as a church, and thechamber in which she had suffered martyrdom was regarded as a placeespecially sacred. In after years, the edifice fell into ruins, butwas rebuilt by Pope Paschal I. In the ninth century. While this piouswork was in progress, it is told that Paschal had a dream, in which St. Cecilia appeared to him and disclosed the spot where she had beenburied. On a search being made, her body was found in the cemetery ofSt. Calixtus, together with the remains of Valerian, Tiburtius, andMaximus, and all were deposited in the same edifice, which has sincebeen twice rebuilt and is now known as the church of St. Cecilia inTrastevere. At the end of the sixteenth century, the sarcophagus whichheld the remains of the saint was solemnly opened in the presence ofseveral dignitaries of the Church, among whom was Cardinal Baronius, who left an account of the appearance of the body. "She was lying, "says Baronius, "within a coffin of cypress-wood, enclosed in a marblesarcophagus; not in the manner of one dead and buried, that is, on herback, but on her right side, as one asleep, and in a very modestattitude; covered with a simple stuff of taffety, having her head boundwith cloth, and at her feet the remains of the cloth of gold and silkwhich Pope Paschal had found in her tomb. " The reigning Pope, ClementVIII. , ordered that the relics should be kept inviolate, and the coffinwas enclosed in a silver shrine and replaced under the high altar, withgreat solemnity. A talented sculptor, Stefano Maderno, wascommissioned to execute a marble statue of the saint lying dead, andthis celebrated work, which fully corresponds with the description ofBaronius, is now beneath the high altar of the church, where ninety-sixsilver lamps burn constantly to the memory of Cecilia. Theaccompanying inscription reads, "Behold the image of the most holyvirgin Cecilia, whom I myself saw lying incorruptible in her tomb. Ihave in this marble expressed for thee the same saint in the very sameposture of body. "

It seems hardly possible now to say when St. Cecilia came to beconsidered as music's patron saint, --probably it was not untilcenturies after her death. We know that in 1502 a musical society wasinstituted in Belgium, at Louvain, which was placed under the patronageof St. Cecilia. We know, also, that the custom of praising music bygiving special musical performances on St. Cecilia's Day (November 22)is an old one. The earliest known celebration of this nature tookplace at Evreux, in Normandy, in 1571, when some of the best composersof the day, including Orlando Lasso, competed for the prizes which wereoffered. It is recorded that the first of these festivals to be heldin England was in 1683. For these occasions odes were written byDryden, Shadwell, Congreve, and other poets, and the music was suppliedby such composers as Purcell and Blow. At the Church of St. Eustache, in Paris, on St. Cecilia's Day, masses by Adolphe Adam, Gounod, andAmbroise Thomas have been given their first performance. In Germany, Spohr and Moritz Hauptmann have composed works in honour of the day, and Haydn's great "Cecilia" mass must not be forgotten. 

Mrs. Jameson says that, before the beginning of the fifteenth century, St. Cecilia was seldom represented in art with musical attributes, butcarried the martyr's palm. Later, she appears in painting, eitheraccompanied by various instruments of music, or playing on them. Domenichino, who was in Rome when the sarcophagus of St. Cecilia wasopened, and painted numerous pictures of the saint, shows her in one ofthem as performing on the bass viol. This picture is in the Louvre, where also is Mignard's canvas, representing her accompanying her voicewith a harp. 

Many painters have depicted St. Cecilia playing upon the organ, often asmall, portable instrument, such as she bears in the celebrated pictureby Raphael, which we reproduce. For over six hundred years, from thetime of Cimabue to our own day, artists of all countries have vied witheach other in representations of St. Cecilia, but none have risen tothe height of Raphael's treatment of the theme. 

[Illustration: St. Cecilia. From painting by Raphael]

He shows us Cecilia, standing with enraptured face lifted to heaven, where the parted clouds display six angels prolonging the melody whichthe saint has ceased to draw forth from the organ she holds. On herright, the majestic figure of St. Paul appears as if in deep thought, leaning on his sword, and between him and St. Cecilia we see thebeautiful young face of the beloved disciple, John the Evangelist. Upon the other side, the foremost figure is that of Mary Magdalen, carrying the jar of ointment in her hand, and behind her stands St. Augustine with a bishop's staff, looking toward John. At the feet ofSt. Cecilia are scattered various instruments of music, a viol, cymbals, the triangle, flute, and others. They are broken, and some ofthe pipes of the regal held by St. Cecilia are falling from theirplace, --all seeming to indicate the inferiority of earthly music to thecelestial harmonies. Of the five saints depicted, only Cecilia looksupward, and it has been suggested that Raphael meant that she, alone, hears and understands the heavenly strains. 

She is clothed in a garment of cloth of gold, St. Paul in crimson andgreen, and the Magdalen in violet. 

Some writers claim that the face of the Magdalen is that of Raphael'slove, the "Farnarina, " whom he frequently used as a model. The baker'sdaughter was a girl of the Trastevere, and it is a coincidence that herhome was near that church dedicated to Cecilia, where the saint'sremains have rested for hundreds of years. 

As Mrs. Jameson observed, Sir Joshua Reynolds has given us a paraphraseof Raphael's painting of music's patron saint in his fine picture ofMrs. Billington, the famous English singer of his last years, as St. Cecilia. She holds a music book in her hand, but is listening to thecarolling of some cherubs hovering above her. The composer Haydn paidthe singer a happy compliment suggested by this portrait when he saidto Sir Joshua, "What have you done? you have made her listening to theangels, you should have represented the angels listening to her. " Mrs. Billington was so delighted with this praise that she gave Haydn ahearty kiss. This splendid portrait of the charming young singer is inthe Lenox Library in New York. 

Raphael's "St. Cecilia" has, of course, a history. In October of theyear 1513, a noble lady of Bologna, named Elena Duglioli dall Olio, imagined that she heard supernatural voices bidding her to dedicate achapel to St. Cecilia in the Church of S. Giovanni in Monte. Upontelling this to a relative, Antonio Pucci of Florence, he offered tofit up the chapel at his own expense, and induced his uncle, LorenzoPucci, then newly created a cardinal, to commission Raphael to paint apicture for the altar. It was finished in 1516. 

Tradition relates that Pucci had no ear for music, and was laughed atby his brother cardinals when chanting mass in the Sistine Chapel. Hethereupon invoked the aid of St. Cecilia, who rewarded the donor of herpicture by remedying his harmonic deficiency. 

In 1796, Napoleon's conquering army carried the painting to Paris, where it remained until 1815, when it was returned to Bologna. It wasat a later date transferred to the art gallery of that city, where itnow hangs. About the middle of the eighteenth century, when the agentof Augustus III. , the Elector of Saxony, was negotiating the purchaseof Italian paintings for the royal gallery in Dresden, the "St. Cecilia" was offered to him for $18, 000, but the price was thought toohigh, and a copy by Denis Calvaert sufficed. This still hangs in theZwinger at Dresden, the home of the Sistine Madonna. According toVasari, the organ and other musical instruments in this picture werepainted by one of the master's pupils, Giovanni da Udine. Raphaelagain designed a St. Cecilia in the now ruined fresco of her martyrdom, which either the master or one of his pupils painted in the chapel ofthe Pope's hunting castle of La Magliana, near Rome. Fortunately, MarcAntonio's engraving has preserved for us the composition of this work. 

Of the many tributes to this "St. Cecilia, " we will select the one byShelley. 

"We saw besides one picture of Raphael--St. Cecilia; this is in anotherand higher style; you forget that it is a picture as you look at it;and yet it is most unlike any of those things which we call reality. It is of the inspired and ideal kind, and seems to have been conceivedand executed in a similar state of feeling to that which produced amongthe ancients those perfect specimens of poetry and sculpture which arethe baffling models of succeeding generations. There is a unity and aperfection in it of an incommunicable kind. The central figure, St. Cecilia, seems rapt in such inspiration as produced her image in thepainter's mind; her deep, dark, eloquent eyes lifted up; her chestnuthair flung back from her forehead--she holds an organ in her hands--hercountenance, as it were, calmed by the depth of its passion andrapture, and penetrated throughout with the warm and radiant light oflife. She is listening to the music of heaven, and, as I imagine, hasjust ceased to sing, for the four figures that surround her evidentlypoint, by their attitudes, toward her; particularly St. John, who, witha tender yet impassioned gesture, bends his countenance toward her, languid with the depth of his emotion. At her feet lie variousinstruments of music, broken and unstrung. Of the colouring I do notspeak; it eclipses nature, yet has all her truth and softness. "

Dryden's "Song for St. Cecilia's Day, 1687, " set to music by Draghi, anItalian composer, ends with this verse, apposite to our picture:

 "Orpheus could lead the savage race, And trees uprooted left their place, Sequacious of the lyre: But bright Cecilia raised the wonder higher; When to her organ vocal breath was given, An angel heard, and straight appeared, -- Mistaking earth for heaven!"

Ten years later he wrote his noble ode, "Alexander's Feast, " in honourof St. Cecilia's festival, at the close of which he again refers to thesaint's wondrous powers:

 "Thus long ago, Ere heaving bellows learn'd to blow, While organs yet were mute, Timotheus to his breathing flute And sounding lyre, Could swell the soul to rage, or kindle soft desire. At last divine Cecilia came, Inventress of the vocal frame; The sweet enthusiast, from her sacred store, Enlarged the former narrow bounds, And added length to solemn sounds, With Nature's mother-wit, and arts unknown before. Let old Timotheus yield the prize, Or both divide the crown; He raised a mortal to the skies, She drew an angel down. "

Handel, in 1736, produced his oratorio of "Alexander's Feast. " Pope's"Ode on St. Cecilia's Day, " was written in 1708, and performed atCambridge, in 1730, with music by Maurice Greene. In this compositionthe poet uses a similar image to Dryden. He sings:

 "Music the fiercest grief can charm, And fate's severest rage disarm; Music can soften pain to ease, And make despair and madness please; Our joys below it can improve, And antedate the bliss above. This the divine Cecilia found, And to her Maker's praise confin'd the sound. When the full organ joins the tuneful quire, Th' immortal pow'rs incline their ear; Borne on the swelling notes our souls aspire, While solemn airs improve the sacred fire; And angels lean from Heav'n to hear. Of Orpheus now no more let poets tell, To bright Cecilia greater pow'r is given; His numbers rais'd a shade from Hell, Hers lift the soul to Heav'n. "

PALESTRINA. 

Some twenty miles from Rome, the insignificant but picturesquelysituated town of Palestrina, lies on the hillside. The Praeneste ofantiquity, it was once an important colony of Rome, many of whosewealthy ones resorted thither in summer, for the sake of its bracingatmosphere, which Horace extolled. Excavations here have yielded arich harvest, and the Eternal City holds among its ancient treasuresfew of more interest or value than those recovered from the soil ofPalestrina. 

[Illustration: Palestrina. From painting by Ferdinand Heilbruth. ]

Here, probably in 1524, was born Giovanni Pierluigi da Palestrina, whoreceived his last name from that of his native town. His parents wereof humble station in life, but, beyond this fact, we know little thatis reliable about his youth or early education. In 1540 he went toRome, and became a pupil at the music school of Claudio Goudimel, aFrench composer, who turned Protestant, and perished in the massacre ofSt. Bartholomew's Day. Palestrina appears to have returned to hisbirthplace when he was about twenty years old, and to have been madeorganist and director of music in the cathedral. He married in 1546, and had several sons, but in 1551 was again in Rome, where he held theposition of teacher of the boy singers in the Capella Giulia, in theVatican. While holding this office, he composed a set of masses, whichhe dedicated to Julius III. , and which were issued in 1554. Beforethat time, Flemish composers had supplied all the music of the Church, and these masses are the first important work by an Italian musician. The Pope recognised their value by appointing Palestrina one of thesingers of the papal choir, which was against the rules of the Church, married singers being debarred. Nor was the composer's voice such asentitled him to a place in this splendid body of singers, and heconscientiously hesitated before accepting the position. He did not, however, hold it long, for Julius III. Died within a few months, andhis successor, Marcellus II. , lived but twenty-three days afterbecoming Pope. Paul IV. , who succeeded Marcellus, was a reformer, anddismissed Palestrina from the choir, which was a severe blow to thepoor composer. But in October of the same year (1555) he was madedirector of the music at the Lateran Church, where he remained for overfive years. During this time he produced several important works, among them being his volume of _Improperia_ ("the Reproaches"), aneight-voiced "Crux Fidelis, " and the set of "Lamentations" for fourvoices. These compositions gave him fame as the leader of a newschool, the pure school of Italian church-music. In 1561 the composerbecame director of music at the Church of St. Maria Maggiore, where heremained ten years, during which period the event took place which gavehim his greatest fame. 

For years church music had been lacking in that dignity which should beits main characteristic, and this fault was largely due to the Flemishcomposers, who thought most of displaying their technical skill. Theyfrequently selected some well-known secular tune around which to weavetheir counterpoint, many masses, for instance, having been written onthe old Provencal song of "L' Homme Armé. " Some of the melodies chosenas the basis for masses were nothing but drinking songs. At that timethe tenor generally sang the melody, and, as in order to show on whatfoundation their work rested, the Flemings retained the original wordsin his part, it was not uncommon to hear the tenors singing somebacchanalian verses, while the rest of the choir were intoning thesacred words of a "Gloria" or an "Agnus Dei. " These abuses lasted foran incredibly long time, but finally, in 1562, the cardinals werebrought together for the purification of all churchly matters, and theCouncil of Trent took note of the evil. All were agreed uponabolishing secular words from the mass, and some even urged thebanishment of counterpoint itself, and a return to the plain song orchant, but fortunately this sweeping reform met with a vigorous protestfrom others. At last the whole matter was referred to a committee ofeight cardinals, who wisely sought the aid of an equal number of thepapal singers, and the outcome of their debate was a commission givenPalestrina to write a mass, which should employ counterpoint withoutirreverence, and prove that religion and music might be blended intoone. 

The composer, in response to this signal mark of confidence, wrotethree masses, which he submitted in 1565. The third one was thecelebrated "Mass of Pope Marcellus, " of which the Pope ordered aspecial performance by the choir of the Apostolical Chapel. Therendition was followed by the complete acceptance of Palestrina's work. 

A new office, that of "Composer to the Pontifical Choir, " was createdfor him, and in 1571 he became leader of the choir of St. Peter's. Although highly honoured and rewarded with many offices, Palestrinareceived no great pecuniary recompense for his labours. His life wasblessed, however, with the love of a devoted wife, and the friendshipof many true admirers, especially Cardinal Carlo Borromeo and FilippoNeri, the founder of oratorio, both of whom were afterward canonised. 

Palestrina died in 1594, and lies buried in St. Peter's, where hisworks are still performed. To the end of his life he never ceased toproduce, and left behind him over ninety masses, one hundred andseventy-nine motettes, forty-five sets of hymns for the entire year, and an immense quantity of other compositions. No composer, it issaid, has ever existed at once so prolific and so sustainedly powerful. Both the man and his work deserve our regard. Elson says: "If ever theCatholic Church desires to canonise a musical composer, it will finddevoutness, humility, and many other saintly characteristics inPalestrina. "

Palestrina, in reverend age, discoursing on his art to some pupils orfriends, has been painted by Ferdinand Heilbuth (1826-1889), an artistwho, born in Germany of Jewish parents, gained his greatest successesin France. He painted three classes of pictures, --those in whichcelebrated personages of other times are the central attraction, as in"Palestrina;" others which portray aged ecclesiastics of the RomanChurch, conversing with the orphan boys of some religious foundation, or the like; and lastly, charming transcripts from field or wood, inwhose foreground he placed some fair dame in fashionable attire. 

LULLI. 

That Amazon of princesses, granddaughter of Henry IV. , and cousin ofLouis XIV. , the Duchesse de Montpensier (better known, perhaps, by thename of "La Grande Mademoiselle"), once asked the Chevalier de Guise tobring her from Italy "a young musician to enliven my house. " Thechevalier did not forget the great lady's whim, and noticing, one dayin Florence, a bright-eyed boy of twelve singing to the music of hisguitar, said to him, "Will you come with me to Paris?" The lad, a poormiller's son, without hesitation answered, "Yes;" and thus the youngLulli got his start in the world. 

He soon gained experience of the uncertainty which attended the favourof royalty, for, after a few days, "La Grande Mademoiselle" grew tiredof her new toy, and sent him to the kitchen, where he became a cook'sboy. Here, in the intervals of his work, surrounded by pots and pans, and eatables of all kinds, he often played upon his violin, or sang tohis guitar. He is credited with having set some verses to music, atthis time; among them the popular "Au Clair de la Lune, " which thenumberless readers of "Trilby" will remember was sung by La Svengali, on that famous night at the Cirque des Bashibazoucks. Some coupletsreflecting on his mistress were sent to the young musician, and, composing a pretty air to the words, he sang them to the frequenters ofthe kitchen. This disrespectful act reached the ears of the duchess, who thereupon expelled Lulli from her house. 

[Illustration: The Young Lulli. From painting by H. De la Charlerie. ]

His talent for the violin had, however, attracted the attention of somepeople of influence, and he was placed under tuition, and finally madeone of the court musicians. At nineteen years old, he played for thefirst time before the king, who was much pleased, and appointed himInspector of the Violins, and organised for him a band of youngmusicians, who were called _Les Petits Violons_, to distinguish themfrom the _Grande Bande des Violons du Roi_. Lulli was then chosen tocompose dance-music for the ballets performed at court, and afterwardthe entire musical portion of these entertainments was entrusted tohim. He became also a collaborator of Molière, furnishing the musicfor many of the great dramatist's plays, and even acting in some ofthem. 

His greatest fame was won in the composition of operas, for which thepoet Quinault wrote the words, and he is justly considered to be thefounder of French opera. Among Lulli's operas are "Armide, " "Isis, ""Atys, " "Alceste, " "Psyche, " "Proserpine, " and "Bellerophon. " Thecomposer did not reach old age, but died in 1687, about fifty-fouryears old, wealthy and honoured, and a great favourite of Louis XIV. , who had made him "Superintendent of the King's Music, " and treated himwith much liberality. His death was caused, one might say, by anillness of the king. When Louis recovered from this sickness, Lulliwas commanded to write a Te Deum in grateful celebration of the event. At the first performance, the composer himself conducted, and whilebeating time with his baton, accidentally struck it against his foot, causing a bruise, which developed into an abscess of such a malignantcharacter that the entire foot, and then the leg were affected. Amputation was advised as the only hope of saving the patient's life, but Lulli hesitated in giving his consent, and it was soon too late. From all accounts, the closing scene of Lulli's life was not markedwith that awe which generally attends a death-bed. He desiredabsolution, but his confessor would not absolve him, except on thecondition that he would commit to flames the score of his latest opera. After many excuses, Lulli at length acquiesced, and pointing to adrawer, where was the rough score of "Achille et Polixene, " it wasburned, the absolution granted, and the priest went home satisfied. 

Lulli grew better, and one of the young princes visited him. 

"What, Baptiste, " said he, "have you burnt your opera? You were a foolfor giving such credit to a gloomy confessor, and burning such goodmusic. "

"Hush! hush!" whispered Lulli, "I knew well what I was about, --I haveanother copy of it!"

But this was not all. Unhappily, this joke was followed by a relapse, and the prospect of certain death caused him such dreadful remorse forhis deceit to the priest, that he confessed all, and submitted to belaid on a heap of ashes, with a cord around his neck, which was thepenance recommended him! He was then placed in bed, and expiredsinging, "_Il faut mourir, pecheur, il faut mourir!_" to one of his ownairs. 

Many anecdotes are told about Lulli, of which we will repeat one or two. 

So fatal was the influence of success and its attendant fortune uponLulli's career, that he entirely laid aside his violin, and refused tohave such a thing in his house, nor could any one prevail upon him toplay upon one. Marshal de Gramont, however, was his match. Hedetermined not to be entirely deprived of his favourite treat, anddevised the ingenious plan of making one of his servants, who couldbring more noise than music out of the instrument, play upon the violinin Lulli's presence; whereupon the ex-violinist would rush to theunfortunate tormentor, snatch the fiddle from him, and seek to allayhis disturbed equanimity (which, much to the delight of those withinhearing, always took him a long time to accomplish) by playing himself. 

At the first performance of "Armide, " at Versailles, some delayprevented the raising of the curtain at the appointed hour. The king, thereupon, sent an officer of his guard, who said to Lulli, "The kingis waiting, " and was answered with the words, "The king is master here, and nobody has the right to prevent him waiting as long as he likes!"

Hippolyte de la Charlerie, who painted Lulli as a boy in the kitchen of"La Grande Mademoiselle, " was a Belgian artist, who died young, in1869, the same year that he sent this picture to the Paris Salon. 

STRADIVARIUS. 

Crowest, the English writer on musical subjects, says: "Two hundredyears ago, the finest violins that the world will probably ever havewere being turned out from the Italian workshops; while at about thesame time, and subsequently, there was issuing from the homes of musicin Germany, the music for these superb instruments, --music not for anyone age, 'but for all time. '"

"In the chain of this creative skill, however, a link was wanting. Nobody rose up who could marry the music to the instrument. For yearsand years the violin, and the music for it, marched steadily on, sideby side, but not united. Bach was writing far in advance of his time, while Stradivarius and the Amatis were 'rounding' and 'varnishing' fora people yet to come. It was not till the beginning of the presentcentury that executive skill, tone, and culture stepped in, and werebrought to bear upon an instrument that is, perhaps, more than anyother, amenable to such influences. Consequently, to us has fallen thehappy fate to witness the very zenith of violin-playing. A futuregeneration may equal, but can scarcely hope to surpass a Joachim, aWilhelmj, or a Strauss, --players who combine the skill of Paganini witha purity of taste to which he was a stranger, and, moreover, with afreedom from those startling eccentricities which, more than anythingelse, have made the reputation of that strange performer. "

The greatest violin-maker that ever lived, Antonio Stradivari, orStradivarius, was born in Cremona, probably in 1644. No entry of hisbirth has been found in any church register at Cremona, but among theviolins which once belonged to a certain Count Cozio di Salabue was onebearing a ticket in the handwriting of Stradivarius, in which his name, his age, and the date of the violin were given. He was then ninety-twoyears old, and the date of the violin was 1736. He was the pupil ofanother famous Cremonese violin-maker, Niccolo Amati, and his firstworks are said to bear the name of his master, but in 1670 he began tosign instruments with his own name. His early history is quiteunknown, but a record exists showing that in 1667, when twenty-threeyears old, he married Francesca Ferraboschi. For about twenty yearsafter his marriage, Stradivarius appears to have produced but fewinstruments, and it is supposed that during this time he employedhimself chiefly in making those scientific experiments and researcheswhich he carried into practice in his famous works. It was about theyear 1700, when he was fifty-six years old, that Stradivarius attainedthat perfection which distinguishes his finest instruments. The firstquarter of the eighteenth century witnessed the production of his bestviolins, --the quality of those made after 1725 is less satisfactory. 

During his long life (he died in 1737), the great violin-maker workedindustriously, and produced a large number of instruments, but a fargreater number are attributed to him than he could possibly have made. His usual price for a violin was about twenty dollars, (Haweis saysfifty dollars), but a fine specimen from his hand now sells in theauction room for hundreds of dollars. In 1888, a Stradivarius violinbrought the large sum of five thousand dollars, and double this sum waspaid a few years since for the celebrated "Messie" violin, made byStradivarius in 1716, and still in perfect condition. Count Cozio diSalabue had bought it in 1760, but never allowed it to be played upon, and when he died (about 1824) it was purchased by that remarkable"violin hunter, " Luigi Tarisio. Thirty years later, he, too, passedover to the majority, and his friend, the Parisian violin-makerVuillaume, bought the "Messie" from Tarisio's heirs, along with abouttwo hundred and fifty other fiddles, many of which were of the greatestrarity and value. Vuillaume kept the "Messie" in a glass case andnever allowed any one to touch it, and many anxious days he passedduring the Commune, fearing for his musical treasures. However, theyluckily escaped the dangers of the time, and when, in 1875, Vuillaumedied, the "Messie" became the property of his daughter, who was thewife of M. Alard, the celebrated teacher of the violin. From hisexecutors it was bought in 1890 for 2, 000 pounds, for the Englishgentleman who now possesses this most famous of all the works ofStradivarius. Charles Reade, the novelist, who was a lover of theviolin and an expert in such matters, in 1872 had thought thisinstrument to be worth 600 pounds, so that its value had trebled inless than twenty years. The celebrated violinist, Ole Bull, owned aStradivarius violin, dated 1687, and inlaid with ebony and ivory, whichis said to have been made for a king of Spain. In the "Tales of aWayside Inn" Longfellow speaks of it:

 "The instrument on which he played Was in Cremona's workshop made, By a great master of the past Ere yet was lost the art divine;

 * * * *

 "Exquisite was it in design, Perfect in each minutest part, A marvel of the lutist's art; And in its hollow chamber, thus, The maker from whose hands it came Had written his unrivalled name, -- 'Antonius Stradivarius. '"

Haweis, in his admirable book on "Old Violins, " reproduces for us "theatmosphere in which Antonio Stradivari worked for more than half acentury. 

"I stood in the open loft at the top of his house, where still in theold beams stuck the rusty old nails upon which he hung up his violins. And I saw out upon the north the wide blue sky, just mellowing to richpurple, and flecked here and there with orange streaks prophetic ofsunset. Whenever Stradivarius looked up from his work, if he lookednorth, his eye fell on the old towers of S. Marcellino and S. Antonio;if he looked west, the Cathedral, with its tall campanile, rose darkagainst the sky, and what a sky! full of clear sun in the morning, fullof pure heat all day, and bathed with ineffable tints in the cool ofthe evening, when the light lay low upon vinery and hanging garden, orspangled with ruddy gold the eaves, the roofs, and frescoed walls ofthe houses. 

"Here, up in the high air, with the sun, his helper, the light, hisminister, the blessed soft airs, his journeymen, what time the workadaynoise of the city rose and the sound of matins and vespers was in hisears, through the long warm days worked Antonio Stradivari. "

[Illustration: Stradivarius. From painting by E. J. C. Hamman. ]

Edouard Jean Conrad Hamman, who painted the picture ofStradivarius--deep in thought amid his violins--which accompanies this, was a Belgian. Born at Ostend in 1819, and a pupil of De Keyser, helived a long time in Paris, won many medals and other honours, and diedin 1888, leaving behind him numerous pictures, several of which arereproduced in this book. His "Erasmus Reading to the Young Charles V. "is in the Luxembourg, and the Brussels museum has his "Dante atRavenna, " and the "Entry of Albert and Isabella into Ostend. " Besidesthese he produced "The Mass of Adrien Willaert, " "The Childhood ofMontaigne, " "Shakespeare and his Family, " "Vesalius, " "Hamlet, " and"Murillo in his Studio. " One of his paintings, entitled "The Women ofSiena, 1553, " shows the women of that city working on thefortifications intended to resist the besieging army of Charles V. , andanother depicts Columbus first sighting land on October 12, 1492. 

TARTINI. 

A few years ago the Istrian town of Pirano unveiled a statue, notexactly to _one_ of its illustrious sons, but to the _only one_ of itschildren who ever became famous, so far as we know. The pedestal ofthe statue is inscribed. 

 _Istria to Giuseppe Tartini, 1896. _

The admirably conceived figure which surmounts the pedestal representsthe master standing, violin and bow in hand, at the moment of hisaccidental discovery of the curious acoustic phenomenon known as the"third sound, "--_i. E. _, the production of a third note in harmony whenonly two are struck with the bow. The statue was modelled by DalZotto, an able Italian sculptor, whose work found so much favour withthose present at its inauguration that they enthusiastically carriedhim about the piazza on their shoulders, --a tribute we judge to havebeen well deserved. 

The subject of Dal Zotto's statue was sent, while yet very young, fromPirano, (where he was born of a good family in 1692) to Capo d' Istria, to study at the college of the "Padri delle Scuole. " It was here thathe received his first instruction in violin playing, and infencing, --two accomplishments that were to play an important part inhis future life. In spite of the fact that Tartini's family haddestined him to become a Franciscan, he had the strongest antipathy toan ecclesiastical career. His relatives fought in vain against hisunbending resistance, and finally sent him to Pavia, to study law. Learning cost him little effort, and he still found plenty of sparetime for fencing. Somewhat wild, and tired of serious study, hedecided to take up his abode in Paris or Naples, and there establishhimself as a fencing-master. A love-affair put an end to this project. Tartini having won the heart of a young and beautiful girl, a niece ofthe cardinal and Bishop of Padua, George Cornaro, the lovers weresecretly married, but did not long succeed in keeping the knowledge oftheir union from their relatives. Tartini's family, enraged at hisconduct, withdrew at once the support they had hitherto given him, andto cap the climax, the bishop accused him of seduction and theft. Warned in time, Tartini fled to Rome, leaving his young wife in Paduawithout confiding to her the direction of his travels. 

Reaching Assisi, he ran across a monk in whom he recognised a nearrelation from his native city of Pirano. This good-natured brother, who was a sacristan in the monastery at Assisi, took pity on therefugee, and gave him an asylum in one of the cells. This is the time, and this is the cell in which the accompanying picture represents ourhero. Two years he passed in this monastery, making use of hisinvoluntary seclusion to carry on with great zeal his musical studies. The story of Tartini's dream, and his motive for writing the "Devil'sSonata" is told in various ways and with many additions. Tartini toldthe tale himself to the astronomer Lalande, who relates it in thefollowing manner in his "Italian Travels. " "One night in the year1713, " said Tartini, "I dreamed that I had made a compact with theDevil, and that he stood at my command. Everything thrived accordingto my wish, and whatever I desired or longed for was immediatelyrealised through the officiousness of my new vassal. A fancy seized meto give him my violin to see if he could, perchance, play somebeautiful melodies for me. How surprised I was to hear a sonata, sobeautiful and singular, rendered in such an intelligent and masterlymanner as I had never heard before. Astonishment and rapture overcameme so completely that I swooned away. On returning to consciousness, Ihastily took up my violin, hoping to be able to play at least a part ofwhat I had heard, but in vain. The sonata I composed at that time wascertainly my best, and I still call it the 'Devil's Sonata, ' but thiscomposition is so far beneath the one I heard in my dream, that I wouldhave broken my violin and given up music altogether, had I been able tolive without it. " The Paris Conservatory Library owns the manuscriptof the "Devil's Sonata, " which was published many years later (in1805), under the title of "Il Trillo del Diavolo. " This sonata hasbecome one of the show-pieces of leading violinists, such as Joachim, Laub, and others. One writer speaks of it as a "piece in which aseries of double shakes, and the satanic laugh with which it concludes, are so dear to lovers of descriptive music. " Its title alone almostensures its success beforehand. The listener is, however, lessimpressed by the hidden diabolical inspiration than by the wonderfultechnic. 

[Illustration: Tartini's Dream. From painting by James Marshall. ]

Strange to say, this composition actually aided Tartini to obtain theposition of director of the orchestra in the Church of St. Antony atPadua, in 1721. Before this time, however, he heard in Venice thefamous violinist Veracini, whose achievements in bowing impressedTartini so much, that he left Venice the next morning for Ancona, wherehe pursued the study of his art, unmolested, for seven years. It washere that he created a new method of playing, which, particularly asregards the bowing, was the one followed for half a century. 

Let us, however, return to Tartini at Assisi, and tell how anunforeseen incident at last freed the young artist from hishiding-place and gave him back to his family. On a certain holiday, Tartini was playing a violin solo, during services, in the choir of thechurch, when a sudden gust of wind blew aside the curtains which hadconcealed him from the assembly. A man from Padua, who happened to bein the church at the time, recognised Tartini, and betrayed hishiding-place. Circumstances had fortunately changed in the course oftwo years, the anger of the bishop was pacified, and Tartini wasallowed to return to his wife at Padua. 

In the year 1723 he was called to Prague to perform during thefestivities at the coronation of the Emperor Charles VI. He went withhis friend, the violoncellist, Antonio Nardini, to Prague, where theyboth accepted a position in the orchestra of Count Kinsky. After threeyears in this service, they returned to Padua, which city Tartini neverleft again. Invitations flowed in from all the great capitals, but noterms tempted him to leave his native soil. 

Among the first of these offers was one from Lord Middlesex, invitingTartini to London, and hinting that a visit to England would probablybring him in at least three thousand pounds; but it was declined in thefollowing disinterested language: "I have a wife with the samesentiments as myself, and no children. We are perfectly contented withour position, and if we wish for anything, it is, certainly, not topossess more than we have at present. " The remainder of his long andfamous career passed quietly, dedicated to study, composition, andteaching. The school founded by him in 1728 soon became famous allover Europe, and sent out some of the most noted violinists. Padua wasthen the place of pilgrimage for all violinists, and it was not withoutcause that Tartini's countrymen called him "il maestro delle nazioni. "

This period of Tartini's labour is, above all, remarkable for histheoretic researches. Already, in 1714, he had discovered thecombination tones (the so-called "third" or Tartini's tone). Thisdiscovery, a lasting and valuable acquisition to all laterinvestigations into acoustics, led him further and further, but apartfrom the exact road of natural science into the nebulous regions ofmystic philosophy. Tartini taught that with the problem of harmonywould also be solved the mystery of creation, that divinity itselfwould be revealed in the mystical symbols of the tone relations. Inthese mystical investigations, the composer believed himselfparticularly favoured by the grace of God. 

The German composer, Naumann, who became Tartini's pupil at an earlyage, and who enjoyed his favour as no other did, has written down manyremarkable facts concerning the master. To be initiated into the lastsecrets of the art of tone and the universe was Naumann's most ardentwish, but he was always put off to some future time as not yet beingquite mature and worthy enough. Naumann's illustrations of Tartini'steachings resemble more a mystic and ecstatic sermon than a musicaltheory. Tartini died without having spoken his last word. Hischaracter in this last period of his life appears to have been amiable, mild, and benevolent. The sharp and violent disposition of his wifedid not make him happy, but he nevertheless always remained considerateand tender toward her. He died in Padua, at the age of seventy-eight, on the sixteenth of February, 1770, and lies buried in the Church ofSt. Catherine. He perfected the art of bowing, composed eighteenconcertos for five instruments, as well as several trios and a numberof sonatas, and left a treatise on music. Doctor Burney translated andpublished, in 1779, a long letter of instructions for playing theviolin which Tartini wrote from Padua, in 1760, to "My very muchEsteemed Signora Maddalena. " It can also be found in the life of "OleBull, " who had a very high opinion of what Tartini must have been as ateacher. 

The splendid collection of modern German pictures owned by Count vonSchack, at Munich, includes "Tartini's Dream, " which was painted byJames Marshall. He was born at Amsterdam in 1838, but studied inAntwerp and Paris, and at Weimar under Friedrich Preller. Most ofMarshall's life has been spent in Germany. 

BACH. 

Bach's position as one of a numerous family of musicians is unique, forit cannot be said of any other composer that his forefathers, hiscontemporary relations, and his descendants were all musicians, and notonly musicians, but holders of important offices as such. 

Johann Sebastian Bach, the greatest of all that bore that name, considered the founder of his family to be Veit Bach, a Thuringianmusician who settled in Pressburg in Hungary as a baker and miller. Later, because of religious persecution, he returned to his nativecountry, where he lived at the village of Wechmar near Gotha, dying in1619. Of his numerous musical descendants, Johann (1604-1673) becameorganist at Schweinfurt, and afterward director of the town musicians atErfurt. Here, though the town suffered much from the effects of war, hefounded a family which quickly increased and soon filled all the townmusicians' places, so that for about a hundred and fifty years, and evenafter no more of the family lived there, the town musicians were known as"The Bachs. "

[Illustration: Bach's Preludes. From painting by E. J. C. Hamman. ]

Heinrich Bach (1615-1692) was organist of the Franciscan Church atArnstadt for fifty years, composed much, and had six children, three ofwhom were, in their day, noted musicians. Of the twin brothers, JohannAmbrosius and Johann Christoph, born in 1645, the first was town organistof Eisenach, and the second court musician at Arnstadt. These brotherswere remarkably alike, not only in looks, but in character andtemperament. They both played the violin in exactly the same way, theyspoke alike, and it is said that their own wives could scarcely tell themapart. They suffered from the same illnesses, and died within a fewmonths of one another. Johann Christoph once figured in an action forbreach of promise of marriage brought before the Consistory at Arnstadtby Anna Cunigunda Wiener, with whom he had once "kept company. " Thecourt decided that Bach must marry her, but, with the independence of hisfamily, he refused to do so, and he kept his word. 

Another Johann Christoph, uncle of the great Sebastian, was organist atEisenach for sixty years, and is, together with his brother Michael, distinguished as a composer. Maria Barbara, the youngest daughter ofMichael, became Sebastian Bach's first wife. One Johann Jacob Bach wasan oboe-player in the Swedish guard, and followed Charles XII. To hisdefeat at Pultowa, later becoming court-musician at Stockholm. 

A vigorous, ambitious, and altogether remarkable family was this of theBachs, and one of the most notable things about it is the uniformly highmoral character of its members. Only one, of all those who flourishedbefore Sebastian, is spoken of as being given to drink. 

Wilhelm Friedemann, the oldest son of the greatest Bach, unfortunatelyhad the same failing, and died in Berlin in 1789, poor and miserablethrough intemperance. His musical talent was exceptional, authoritiescalling him the greatest organist in Germany after his father. He issometimes spoken of as the "Halle Bach, " from having been music directorof a church there. 

The "father of modern piano music" was also the father of a large family, not less than twenty children having been born to him. The mostcelebrated of his twelve sons was Carl Philipp Emanuel, who is called the"Berlin Bach, " having lived there in the court service for nearly thirtyyears. Emanuel was a prolific composer in all styles, and occupies animportant place in the history of music. Another son, Johann ChristophFriedrich, was a composer and also chamber musician to Count von Lippe atBückeburg, from which circumstance he is called the "Bückeburger Bach. "Sebastian's youngest boy, Johann Christian (the Bach family evidentlynever wearied of the name of Johann), called the "Milanese" and afterwardthe "English" Bach, composed a large number of works, --songs, operas, oratorios, what not. He lived and worked at one time in Milan, where hewas organist of the cathedral, and from there went to London, where hedied in 1782. The daughters of Sebastian Bach--there were only eight ofthem--mostly died young, nor did they exhibit any special musical talent, and, after his sons' careers were ended, no one bearing the name has, webelieve, won distinction in the art. 

The Bach family were as a rule both sincerely pious and fond of innocentpleasure. Their tribal feeling was strong, and it was a custom to meettogether once a year at Erfurt, Eisenach, or Arnstadt, and spend a day infriendly intercourse, exchanging news and relating experiences. Ofcourse on these occasions they devoted some of the happy hours to music, and a favourite pastime was the singing of "quodlibets"--a kind ofmusical medley--wherein portions of several well-known songs would bedovetailed together. 

[Illustration: Morning Devotions in the Family of Bach. From painting byToby E. Rosenthal. ]

Bach's home life was a happy one. Both his marriage ventures turned outwell, and he was beloved by children and pupils alike. His large familycircle was often added to by friends and visitors, who enjoyed his neverfailing hospitality, especially toward musicians. In the midst of allhis occupations, he found time for music in the family circle, and aGerman-American artist has produced a charming work showing the greatcomposer seated at the clavichord and surrounded by his children, who aresinging their morning hymn. This painting, which belongs to the Museumof Leipsic, the city where Bach laboured so long and where he died, is byToby E. Rosenthal, who was born in Germany in 1848, but was brought tothe United States by his parents when but a few years old. He grew uphere, but, at the age of seventeen returned to study art in the land ofhis birth, where he became a pupil of Professor Raupp and also of thecelebrated Piloty. Most of his life since then has been spent in Germany. 

The dead Elaine, passing to Lancelot on her funeral barge, and Constancede Beverley, before her judges in the Vault of Penitence, have beenfinely pictured by Rosenthal, who has also treated lighter topics in"Grandmother's Dancing-lesson, " "The Alarmed Boarding-school, " and "TheCardinal's Portrait. "

The last visit which Bach ever made was to the court of Frederick theGreat at Potsdam, in 1747. 

His son Emanuel had been capellmeister to Frederick since 1740, and theking had frequently, and always with more insistence, thrown out hintsthat he would like to hear the great artist. Bach, being much occupied, and disinclined for travelling, did not accede to the king's wishes untilthey amounted to a positive command. Then, taking Friedemann with him, he started for Potsdam, which he reached early in May. The story of themeeting with Frederick is variously told. We will tell it inFriedemann's own words: "When Frederick II. Had just prepared his flute, in the presence of the whole orchestra, for the evening's concert, thelist of strangers who had arrived was brought him. Holding his flute inhis hand, he glanced through the list. Then he turned around withexcitement to the assembled musicians, and, laying down his flute, said, 'Gentlemen, old Bach is come. ' Bach, who was at his son's house, wasimmediately invited to the castle. He had not even time allowed him totake off his travelling clothes and put on his black court dress. Heappeared, with many apologies for the state of his dress, before thegreat prince, who received him with marked attention, and threw adeprecating look toward the court gentlemen, who were laughing at thediscomposure and numerous compliments of the old man. The flute concertowas given up for this evening; and the king led his famous visitor intoall the rooms of the castle, and begged him to try the Silbermann pianos, which he (the king) thought very highly of, and of which he possessedseven. The musicians accompanied the king and Bach from one room toanother; and after the latter had tried all the pianos, he begged theking to give him a fugue subject, that he could at once extemporise upon. Frederick thereupon wrote out the subject, and Bach developed this in themost learned and interesting manner, to the great astonishment of theking, who, on his side, asked to hear a fugue in six parts. But sinceevery subject is not adapted for so full a working out, Bach chose onefor himself, and astounded those present by his performance. The king, who was not easily astonished, was completely taken by surprise at theunapproachable mastery of the old cantor. Several times he cried, 'Thereis only one Bach!' On the following day Bach played on all the organs inthe churches of Potsdam. "

[Illustration: Frederick the Great and Bach. From painting by HermanKaulbach. ]

Rosenthal portrayed the composer making music among his family; HermannKaulbach has depicted him playing before Frederick. The artist has givensuch a look of naturalness to the scene, that we are quite satisfied toaccept his presentment and believe that thus the king and his courtlistened

 "While the majestic organ rolled Contrition from its mouths of gold. "

Hermann Kaulbach is a son of the renowned painter, Wilhelm von Kaulbach. A pupil of Piloty, he was born at Munich in 1846, and has produced someworks of a historic character, such as "Lucrezia Borgia, " "Voltaire atParis, " "Louis XI. And His Barber, " and "The Last Days of Mozart, " but isperhaps still more successful with his admirable pictures of childhood. We must not forget to mention his "Madonna, " a work which should add muchto his fame. 

HANDEL. 

Like many other children who grew up to fame, Handel was not intendedby his parents to follow the art in which he is renowned. His father, who was body surgeon to the Prince of Saxony, wished him to become alawyer. 

All accounts of Handel's childhood "agree in representing him asbright, clever, energetic, and singularly tenacious of purpose. Thesequalities he inherited; the special genius on which they were broughtto bear was all his own. Unlike Bach, the flower and crown of a raceof born musicians, there seems no record in Handel's case of his havinga single musical or artistic progenitor. From infancy, however, helived in music, its attraction for him was irresistible, and he beganto 'musicise' for himself (to quote Chrysander's expression) almost assoon as he could walk, and before he could speak. This inspired allthe family and friends with wonder and admiration, in which his parentsat first shared; but, as time went on, the thing began to wear adifferent aspect, and the father grew alarmed. The boy was acuriosity, no doubt, and music as a pastime was all very well, but ithad never occurred to the worthy surgeon to look on it as a seriousprofession for a child of his, least of all for this, his last, mostpromising and favourite son. For the others he had been contented withsituations in his own station of life; for this one he nourished moreambitious designs. He was to be a doctor of laws, a learned man, andthe child's intelligence and thirst for knowledge favoured the hope. 

"The father set to work to stifle his son's musical proclivities inevery possible way, to separate him from musical society, to banish allmusic from the house, to prevent him even from going to school, forfear he should learn notes as well as letters there. He had sethimself a difficult task, for the boy's inclination was obstinate, andamong his doting admirers were some who conspired in his behalf sosuccessfully as to convey into the house, undiscovered, a littleclavichord, or dumb spinet. This instrument, much used at that time inconvent cells, is so tiny that a man can carry it under his arm, and asthe strings are muffled with strips of cloth, the tone is diminutive inproportion. It was safely established in a garret under the roof, andhere, while the household slept, the boy taught himself to play. Ifthe master of the house ever suspected what was going on, he connivedat it, thinking that probably no very dangerous amount of art-poisoncould be imbibed under such difficulties. It proved, however, but thethin edge of the wedge, and resulted before long in a collision betweenthe wills of father and son, in which the former sustained his firstreal defeat. He had occasion to visit Weissenfels, where a grandson ofhis first marriage was chamberlain to the reigning duke. George, whowas seven or eight years old, and was very fond of this grown-up nephewof his, begged to be taken, too; but his father refused, turned a deafear to all his entreaties, and set off alone. Not to be baffled, thepertinacious boy followed the carriage on foot, and after aconsiderable time overtook it. The father's vexation and wrath wereextreme, but futile; scolding and threats were thrown away on thischild. He owned his fault, cried bitterly, promised endless goodbehaviour in the future, but stuck all the time to his original point, which was that this time he must go. The end was that the father hadto give in and take him, and this journey practically decided Handel'scareer. 

"Music at Weissenfels was held in high esteem. The duke, a generousand enlightened prince, was a friend to musicians. And though HeinrichSchütz had been twenty years dead, his long life and noble labours werefresh in the memory of his fellow townsmen, who were justly proud oftheir burgomaster's son. He, too, had been educated for the law, andnot till after long doubts and severe struggles did he abandon it tofollow his true vocation. 

"Little Handel soon found allies. The choir of the ducal chapeladmitted him to their practices, and encouraged him to try his hand atthe organ. Finding him soon quite able to manage it, they lifted himup to the organ-stool, one Sunday afternoon at the conclusion of theservice, and let him play away as best he could. This attracted thenotice of the duke, who listened with astonishment to the performance, and, at its close, inquired who the brave little organist might be. Onhearing the whole story from his chamberlain, he summoned father andson to his presence. With the former he expostulated on the folly ofcoercing a child in the choice of a profession, and assured him, withall due respect for his conscientious scruples, that to restrain theactivity of a heaven-born genius like this was to sin against natureand the public good. As to the boy, he filled his pockets with goldpieces, and exhorted him to be industrious. Here was a change! Musicwas to be not only suffered, but furthered; his father was to lose notime in finding him a good teacher. Often as old Handel must havestopped his ears to these very same arguments before, he could notchoose but listen, now that they fell from ducal lips. He did notchange his mind, --a doctorship of law remained the goal of hisambition, --but he practically acquiesced, and, on his return to Halle, sent his son to study music with Zachau, organist of the Frauenkirche. "

[Illustration: The Child Handel. From painting by Margaret Dicksee. ]

The legend that accompanied, in the catalogue of the Royal Academy of1893, Miss Dicksee's picture of the boy Handel, varied somewhat fromthe version just quoted. It says that the father forbade the childfollowing his bent, and banished all the musical instruments in thehouse to the attic, where, however, the little musician discoveredthem, and, under cover of night, resumed his beloved pursuit. Thesounds thus produced, and the flitting of the little white-clad figureover the stairs, started the story that the house was haunted, whichwas believed until the truth was revealed, as shown in the picture. 

Miss Dicksee, an Englishwoman, and the sister of Frank Dicksee, R. A. , has painted several deservedly popular pictures, having for theirsubjects episodes in the lives of those who have reared themselvesabove the common mass of humanity. Such are her "Swift and Stella, ""The First Audience--Goldsmith and the Misses Horenck, " and "Sheridanat the Linleys. "

Handel, whom the Elector of Hanover had made his capellmeister, firstcame to England in the autumn of 1710, having been granted a year'sleave of absence by his royal patron. In the following February hisopera of "Rinaldo" was produced in London with great success, and atonce established the composer's reputation with the English public. Atthe close of the season he returned to Hanover, where he remained overa year, but was back in England again toward the end of 1712. In Julyof the following year, his Te Deum and Jubilate, for the service ofthanksgiving held in celebration of the Peace of Utrecht, was performedin St. Paul's, and Queen Anne bestowed a life pension of 200 pounds ayear upon him. In August, 1714, the queen died, and Handel, who hadlong out-stayed his leave of absence from Hanover, felt some qualms ofconscience while awaiting the coming of his master, who arrived withinsix weeks after Anne's death to be crowned as George I. George hadsome reason to be vexed with both "his principal musicians: with thecapellmeister for neglect, with Farinelli, the concert-master atHanover, for obtrusiveness. In the thick of all the bustle consequenton the court's leaving Hanover, this gentleman wrote and thrust intothe elector's notice a composition to the words, 'Lord, remember mewhen thou comest into thy kingdom. ' Handel was somewhat afraid to gonear his injured master, who, however, could not help hearing of him. The new royal family cared for music, and for no other form of art. They were not edified by entertainments in a language they did notunderstand, and the English drama drooped while the Italian operarevived, the Prince and Princess of Wales being present nearly everynight. 

"'Rinaldo' was remounted, with Nicolini, who had returned, in theprincipal part. 'Amadigi, ' by Handel, was produced toward the end ofthe season, and repeated four times. At the second performance theconcerto now known as the 'Fourth Hautboy Concerto' was played betweenthe acts. A great deal of the opera is adapted from 'Silla;' the wholestands high among the series to which it belongs. It may be anindirect testimony to its popularity that parodies and burlesques inimitation of it drew crowded audiences to other theatres. Meanwhile, the awkwardness of the situation between the king and Handel increasedevery day. The account of the manner in which a reconciliation was atlast brought about has been repeated and believed by every biographersince Mainwaring, including Chrysander, in his first volume, who, however, by the time he wrote his third volume had discovered someevidence tending to throw doubt on its veracity. The story goes thatBaron Kielmansegge, the common friend of both king and capellmeister, took occasion of a grand water-party, attended by the whole court, toengage Handel to compose some music expressly for this festivity, theresult being the celebrated 'Water Music, ' of which Handel secretlyconducted the performance in a boat that followed the royal barge. Theking, as delighted as he was surprised by this concert, inquired atonce as to the author of the music, and then heard all about it fromKielmansegge, who took upon himself to apologise most humbly forHandel's bad behaviour, and to beg in his name for condonation of hisoffence. Whereupon his Majesty made no difficulties, but at oncerestored him to favour, and 'honoured his compositions with the mostflattering marks of royal approbation. '

"A water-party did take place in August, 1715, but the brilliantoccasion when a concert of music was given, for which special music waswritten 'by Mr. Handel, ' and when Kielmansegge was present, and whenprobably, therefore, the 'Water Music' was produced, only happened in1717, when peace had long been made, and pardon sealed with a grant toHandel of 200 pounds a year. The ice was, perhaps, broken byGeminiani, the great violinist, who, when he was to play his concertosat court, requested to be accompanied on the harpsichord by Handel, ashe considered no one else capable of doing it. The petition waspowerfully seconded by Kielmansegge, and acceded to by George I. "

[Illustration: Handel and George I. From painting by E. J. C. Hamman. ]

Handel was not only honoured by those who were kings by birth, but alsoby the rulers in his own art. Beethoven always declared that Handelwas "the monarch of the musical kingdom;" Haydn said of him, "He is thefather of us all, " and at another time, "There is not a note of him butdraws blood. " Scarlatti followed Handel all over Italy, and in afteryears, when speaking of the great master, would cross himself in tokenof admiration; and Mozart said, "Handel knows better than any of uswhat will produce a grand effect. "

GLUCK. 

Marie Antoinette, married at fourteen and Queen of France at eighteen, found herself wearied and annoyed by the excessive etiquette of theFrench court, so different from the comparatively simple life she hadled at Vienna. While dauphiness, she often expressed a wish for acountry-house of her own where she could find freedom at times from thepomp and intrigues of the court, and very soon after his accessionLouis XVI. Offered her Little Trianon, which she joyfully accepted. 

Built by Louis XV. For Madame du Barry, this charming residence lay inthe midst of a park which was intended to serve both as a school ofgardening and as a botanical garden, and united the various kinds ofgardens then known, --French, Italian, and English. Marie Antoinettesacrificed the botanical garden, for which she did not much care, inorder to improve and extend the English gardens, which she mostadmired, and which were then becoming the fashion on the Continent. 

The world was taxed to furnish specimens of trees and plants for hergarden. From North America alone came two hundred and thirty-ninekinds of trees and shrubs. Besides these, there were everywhere andalways flowers; in the spring, lilacs, then syringas, snowballs, tuberoses, irises, tulips, hyacinths, and so through the floralcalendar. In addition to these beauties, the park of Trianon wasenhanced by all that the art of the landscape gardener could devise. Architecture added its gifts in the theatre, the Temple of Love, theBelvedere, and the palace, where the art of Lagrenée, of Gouthière, Houdon, and Clodion found expression. And there still remained thequeen's favourite creation, the little hamlet of eight cottages, whereshe and her ladies played at farming, with its dairy, its mill, and itspoultry yard. 

"At Trianon there was no ceremony, no etiquette, no household, onlyfriends. When the queen entered the salon, the ladies did not quittheir work nor the men interrupt their game of billiards or of_trictrac_. It was the life of the château, with all its agreeableliberty, such as Marie Antoinette had always dreamed, such as waspractised in that patriarchal family of the Hapsburgs, which was, asGoethe has said, 'Only the first _bourgeoise_ family of the empire. '"

In spite of Marie Antoinette's many kindnesses to authors, it seemsdoubtful if she really cared for literature, but of music she was aconstant lover. As a child she had played with Mozart and had receivedlessons from Gluck, and when she became queen she still took lessonsboth in music and singing. 

Gluck was to her not only a great composer, he was one of the dearmemories of her youth, her home, and her country, and also a hope forreform in French music, which she found monotonous. It was to pleaseher that the directors of the Grand Opera invited Gluck to come toParis and produce some of his works. The great reformer of opera hadlong wished for this opportunity, which he seized with alacrity, andset out from Vienna for Paris in the autumn of 1773. He was receivedwith every kindness and encouragement by Marie Antoinette and thecourt, and proceeded to rehearse his "Iphigenia in Aulis"--not withoutdifficulties, as he found the French singers and musicians even lessinclined to reforms than those of Vienna. Gluck, however, supported bythe protection of the dauphiness, made short work of those who heldback. To the lady who sang the music of "Iphigenia, " and who refusedto obey him at rehearsal, he said, "Mademoiselle, I am here to bringout 'Iphigenia. ' If you will sing, nothing can be better; if not, verywell, I will go the queen and say, 'It is impossible to have my operaperformed;' then I will take my seat in my carriage and return toVienna. " Doubtless this result would have been much to the primadonna's liking, but she had to submit. 

[Illustration: Gluck at the Trianon. From painting by E. J. C. Hamman. ]

"Iphigenia" was produced on April 19, 1774, and Marie Antoinetteapplauded from the royal box without ceasing. On the firstrepresentation, opinions were divided, but at the second performancethe approval was unanimous. When Marie Antoinette became queen shortlyafterward, she gave the composer a pension of six thousand francs, withthe entrée to her morning receptions. He often visited her at Trianon, where the daughter of Maria Theresa was always gracious to theforester's gifted son. The next work of Gluck to be given in Paris washis "Orpheus and Eurydice, " whose success was greater than that of the"Iphigenia, " and caused Rousseau to publicly acknowledge that he wasmistaken in asserting that the French language was unsuitable to set tomusic. He also said that the music of "Orpheus" had reconciled him toexistence, and met the reproach that Gluck's work was lacking in melodywith the words, "I believe that melody proceeds from every pore. "

When the composer's next opera, "Alcestis, " was produced, in 1776, thequeen gave it her decided approbation, and loyally supported Gluckagainst the king's preference for the older form of opera, and thepartisans of the Italian composer Piccini, who was Gluck's rival forthe favour of the Parisians. Great was the battle between the warringfactions, the "Gluckists" and the "Piccinists, " whose differences ofopinion sometimes even resulted in personal encounters in the theatre. Between the two composers themselves, matters were more pleasant. WhenPiccini's "Roland" was being studied, the composer, unused toconducting and unfamiliar with the French language, became confused ata rehearsal. Gluck happened to be present, and, rushing into theorchestra, threw off his wig and coat, and led the performance withsuch energy and skill that all went smooth again. On the other hand, Piccini, when he learned of the death of his whilom rival, expressedhis respect for Gluck by starting a subscription for the establishmentof an annual concert to be given upon the anniversary of the composer'sdeath, at which nothing but his music should be performed. 

Gluck's "Armida" was given its first presentation in 1777, andincreased his fame so much that his bust was placed in the Grand Operabeside those of Lulli, Rameau, and Quinault. "Iphigenia in Tauris" wasproduced in 1779, with great success, but "Echo and Narcissus, " thelast opera which Gluck gave in Paris, was a failure. He left Francefor Vienna in the same year, never to return, though his royal pupilpressed him to do so in the most flattering manner. 

Before taking leave of Gluck, let us read the eloquent words with whichErnest Newman closes his book on "Gluck and the Opera. " "The musicianspeaks a language that is in its very essence more impermanent than thespeech of any other art. Painting, sculpture, architecture, and poetryknow no other foe than external nature, which may, indeed, destroytheir creations and blot out the memory of the artist. But themusician's material is such that, however permanent may be the writtenrecord of his work, it depends not upon this, but upon the permanencyin other men of the spirit that gave his music birth, whether it shalllive in the minds of future generations. Year after year the languageof the art grows richer and more complex, and work after work sinksinto ever-deepening oblivion, until music that once thrilled men withdelirious ecstasy becomes a dead thing, which here and there a studentlooks back upon in a mood of scarcely tolerant antiquarianism. In thetemple of the art a hundred statues of the gods are overthrown; and ahundred others stand with arrested lips and inarticulate tongues, palesymbols of a vanished dominion which men no longer own. Yet here andthere, through the ghostly twilight, comes the sound of some clearvoice that has defied the courses of the years and the mutations oftaste; and we hear the rich canorous tones of Gluck, not, perhaps, withall the vigour and the passion that once was theirs, but with themellowed splendour given by the touch of time. Alone among his fellowshe speaks our modern tongue, and chants the eternal passions of therace. He was, indeed, as Sophie Arnould called him, 'The musician ofthe soul;' and if we have added new strings to our lyre, and wrung fromthem a more poignant eloquence than ever stirred within the heart ofGluck, none the less do we perceive that music such as his comes to usfrom the days when there were giants in the land. "

MOZART. 

It was in 1762 that Leopold Mozart, father of the two musicalprodigies, Maria Anna and Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, first began to turnto account his children's talent. Wolfgang was then six years old, andhis sister between four and five years older. By easy stages thefamily journeyed to Vienna in the month of September, and it is toldthat upon their arrival the wonderful boy-musician saved his father thepayment of customs duties. He made friends with the custom-houseofficer, showed him his harpsichord, played him a minuet on his littlefiddle, and the thing was done, --"Pass--free of duty. "

The imperial family were sincere lovers of music. Charles VI. , thefather of Maria Theresa, had two passions, hunting and music, and wasan accomplished musician. He used to accompany operatic or otherperformances at court upon the clavier, and also composed pieces. Atone time he wrote an opera, which was performed with great splendour inthe theatre of his palace. On this occasion the emperor led theorchestra, and his two daughters, Maria Theresa and Maria Anne, dancedin the ballet. Lady Mary Wortley Montagu speaks of an opera which shesaw at Vienna in 1716, the decorations and dresses of which cost theemperor thirty thousand pounds. He called Metastasio from Italy tocompose the operas for his court. Maria Theresa inherited this love ofmusic, and in 1725, when only seven years old, sang in an opera by Fux, at a fête given in honour of her mother, the Empress Elizabeth. Alluding to this, she once said in a joking way to the celebratedsinger, Faustina Hasse, that she believed herself to be the first ofliving vocalists. In 1739 she sang a duet with Senesino so beautifullythat the famous old singer was melted to tears. Her husband, FrancisI. , was also a lover of music, and her daughters were carefullyinstructed in singing, and often appeared in operatic performances atcourt. Maria Theresa's son, afterward the Emperor Joseph, also sangwell, and played both the harpsichord and the violoncello. 

[Illustration: Mozart and His Sister before Maria Teresa. Frompainting by A. Borckmann. ]

"With a court so favourably disposed toward music, it is not surprisingthat Leopold, a few days only after his arrival, should have received acommand to bring his children on the 13th of October to Schönbrunn, animperial palace near Vienna, and this without any solicitation on hispart. The children remained three hours with the court, and were thenobliged to repeat their performance. The Emperor Francis I. , thehusband of Maria Theresa, took a peculiar interest in the little'sorcerer. '

"He made the little fellow play with only one finger, in which heperfectly succeeded. An attempt which little Mozart made at thespecial request of the emperor, to play with the keys covered by apiece of cloth, was also a brilliant success. It was, perhaps, owingto the imperial fancy that this species of artistic trick obtainedconsiderable celebrity, and played a not unimportant part in the little'sorcerer's' repertoire on all his long journeys. Wolfgang enteredreadily into any joke that was made with him, but sometimes he could bevery serious, as, for instance, when he called for the court composer, Georg Christoph Wagenseil, a thorough connoisseur of the harpsichord, and himself a performer. The emperor stepped back and made Wagenseilcome forward, to whom Mozart said, quite seriously, 'I play a concertoby you: you must turn over the pages for me. ' The emperor ordered ahundred ducats to be paid to his father. The empress was very kind tothe Mozarts, and sent them costly dresses. 'Would you like to know, 'writes Leopold to Hagenauer, his host at Salzburg, 'what Wolferl's (apet name for Wolfgang) dress is like? It is of the finest cloth, lilac-coloured, the vest of moire of the same colour. Coat andtop-coat with a double broad border of gold. It was made for theHereditary Duke Maximilian Franz. ' In the picture which is preservedin the Mozart collection at Salzburg, Mozart is painted in this dress. Wolfgang never showed the least embarrassment in the society of thegreat. "

"At court, as elsewhere, Mozart was a bright, happy child. He wouldspring on the empress's lap, throw his arms around her neck, and kissher, and play with the princesses on a footing of equality. He wasespecially devoted to the Archduchess Marie Antoinette. Once, when hefell on the polished floor, she lifted him from the ground and consoledhim, while one of her sisters stood by. 'You are good, ' said Wolfgang, I will marry you. ' The empress asked him why. 'From gratitude, 'answered he; 'she was good to me, but her sister stood by and didnothing. '"

Nor was he shy with the Crown Prince Joseph, who, in after years, whenemperor, reminded him of his playing duets with Wagenseil, and ofMozart's standing in the audience and calling out, "Fie!" or "That wasfalse!" or "Bravo!" as the case might be. 

As was to be expected, the children became the rage in society, and allthe ladies fell in love with little Mozart. No musical entertainmentscould be given without him and Maria Anna, and they appeared in companywith the most celebrated performers, being everywhere petted, feasted, and flattered, and receiving many costly gifts. 

Their successes induced Leopold Mozart to plan a more extended tour, and in the summer of the next year he and his children set out on ajourney which was intended to include visits to Paris and London. Thetrio arrived in Paris in November, and were greatly befriended by theircountryman, Grimm, the encyclopaedist, secretary to the Duke ofOrleans. Leopold wrote home thus, about the help this powerful friendhad been to them: "He has done everything; he has introduced the matterat court, and arranged the first concert. He, alone, paid me eightylouis-d'ors, then sold three hundred and twenty tickets, and, moreover, bore the expense of lighting with wax. We burnt more than sixtycandles. It was he who obtained permission for the concert, and now heis getting up a second, for which a hundred tickets have already beendistributed. You see what one man can do, who possesses sense and akind heart. He is a native of Ratisbon, but has been more than fifteenyears in Paris, and knows how to guide everything in the rightdirection, so that all must happen as he intends. "

[Illustration: Mozart and Madame de Pompadour. From painting by V. DeParedes. ]

Little Wolfgang had played before Maria Theresa; now he performedbefore her ally, Madame de Pompadour, then within a few months of herend, for the all-powerful favourite of Louis XV. Died in the followingApril. Leopold Mozart, writing home to Salzburg, speaks thus of thePompadour; "She must have been very beautiful, for she is still comely. She is tall and stately; stout, but well proportioned, with somelikeness to her Imperial Majesty about the eyes. She is proud, and hasa remarkable mind. " Mozart's sister remembered in after days how sheplaced little Wolfgang on the table before her, but pushed him asidewhen he bent forward to kiss her, on which he indignantly asked: "Whois this that does not want to kiss me? The empress kissed me. " Theking's daughters were much more friendly, and, contrary to alletiquette, kissed and played with the children, both in their ownapartments and in the public corridors. 

As before at Vienna and afterward in London, the little Mozarts made agreat hit in Paris, and performed before the most distinguishedaudiences. Grimm relates in his correspondence "a truly astonishinginstance of the boy's genius. " Wolfgang accompanied a lady in anItalian air without seeing the music, supplying the harmony for thepassage which was to follow from that which he had just heard. Thiscould not be done without some mistakes, but when the song was ended hebegged the lady to sing it again, played the accompaniment and themelody itself with perfect correctness, and repeated it ten times, altering the character of the accompaniment for each. On a melodybeing dictated to him, he supplied the bass and the parts without usingthe clavier at all; he showed himself in all ways so accomplished thathis father was convinced he would obtain service at court on his returnhome. Leopold Mozart now thought the time was come for introducing theboy as a composer, and he printed four sonatas for the piano andviolin, rejoicing at the idea of the noise which they would make in theworld, appearing with the announcement on the title-page that they werethe work of a child of seven years old. He thought well of thesesonatas, independently of their childish authorship; one andanteespecially "shows remarkable taste. " When it happened that, in thelast trio of Opus 2, a mistake of the young master, which his fatherhad corrected (consisting of three consecutive fifths for the violin), was printed, he consoled himself by reflecting that "they can serve asa proof that Wolfgangerlf wrote the sonatas himself, which, naturally, not everyone would believe. "

[Illustration: Mozart at the Organ. From painting by Carl Herpfer. ]

Less than thirty years had passed since these triumphant days in thelife of the child Mozart, when there came the end of that wonderfulcareer. In the summer of Mozart's last year, --1791, --he was at work onthe concluding portions of "The Magic Flute, " when one day he receiveda visit from a stranger. This man, tall, gaunt, and solemn in manner, clad all in gray, handed the composer an anonymous letter, sealed inblack, requesting him to write a "Requiem" as quickly as possible, andasking the price. Mozart agreed to do the work and received from themessenger fifty (some say a hundred) ducats, with a promise of moreupon completion of the piece, he agreeing to make no effort to discoverwho his patron was. The unknown messenger then went away, saying, "Ishall return when it is time. "

It is known now that this mysterious go-between was Leutgeb, thesteward of Count Franz von Walsegg of Stuppach, who often obtainedmusical compositions in this way, copied them, and had them performedas his own. The count desired the "Requiem" for his wife, who had diedin the preceding February, and it was sung as his own production andunder his direction on the 15th of December, 1793. 

But Mozart knew nothing of patron or steward; his spirits weredepressed by trouble, and he grew superstitious over the strangeaffair. Near the end of August, he was about to set out for Prague toattend the coronation of Leopold II. , upon which occasion thecomposer's music to Metastasio's festival opera was to be performed. Just as he was stepping into the carriage the mysterious messengerappeared suddenly and inquired as to the "Requiem, " to which Mozartanswered by excuses. "When will it be ready?" "I will work on itwithout ceasing on my return. " "Good, " said the stranger, "I shallrely on your promise. " True to his word, upon again reaching home, Mozart, though feeling melancholy and far from well, worked steadilyupon the "Requiem. " Always cheerful until now, his low spiritsincreased, and he imagined that he was writing his own death-mass. InNovember, his illness grew alarming, and a consultation of physicianswas held. "Mozart's only consolation during his suffering was to hearof the repeated performances of 'Die Zauberflöte. ' He would follow therepresentations in spirit, laying his watch beside him, and saying, 'Now the first act is over. Now they are come to the place, "The greatQueen of Night, "' etc. Only the day before his death he expressed awish that he might hear 'Die Zauberflöte' once more. He hummed tohimself the song, 'Der Vogelfänger bin ich ja. ' Capellmeister Roser, who happened to be with him, went to the harpsichord and played andsang the song, which appeared greatly to cheer Mozart. Nevertheless, the 'Requiem' occupied him continually. As soon as he had finished apiece, he had it rehearsed by the friends who happened to be present. At two o'clock in the afternoon of the day before his death, Schack, who was the first 'Tamino, ' sang soprano, Mozart himself contralto, Hofer, his brother-in-law, tenor, and Geri, who was the first'Sarastro, ' bass. At the 'Lacrymosa' Mozart began to weep violently, and laid down the score. Toward evening, when his sister-in-law, Sophie Haibl, came in, Mozart begged her to remain and help Constance, as he felt death approaching. She went out again just to tell hermother and to fetch a priest. When she returned she found Mozart inlively conversation with Süssmayer. 'Did I not say that I was writingthe "Requiem" for myself?' he said; and then, with a sure presentimentof approaching death, he charged his wife instantly to informAlbrechtsberger, on whom his post at St. Stephen's would devolve. Latein the evening he lost consciousness. But the 'Requiem' still seemedto occupy him, and he puffed out his cheeks as if he would imitate awind instrument, the 'Tuba mirum spar gens sonum. ' Toward midnight hiseyes became fixed. Then he appeared to fall into slumber, and aboutone o'clock in the morning of the 5th of December he died. "

[Illustration: The Last Days of Mozart. From painting by HermanKaulbach. ]

The "Requiem" was left incomplete, and Mozart's widow entrusted toSüssmayer the task of finishing the imperfect portions. But thegreatest part of it is the work of Mozart. 

LINLEY. 

While making a tour of Italy with his father in 1770, Mozart stayed afew days in Florence, and there formed a warm friendship with ThomasLinley, an English boy of about his own age, who was studying underNardini, the celebrated violinist, and played so finely as almost tosurpass his teacher. The two boys met at the house of SignoraMaddelena Morelli, who was famed as an improvisatrice under the name ofCorilla, and had been crowned as a poetess on the Capitol in 1776, andwhen they parted, Tommasino, as Linley was called in Italy, gave theyoung Mozart, for a souvenir, a poem which Corilla had written for him. Linley was unfortunately drowned a few years after his return toEngland, but not before he had given proof of the possession of talentas composer as well as musician. 

His father, Thomas Linley the elder, was born at Wells in 1732, and wasby trade a carpenter. But being one day at work at Badminton, the seatof the Duke of Beaufort, he heard Thomas Chilcot, the organist of BathAbbey Church, play and sing, and, feeling that he had now found histrue vocation in life, determined to become a musician. At first hereceived instruction from Chilcot at Bath, and then proceeded to Italyand studied under Paradies. Upon his return to England, he set up inBath as a singing-master, and he became a leader in his profession. With the aid of his children, he carried on a series of concerts at theBath assembly rooms, paying special attention to the rendition of theworks of Handel. Linley removed to London in 1775, and was managerwith Doctor Arnold of the Drury Lane Oratorios. With his son Thomas, he composed the music for his son-in-law Sheridan's comic opera of "TheDuenna, " and his other works include the music for "The Camp, " andother pieces by Tickell, another son-in-law, for a version of AllanRamsay's "Gentle Shepherd, " and for "Selima and Azor, " and "RichardCoeur de Lion, " two adaptions from Gretry. He wrote new accompanimentsto the airs in the "Beggar's Opera, " also various elegies, ballads, anthems, glees, and madrigals. Doctor Burney praised him as a masterlyperformer on the harpsichord, and his music, which is distinguished byadmirable taste and simplicity of design, gained for him a high placeamong English composers. During his last years his health wasundermined by money difficulties and grief at the loss of hischildren, --of whom he had twelve, only three surviving him, --especiallyThomas. He died suddenly, in London in 1795, and was buried in WellsCathedral, where a monument was erected to him and his two daughters. 

Several of his children made their mark in music, especially hisyoungest son, William Linley. A younger daughter, Maria, a favouriteat the Bath concerts, died at an early age from brain fever. After onesevere paroxysm, she rose up in bed and began to sing the air, "I knowthat my Redeemer liveth, " in as full and clear a tone as when inperfect health. 

Mary, the second daughter, who was also an excellent vocalist, marriedSheridan's friend, Richard Tickell, a wit, author, and man of pleasure, and, after her older sister's retirement, filled her place in concertand oratorio. The sisters were very fond of each other, and one ofGainsborough's finest paintings is that in the Dulwich gallery, whichshows them together. In the same collection are the same artist'sportraits of the father and the son Thomas. 

Little Elizabeth Ann Linley, the composer's eldest daughter, used tostand at the Pump-room door, in Bath, with a basket, selling tickets, when only a girl of nine. She was very lovely, gentle, and good, andcame to be known as the "Maid of Bath. " After she sang before the kingand queen at Buckingham House in 1773, George III. Told her father thathe never in his life heard so fine a voice as his daughter's, nor oneso well instructed. Her beauty was praised in high terms by JohnWilkes, Horace Walpole, and Miss Burney, and the Bishop of Meath styledher "the connecting link between woman and angel. " Of course she hadmany admirers. The Duke of Clarence persecuted her with hisattentions, and her parents wished her to marry Mr. Long, an oldgentleman of considerable fortune. The latter, when Elizabeth told himshe could not love him, had the magnanimity to take upon himself theburden of breaking the engagement, and settled 3, 000 pounds on her asan indemnity for his supposed breach of covenant. 

A certain rascally Captain Mathews, a married rake, and a so-calledfriend of her father, had the effrontery to follow her with hissolicitations, from which she was rescued by the young Sheridan, whofell in love with Elizabeth and persuaded her to fly with him toFrance. There, at Calais, they went through a formal ceremony ofmarriage, separating immediately afterward, the lady entering aconvent, and Sheridan returning to England. Here he fought two duelswith Captain Mathews, in the second of which he was quite seriouslywounded. Mr. Linley went to France and brought his daughter home, andfinally, about a year from the time of the Calais episode, the youngcouple were married again, this time in full sight of the world. 

The future author of "The Rivals" and "The School for Scandal, "addressed to his Eliza, among other early productions, this prettysnatch of song:

 "Dry be that tear, my gentlest love, Be hush'd that struggling sigh; Nor seasons, day, nor fate shall prove More fix'd, more true than I. Hush'd be that sigh, be dry that tear; Cease boding doubt, cease anxious fear; Dry be that tear. 

 "Ask'st thou how long my love will stay, When all that's new is past? How long, ah! Delia, can I say How long my life will last? Dry be that tear, be hush'd that sigh; At least I'll love thee till I die. Hush'd be that sigh. 

 "And does that thought affect thee too, The thought of Sylvio's death, That he who only breath'd for you Must yield his faithful breath? Hush'd be that sigh, be dry that tear, Nor let us lose our heaven here. Dry be that tear. "

For some eighteen years the Sheridans lived together, --Elizabeth neversang in public again after her marriage, --and then their union wasbroken by death. The devoted wife to this brilliant, but selfish, unreliable, and extravagant genius died in 1792, of consumption. 

 "Music, when soft voices die, Vibrates in the memory, "

and surely during the years of life left to Richard Brinsley Sheridan, he must often have recalled the happy days when he listened in delightto the music of his loved one's voice. 

[Illustration: Sheridan at the Linleys. From painting by MargaretDicksee. ]

Sir Joshua Reynolds painted her as St. Cecilia in a lovely picturewhich he sent to the Royal Academy exhibition in 1775, --the year of"The Rivals. " It remained in the artist's possession till 1790, whenSheridan bought it for one hundred and fifty guineas. It is now ownedby the Marquis of Lansdowne. 

HAYDN. 

In 1790 Haydn had been capellmeister at Esterhaz, the magnificentpalace which Prince Nicolaus Esterhazy had created in imitation ofVersailles. For nearly a quarter of a century, Esterhaz, though builton an unhealthy site, was the favourite residence of the prince, whonever tired of altering, extending, and improving the palace andgrounds, and whose greatest ambition was to make the musical andtheatrical entertainments given there the best of their kind. In manyways Haydn was most happily situated at Esterhaz, and though hisisolated position there became more irksome to him as time went on, hewould not, though frequently approached with flattering offers fromabroad, leave his well-beloved master, of whom he wrote, in 1776, "Mydearest wish is to live and die with him. "

The King of Naples, an ardent admirer of the composer, had urged him togo to Naples with him. Haydn's presence was also much desired inParis, and from London, especially, he had received many overtures. Cramer, the violinist, had written to Haydn in 1781, offering to engagehim at his own figure for the Professional Concerts, and Gallini, theowner and manager of the King's Theatre in Drury Lane, urged him tocompose an opera for him. Salomon, still more enterprising, in 1789, sent Bland, a well-known music publisher, to treat with Haydn, butwithout success. The composer gave him the copyright of several of hisproductions, among them the "Stabat Mater" and "Ariadne, " and the"Razirmesser" quartette. This composition is said to derive its namefrom Haydn's exclaiming one morning, while shaving, "I would give mybest quartette for a good razor!" Bland happened to enter the room atthat moment, and at once hurried back to his lodgings and, returningwith his own razors of good English steel, gave them to Haydn, whothereupon kept his word by tendering in exchange his latest quartette. 

The death of Prince Esterhazy, in September, 1790, gave Haydn theopportunity he had long wished for, as Prince Anton, who succeededNicolaus, had little taste for music, and dismissed most of theperformers, at the same time, however, increasing Haydn's pension of athousand florins a year, left him by Prince Nicolaus, by the additionof four hundred florins. 

Haydn, being now his own master, went to live at Vienna, with his oldfriend Bamberger, and, declining an invitation to become capellmeisterto Count Grassalcovics, was working with his usual industry when, oneday, a visitor was announced. He turned out to be Salomon, the Londonmanager, who, on his way back from Italy, whither he had been to engagesingers for the Italian opera in London, had heard of the prince'sdeath, and hastened at once to Vienna in the hope of inducing Haydn tovisit England. This, after much negotiation, was at last accomplished. Mozart, to whom Haydn was like a father, felt the separation deeply, and vainly strove to prevent it. He said to Haydn: "Papa, you have notbeen brought up for the great world; you know too few languages. " Haydnreplied: "But my language is understood by the whole world. " Mozartspent the day of his departure with him, and bade him farewell intears, saying, "We shall see each other no more in this world!" apresentiment which was sadly fulfilled. 

Haydn and Salomon left Vienna on the 15th of December, 1790, andjourneyed by way of Munich, Bonn, and Brussels to Calais, where theyarrived on the evening of December 31st. At half-past seven the nextmorning they embarked for Dover, but, the wind being contrary, they hada stormy passage, and did not reach the English port until five in theafternoon. Haydn, whose first voyage it was, remained on deck thewhole time, in spite of the unfavourable weather. 

[Illustration: Haydn Crossing the English Channel. From painting by E. J. C. Hamman. ]

His first impressions of London, then a city of less than a millionpeople, were of its great size and its noise. Many times the composermust have longed for the comparative quiet of Esterhaz, or of his ownstudy in Vienna. 

An amusing anecdote is told of Haydn in London. One morning he cameupon a music shop, and, going in, asked to be shown any novelties thatmight be for sale. 

"Certainly, " answered the salesman, who forthwith brought out "somesublime music of Haydn's, " as he termed it. 

"Oh, I'll have nothing to do with that, " said the customer. 

"Why not?" asked the man, who happened to be a warm admirer of Haydn'smusic. "Have you any fault to find with it?"

"Yes, " said the composer, "and if you can show me nothing better thanthat, I must go without making a purchase. "

"Well, then, you had better go, for I've nothing that I can supply assuitable for such as you, " and Mr. Shopman walked away. 

Before Haydn could reach the door, however, a gentleman entered, whowas known not only to him, but to the music publisher. He greeted thecomposer by name, and began to congratulate him upon his latestsymphony produced at Salomon's concerts. The music seller turnedaround upon hearing the name of Haydn, and said, "Ah! here's a musicianwho does not like that composer's music. "

The gentleman at once saw the joke, and, explaining the matter to thedealer, they all had a hearty laugh over the incident. 

Haydn was received with the warmest hospitality in London, and, likemany other "lions, " was at no little pains to secure sufficient timefor his work amid the pressure of social engagements and the visits ofcelebrities of all kinds. Doctor Burney, the musical historian, withwhom the composer had corresponded, wrote a poem in his honour. Thisappeared in the _Monthly Review_, and its concluding stanza runs asfollows:

 "Welcome, great master! to our favoured isle, Already partial to thy name and style; Long may thy fountain of invention run In streams as rapid as it first begun; While skill for each fantastic whim provides, And certain science ev'ry current guides! Oh, may thy days, from human sufferings free, Be blest with glory and felicity, With full fruition, to a distant hour, Of all thy magic and creative power! Blest in thyself, with rectitude of mind, And blessing, with thy talents, all mankind. "

Less pleasant than such tributes was an experience Haydn had with anoble pupil, who called upon him, saying that he was passionately fondof music, and would be grateful if the composer would give him a fewlessons in harmony and counterpoint, at a guinea a lesson. 

"Oh, willingly!" answered Haydn; "when shall we begin?"

"Immediately, if you see no objection, " and the nobleman took out ofhis pocket one of Haydn's quartettes. "For the first lesson, " said he, taking the initiative, "let us examine this quartette, and you tell methe reason of some modulations which I will point out to you, togetherwith some progressions which are contrary to all rules of composition. "

Haydn did not object to this course, and the gentleman proceeded. Theinitial bar of the quartette was first attacked, and but few of thesucceeding ones escaped the critical comments of the _dilettante_. 

The composer's reply as to why he did this or that was very simple. "Idid it, " he said, "because I thought it would have a good effect. "

Such a reply did not satisfy "my lord, " who declared that his opinionof the composition as ungrammatical and faulty would be unchangedunless Haydn could give him some better reason for his innovations anderrors. 

This nettled Haydn, who suggested that the pupil (?) should rewrite thequartette after his own fashion. But, like many other would-becritics, he declined to undertake the task, contenting himself withimpugning the correctness of Haydn's work. "How can yours, which iscontrary to the rules, be the best?" he repeatedly asked Haydn. 

At last the composer's patience was exhausted. "I see, my lord, " saidhe, "it is you who are so good as to give lessons to me. I do not wantyour lessons, for I feel that I do not merit the honour of having sucha master as yourself. Good morning. "

Haydn then left the room, and sent his servant to show the man out. 

One of Haydn's biographers says that the composer soon gauged themusical taste of the English public, and rearranged most of hiscompositions written earlier, before producing them in London. "Ournational manners in the concert-room would seem to have descended to usfrom our grandfathers, for we find Haydn doubting as to which of twoevils he shall choose: whether to insist on his stipulated compositionbeing placed in the first or the second part of each concert'sprogramme. In the former case its effect would be marred by thecontinual noisy entrance of late comers, while in the latter case aconsiderable portion of the audience would probably be asleep before itbegan. Haydn chose this, however, as the preferable alternative, andthe loud chord (Paukenschlag) of the andante in the 'Surprise' symphonyis said to have been the comical device he hit upon for rousing theslumberers. "

Haydn was very desirous that one of his compositions should beperformed at an Ancient Music Concert in London, but one of their ruleswas to admit only work by composers who had been dead twenty years. The management would make no exception, even for Haydn, and it was notuntil forty-one years later that they produced a composition byhim, --the "Let there be Light, " from the "Creation. "

One of the pleasantest incidents of Haydn's visit to England occurredin November, when he made a visit of three days to Oatlands Park as aguest of the Duke of York, who was spending his honeymoon there withhis young bride, the Princess of Prussia. "The sight of the kindGerman face and the familiar sound of the German tongue of themusician, whose name had been a household word to her ever since shecould speak, must have been more than welcome to the littletransplanted bride (she was only seventeen), and Haydn writes tenderlyto Frau v. Genzinger (December 20th) how the 'liebe Kleine' sat closeby his side all the time he was playing his symphony, humming thefamiliar airs to herself, and urging him to go on playing until longpast midnight. "

Upon his second visit to London, Haydn received many attentions fromthe royal family, especially from the Prince and Princess of Wales. The prince had a taste for music at once genuine and intelligent. Heplayed the violoncello, and took his place in the orchestra in theconcerts given at Carlton House, his brothers, the Dukes of Gloucesterand Cumberland, playing the violin and viola. 

When Haydn returned to Vienna, he carried with him, besides thesubstantial sum gained by his art, many presents from friends andadmirers. One of the most original souvenirs was received from WilliamGardiner, a Leicester manufacturer and a great lover of music, whowrote a book entitled "Music and Friends. " His gift consisted of sixpairs of stockings, into which were woven airs from Haydn'scompositions, the "Emperor's Hymn, " the "Surprise" andante, and others. 

WEBER. 

The picture of Weber sitting among the airy visions evoked by music'sspell, which is known as "Weber's Last Thoughts, " and is supposed torepresent him as composing the waltz so called, is based upon an error. For this popular piece, published in 1824, is not the work of Weber atall, but was written by Reissiger. The probable cause of its beingascribed to Weber is that a manuscript copy of it, given him byReissiger on the eve of the master's departure for London, was foundamong Weber's papers after his death. 

[Illustration: The "Last Thoughts" of Von Weber. From painting by E. J. C. Hamman. ]

Weber's son, in his life of his father, tells us that when the composerwas in London, Miss Stephens, of whose talent he was a great admirer, offered to appear at his concert. "The celebrated artist, however, wasdesirous of singing some new composition by the master; and Weber, exhausted as he was, could not gainsay her wish. Miss Stephens herselfchose the words from Moore's 'Lalla Rookh;' and the composer sethimself to work on 'From Chindara's Warbling Fount I Come. ' Butfearfully painful was the effort now. Twice Weber flung down his penin utter despair. At last, on the morning of the 18th of May, thegreat artist's flitting genius came back to him, and for the last timegave him a farewell kiss upon that noble forehead, now bedewed with thecold sweat of death, --for the last time! The trembling hands wereunable to write down more than the notes for the voice. Weberrehearsed his last composition with the celebrated artist from thissketch, and accompanied the song from memory at his concert. "

Here we have the true story of the master's last composition. 

The concert spoken of, at which he made his last appearance in public, was, unfortunately, not a pecuniary success, because of theindifference of the English aristocracy. This was a severe blow to thecomposer, who knew that he had not long to live, and who had hoped torealise from this concert a substantial sum, which he could add to thatreceived from his opera of "Oberon, " and use all in providing for hiswife and children. "The following day Weber was somewhat better. Hewas still supported by the hopes of his benefit; he still foundsufficient strength to write to his wife in such wise as to place inits least painful light his cruel disappointment. As yet, in spite ofhis bodily weakness, his handwriting had remained distinct and clear. In this letter, it displays the utter ruin of his strength. 'Writingis somewhat painful to me, ' runs one phrase of it; 'my hands trembleso. ' Fürstenau saw only too clearly the sinking state of the poor man, and generously offered to give up his own concert, in order to hastenthe departure of his friend. 'What a word of comfort you have spoken!'gasped Weber, clutching the hand of the kind fellow. He wrote again tohis wife, with a last gleam of his spirit: 'You will not have many moreletters from me; and so receive now my high and mighty commands. Donot answer this to London, but to the _poste restante_, Frankfurt. Youare astounded! Well! I am not coming home through Paris. What shouldI do there? I cannot walk--I cannot speak. I will have nothing moreto do with business for years to come. So it is far better I shouldtake the straight way home by Calais, through Brussels, Cologne, Coblentz, and thus by the Rhine to Frankfurt. What a charming journey!I must travel very slowly, however, and probably rest for half a day, now and then. I shall gain a good fortnight thus; and by the end ofJune I hope to be in your arms. ' At this time he was still resolved tokeep his promise of conducting at Miss Paton's concert. But he camehome in a state of such feverish agitation and complete exhaustion thathis friends came around him, and wrung from him the promise that hewould conduct no more, and even give up his own benefit. Thisresolution, strange to say, appeared to bestow fresh spirits on him; itenabled him to hasten his return. Now that all last earthly interestswere laid aside, love and affection for the dear ones at home had alonepossession of his mind. One thought alone occupied his whole soul, --tobe at home again, amongst his own--to see them, if but once--but once!With this feeling, in which gleamed one last ray of cheerfulness, hewrote: 'How will you receive me? In heaven's name, alone. Let no onedisturb my joy of looking again upon my wife, my children, my dearestand my best. . . . Thank God! the end of all is fastapproaching. ' . . . The end of all _was_ fast approaching. On the 1stof June, every painful symptom of the poor sufferer had so increasedthat his friends held counsel with Doctor Kind, who considered hisstate highly precarious. Fürstenau was desirous of watching by hisbedside. 'No, no, ' replied Weber, 'I am not so ill as you want to makeme out. ' He refused even the attendance of Sir George Smart's servantin his anteroom. Blisters were applied to his chest, and he noted inhis diary, 'Thank God, my sleep was sweet!' He fixed his departure forthe 6th, arranged all his pecuniary affairs with minuteness, andemployed his friends in purchasing presents for his family and friendsin Dresden. He was strongly urged by his friends to postpone hisjourney until he could have recovered some degree of strength. Butthis solicitation only irritated him. 'I must go back to my own--Imust!' he sobbed, incessantly. 'Let me see them once more--and thenGod's will be done!' The attempt appeared impossible to all. Withgreat unwillingness he yielded to his friends' request to have aconsultation of physicians. 'Be it so!' he answered. 'But come of itwhat may, I go!' His only thought, his only word, was 'Home!' On the2d of June he wrote his last letter to his beloved wife, --the lastlines his hand ever traced. 'What a joy, my own dear darling, yourletter gave me! What a happiness to me to know that you arewell! . . . As this letter requires no answer, it will be but a shortone. What a comfort it is not to have to answer! . . . God bless youall, and keep you well! Oh, were I but amongst you all again! I kissyou with all my heart and soul, my dearest one! Preserve all your lovefor me, and think with pleasure on him who loves thee above all, thyKarl. ' What an outpouring of the truest affection there was in thatlast loving prayer!

"Weber's only thoughts were now concentrated on his journey, and heeven reproached Fürstenau with caballing with the others to prevent hisundertaking it. 'You may do what you will, it is of no avail, ' hesaid. On the evening of the 3d of June he asked his friend Göschen, with a smile, 'Have you anything to say to your father? At all eventsI shall tell him that his son has been a dear kind friend to me inLondon. ' 'But you leave many friends and admirers here, ' said Göschen. 'Hush! hush!' replied Weber, still smiling softly; 'that's not the samething, you know. ' When, on the evening of the 4th, he sat panting inhis easy chair, with Sir George Smart, Göschen, Fürstenau, andMoscheles grouped around him, he could speak only of his journey. Atten o'clock they urged him to retire to bed. But he firmly declined tohave any one watch by his bedside, and even to forego his custom ofbarring his chamber door. When he had given his white, transparent, trembling hand to all, murmuring gently, but in earnest tones, thewords, 'God reward you all for your kind love to me!' he was led by SirGeorge Smart and Fürstenau into his bedroom. Fürstenau, from whomalone he would accept such services, helped him to undress; the effortwas a painful one to himself. With his own hand, however, Weber woundup his watch, with his usual punctilious care; then, with all thatcharm of amiability for which he was conspicuous through life, hemurmured his thanks to his friend, and said, 'Now let me sleep. ' Thesewere the last words that mortal ear heard the great artist utter. Itis clear, however, that Weber must have left his bed later, for, thenext morning, the door through which Fürstenau had passed, was barred. For a long time the friends sat together in Sir George Smart's room, filled with sorrowful presentiments, and earnestly consulting whatmeans might best be taken to prevent the journey. About midnight theyparted. On their leaving the house, all was dark in Weber's window. His light had been extinguished. 

"The next morning, at the early hour when Weber generally required hisaid, Sir George Smart's servant knocked at his chamber door; no answercame; he knocked again, and louder. It was strange, for Weber's sleephad always been light. The alarmed servant rushed to Sir George, whosprang out of bed and hurried to the room. Still, to his repeatedknocking, no answer was returned. Fürstenau was sent for. He camehalf dressed, already anticipating the worst. It was now resolved toforce the door. It was burst open. All was still within. The watch, which the last movement of the great hand which had written 'DerFreischütz, ' 'Euryanthe, ' and 'Oberon, ' had wound up, alone ticked withpainful distinctness. The bed-curtains were torn back. There lay thebeloved friend and master dead. His head rested on his left hand, asif in tranquil sleep, --not the slightest trace of pain or suffering onhis features. The soul, yearning for the dear objects of its love, hadburst its earthly covering and fled. The immortal master was notdead, --he had gone home. "

Weber died in London in 1826, but it was not until 1844, and thenmainly through the efforts of Wagner, that his remains were taken tohis native land. They now rest in Dresden, where a statue was raisedin 1860 in honour of Carl Maria von Weber, who has been called "Theoperatic liberator of Germany. "

BEETHOVEN. 

"No one can conceive, " Beethoven wrote to the Baroness Droszdick, "theintense happiness I feel in getting into the country, among the woods, my dear trees, shrubs, hills, and dales. I am convinced that no oneloves country life as I do. It is as if every tree and every bushcould understand my mute inquiries and respond to them. " It was thisrage for fresh air and fields which made him such a bad stay-at-homebird, whether he was sheltered amid the palatial surroundings of someprincely patron, or whether sojourning in the less luxurious andcomfortless atmosphere of some one of his frequently changed lodgings. He disliked any control, and truly meant it when, at intervals, growingimpatient with the constant requests for his company, he complainedoutright that he was forced too much into society. His favouriteplaces for ruralising were Mödling, Döbling, Hentzendorf, and Baden;while there is still cherished in the royal garden of Schönbrunn afavourite spot, between two ash-trees, where the master is reputed tohave composed some of the music of "Fidelio. "

A French artist, Paul Leyendecker, has painted the master thus at workamid nature's peace. Beethoven is sitting on the outskirts of a woodnear his native city of Bonn, absorbed in composition. A funeralprocession is coming up the road, with the coffin borne upon theshoulders of the mourners, and preceded by the priest, who recognisesthe composer and bids the choristers cease chanting for a while inorder not to disturb his labours. Turning from the master at work inthe open air to him at home, we find that Carl Schloesser, a Germanpainter long settled in London, exhibited at the Royal Academy, a fewyears ago, a striking picture showing Beethoven at the piano absorbedin composition, amid a litter of manuscripts and music-sheets. It wasthus he must have looked when Weber called upon him in 1823. 

[Illustration: Beethoven at Bonn. From painting by Paul Leyendecker. ]

"All lay in the wildest disorder--music, money, clothing, on thefloor--linen from the wash upon the dirty bed--broken coffee-cups uponthe table. The open pianoforte was covered thickly with dust. Beethoven entered to greet his visitors. Benedict has thus describedhim: 'Just so must have looked Lear, or one of Ossian's bards. Histhick gray hair was flung upwards, and disclosed the sanctuary of hislofty vaulted forehead. His nose was square, like that of a lion; hischin broad, with those remarkable folds which all his portraits show;his jaws formed as if purposely to crack the hardest nuts; his mouthnoble and soft. Over the broad face, seamed with scars from thesmallpox, was spread a dark redness. From under the thick, closelycompressed eyebrows gleamed a pair of small flashing eyes. The square, broad form of a Cyclops was wrapped in a shabby dressing-gown, muchtorn about the sleeves. ' Beethoven recognised Weber without a word, embraced him energetically, shouting out, 'There you are, my boy; youare a devil of a fellow! God bless you!' handed him at once his famoustablets, then pushed a heap of music from the old sofa, threw himselfupon it, and, during a flow of conversation, commenced dressing himselfto go out. Beethoven began with a string of complaints about his ownposition; about the theatres, the public, the Italians, the talk of theday, and, more especially, about his own ungrateful nephew. Weber, whowas nervous and agitated, counselled him to tear himself from Vienna, and to take a journey through Germany to convince himself of theworld's judgment of him, and more especially to go to England, wherehis works were more reverenced than in any other country. 'Too late!too late!' cried Beethoven, making the pantomime of playing on thepiano, and shaking his head sadly. Then he seized on Weber's arm, anddragged him away to the Sauerhof, where he was wont to dine. 'Here, 'wrote Weber afterward, 'we dined together in the happiest mood. Therough repulsive man paid me as much attention as if I were a lady towhom he was making court, and served me at table with the most delicatecare. How proud I felt to receive all this kindness and affectionateregard from the great master spirit! The day will remain for everimpressed on my mind, as well as on that of all who were present. '"

[Illustration: Beethoven in His Study. From painting by CarlSchloesser. ]

Three years later the Swedish poet, Atterbom, being in Vienna, went tovisit Beethoven. Atterbom was accompanied by his friend, DoctorJeitteles, who has left this account of their odd experience. He says:"We went one hot afternoon to the Alservorstadt, and mounted to thesecond story of the so-called Schwarzspanier house. We rang, no oneanswered; we lifted the latch, the door was open, the anteroom empty. We knocked at the door of Beethoven's room, and, receiving no reply, repeated our knock more loudly. But we got no answer, although wecould hear there was some one inside. We entered, and what a scenepresented itself! The wall facing us was hung with huge sheets ofpaper covered with charcoal marks; Beethoven was standing before it, with his back turned toward us, but in what a condition! Oppressed bythe excessive heat, he had divested himself of everything but hisshirt, and was busily employed writing notes on the wall with alead-pencil, beating time, and striking a few chords on his stringlesspianoforte. He did not once turn toward the door. We looked at eachother in amused perplexity. It was no use trying to attract the deafmaster's attention by making a noise; and he would have feltembarrassed had we gone up to him. I said to Atterbom, 'Would you, asa poet, like to take away with you to the north the consciousness ofhaving, perhaps, arrested the loftiest flight of genius? You can atleast say, "I have seen Beethoven create. " Let us leave, unseen andunheard!' We departed. "

[Illustration: A Symphony by Beethoven. From painting by A. Graefle. ]

Another German artist, Graefle, has produced an interesting workdepicting Beethoven playing to his friends. 

"At the pianoforte Beethoven seemed a god--at times in the humour toplay, at others not. If he happened not to be in the humour, itrequired pressing and reiterated entreaties to get him to theinstrument. Before he began in earnest, he used sportively to strikethe keys with the palm of his hand, draw his fingers along the keyboardfrom one end to the other, and play all manner of gambols, at which helaughed heartily. Once at the pianoforte, and in a genial mood withhis surroundings, he would extemporise for one and two hours at astretch, amid the solemn silence of his listeners. He demandedabsolute silence from conversation whenever he put his fingers upon thepianoforte keys to play. If this was not forthcoming, he rose up, publicly upbraided the offenders, and left the room. This mode ofresenting a nuisance--one not yet extinct--was once illustrated atCount Browne's, where Beethoven and Ries were engaged in playing aduet, yet during which one of the guests started an animatedconversation with a lady. Exasperated at such an affront to hisartistic honour, Beethoven rose up, glared at the pair, and shoutedout, 'I play no more for such hogs, '--nor would he touch another noteor allow Ries to do so, although earnestly entreated by the company. 'His improvisation, ' Czerny tells us, 'was most brilliant and striking;in whatever company he might chance to be, he knew how to produce suchan effect upon every hearer that frequently not an eye remained dry, while many would break out into loud sobs, for there was somethingwonderful in his expression in addition to the beauty and originalityof his ideas and his spirited style of rendering them. ' Ries says: 'Noartist that I ever heard came at all near the height Beethoven attainedin this branch of playing. The wealth of ideas which forced themselveson him, the caprices to which he surrendered himself, the variety oftreatment, the difficulties, were inexhaustible. Even the AbbéVogler's admirers were compelled to admit as much. '"

Tomaschek was greatly impressed by Beethoven. He writes: "It was in1798, when I was studying law, that Beethoven, that giant amongplayers, came to Prague. . . . His grand style of playing, andespecially his bold improvisation, had an extraordinary effect upon me. I felt so shaken that for several days I could not bring myself totouch the piano. "

"His manner was to sit in a quiet way at the instrument, commanding hisfeelings; but occasionally, and especially when extemporising, it washard to maintain the pose. At extreme moments he warmed into greatpassions, so that it was impossible for him to hide from his listenersthe sacred fires that were raging within him. Czerny declares that hisplaying of slow movements was full of the greatest expression, --anexperience to be remembered. He used the pedal largely, and was mostparticular in the placing of the hands and the drift of the fingersupon the keys. As a pianist, he was surnamed 'Giant among players, 'and men like Vogler, Hummel, and Wölffl were of a truth great players;but as Sir George Grove aptly says, in speaking of Beethoven's _toursde force_ in performance, his transposing and playing at sight, etc. , 'It was no quality of this kind that got him the name, but theloftiness and elevation of his style, and his great power of expressionin slow movements, which, when exercised on his noble music, fixed hishearers, and made them insensible to any fault of polish or meremechanism. '"

Beethoven has often served as a subject for painters, but, among thenumerous pictures dedicated to him, we recall none more impressive thanAimé de Lemud's "Beethoven's Dream. " De Lemud, a Frenchman who died atthe age of seventy years, in 1887, first won success as a painter, andthen studied engraving. At the Salon of 1863 he received a medal forhis engraving of this picture, which was then entitled, simply, "Beethoven. "

[Illustration: Beethoven's Dream. From painting by Aimé de Lemud. ]

Elizabeth Stuart Phelps, in her story of "The Silent Partner, " tellshow "a line engraving after De Lemud could make a 'forgetting' in thelife of a factory girl. 

"An engraving that lay against a rich easel in a corner of the roomattracted the girl's attention presently. She went down on her kneesto examine it. It chanced to be Lemud's dreaming Beethoven. Sip wasvery still about it. 

"'What is that fellow doing?' she asked, after a while. 'Him with thestick in his hand. '

"She pointed to the leader of the shadowy orchestra, touching the batonthrough the glass, with her brown fingers. 

"'I have always supposed, ' said Perley, 'that he was only floating withthe rest; you see the orchestra behind him. '

"'Floating after those women with their arms up? No, he isn't. '

"'What is he doing?'

"It's riding over him--the orchestra. He can't master it. Don't yousee? It sweeps him along. He can't help himself. They come and come. How fast they come! How he fights and falls! Oh, I know how theycome! That's the way things come to me; things I could do, things Icould say, things I could get rid of if I had the chance; they come inthe mills mostly; they tumble over me just so; I never have the chance. How he fights! I didn't know there was any such picture in the world. I'd like to look at that picture day and night. See! Oh, I know howthey come!'

"'Miss Kelso--' after another silence, and still upon her knees beforethe driving dream and the restless dreamer. 'You see, that's it. That's like your pretty things. I'd keep your pretty things if I wasyou. It ain't that there shouldn't be music anywhere. It's only thatthe music shouldn't ride over the master. Seems to me it is likethat. '"

SCHUBERT. 

In the Währing cemetery in Vienna three monuments of varying designstand side by side. The central one honours Mozart, the name ofBeethoven is inscribed upon the second, and the last bears that ofFranz Schubert. Schubert died aged but thirty-one, in 1828, the yearafter Beethoven had passed beyond. He had the greatest reverence forthe sublime master, and on the day before his own death spoke of him ina touching manner in his delirium. Schubert was one of thetorch-bearers at the grave of Beethoven, and after the funeral wentwith some friends to a tavern, where he filled two glasses of wine. The first he drank to the memory of the great man who had just beenlaid to rest, and the other to the memory of him who should be first tofollow Beethoven to the grave. In less than two years he himself laybeside him. 

Schubert, in his youth, once asked a friend, after the performance ofsome of his own songs, whether he thought that he (Schubert) would everbecome anything. His friend replied that he was already something. "Isay so to myself, sometimes, " said Schubert, "but who can do anythingafter Beethoven?" At a later day he said of the master, "Mozart standsin the same relation to him as Schiller does to Shakespeare. Schilleris already understood, Shakespeare still far from being fullycomprehended. Every one understands Mozart; no one thoroughlycomprehends Beethoven. "

Although Beethoven lived in Vienna during nearly the whole life ofSchubert, and for some years very near to his house, the two composerswere almost strangers. Schindler, Beethoven's biographer, does indeedstate that they met in 1822, but the story has been much doubted. Schindler says that the younger composer, whose "Variations on a FrenchAir" had just been published by Diabelli and dedicated to Beethoven, went with the publisher to present the offering in person. He receivedthem kindly, but Schubert was too confused to answer the master'squestions, and on Beethoven making some slight criticism upon thepiece, fled from the room in dismay. Huttenbrenner says, on the otherhand, that Beethoven was not at home when Schubert called on him andthat they never met. He, however, states that he, Schubert, and theartist Teltscher, went to Beethoven's house during his last illness andstood for a long time around his bed. The dying man was told the namesof his visitors and made signs to them with his hand which they couldnot comprehend. Schubert was deeply touched, for his veneration forBeethoven amounted almost to worship. 

Schindler, during Beethoven's last illness, brought him a collection ofSchubert's songs, and he expressed the greatest admiration for theirbeauty, coupled with regrets that he had not known more of him. Howgreat must have been Schubert's delight to learn that Beethoven on thisoccasion said of him, "Truly, Schubert possesses a spark of the divinefire;" and again, "Some day he will make a noise in the world. "Beethoven is said to have frequently played the "Variations" whichSchubert dedicated to him. 

The extraordinary fertility and facility of Schubert in composing arewell known. Elson tells the story of the creation of "Hark, Hark, theLark!" from "Cymbeline. " "It was a summer morning in 1826 thatSchubert was returning from a long walk in the suburbs of Vienna, witha party of friends; they had been out to Potzleindorf, and were walkingthrough Währing, when, as they passed the restaurant "Zum Biersack, "Schubert looked in and saw his friend Tieze sitting at one of thetables; he at once suggested that the party enter and join him atbreakfast, which was accordingly done. As they sat together at thetable, Schubert took up a book which Tieze had brought with him; it wasShakespeare's poems in a German translation; he began turning from pageto page in his usual insatiable search for subjects for musicalsetting; suddenly he paused and read one of the poems over a few times. 'If I only had music-paper here, ' he cried, 'I have just the melody tofit this poem. ' Without a word, Doppler, one of his friends, drew themusical staff on the back of the bill of fare, and handed it to thecomposer, and on this bill of fare, while waiting breakfast, amid theclatter and confusion of a Viennese outdoor restaurant, Schubertbrought forth the beautiful aubade, or morning song, 'Hark, Hark, theLark!'"

Upon the same evening, he set two more of Shakespeare's songs to music, "Who is Sylvia?" from the "Two Gentlemen of Verona, " and the drinkingsong from the second act of "Antony and Cleopatra. "

The composer played the piano with much expression, but could not beconsidered as a performer of great technical attainments. He onceattempted to play his "Fantasia in C, Opus 15, " to some friends, butbroke down twice, and finally sprang up from his chair in a fury, exclaiming: "The devil may play the stuff!"

[Illustration: Schubert at the Piano. From painting by Gustav Klimt. ]

"The subtle influence which Schubert exercised over those with whom hewas brought into close contact was not to be accounted for by any graceof person or manner. Kreissle says that he was under the averageheight, round backed and shouldered, with plump arms and hands andshort fingers. He had a round and puffy face, low forehead, thicklips, bushy eyebrows, and a short, turned-up nose, giving him somethingof a negro aspect. This description does not coincide with our ideasof one in whom either intellectual or imaginative qualities werestrongly developed. Only in animated conversation did his eye lightup, and show by its fire and brilliancy the splendour of the mindwithin. Add to this that in society Schubert's manner was awkward, theresult of an unconquerable diffidence and bashfulness, when in thepresence of strangers. He was even less fitted than Beethoven to shinein the salons of the Viennese aristocracy, for his capacity as anexecutive musician was more limited. But he was far more companionableamong his intimate acquaintances, and perhaps his greatest, andcertainly his most frequent, pleasure was to discuss music over afriendly glass in some cosy tavern. It would be entirely unjust to saythat he was a drunkard, but he was not overcautious in his potations, and frequently took more than was prudent or consistent with a regardto health. This weakness was purely the result of his fondness forgenial society, for he was not a solitary drinker, and invariablydevoted the early portion of the day to work. The enormous mass of hiscompositions sufficiently proves his capacity for hard and unremittinglabour, and no diminution of energy was observable to the very last. It is not easy for us at this distance of time, and with our colderNorthern temperament, to comprehend the romantic feelings of attachmentsubsisting between Schubert and some of his friends, --feelings which, however, are by no means rare among the impulsive youth of SouthGermany, --but his naïve simplicity, cheerful and eminently sociabledisposition, insensibility to envy, and incorruptible modesty, werequalities calculated to transform the respect due to his genius into astrong personal liking. Schubert was, in truth, a child of nature, onewhom to know was to love; for his faults might be summed up into ageneral incapacity to understand his own interests, and it might besaid of him as truly as of any one that he was no man's enemy save hisown, thus reversing Shakespeare's words, the good which he did livesafter him; the evil was interred with his bones. "

ROUGET DE LISLE. 

During the great English revolution of 1688, Lord Wharton, as Macaulaysays, wrote "a satirical ballad on the administration of Tyrconnel. Inthis little poem an Irishman congratulates a brother Irishman, in abarbarous jargon, on the approaching triumph of popery, and of theMilesian race. The Protestant heir will be excluded. The Protestantofficers will be broken. The Great Charter, and the praters who appealto it, will be hanged in one rope. The good Talbot will showercommissions on his countrymen, and will cut the throats of the English. These verses, which were in no respect above the ordinary standard ofstreet poetry, had for burden some gibberish which was said to havebeen used as a watchword by the insurgents of Ulster in 1641. Theverses and the tune caught the fancy of the nation. From one end ofEngland to the other, all classes were constantly singing this idlerhyme. It was especially the delight of the English army. More thanseventy years after the revolution, a great writer delineated, withexquisite skill, a veteran who had fought at the Boyne and at Namur. One of the characteristics of the good old soldier is his trick ofwhistling 'Lillibullero. '

"Wharton afterward boasted that he had sung a king out of threekingdoms. But in truth the success of 'Lillibullero' was the effect, and not the cause, of that excited state of public feeling whichproduced the revolution. "

The English revolution had its "Lillibullero, " the French Revolutionits "Marseillaise. " The former is never heard now; the latter, inwhich spirited words are wedded to inspiring music, is undying. Lamartine said, "Glory and crime, victory and death, are mingled in itsstrains. " Sir Walter Scott called it "the finest hymn to which Libertyhas ever given birth. " Heine exclaimed, "What a song! It thrills mewith fiery delight, it kindles within me the glowing star ofenthusiasm;" and Carlyle pronounced it "the luckiest musicalcomposition ever promulgated. "

In the spring of 1792, a young officer of artillery was in garrison atStrasburg. His name was Rouget de Lisle, and his talents as poet, singer, and musician had rendered him a welcome guest at the house ofDietrich, the mayor of the city. Famine reigned in Strasburg, and oneday, when the Dietrich family could offer but a scanty repast to theyouthful soldier, Dietrich produced a bottle of wine, and said, "Let usdrink to Liberty and to our country. There will soon be a patrioticcelebration at Strasburg; may these last drops inspire De Lisle withone of those hymns which convey to the soul of the people theintoxication from whence they proceed. " The wine was drunk and thefriends separated for the night. De Lisle went to his room and soughtinspiration, "now in his patriotic soul, now in his harpsichord;sometimes composing the air before the words, sometimes the wordsbefore the air, and so combining them in his thoughts that he himselfdid not know whether the notes or the verses came first, and it wasimpossible to separate the poetry from the music, or the sentiment fromthe expression. He sang all and set down nothing. "

In the morning De Lisle wrote down the words and music and went withthem to Dietrich's house. The old patriot invited some friends, whowere as fond of music as himself, to listen, and his eldest daughterplayed the accompaniment, while Rouget sang. "At the first stanza allfaces turned pale; at the second tears ran down every cheek, and at thelast all the madness of enthusiasm broke forth. The hymn of thecountry, destined also to be the hymn of terror, was found. A fewmonths afterward the unfortunate Dietrich went to the scaffold to thesound of the very notes which had their origin on his own hearth, inthe heart of his friend, and in the voices of his children. "

[Illustration: Rouget de l'Isle Singing the Marseillaise. Frompainting by I. A. A. Pils. ]

It was on April 25th that De Lisle's hymn was sung at Dietrich's house. The next day it was copied and arranged for a military band, and onApril 29th it was performed by the band of the Garde Nationale at areview. On June 25th, a singer named Mireur sang it with so mucheffect at a civic banquet at Marseilles that it was at once printed anddistributed to the volunteers of the battalion just starting for Paris, which they entered by the Faubourg St. Antoine on July 30th, singingtheir new hymn. It was heard again on August 10th, when the mobstormed the palace of the Tuileries. From that time the "_chant deguerre pour l'armée du Rhin_, " as it had been christened, was known asthe "Chanson" or "Chant de Marseillais, " and finally as "LaMarseillaise. " The original edition contained only six couplets; theseventh was added by the journalist Dubois. 

Rouget de Lisle's authorship of the music has been often contested, butit is proven by the conclusive evidence contained in the pamphlet onthe subject, by his nephew, published in Paris, in 1865. Schumann hasused the "Marseillaise" in the overture to "Hermann and Dorothea, " andalso in his song of the "Two Grenadiers. "

Its author, Claude Joseph Rouget de Lisle, was born at Montaigu, Lous-le-Saulnier, in 1760. Entering the school of Royal Engineers atMezières in 1782, in 1789 he was a second lieutenant and quartered atBesançon. Here, a few days after the fall of the Bastille, on July14th, he wrote his first patriotic song to the tune of a favourite air. The next year found him at Strasburg, where his "Hymn to Liberty, " setto music by Pleyel, was sung at the fête of September 25, 1791. One ofhis pieces, "Bayard en Bresse, " produced at Paris in 1791, was notsuccessful. Being the son of royalist parents and one of theconstitutional party, Rouget de Lisle refused to take the oath to theconstitution abolishing the crown, and was therefore cashiered, denounced, and imprisoned, not escaping until after the fall ofRobespierre. It is told that as he fled through a pass of the Alps heheard his own song. "'What is the name of that hymn?' he asked hisguide. 'The Marseillaise, ' was the peasant's reply. It was then thathe learned the name of his own work. He was pursued by the enthusiasmwhich he had scattered behind him, and escaped death with difficulty. The weapon recoiled against the hand which had forged it; theRevolution in its madness no longer recognised its own voice. "

De Lisle afterward reëntered the army, made the campaign of La Vendéeunder Hoche, was wounded, and at length, under the consulate, returnedto private life at Montaigu. Poor and alone, he remained there untilthe second Restoration, when, his brother having sold the little familyproperty, he came to Paris. Here he was unfortunate and would havestarved but for a small pension granted by Louis XVIII. , and continuedby Louis Philippe, and for the care of his friends, the poet Bérangerand the sculptor David d'Angers, and especially M. And Madame Voiart. At the house of the Voiarts in Choisy-le-Roi, Rouget de Lisle died in1836. 

His other works include a volume of "Essais en vers et en prose, "issued in 1797, "Cinquante Chants Français" (1825), and "Macbeth, " alyrical tragedy (1827). He also wrote a song called "Roland atRoncesvalles, " and a "Hymn to the Setting Sun. "

Two statues, if no more, have been erected to him in France, --one atLous-le-Saulnier, from the hand of Bartholdi, and another atChoisy-le-Roi. 

Pils, to whom we owe the picture of Rouget de Lisle singing hisimmortal chant, was a French artist, who died in 1875, at the age ofsixty-two, having gained many medals and a professorship of painting atthe Paris School of Fine Arts. His fame was mostly won by pictures ofthe war in the Crimea, notably by his "Battle of the Alma, " now in thegallery at Versailles. The "Rouget de Lisle, " painted in 1849, belongsto the French nation. Pils decorated the ceiling over the grandstaircase in the Paris Opera House. 

PAGANINI. 

Earth's effective picture of the great violinist in prison is aninstance of the use of that license which we are generally willing toallow the painter and the poet. Among the many astounding fictionswhich were related about Paganini is one which asserts that, duringyears spent in confinement on the charge of murdering his wife, hesolaced himself and perfected his art by the constant use of hisbeloved instrument, and this story must serve as the artist's excuse. Doubtless as many believers were found for this baseless tale as forthese others. 

[Illustration: Paganini in Prison. From painting by Ferdinand Barth. ]

Some declared that he had a league with Satan, and held interviews withhim in an old Florentine castle, much frequented by the artist, fromwhich, they said, fearful sounds were heard proceeding on stormynights, and where the great master was known to have lain as one deadfor hours together, on different occasions. These persons believedthat at such times Paganini had only come back to life by magicalagency. Another swore to having seen a tall, dark shadow bending overhim at one of his concerts, and directing his hand; while a thirdtestified that he had seen nine or ten shadowy hands hovering about thestrings of the great master's violin. 

Many of his admirers warmly upheld it as their opinion that he was inreality an angel sent down to this world, in pity, for the purpose oflightening the miseries of earthly life by giving man a foretaste ofwhat the heavenly harmonies will be hereafter. They said that it wasas if a choir of sweet-voiced spirits lay hid within the instrument, and that at times it seemed as though this choir turned into a grandorchestra. 

It was not only Paganini's wonderful playing, but his weird appearancewhich helped to gain credence for such surprising anecdotes. LeighHunt has left us a graphic description of the renowned fiddler. 

"Paganini, the first time I saw and heard him, and the first time hestruck a note, seemed literally to strike it, to give it a blow. Thehouse was so crammed that, being among the squeezers in thestanding-room at the side of the pit, I happened to catch the firstglance of his face through the arm akimbo of a man who was perched upbefore me, which made a kind of frame for it; and there, on the stagein that frame, as through a perspective glass, were the face bent andthe raised hand of the wonderful musician, with the instrument at hischin, just going to commence, and looking exactly as I described him:

 His hand, Loading the air with dumb expectancy, Suspending ere it fell a nation's breath, He smote, and clinging to the serious chords, With godlike ravishment drew forth a breath So deep, so strong, so fervid thick with love, Blissful yet laden as with twenty prayers, That Juno yearned with no diviner soul To the first burthen of the lips of Jove. Th' exceeding mystery of the loveliness Sadden'd delight, and with his mournful look, Dreary and gaunt, hanging his pallid face 'Twixt his dark flowing locks, he almost seem'd Too feeble, or to melancholy eyes One that has parted with his soul for pride, And in the sable secret lived forlorn. '

"To show the depth and identicalness of the impression which he madeupon everybody, foreign or native, an Italian, who stood near me, saidto himself, after a sigh, O Dio!' and this had not been said long whenanother person in the same manner exclaimed, 'O Christ!' Musicianspressed forward from behind the scenes to get as close to him aspossible, and they could not sleep at night for thinking of him. "

Another writer shows us Paganini in his lodgings. 

"Everything was lying in its usual disorder; here one violin, thereanother, one snuff-box on the bed, another under one of the boy'splaythings. Music, money, caps, letters, watches, and boots werescattered about in the utmost confusion. The chairs, tables, and eventhe bed had all been removed from their proper places. In the midst ofthe chaos sat Paganini, his black silk nightcap covering his stillblacker hair, a yellow handkerchief carelessly tied around his neck, and a chocolate-coloured jacket hanging loose upon his shoulders. Onhis knees he held Achillino, his little son of four years of age, atthat time in very bad humour because he had to allow his hands to bewashed. His affectionate forbearance is truly wonderful. Let the boybe ever so troublesome, he never gets angry, but merely turns aroundand observes to those present, 'The poor child is wearied; I do notknow what I shall do, I am already quite worn out with playing withhim. I have been fighting with him all the morning; I have carried himabout; made him chocolate; I do not know what more to do!'

"It was enough to make one die of laughing to see Paganini in hisslippers fighting with his little son, who reached to about his knee. Sometimes the little Achillino would get into a rage; draw his sabreupon his father, who would retreat into the corner of the room and callout, 'Enough, enough! I am wounded already;' but the little fellowwould never leave off until he had laid his gigantic adversarytottering and prostrate on the bed. Paganini had now finished thedressing of his Achillino, but was himself still in _dishabille_. Andnow arose the great difficulty, how to accomplish his own toilet, whereto find his neckcloth, his boots, his coat. All were hid, and bywhom?--by Achillino. The urchin laughed when he saw his father pacingwith long strides through the apartment, his searching looks glancingin all directions; and upon his asking him where he had put his things, the little wag pretended astonishment, and held his tongue, shrugged uphis shoulders, shook his head, and signified by his gesture that heknew nothing about them. After a long search, the boots were found;they were hid under the trunk; the handkerchief lay in one of theboots; the coat in the box; and the waistcoat in the drawer of thetable. Every time that Paganini had found one of his things, he drewit out in triumph, took a great pinch of snuff, and went with new zealto search for the remaining articles, always followed by the littlefellow, who enjoyed it vastly when he saw his papa searching in placeswhere he knew nothing was hid. At last we went out, and Paganini shutthe door of the apartment, leaving behind him, lying about upon thetables and in the cupboards, rings, watches, gold, and what I mostwondered at, his most precious violins. Any idea of the insecurity ofhis property never entered his head; and, fortunately for him, in thelodgings which he occupied the people were honest. "

The famous violinist, like the rest of us, had his faults, but we caneasily find instances to prove the kindness of his heart. 

One day, while walking in Vienna, Paganini came across a poor boyplaying upon a violin. He went up to him and learned that hemaintained his mother and a flock of little brothers and sisters by themoney which he picked up as an itinerant musician. Paganini turned outhis pockets, gave the boy all the coins he could find, and then, takingthe boy's violin, commenced playing. A crowd soon assembled, and, whenhe had finished playing, Paganini went around with his hat, collected agoodly sum, and then gave it to the boy, amid loud acclamations fromthe bystanders. 

In the autumn of 1832 Paganini was an invalid at Paris, and seldom sawany one but Nicette, a merry country girl who waited upon him, andoften cheered him up in hours of sadness. One morning she appearedwith weeping eyes, and waited upon the musician without saying a word. 

"What's the matter, child?" said the musician. "Has any misfortunehappened to you?"

"Alas! yes, sir. "

"Speak! speak! What is it?"

She was silent. 

"Now, out with it, " said he. "I see it all clearly enough. After hehad made you a thousand promises he has forsaken you. Is it not so?"

"Alas! poor fellow, he has indeed forsaken me, but he is quiteinnocent. "

"How has that happened?"

"He has drawn a bad number in the conscription, and must go off for asoldier. I shall never see him again!" sobbed the poor girl. 

"But can't you buy a substitute for him?"

"How could I get such a large sum? Fifteen hundred francs is thelowest price, for there is a report that a war will soon break out, "said she. 

Paganini said no more, but when Nicette had left the room, he took hispocketbook and wrote in it, "To think what can be done for poorNicette. "

It was toward Christmas-time, and Paganini's health was improved, whenone afternoon Nicette came into the room where he was, and announcedthat a box had come, addressed to Signer Paganini. It was brought in, and the first thing which he pulled out was a large wooden shoe. 

"A wooden shoe, " said Paganini, smiling. "Some of these excellentladies wish to compare me with a child, who always receives presentsand never gives any. Well, who knows but that this shoe may earn itsweight in gold?"

Nothing now was seen of Paganini for three days, during which time hisclever hand had transformed the shoe into a well-sounding instrument. Soon afterward appeared an advertisement announcing that, on New Year'seve, Paganini would give a concert, and play five pieces on the violinand five on a wooden shoe. A hundred tickets at twenty francs eachwere instantly sold. Paganini duly appeared, and played on his oldviolin as he alone ever did. Then, taking up the wooden shoe, hecommenced a descriptive fantasia. There it was, --the departure of theconscript, the cries of his betrothed at the parting, the camp life, the battle and victory, the return-rejoicings, and marriage-bells, allwere vividly portrayed. 

The company departed, but in the corner of the room stood Nicette, sobbing bitterly. 

"Here, Nicette, " said Paganini, going up to her, "are two thousandfrancs, --five hundred more than you require to purchase a substitutefor your betrothed. That you may be able to begin housekeeping atonce, take this shoe-violin and sell it for as much as you can get forit. "

Nicette did so, and a wealthy collector of curiosities gave her a verylarge sum indeed for Paganini's wooden shoe. 

Here is another anecdote of Paganini, as related by one who took partin some of the frequent demands upon his goodness of heart. WhenPaganini was in London, he resided at No. 12 Great Pulteney Street, ina house belonging to the Novellos, next door to which was a "youngladies'" school, kept by a humpbacked old lady. The girls wereperfectly aware who their next-door neighbour was, and, with thefondness of female youth for mischief, had nicknamed Paganini "thedevil. "

Now, in order to avoid being heard from the street, "the devil" used topractise his violin in a back room, which happened to be divided onlyby a thin partition from the next house. The adjoining room was onedevoted by the old lady to the most advanced of her pupils, and herethey were allowed to do their needlework apart from the others, andwere frequently left to themselves. 

When the cat's away, however, the mice will play. The temptation tomake overtures to "the devil" was too great for the young ladies; andwhenever they heard him in his room, while one kept a lookout at thedoor for the intrusions of "old humpback, " there was a delicate"tat-tat-tat" at the partition, and a half-singing, half-speaking call, "Pag-an-in-ee, Pag-an-in-ee--the Carnival--'Carnival de Venise';"whereupon he would go to his window, open it, and accede to therequest, playing the piece exactly as he did in public, nor did themaestro ever once fail to gratify the wishes of his fair neighbours. 

"Paganini received some enthusiastic receptions in his time, butprobably never a more spontaneous outburst than that which came from ason of Erin's Isle, after one of his performances in Dublin. On theoccasion in question, Paganini had just completed that successfuleffort, the rondo _à la Sicilienne_ from 'La Clochette, ' in which was asilver bell accompaniment to the fiddle, producing a most originaleffect (one of those effects, we presume, which have tended toassociate so much of the marvellous with the name of this genius). Nosooner had the outburst of applause ended, than the excited Paddy inthe gallery shouted out as loud as he was able:

"'Arrah now, Paganini, just take a drop o' whisky, my darling, and ringthe bell again like that!'

"At a soirée given by Troupenas, the music publisher, in Paris, in1830, Paganini gave one of the most wonderful exhibitions of his skill. Rossini, Tamburini, Lablache, Rubini, De Beriot, and Malibran were ofthe party. Malibran, after singing one of her spirited arias, challenged Paganini, who said, 'Madam, how could I dare, with all theadvantages you possess in beauty and your incomparable voice, take upyour glove?' His declining was of no avail; the whole company, awarethat such an opportunity might never occur again, urged him moststrongly, and finally persuaded him to send for his violin. After anintroduction, in which gleamed now and then the motive of Malibran'ssong, he gave the whole melody with additional _fiorituras_, so thatthe audience, amazed and overwhelmed, could not help confessing that hewas the master. Malibran herself was most emphatic of all inproclaiming him the victor. "

Paganini's favourite violin was a Joseph Guarnerius. An Italianamateur, who evidently knew its value, lent it to the great maestro, and, after hearing him play upon it, declared that no other hand shouldtouch it, and presented it to Paganini. He left it to his native cityof Genoa, where it is preserved in the town hall. 

Ferdinand Barth, who painted "Paganini in Prison, " was the son of acarpenter, and was born in Bavaria in the early forties. For some timehe worked as a wood carver, and then began to paint, and studied at theMunich Academy, under Piloty. Probably his best known picture is"Choosing the Casket, " in which he has depicted the familiar scene fromthe "Merchant of Venice. "

MENDELSSOHN. 

Like Mozart, the composer of the "Songs without Words" had a sister, afew years older than himself, who was possessed of great musical talent. 

Mendelssohn's sister, Fanny, was born in 1805. In 1829 she became thewife of Wilhelm Hensel, a noted historical and portrait painter. Probably the most valuable and interesting of his works is the seriesof portraits of all the celebrities who, from time to time, were theguests of the Mendelssohn family. They number more than a thousanddrawings, and include, besides likenesses of poets, painters, andphilosophers, portraits of many people famous in the annals ofmusic, --Weber, Paganini, Ernst, Hiller, Liszt, Clara Schumann, Gounod, Clara Novello, Lablache, and Grisi. 

Rockstro tells the story of Fanny Mendelssohn's early death in thefollowing words:

"On Friday afternoon, the 14th of May, 1847, Madame Hensel, the belovedsister Fanny, to whom, from earliest infancy, Felix, the child, theboy, the man, had committed every secret of his beautiful art life; thekindred spirit, with whom he had shared his every dream before hisfirst attempt to translate it into sound; the faithful friend who hadbeen more to him than any other member of the happy circle in theLeipziger Strasse, of which, from first to last, she was the very lifeand soul, --Fanny Hensel, the sister, the artist, the poet, whileconducting a rehearsal of the music for the next bright Sundaygathering, was suddenly seized with paralysis; suffered her hands tofall powerless from the piano at which she had so often presided; and, an hour before midnight, was called away to join the beloved parentswhose death had been as sudden and painless as her own. She had hopedand prayed that she, too, might pass away as they had done, and herprayer was granted; to her exceeding gain, but to the endless grief ofthe brother who had loved her as himself. On Sunday morning, in placeof the piano, a coffin, covered with flowers, stood in the well-knownhall in the Garden House. And the life, of which that Garden House hadso long been the cherished home, became henceforth a memory of thepast. "

An English lady, Mrs. Florence Fenwick Miller, known not only as awriter, but as an ardent advocate of woman suffrage, has in one of herbooks written a chapter which she entitles "A Genius Wasted--FannyMendelssohn. " She says: "One of the saddest instances with which theworld has ever become acquainted, of gifts repressed and facultieswasted because of the sex of their possessor, is that of FannyMendelssohn, the sister of the famous composer, Felix Mendelssohn. With natural powers apparently fully as great as her brother's, Fannywas not, indeed, denied all opportunity of cultivating them, but waseffectually prevented from utilising them, and, therefore, from fullydeveloping her genius or from displaying its force. "

These two Jewish children were members of a family in which bothintellect, in its widest meaning, and musical talent, specifically, were hereditary. Their mother began to teach music both to the boy andthe girl in their early years. Fanny, who was five years older thanher brother, was naturally more advanced than he; and when the twochildren were allowed to show off their powers as pianists, it wasFanny who always won the most applause. They passed from theirmother's elementary tuition to that of superior teachers, L. Berger andafterward Zeiter, and the former of these indicated Fanny as being, inhis opinion, the future great musician. 

But a father and mother with a maiden of genius on their hands werelike a hen whose duckling takes to the water. The difference of thetraining of Fanny and Felix Mendelssohn, as distinguished from theirmusical education, is effectually indicated by the following letterfrom their father to Fanny, written when she was fourteen years old. After referring in terms of satisfaction to the compositions of bothhis son and daughter, Abraham Mendelssohn proceeded to say to thelatter of his two gifted children:

"What you wrote to me about your musical occupations, with reference toand in comparison with Felix, was both rightly thought and expressed. Music will, perhaps, become _his_ profession (Felix was at this timeonly nine years old. Fanny was fourteen), whilst for _you_ it can andmust be only an ornament, never the root of your being and doing. Wemay, therefore, pardon him some ambition and desire to be acknowledgedin a pursuit which appears to him important, while it does you creditthat you have always shown yourself good and sensible in these matters;and your very joy at the praise he earns proves that you might, in hisplace, have merited equal approval. Remain true to these sentimentsand to this line of conduct; they are feminine, and only what is trulyfeminine is an ornament to your sex. "

Ten more precious years of youth, the years of training and of hope, passed by; the different ideal was persistently forced by the parentsupon the two, although Fanny, more fortunate than many girls, was, nevertheless, allowed to study her art as well as she could inintervals of housekeeping. On her twenty-third birthday, her fatheragain felt it necessary to check his gifted daughter in her pursuit ofher art. He wrote her a letter in which he praised her conduct in thehousehold. 

"However, " he added, "you must still improve. You must become stillmore steady and collected, and prepare more earnestly and eagerly foryour real calling, the _only_ calling of a woman, --I mean the state ofa housewife. Women have a difficult task; the constant occupation withapparent trifles, the interception of each drop of rain, that it maynot evaporate, but be conducted into the right channel, the unremittingattention to every detail, --all these are the weighty duties of awoman. "

The time came, at length, for Fanny Mendelssohn to love, --that crisiscame which stimulates a man in his work, and nerves him to freshefforts to make himself successful, that he may be worthy and able toestablish a home. But to a woman this brings, only too often, yetanother heavy barrier in the way of success in any art or occupation. So it was to Fanny Mendelssohn. 

"Hensel was at first dreadfully jealous . . . Even of Fanny'sart. . . . Only _her_ letters have been preserved. Withcharacteristic energy she refuses to sacrifice her brother to thejealousy with which Hensel, in the beginning, regards her love for him, but she consents to give up her friends, and even her music. . . . Shenever, in her thoughts, loses sight of that letter of her father's, inwhich he calls the vocation of a housewife the only true aim and studyof a young woman, and in thinking of the man of her choice sheearnestly devotes herself to this aim. "

What reprobation and what just indignation would be showered upon awoman who should try to make the man of her choice give up his art, toattend to her private comforts!

Although Fanny's good father and mother, yielding to the prejudices oftheir day, had struggled to make housekeeping her main interest, andmusic only her recreation, yet they had not denied her musical genius acomplete education. Fanny was not only taught to play the piano in herchildhood, in company with Felix, but she was also allowed to receivelessons in thorough bass and the theory of composition. She was thusrendered capable of the expression of her musical talents; and inbetween her household duties, after, as well as before she became awife and mother, she often found time to compose. Much of what shewrote was of so high a character that her brother Felix felt nohesitation in putting it forth to the world as _his_ own composition!It is, apparently, impossible to discover which, amongst the workspublished as those of Mendelssohn, were really those of his sister; butreferences now and again occur in his private letters to the fact, which thereby becomes incontrovertible, that he has claimed before thepublic compositions which are hers exclusively. The most famous ofsuch passages is one that has became widely known in consequence of itsquotation in Sir Theodore Martin's "Life of the Prince Consort. "Mendelssohn is telling of his visit to the queen, at Buckingham Palace, in 1842. 

"The queen said she was very fond of singing my published songs. 'Youshould sing one to him, ' said Prince Albert, and after a little beggingshe said she would. And what did she choose? 'Schöner und schönerschmuckt sich;' sang it quite charmingly, in strict time and tune, andwith very good execution. Then I was obliged to confess that Fanny hadwritten that song (which I found very hard, but pride must have afall), and to beg her to sing one of my own also. "

As her father had kept her from appearing before the public when shewas young, so her brother strenuously opposed her wish to publish herwork in her maturity. In the spring of 1837, Fanny, in defiance ofhim, did issue one song with her own name to it. It had a greatsuccess, and Felix himself graciously wrote to her after it had beenperformed at a concert; "I thank you, in the name of the public, forpublishing it against my wish. " Fanny's husband urged her to follow upthis success by issuing more of her works. "Her mother was of the sameopinion, and begged Felix to persuade Fanny to publish. The successhad not altered Felix's views, however, and he declined to persuade hissister; and Fanny, who had herself no desire to appear in print, readily gave up the idea. "

Felix's influence sufficed to debar Fanny from all further attempt toobtain recognition, after that one song, until the year 1846, when shewas forty-one years old. Then the persuasions of another musicalfriend led her to publish a small selection of her best work. "Felixhad not altered his views, and it went against his wishes when he heardthat she had made up her mind to publish. Some time passed before hewrote on the subject at all, but on August 14th the following entryappears in her diary: 'At last Felix has written, and given me hisprofessional blessing in the kindest manner. I know that he is notsatisfied in his heart of hearts, but I am glad he has said a kind wordto me about it. '"

This little volume, too, was warmly received. Encouraged by thesuccess of her published work, --delayed till so sadly late inlife, --tasting the stimulating elixir of appreciation, and knowing thefascinating encouragement of public applause, she now began compositionon a larger scale than anything she had before attempted. "I amworking a good deal, " she wrote, "and feel that I get on, --aconsciousness which, added to the glorious weather, gives me a feelingof content and happiness such as I have, perhaps, never beforeexperienced. "

Alas! it came too late. In the spring of the next year, FannyMendelssohn died, aged forty-two. Her grand playing, "which madepeople afraid to perform in her presence, " went down with her into thesilence of her grave; and the musical genius and originality whichshould have left a lasting mark in the world faded, too, leaving but afew small tokens of what might have been. 

The "Songs without Words" are more closely associated with Mendelssohnthan any other of his works. The composer considered that music ismore definite than words, and these lovely songs had as exact anintention as those which were written to accompany poetry. It was in aletter of Fanny Mendelssohn's, dated December 8, 1828, that their titlefirst appeared, and they are referred to as if Mendelssohn had butlately begun to write them. On the day after his arrival in London, April 24, 1832, he played the first six to Moscheles. The earliest oneis No. 2, of Book 2, which Felix sent to his sister Fanny in 1830. "Ina Gondola, " the last song in the first book, is said to be the earliestof the six, in date. A few only were given titles by the composer. Six books, each containing six songs, were published during his life, and the seventh and eighth after his early death. 

[Illustration: Song without Words. From painting by R. Poetzelberger. ]

We reproduce the charming picture by a German painter, which, entitled"Song without Words, " is said to represent the young Mendelssohn andhis sister Fanny seated at the piano, side by side. Poetzelberger'sother works, which he has named "Con Amore, " "Old Songs, " and"Trifling, " are also distinguished by their graceful sentiment. 

CHOPIN. 

Liszt, the friend and rival of Chopin, wrote a biography of him whichmay almost be ranked among the curiosities of literature. Liszt was agenius, but not a good biographer, and his life of Chopin is largely arhapsody. 

For instance, Liszt writes thus about Chopin's short-lived passion forthe singer Constantia Gladkowska. "The tempest, which, in one of itssudden gusts, tore Chopin from his native soil, like a bird dreamy andabstracted, surprised by the storm, upon the branches of a foreigntree, sundered the ties of this first love and robbed the exile of afaithful and devoted wife, as well as disinherited him of a country. "And the same tendency to "gush" is here again apparent. "Chopin, " hesays, "could easily read the hearts which were attracted to him byfriendship and the grace of his youth, and thus was enabled early tolearn of what a strange mixture of leaven and cream of roses, ofgunpowder and tears of angels, the poetic ideal of his nation isformed. When his wandering fingers ran over the keys, suddenlytouching some moving chords, he could see how the furtive tears courseddown the cheeks of the loving girl, or the young, neglected wife; howthey moistened the eyes of the young man, enamoured of and eager forglory. Can we not fancy some young beauty asking him to play a simpleprelude, then, softened by the tones, leaning her rounded arms upon theinstrument to support her dreaming head, while she suffered the youngartist to divine in the dewy glitter of her lustrous eyes the song sungby her youthful heart?"

It has been asserted both by Liszt and others that Chopin owed hismusical education to the generosity of Prince Anton Radziwill, but thestatement is untrue. That wealthy and cultured nobleman was, however, always a warm friend and helpful patron of the great Polish pianist, who often visited the prince at his country-seat. Prince Radziwill wasa musician himself, --a good singer and "cellist, " and the composer ofnumerous pieces, among them being the first portions of Goethe's"Faust. " To him Chopin dedicated his first trio for pianoforte, violin, and violoncello, published in 1833. Chopin seems to havepassed a very pleasant time with the prince and his family, and, indeed, not to have been blind to the fascinations of the prince'scharming daughters, one of whom was an excellent pianist. The princehimself was no mean performer on the violoncello, and he and Chopinplayed a good deal together. Writing from Antonin, Chopin says: "Ihave written during my stay here an _Alla Polacca_ with violoncello. It is nothing more than a brilliant salon piece, such as pleasesladies. I should like the Princess Wanda to practise it. She is onlyseventeen years of age, and very beautiful; it would be delightful tohave the pleasure of placing her pretty fingers upon the keys. " Chopinwas a susceptible being and ever a victim to the latest impression, soit is not strange that the lovely Wanda was soon forgotten. 

[Illustration: Chopin at Prince Radziwill's. From painting by H. Siemiradski. ]

A countryman of Chopin's, the distinguished artist, Siemiradski, hasproduced a picture of the young pianist playing in the salon of PrinceRadziwill, which itself convinces us of its truthfulness. The painter(born in 1843, and a pupil of Piloty) secured a wide renown through hispainting of "The Living Torches of Nero. " From a long list of notablepictures by Siemiradski, we select for mention "Phryne at Eleusis, ""The Sword Dance, " and "The Cremation of a Russian Chieftain in theTenth Century. "

Twenty years from the time at which Siemiradski has painted Chopin, thegreat pianist lay on his death-bed in Paris. "His sister never lefthim for a moment. His dearest friend and pupil, Gutmann, was also nowconstantly with him, and both friend and sister felt that the end wasnot far off. On the 15th of October, his friend, the Comtesse DelphinePotocka, arrived in Paris, having hastened from Nice, where she was atthe time, directly she heard of the master's illness. No sooner was hemade aware of her presence than he implored her to sing to him. " SaysLiszt; "Who could have ventured to oppose his wish? The piano wasrolled to the door of his chamber, while with sobs in her voice andtears streaming down her cheeks his gifted countrywoman sang. She sangthe famous 'Canticle to the Virgin, ' which, it is said, once saved thelife of Stradella. 'How beautiful it is!' he exclaimed. 'My God, howvery beautiful! Again, again!' Though overwhelmed with emotion, thecountess had the noble courage to comply with the last wish of a friendand compatriot. She again took a seat at the piano, and sang a hymnfrom Marcello. Chopin now feeling worse, everybody was seized withfright; by a spontaneous impulse all who were present threw themselvesupon their knees--no one ventured to speak; the sacred silence was onlybroken by the voice of the singer floating, like a melody from heaven, above the sighs and sobs which formed its mournful earthaccompaniment. " Since the publication of Professor Niecks's biography, considerable doubt must be felt as to the accuracy of Liszt's statementtouching upon what the lady sang; for he states that "Gutmannpositively asserted that she sang a psalm by Marcello, and an air byPergolesi, while Franchomme insisted on her having sung an air fromBellini's 'Beatrice di Tenda, ' and that only once, and nothing else. "We know that both the authors of these statements were present, whereasLiszt was not; but while that leaves no doubt as to the incorrectnessof the abbé in this particular, it does not help us in deciding betweenthe relative statements of the two witnesses. This, of course, isimpossible, as there is nothing whatever to guide us to a trustworthydecision. To Professor Niecks, also, do we owe much of interestconcerning these last hours of the master, inasmuch as he has broughtto light much new testimony of a further witness, M. Gavard, whorelates how, on the day following, Chopin called around him thosefriends who were with him in his apartment. To the PrincessCzartoryska and Mlle. Gavard, he said, "You will play together, youwill think of me, and I shall listen to you. " Beckoning to Franchomme, he said to the princess, "I recommend Franchomme to you; you will playMozart together, and I shall listen to you!" How well he was caredfor, and how much devotion and tenderness were lavished upon him, wecan judge from another letter of M. Gavard, quoted by Professor Niecks, in which he says: "In the back room lay the poor sufferer, tormented byfits of breathlessness, and only sitting in bed resting in the arms ofa friend could he procure air for his oppressed lungs. It was Gutmann, the strongest amongst us, who knew best how to manage the patient, andwho mostly thus supported him. At the head of his bed sat PrincessCzartoryska; she never left him, guessing his most secret wishes, nursing him like a Sister of Mercy, with a serene countenance which didnot betray her deep sorrow. Other friends gave a helping hand torelieve her, --every one according to his power; but most of them stayedin the two adjoining rooms. Every one had assumed a part; every onehelped as much as he could, --one ran to the doctor's, to theapothecary; another introduced the persons asked for; a third shut thedoor on intruders. 

"But, alas! the door was not to be shut upon the greatest of allintruders, and on the evening of the 16th of October the Abbé AlexanderJelowicki, the Polish priest, was sent for, as Chopin, saying that hehad not confessed for many years, wished to do so now. After theconfession was over, and the absolution pronounced, Chopin, embracinghis confessor, exclaimed, 'Thanks! thanks to you, I shall not now dielike a pig. ' The same evening two doctors examined him. Hisdifficulty in breathing now seemed intense; but on being asked whetherhe still suffered, he replied, 'No longer. ' His face had alreadyassumed the pure serenity of death, and every minute was expected to bethe last. Just before the end--at two o'clock of the morning of theseventeenth--he drank some wine handed to him by Gutmann, who held theglass to his lips. '_Cher ami_!' he said, and, kissing his faithfulpupil's hands, he died. 'He died as he had lived, ' says Liszt, 'inloving. '"

[Illustration: The Death of Chopin. From painting by Felix JosephBarrias. ]

Barrias has worthily painted the last scene in the life of Chopin. Anative of Paris, where he was born in 1822, this artist has to hiscredit a long list of meritorious works which have secured him manyhonours. They include the "Exiles under Tiberius, " in the Luxembourg, "The Death of Socrates, " "Sappho, " "Dante at Ravenna, " "The Fairy ofthe Pearls, " "The Sirens, " "The Triumph of Venus, " and "CamilleDesmoulins at the Palais Royal, " in addition to a number of importantdecorative works. The "Death of Chopin" was exhibited in 1885. A goldmedal was bestowed upon Barrias at the Paris Exposition of 1889, whenthe artist was in his sixty-seventh year. The critic, Roger Ballu, said of him: "A painter of style, very careful of the dignity of hisart, he has never made a compromise with the taste of the day. "

MEYERBEER. 

Among the chief mourners at Chopin's funeral was Meyerbeer, who, thoughGerman by birth and training, passed the most important years of hislife in Paris, as did the gifted Pole. In our picture Hamman hasrepresented the composer enthroned amid the characters of his chiefoperas, doubtless as real to him as creatures of flesh and blood. 

[Illustration: Mayerbeer. From painting by E. J. C. Hamman. ]

In the foreground, at Meyerbeer's right hand, are seen Nelusko andSelika, from "L'Africaine, " his last opera, which was not produceduntil the year after his death. "Vasco da Gama, the famous discoverer, is the betrothed lover of a maiden named Inez, the daughter of DonDiego, a Portuguese grandee. When the opera opens he is still at sea, and has not been heard of for years. Don Pedro, the president of thecouncil, takes advantage of his absence to press his own suit for thehand of Inez, and obtains the king's sanction to his marriage on theground that Vasco must have been lost at sea. At this moment thelong-lost hero returns, accompanied by two swarthy slaves, Selika andNelusko, whom he has brought home from a distant isle in the IndianOcean. He recounts the wonders of the place, and entreats thegovernment to send out a pioneer expedition to win an empire across thesea. His suggestions are rejected, and he himself, through themachinations of Don Pedro, is cast into prison. There he is tended bySelika, who loves her gentle captor passionately, and has need of allher regal authority--for in the distant island she was a queen--toprevent the jealous Nelusko from slaying him in his sleep. Inez nowcomes to the prison to announce to Vasco that she has purchased hisliberty at the price of giving her hand to Don Pedro. In the next actDon Pedro, who has stolen a march on Vasco, is on his way to theAfrican island, taking with him Inez and Selika. The steering of thevessel is entrusted to Nelusko. Vasco da Gama, who has fitted out avessel at his own expense, overtakes Don Pedro in mid-ocean, andgenerously warns his rival of the treachery of Nelusko, who is steeringthe vessel upon the rocks of his native shore. Don Pedro's only replyis to order Vasco to be tied to the mast and shot, but before thesentence can be carried out, the vessel strikes upon the rocks, and theaborigines swarm over the sides. Selika, once more a queen, saves thelives of Vasco and Inez from the angry natives. In the next act thenuptials of Selika and Vasco are on the point of being celebrated, withgreat pomp, when the hero, who has throughout the opera wavered betweenthe two women who love him, finally makes up his mind in favour ofInez. Selika thereupon magnanimously despatches them home in Vasco'sship, and poisons herself with the fragrance of the deadly manchineeltree. "

Behind Selika appear Robert and Bertram, from "Robert le Diable, " thefirst work of the composer's French period, produced in 1831. Itslibretto, by Scribe, tells how "Robert, Duke of Normandy, the son ofthe Duchess Bertha by a fiend who donned the shape of man to prosecutehis amour, arrives in Sicily to compete for the hand of the PrincessIsabella, which is to be awarded as the prize at a magnificenttournament. Robert's dare-devil gallantry and extravagance soon earnhim the sobriquet of 'Le Diable, ' and he puts the coping-stone to hisfolly by gambling away all his possessions at a single sitting, even tohis horse and the armour on his back. Robert has an _âme damnée_ inthe shape of a knight named Bertram, to whose malign influence most ofhis crimes and follies are due. Bertram is in reality hisdemon-father, whose every effort is directed to making a thorough-pacedvillain of his son, so that he may have the pleasure of enjoying hissociety for all eternity. In strong contrast to the fiendishmalevolence of Bertram stands the gentle figure of Alice, Robert'sfoster-sister, who has followed him from Normandy with a message fromhis dead mother. Isabella supplies Robert with a fresh horse and arms;nevertheless, he is beguiled away from Palermo by some trickery ofBertram's, and fails to put in an appearance at the tournament. Theonly means, therefore, left to him of obtaining the hand of Isabella isto visit the tomb of his mother, and there to pluck a magic branch ofcypress, which will enable him to defeat his rivals. The cypress growsin a deserted convent haunted by the spectres of profligate nuns, andthere, amidst infernal orgies, Robert plucks the branch of power. Byits aid, he sends the guards of the princess into a deep sleep, and isonly prevented by her passionate entreaties from carrying her off byforce. Yielding to her prayers, he breaks the branch, and his magicpower at once deserts him. He seeks sanctuary from his enemies in thecathedral, and there the last and fiercest strife for the possession ofhis soul is waged between the powers of good and evil. On the one handis Bertram, whose term of power on earth expires at midnight. He hasnow discovered himself as Robert's father, and produced an infernalcompact of union, which he entreats his son to sign. On the other isAlice, pleading and affectionate, bearing the last words of Robert'sdead mother, warning him against the fiend who had seduced her. WhileRobert is hesitating between the two, midnight strikes, and Bertramsinks with thunder into the pit. The scene changes, and a glimpse isgiven of the interior of the cathedral, where the marriage of Robertand Isabella is being celebrated. "

Next to the evil Bertram is portrayed, in his coronation robes, John ofLeyden, the chief character in "Le Prophète, " which had its firstrepresentation in 1849. "John, an innkeeper of Leyden, loves Bertha, avillage maiden, who dwells near Dordrecht. Unfortunately, her liegelord, the Count of Oberthal, has designs upon the girl himself, andrefuses his consent to the marriage. Bertha escapes from his clutchesand flies to the protection of her lover, but Oberthal secures theperson of Fidès, John's old mother, and, by threats of putting her todeath, compels him to give up Bertha. Wild with rage against the viceand lawlessness of the nobles, John joins the ranks of the Anabaptists, a revolutionary sect pledged to the destruction of the powers that be. Their leaders recognise him as a prophet promised by Heaven, and he isinstalled as their chief. The Anabaptists lay siege to Munster, whichfalls into their hands, and in the cathedral John is solemnlyproclaimed the Son of God. During the ceremony he is recognised byFidès, who, believing him to have been slain by the false prophet, hasfollowed the army to Munster in hopes of revenge. She rushes forwardto claim her son, but John pretends not to know her. To admit anearthly relationship would be to prejudice his position with thepopulace, and he compels her to confess that she is mistaken. Thecoronation ends with John's triumph, while the hapless Fidès is carriedoff to be immured in a dungeon. John visits her in her cell, andobtains her pardon by promising to renounce his deceitful splendour, and to fly with her. Later he discovers that a plot against himselfhas been hatched by some of the Anabaptist leaders, and he destroyshimself and them by blowing up the palace of Munster. "

In front of John of Leyden are the leading personages in "LesHuguenots. " Raoul is kneeling to Valentine, while the wounded Marcelstands by, sword in hand. Eugene Scribe was the author of the words ofthis opera, which dates from 1836, and is thus summarised: "Margueritede Valois, the beautiful Queen of Navarre, who is anxious to reconcilethe bitterly hostile parties of Catholics and Huguenots, persuades theComte de Saint Bris, a prominent Catholic, to allow his daughterValentine to marry Raoul de Nangis, a young Huguenot noble. Valentineis already betrothed to the gallant and amorous Comte de Nevers, butshe pays him a nocturnal visit in his own palace, and induces him torelease her from her engagement. During her interview with Nevers, sheis perceived by Raoul, and recognised as a lady whom he lately rescuedfrom insult and has loved passionately ever since. In his eyes thereis only one possible construction to be put upon her presence inNevers's palace, and he hastens to dismiss her from his mind. Immediately upon his decision comes a message from the queen, biddinghim hasten to her palace in Touraine upon important affairs of state. When he arrives she unfolds her plan, and he, knowing Valentine only bysight, not by name, gladly consents. When, in the presence of theassembled nobles, he recognises in his destined bride the presumedmistress of Nevers, he casts her from him, and vows to prefer death tosuch intolerable disgrace. The scene of the next act is in the Pré auxClercs, in the outskirts of Paris. Valentine, who is to be marriedthat night to Nevers, obtains leave to pass some hours in prayer in achapel. While she is there she overhears the details of a plot devisedby Saint Bris for the assassination of Raoul, in order to avenge theaffront put upon himself and his daughter. Valentine contrives to warnMarcel, Raoul's old servant, of this, and he assembles his Huguenotcomrades hard by, who rush in at the first _cliquetis_ of steel andjoin the general _mêlée_. The fight is interrupted by the entrance ofthe queen. When she finds out who are the principal combatants, shereproves them sharply, and _en passant_ tells Raoul the real story ofValentine's visit to Nevers. The act ends with the marriagefestivities, while Raoul is torn by an agony of love and remorse. Inthe next act Raoul contrives to gain admittance to Nevers's house, andthere has an interview with Valentine. They are interrupted by theentrance of Saint Bris and his followers, whereupon Valentine concealsRaoul behind the arras. From his place of concealment he hears SaintBris unfold the plan of the massacre of Saint Bartholomew, which is tobe carried out that night. The conspirators swear a solemn oath toexterminate the Huguenots, and their daggers are consecrated byattendant priests. Nevers alone refuses to take part in the butchery. When they all have left, Raoul comes out of his hiding-place, and, inspite of the prayers and protestations of Valentine, leaps from thewindow at the sound of the fatal tocsin, and hastens to join hisfriends. In the last act, Raoul first warns Henry of Navarre and theHuguenot nobles, assembled at the Hôtel de Sens, of the massacre, andthen joins the _mêlée_ in the streets. Valentine has followed him, and, after vainly endeavouring to make him don the white scarf, whichis worn that night by all Catholics, she throws in her lot with him, and dies in his arms, after they have been solemnly joined in wedlockby the wounded and dying Marcel. "

WAGNER. 

"Had it not been for Meyerbeer, my wife and I would have starved inParis, " Wagner once told a friend, in speaking of his dark days, and healways esteemed the composer as a man, though his honesty in artmatters forced him to condemn Meyerbeer's music. 

Wagner wandered over Europe for many years. Born in Leipsic and dyingin Venice, he lived in many cities during the years between. His youthwas spent at Leipsic and Dresden; then he was choir-master at Wurzburg;next musical director at the Magdeburg theatre, conductor at Königsbergand at Riga. Proceeding thence by way of London to Paris, in 1839, heremained in the French capital until the spring of 1842, thence goingto Dresden, where he served as court conductor for seven years. Forcedto fly from Dresden because of his part in the uprising of 1849, he atfirst went to Liszt at Weimar, and then to Zurich by way of Paris. AtZurich he stayed, with some intermission, until 1861, when he receivedpermission to return to Germany. The misfortunes he met there decidedhim, after three years, to return to Switzerland, and he was on his waythither when Ludwig II. Ascended the throne of Bavaria, and invited himto go to Munich and work. The end of 1865 found Wagner at the lovelyVilla Triebschen, on Lake Lucerne, where he composed the"Meistersinger, " and worked on the "Nibelungen. " In 1872, Wagnersettled in Bayreuth, where, soon after, the house which he called"Wahnfried" was built for him. 

At last the great composer's wanderings were coming to an end, but, aswe have said, he died in Venice, and not at his own home. He was, however, buried there, in the garden of the villa. 

It is at "Wahnfried" that the artist has drawn Wagner discussing somemusical question with Liszt, Frau Wagner seated near by. 

[Illustration: Wagner at Home. From painting by W. Beckmann. ]

Wagner's first wife was a beautiful and talented actress and singer, byname Wilhelmina Planer, whom he married at Riga in 1834. She was afaithful helpmate for years, sacrificing to him her own career, but didnot comprehend his genius, and as years went by they drifted apart. The composer's professional intercourse with Hans von Bülow led to anintimacy with the latter's wife, Cosima von Bülow, who was anillegitimate daughter of Liszt by the Countess d'Agoult. In 1861Richard and Wilhelmina Wagner separated, and in 1866 she died. Fouryears later, Cosima, then divorced from Von Bülow, was married toWagner, whom she both worshipped and well understood. Their union wasa very happy one, blest with one son named Siegfried, and Madame Wagnerlong survived her illustrious husband, and laboured indefatigably tocarry on his work and increase his fame. 

Wagner owed much to Cosima, born Liszt, and still more to her father, who was a never-failing friend. In a work published in 1851, Wagnersays: "I was thoroughly disheartened from undertaking any artisticscheme. Only recently I had proofs of the impossibility of making myart intelligible to the public, and all this deterred me from beginningnew dramatic works. Indeed, I thought that everything was at an endwith artistic creativeness. From this state of mental dejection I wasraised by a friend. By most evident and undeniable proofs, he made mefeel that I was not deserted, but, on the contrary, understood deeplyby those even who were otherwise most distant from me; in this way hegave me back my full artistic confidence. 

"This wonderful friend, Franz Liszt has been to me. I must enter alittle more deeply into the character of this friendship, which to manyhas seemed paradoxical; indeed, I have been compelled to appearrepellent and hostile on so many sides, that I almost feel the want ofdisclosing all that relates to this sympathetic intercourse. 

"I met Liszt for the first time in Paris, and at a period when I hadrenounced the hope, nay, even the wish, of a Parisian reputation; and, indeed, was in a state of internal revolt against the artistic life Ifound there. At our meeting Liszt appeared the most perfect contrastto my own being and situation. In the Parisian society, to which ithad been my desire to fly from my narrow circumstances, Liszt had grownup from his earliest age, so as to be the object of general love andadmiration, at a time when I was repulsed by general coldness and wantof sympathy. In consequence, I looked upon him with suspicion. I hadno opportunity of disclosing my being and work to him, and thereforethe reception I met with on his part was altogether of a superficialkind, as indeed was quite natural in a man to whom every day the mostdivergent impressions claimed access. But I was not in a mood to lookwith unprejudiced eyes for the natural cause of his behaviour, which, friendly and obliging in itself, could not but hurt me in that state ofmy mind. I never repeated my first call on Liszt, and, without knowingor even wishing to know him, I was prone to look upon him as strangeand adverse to my nature. 

"My repeated expression of this feeling was afterward reported toLiszt, just at the time when the performance of my 'Rienzi, ' atDresden, attracted general attention. He was surprised to find himselfmisunderstood with such violence by a man whom he had scarcely known, and whose acquaintance now seemed not without value to him. I am stilltouched at recollecting the repeated and eager attempts he made tochange my opinion of him, even before he knew any of my works. Heacted not from any artistic sympathy, but led by the purely human wishof discontinuing a casual disharmony between himself and a fellowcreature; perhaps he also felt an infinitely tender misgiving of havinghurt me unconsciously. He who knows the terrible selfishness andinsensibility in our social life, and especially in the relations ofmodern artists to each other, cannot but be struck with wonder, nay, delight, by the treatment I experienced from this extraordinary man. 

"Liszt soon afterward witnessed a performance of 'Rienzi, ' at Dresden, on which he had almost to insist, and after that I heard from all thedifferent corners of the world, where he had been on his artisticexcursions, how he had everywhere expressed his delight with my music, and indeed had--I would rather believe unintentionally--canvassedpeople's opinions in my favour. 

"This happened at a time when it became more and more evident that mydramatic works would have no outward success. But just when the caseseemed desperate, Liszt succeeded by his own energy in opening ahopeful refuge to my art. He ceased his wanderings, settled down inthe small and modest Weimar, and took up the conductor's _bâton_, afterhaving been at home so long in the splendour of the greatest cities ofEurope. At Weimar I saw him for the last time, when I rested a fewdays in Thuringia, not yet certain whether my threatening prosecutionwould compel me to continue my flight from Germany. The very day whenmy personal danger became a certainty, I saw Liszt conducting arehearsal of my 'Tannhäuser, ' and was astonished at recognising mysecond self in his achievements. What I had felt in inventing themusic, he felt in performing it; what I wanted to express in writing itdown, he proclaimed in making it sound. Strange to say, through thelove of this rarest friend, I gained, at the moment of becominghomeless, a real home for my art, which I had longed and sought foralways in the wrong place. 

"At the end of my last stay at Paris, when ill, broken down, anddespairing, I sat brooding over my fate, my eyes fell on the score ofmy 'Lohengrin, ' totally forgotten by me. Suddenly I felt somethinglike compassion that this music should never sound from off thedeath-pale paper. I wrote two lines to Liszt; his answer was the newsthat preparations for the performance were being made on the largestscale the limited means of Weimar would permit. Everything that menand circumstances could do was done in order to make the workunderstood. . . . Errors and misconceptions impeded the desiredsuccess. What was to be done to supply what was wanted, so as tofurther the true understanding on all sides, and with it the ultimatesuccess of the work? Liszt saw it at once and did it. He gave to thepublic his own impression of the work in a manner the convincingeloquence and overpowering efficacy of which remain unequalled. Success was his reward, and with this success he now approaches me, saying: 'Behold, we have come so far, now create us a new work that wemay go still further. '"

LISZT. 

In a letter written to Franz von Schober, the poet and writer, and theintimate friend of Schubert, in 1840, Liszt says: "Most affectionateremembrances to Kriehuber. His two portraits of me have been copied inLondon. They are without doubt the best. "

Joseph Kriehuber, whose fine drawing of Liszt at the piano, playingBeethoven's C sharp minor sonata to some friends, we reproduce, was aViennese artist of great talent, who made many excellent portraits inpencil, lithography, water-colours, and miniatures. In this work, Kriehuber has introduced a portrait of himself seated at the left ofthe pianist, with pencil and sketchbook in hand. Behind the pianostands Berlioz, and next him is Czerny, the celebrated music teacherand composer, and the teacher of Liszt. 

[Illustration: A Morning with Liszt. From drawing by Joseph Kriehuber. ]

We will quote here an interesting letter, written from Paris by Lisztto Czerny. At this time Liszt was but seventeen years old. 

"MY VERY DEAR MASTER:--When I think of all the immense obligationsunder which I am placed toward you, and at the same time consider howlong I have left you without a sign of remembrance, I am perfectlyashamed and miserable, and in despair of ever being forgiven by you!'Yes, ' I said to myself, with a deep feeling of bitterness, 'I am anungrateful fellow, I have forgotten my benefactor, I have forgottenthat good master to whom I owe both my talent and my success. ' . . . At these words a tear starts to my eyes, and I assure you that norepentant tear was ever more sincere! Receive it as an expiation, andpardon me, for I cannot any longer bear the idea that you have anyill-feeling toward me. You will pardon me, my dear master, won't you?Embrace me then . . . Good! Now my heart is light. 

"You have doubtless heard that I have been playing your admirable workshere with the greatest success, and all the glory ought to be given toyou. I intended to have played your variations on the 'Pirate' the dayafter to-morrow, at a very brilliant concert, that I was to have givenat the theatre of H. R. H. Madame, who was to have been present as wellas the Duchess of Orleans; but man proposes and God disposes. I havesuddenly caught the measles, and have been obliged to say farewell tothe concert; but it is not given up because it is put off, and I hope, as soon as ever I am well again, to have the pleasure of making thesebeautiful variations known to a large public. 

"Pixis and several other people have spoken much to me of fourconcertos that you have lately finished, and the reputation of which isalready making a stir in Paris. I should be very much pleased, my dearmaster, if you would commission me to get them sold. This would bequite easy for me to do, and I should also have the pleasure of playingthem from first hand, either at the opera or at some big concerts. Ifmy proposition pleases you, send them to me by the Austrian Embassy, marking the price that you would like to have for them. As regards anypassages to be altered, if there are any, you need only mark them witha red pencil, according to your plan which I know so well, and I willpoint them out to the editor with the utmost care. Give me at the sametime some news about music and pianists in Vienna; and finally tell me, dear master, which of your compositions you think would make the besteffect in society. 

"I close by sending you my heartfelt greetings, and begging you oncemore to pardon the shameful silence I have kept toward you: be assuredthat it has given me as much pain as yourself!

"Your very affectionate and grateful pupil, "F. LISZT. "_December 23, 1828_. 

"P. S. --Please answer me as soon as possible, for I am longing for aletter from you; and please embrace your excellent parents from me. Iadd my address (Rue Montholon, No. 7bis). "

Returning to Kriehuber's picture, we see, on the master's right, Ernst, the famous violinist. Writing to his pupil and friend, Franz Kroll, from Weimar in 1845, Liszt speaks thus of Ernst:

"Ernst has just been spending a week here, during which he has playedsome hundred rubbers of whist at the 'Erbprinz. ' His is a noble, sweet, and delicate nature, and more than once during his stay I havecaught myself regretting _you_ for him, and regretting _him_ for you. Last Monday he was good enough to play, in his usual and admirablemanner, at the concert for the Orchestral Pension Fund. The pieces hehad selected were his new 'Concerto Pathétique' (in F sharp minor) andan extremely piquant and brilliant 'Caprice on Hungarian Melodies. '(This latter piece is dedicated to me. ) The public was in a goodhumour, even really warm, which is usually one of its least faults. "

The following epistle, written by Liszt to Ernst, and dated at Weimar, May 30, 1849, is of special interest because of its references toWagner. 

"DEAR FRIEND:--Weimar has not forgotten you, and I hope soon to beable, after the return of the hereditary prince, whom we expect for theday of his _fête_, by the 24th of May at the very latest, to forward toyou the token of the distinguished remembrance in which you are held. It pleases me to think that it will be agreeable to you, and that itwill tend to attach you more in the sequel to people worthy toappreciate you. 

"I should have desired to tell you sooner of this, but the inevitabledelays in present circumstances postpone more than one wish. 

"After the deplorable days in Dresden Wagner came here, and onlydeparted again in order to escape from a warrant (_lettre de cachet_)with which the Saxon government is pursuing him. I hope that at thepresent moment he will have arrived safe and well in Paris, where hiscareer of dramatic composer cannot fail to be extended, and in grandproportions. He is a man of evident genius, who must of necessityobtrude himself on the general admiration, and hold a high place incontemporary art. I regret that you have not had the opportunity ofhearing his 'Tannhäuser, ' which is for me the most lyric of dramas, themost remarkable, the most harmonious, the most complete, the mostoriginal and _selbstwürdig_ (the most worthy of his country), both infoundation and form, that Germany has produced since Weber. Bellonihas, I believe, written to you on the subject of Wagner, to ask forinformation as to the actual state of the English opera in London. 

"I make no doubt that if it were possible for Wagner to obtain from thedirectors a tour of performances in the course of the year for a newwork ('Lohengrin, ' the subject of which, having reference to theKnights of the Round Table who went to search for the Holy Grail, is ofthe most poetic interest), he would make a great sensation and largereceipts by it. As soon as he tells me the news of his arrival inParis, allow me to induce him to write to you direct, if his plans donot change in this matter. "

As for Berlioz, we find Liszt in 1854 endeavouring to aid him insecuring a production of "Benvenuto Cellini. " Liszt writes about it toWilhelm Fischer, chorus director at Dresden, thus:

"DEAR SIR AND FRIEND:--Your letter has given me real pleasure, and Isend you my warmest thanks for your artistic resolve to bring 'Cellini'to a hearing in Dresden. Berlioz has taken the score with him to Parisfrom Weimar, in order to make some alterations and simplifications init. I wrote to him the day before yesterday, and expect the score withthe pianoforte edition, which I will immediately send you to Dresden. Tichatschek is just made for the title rôle, and will make a splendideffect with it; the same with Mitterwurzer as Fieramosca, and MadameKrebs as Ascanio, a mezzo-soprano part. From your extremely effectivechoruses, with their thorough musicianly drilling, we may expect aforce never yet attained in the great carnival scene (finale of thesecond act); and I am convinced that, when you have looked more closelyinto the score, you will be of my opinion that 'Cellini, ' with theexception of the Wagner operas, --and they should never be put intocomparison with one another, --is the most important, most originalmusical dramatic work of art which the last twenty years have to show. 

"I must also beg for a little delay in sending you the score and thepianoforte edition, as it is necessary entirely to revise the Germantext and to have it written out again. I think this work will be readyin a few weeks, so you may expect the pianoforte edition at thebeginning of February. At Easter Berlioz is coming to Dresden toconduct a couple of concerts in the theatre there. It would besplendid if you should succeed in your endeavours to make Herr vonLuttichau fix an early date for the 'Cellini' performance, and if youcould get Berlioz to conduct his own work when he is in Dresden. Inany case, I shall come to the first performance, and promise myself avery satisfactory and delightful result. 

"Meanwhile, dear friend, accept my best thanks once more for thisproject, and for all that you will do to realise it successfully, andreceive the assurance of the high esteem of

Yours very truly, "F. LISZT, "_Weimar, January 4 (1854). _"

A few years later, in 1862, Liszt addresses his friend, Dr. FranzBrendel, the writer on music, saying:

"I have just received a few lines from Berlioz. Schuberth, whom Icommissioned before I left to send the dedication copy of the 'Faust'score to Berlioz, has again in his incompetent _good nature_ forgottenit, and perhaps even from motives of economy has not had the_dedication plate_ engraved at all! Forgive me, dear friend, if Itrouble you once more with this affair, and beg you to put an_execution_ on Schuberth in order to force a copy with the _dedicationpage_ from him. The dedication shall be just as simple as that of theDante symphony, containing only the name of the dedicatee, as follows:

 "'To Hector Berlioz. '

"After this indispensable matter has been arranged, I beg that you willbe so kind as to have a tasteful copy, _bound in red or dark green_, sent perhaps through Pohl (?) to Berlioz at Baden (where he will be atthe beginning of August). "

Liszt was always generous to a fault; he carried charity almost toexcess. If it were possible that his art could be forgotten, his namewould still be gratefully remembered for his numberless deeds ofkindness. We have quoted Wagner's acknowledgment of Liszt's exertionsin his cause, and his efforts on behalf of Robert Franz rescued thatcomposer from poverty when old age was coming upon him. Beethoven wasalways the object of Liszt's worship, and the monument to the master atBonn was reared chiefly through his labours of love. 

THE END.