LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN

MOZART'S EAR COMPARED WITH AVERAGE EAR.First published in Nissen's Biography of Mozart.

MOZART'S EAR COMPARED WITH AVERAGE EAR.

First published in Nissen's Biography of Mozart.

In the days of Mozart the favorite amusement of wealthy amateurs of music was the string quartet. Haydn was the man who first showed the way, although Boccherini should not be utterly forgotten. The set of six dedicated by Mozart to Haydn, show the growth of the quartet, the individualizing of each part. For in the ideal work of this species, each part should be of equal importance. This advance, however, was not to the public taste. Hewas accused of undue originality. Prince Grassalcovicz was so angry when he found that the discords coming from the players were actually in the parts, that he tore the pages in pieces. The publisher returned them, as full of printer's errors. Learned men, as Fétis and G. Weber, have written learned analyses of the introduction to the quartet in C major, against it and in its favor. The hearers of to-day, accustomed to the last quartets of Beethoven and the licenses of modern composers, are not shocked even by the celebrated false relations in the aforesaid introduction. Not only do these compositions display, in clearest light, the mastery of form and all contrapuntal devices; they are a mine of sensuous and spiritual riches. The quartet is ennobled; the minuet, that jolly, rustic dance of Haydn, becomes, with Mozart, the court dance of noble dames, full of grace and delicacy. The finales abound in dignified humor, and occasionally pathos is found. Upon these six quartets Mozart lavished the treasures of his nature and his art. In writing the three for Frederick William II. of Prussia, he remembered the favorite instrument of the monarch, and brought the violoncello into greater prominence, making it often a solo instrument, with the melody in its higher notes. This necessitated a different treatment of the violins and viola, and resulted in more brilliancy with an occasional loss of strength. Written, as they were, to gratify the taste of a monarch, they show more elegance, perhaps, than depth of feeling, but in invention and in exquisite proportion they are worthy of even the great name of Mozart. Without stopping to examine as carefully as it deserves the remarkable trio for violin, viola, and violoncello (K. 563), in six movements, let us glance at the quintets, in which the viola is doubled, unlike the many compositions of Boccherini in which two 'cellos are employed. The quintets in C major and G minor were composed in 1787, the D major in 1790, the E-flat major, 1791. These four quintets follow the path pointed out by the six quartets. There are biting and harsh passages, to impress more forcibly the composer's intentions, "comparatively frequent successions of ninths in a circle of fifths." And even Mozart seldom wrote anything so full of wild and sobbing passion as the first movement of the G-minor quintet, in which the second subject is of an Italian intensity and a conviction that remind one of the terrible earnestness of Verdi, the Verdi of the middle period. Yet this melody, so direct and complete, is taken as matter for contrapuntal treatment. The adagio is also a masterpiece, approached, perhaps equalled, but not surpassed by Beethoven. Polyphony is the life of these quintets; but it is not purely scholastic polyphony. Mozart once said to Michael Kelly, "Melody is the essence of music. I compare a good melodist to a fine racer, and counterpointists to hack post horses." But in these quintets the counterpoint is so melodious that the tricks and strainings of the pedagogue are never brought to mind. Here may also be mentioned the quintet in A major for clarinet and strings (1789), written for Anton Stadler, a dissipated fellow, a toss-pot, and riggish. But Mozart loved him because he blew cunningly the clarinet, and he went about with him, and ate with him, and drank with him. Although it is freer in form than the great quartets, and the quintets in G minor, this clarinet quintet stands beside them in its grace tinged with melancholy, its contrapuntal skill masterly disguised, its divine melody.

MOZART IN PROFILE.Cut in boxwood by Posch, a Salzburg sculptor, in 1789. This important original has served as a model for many posthumous portraits of Mozart.

MOZART IN PROFILE.

Cut in boxwood by Posch, a Salzburg sculptor, in 1789. This important original has served as a model for many posthumous portraits of Mozart.

A review of the symphonies of Mozart is a summing up of the history of the symphony in the eighteenth century from childhood to maturity. He was eight years old when he wrote in London his first symphony. It is in sonata form: allegro, andante, finale: he uses the orchestra of the predecessors of Haydn, viz., two violins, viola, bass, two oboes, and two horns. These early symphonies of Mozart are relics of the time when German instrumental music was still in a comparatively crude condition, and they are chiefly interesting from the historical point of view; for even Köchel, the devoted admirer of Mozart, says that they are wanting in character and that the motives are without development. Look for instance at the first symphony. The allegro has one hundred and eighteen measures; the andante fifty; the presto ninety-one. According to the fashion of the old suite the three movements are in the same tonality. The symphonies of 1764 and 1765 are in the same form; in two of them the andante is in a different key from the other movements. It was in 1767 that Mozart first introduced the minuet, which was, however, without a trio. The seventeen symphonies written from 1767 to 1772 show an advance in instrumentation rather than in growth of form. The early ones were composed for the eight-part orchestra, the foundation of modern orchestral works. In the second, the two horns are replaced by two clarinets, and a bassoon is added. Now the use of the clarinet was then rare. Christopher Denner made the first clarinet in 1701. Gossec wrote for the instrument in 1756, and it was first heard in England in Christian Bach's opera "Orione" (1763). Mozart used it also in a symphony written in Paris in 1778, and he did not introduce it again until 1783. One of the greatest innovations of this master, the father of orchestral color, was the knowledge of the resources of this instrument, whose voice, as Berlioz well says, is the voice of heroic love. In Mozart's works, "whether it sings with full and sonorous voice some episodic phrase or displays all the riches of its twotimbresin a superb adagio, everywhere it is brought fully into light, everywhere it plays an important rôle." In 1768, Mozart used the drums and one trumpet; in 1769 two bassoons; in 1770 two trumpets; in 1771, in an andante, two flutes. He was still making experiments. In 1773, for the first time, he composed a symphony in the minor mode; and in this year he first went over 200 measures in the opening allegro; he also used four horns. In 1774 he employed two viola parts. In 1778 the "Parisian" symphony was performed with great success at aConcert Spirituel. Never before had he developed his motives to so great a length; never before had he employed so large an orchestra; the score includes, besides the string parts, two flutes, two oboes, two clarinets, two bassoons, two horns, two trumpets, drums,—in all seventeen parts. Haydn did not use so large an orchestra until 1793. The allegros are brilliant and animated, following the French taste of the time, and they were loudly applauded; the andante did not produce so great an effect. After his return to Germany he was obliged to reduce his orchestral forces, and to cut his cloth to suit his opportunities. The "Haffner" made over from a serenade shows that the forms of the ancient serenade and modern symphony were still confounded; its allegro is not symphonic, but one theme is present and rules from beginning to end. In 1783, in the symphony in C, he first wrote an introduction to the first movement. In 1786 the symphony in D, with an introduction, was brought out at Prague with unbounded success. It contains, like the "Parisian," no minuet. It opens with a solemn adagio introduction; the allegro bears a rhythmical resemblance in its first theme to that of the "Magic Flute" overture; the andante is often cited as a perfect example of the exquisite grace of Mozart; the finale in its sparkling vivacity brings to mind a number of "Figaro." And here it may be said that the symphonic instrumentation of Mozart approaches closer dramatic formulas than that of Haydn or Beethoven. The three last symphonies of Mozart show a wonderful advance. In a certain expression and in a certain treatment they belong to the nineteenth century. There is more blood, more intensity, a dread of unmeaning formalism. Technically they are beyond criticism; and in pure expression of remarkable musical thought, in sense of euphony and proportion, in perfection of musical style they stand a marvel for all time. The one in E-flat was written in June, 1788. To gain the wished-for effects clarinets are used, and no oboes. The prevailing rhythm is ternary; and yet Mozart has so varied the pace of the movements that there is no feeling of monotony on this account. No prismatic words can give an idea of this "triumph of euphony"; although German commentators have exhausted what has been inelegantly described as "the drivel of panegyric." It is true that there are points of resemblance to Haydn's style; "but Mozart's individuality is here so overpowering as to have given its distinguishing stamp to these very features." No wonder that German romanticists have sought refuge in extravagance in description. Apel attempted to turn thesymphony into a poem which was to imitate in words the character of the different movements. Hoffmann, writer of tales of horror, composer and conductor, caricaturist, critic, and official, one of the first to realize the greatness of Beethoven, called the symphony the "Swan Song." "Love and melancholy breathe forth in purest spirit tones; we feel ourselves drawn with inexpressible longing towards the forms which beckon us to join them in their flight through the clouds to another sphere. The night blots out the last purple rays of day, and we extend our arms to the beings that summon us as they move with the spheres in the eternal circles of the solemn dance." Our criticism of to-day is written in a different spirit. We use freely the test-tube and litmus paper; we pry and analyse. Such out-pourings we call hifalutin; but it must be remembered that the acute Hoffmann put them into the mouth of the half-crazed Johannes Kreisler. A striking contrast to the E-flat symphony is the G minor written in July, 1788. Deldevez has described it in a sentence; "It is graceful, passionate, melancholy; it is inspiration united with science." Deldevez has also pointed out that it is the truest and the most complete expression of the minor mode; that the tonality is treated in the most vigorous manner; that the modulations succeed each other according to the severe precepts of the school. It is the symphony of Mozart that is most full of passion, and yet the composer never forgot in writing it that "music, when expressing horrors, must still be music." The symphony in C, August, 1788, is called, for some reason or other, possibly for its majesty, the "Jupiter." There is here not so much of human sentiment and passion as in the G minor symphony, but there is the splendor, as well as the serenity that is peculiar to Mozart; and the finale is a masterpiece of contrapuntal skill that is unsurpassed in music, for the fugue is made on a symphonic plan, and thus two distinct art-forms are moulded into one. Jahn has said that the highest quality of these three symphonies is "the harmony of tone-color, the healthy combination of orchestral sound," and he admits at the same time the impotence of language to reproduce the substance of a musical work. Richard Wagner wrote that "the longing sigh of the great human voice, drawn to him by the loving power of his genius, breathes from his instruments." And in these sayings the two great elements of Mozart's symphonic writing are fitly described. In his pianoforte concertos Mozart strove to set out and adorn by the orchestral instruments the pianoforte part, and at the same time give an enchanting musical background. In his symphonies "he sought to give his melody, by way of compensation for its delivery by mere instruments, the depth of feeling and ardor that lies at the source of the human voice as the expression of the unfathomable depths of the heart"; and in this he succeeded by leading "the irresistible stream of richest harmony into the heart of his melody." Well might the cool-headed Ambros say of the last great three, "considered as pure music, it is hardly worth while to ask whether the world possesses anything more perfect."

MONUMENT TO MOZART IN SALZBURG.Erected in 1842.

MONUMENT TO MOZART IN SALZBURG.

Erected in 1842.

Mozart, as we have seen, wrote much for the church. Unfortunately the best known of his masses were written to suit the florid taste of his patron; and his church music, judged thereby, has been reproached for its frivolity and insincerity. Some, forgetting the solemnity of the litanies de venerabili, the dignity of the vespers, the heavenly "Ave Verum," the "Qui tollis" from the mass in C minor, and portions of the Requiem, have denied him religious feeling, so far as his religious music is concerned. But the musical expression of religious feeling differs with the time, the place, and the individual. What is religious music? To the Aztec, who in religious sacrifice cut out the victim's heart, the beating of the serpent-skin drum was religious music; to the monks of the Middle Ages the drone of the plain song of the church seemed the expression of religious contemplation; and to-day many worthy people find spiritual consolation in the joyous ditties of the Salvation Army. We define religious music conformably with our own religious sentiment. In the days of Palestrina, church music influenced subtly the congregation; it created a mood, aStimmung. In the days of Haydn and Mozart the influence of the virtuosoship of the opera-singer was strongly felt; it invaded the church; it was recognized by the composer of the mass. So in more modern days the dramatic instinct of operatic composers is seen in their religious works; and one may say with Rubinstein, "I think it an error, however, to condemn for that reason the 'Stabat Mater' of Rossini or the 'Requiem' of Verdi in Protestant countries. The Protestant may indeed say: 'I have a different feeling,' but not, 'That is bad, because it is other than my feeling of worship.'"Thibaut may attack the church music of Mozart, and Lorenz may defend it; each expresses thereby his own religious sentiment. It is true that many of the masses of Mozart, considered as music, are not to be compared with his works of a higher flight; and the one that is the most popular, the 12th, so called, was not written by him. But how about the "Requiem," which he left unfinished, and which has been the subject of so many legends, so many disputes? Did not the mystery that for a time surrounded its birth give it a fictitious value? The Requiem and Kyrie are the work of Mozart as they now exist; the movements from the Dies Iræ to the first eight bars of the Lacrimosa, also the Domine Jesu and Hostias, were finished by him in the voice part and bass, and the principal points of the instrumentation were also indicated by him. It will be seen, therefore, that the part of Süssmayer, who completed it, is considerable. Now there has been much discussion concerning the merits of the double fugue even from the technical standpoint, and it is true that the most beautiful portions of the work are the least polyphonic, as the wailing Lacrimosa, which beyond a peradventure belongs to Mozart, although so little was actually written with his own hand; the Confutatis with the antiphonal effects of male and female voices, and the marvellous, unearthly harmonies of theOro supplex; the powerful and conciseRex tremendae. On the other hand theTuba mirumwith the trombone cantabile is an inadequate setting of the dread scene. By many worshippers of Mozart, who at the same time believe in the supremacy of religious music, the Requiem is called the truest and most genuine expression of Mozart's nature, and his imperishable monument. But the contrary opinion now prevails among prominent musicians. The Requiem as a whole cannot be considered as complete a revelation of the genius of the composer as the G-minor symphony, the quartets dedicated to Haydn, "Figaro" or "Don Giovanni."

Now the supreme genius of Mozart is seen in his dramatic works. It has been said that he completed the palace of Italian opera and laid the enduring foundations of the German. This saying has more of epigram than truth; or it is only partially true. The opera is a thing of fashion, an amusement of the day. It is finally shaped by the prevailing popular taste, although the beginnings of a new and varying form may be in opposition to that taste. The history of opera from the time of its invention at Florence to the pilgrimages to Bayreuth is a story of fickle tastes, passionate caprices, violent disputes. First there was the revolt against the contrapuntists; then came the rule of the singer; then the conflict between dramatic truth and personal vainglory, a conflict that was born with the birth of opera. Run over the "History of Operas" by Clément and Larousse; glance at the roll of singers from the early times of virtuosoship: names that are utterly forgotten, and yet they once filled the mouths of men and were the idols of the day. It is a dreary business, this reading of the exploits of singers and opera makers of the past,—not unlike the deciphering of moss-covered tombstones in the hillside graveyard of a well-nigh deserted New England village. To better appreciate the work of Mozart, let us briefly consider the condition of opera when he first looked toward the stage. In the middle of the eighteenth century the singer ruled supreme. They were great days, those eighteenth-century days,—"When men had longer breaths and voices that never grew old, when strange and terrible things still happened, sapphire rings presented them by the demon, processions to welcome them, and violent deaths by murder or in brawls." The singers had contributed largely in forming the lyric drama, but their demands became exorbitant and the composer was their slave. The introduction of castrates on the stage was of special influence in shaping the operatic conditions. Take anyopera seriaof that day: it consists simply of a series of detached airs strung together by the poet's story. There was no dramatic action; there was simply an operatic concert. Theprima donnawas the queen of the theatre; she claimed the privilege of the escort of a page when she made her entrance; he held the train of her robe and followed every movement. The tenor was obliged to be either a noble father, a traitor or tyrant. Thebassowas restricted toopera buffa, for it was thought that his voice was naturally too "grotesque" to be heard inopera seria. The castrate was the monarch of the scene. Singularly enough, he was called theprimo uomo, and to him was given the lover's part. His very person was sacred on the stage. Others might slay and be slain; he was inviolable, and his head was always crowned with laurel. It was the rule in Italy, never to admit the murder of the chief singer, although the piece itself might reek with blood. These malesopranos were spoiled children. One must make his appearance upon a horse; another insisted on descending from a mountain; another would not sing unless his plume was five feet in length. The moment they finished their airs, they left the stage, or remained upon it sucking oranges or drinking wine. They made their demands on the composer; he was obliged to write a bravura aria, or an airdi portamentowith perhaps a trumpet obligato, according to their caprice. They robbed their associates of their airs if they saw a possible distribution of glory. The chief singer and the composer between them made the opera, for there was but little ensemble work. The custom was to finish the second act with a duet between the castrate and the first soprano; to end the third by a terzetto in which the first tenor was admitted. Grétry tells us that during the seven or eight years he lived in Rome, he never saw a serious opera succeed. "If the theatre was crowded, it was to hear a certain singer; and when the singer left the stage, the people in the boxes played cards or ate ices, and the people in the parterre yawned." And Voltaire summed up the whole matter when he wrote M. de Cideville (1752) that "the opera is a public rendezvous where people meet on certain days without knowing why; it is a house which is frequented by everybody, although the master is freely cursed and the crowd bored."

PRIZE MODEL FOR NEW MONUMENT TO MOZART IN VIENNA.Reproduced from a photograph.

PRIZE MODEL FOR NEW MONUMENT TO MOZART IN VIENNA.

Reproduced from a photograph.

It was different inopera buffa. In this speciesof opera the virtuosos were not so powerful as the poet and the composer. The castrate could not afford to waste his time in consorting with the "bouffons," and so his place was taken by the tenor, who became the passionate lover. In like manner theprima donna, was paid such a small sum that the manager was obliged to look for women of ambition and dramatic talent instead of acknowledged vocal skill. Thebassowas admitted to the company, and here was the foundation of an ensemble impossible in grand opera. Theopera seriaremained in its conventional or ideal world; theopera buffawas concerned with subjects of everyday life. The former clung to history or legend; the latter delighted in appealing to the life of the people. The composer was allowed more liberty. He was not confined to theda capoair, composed of two parts with the invariable repetition of the first; he could use the rondo, where the chief melody appears after each secondary theme; or the cavatina, with one movement; or the chanson with its simple couplet; in other words, he could better suit the dramatic action. He wrote duets, trios, quartets of importance, and gradually the finale was developed. So too the orchestra, which had been subordinated to the imperious singer inopera seria, found its voice, and even sang in passages where the text demanded of the singer a rapid delivery that was almost dramatic speech. Theopera buffarapidly grew in public favor, and Arteaga in his famous book on the "Revolution of Italian Dramatic Music" frankly confessed that theopera buffawas in better condition and gave greater promise than its more pretentious rival.

The first attempts of Mozart in dramatic composition do not call for special attention. They were in the conventional style of the day, and the librettos were wretched. Two of them "Bastien et Bastienne" and "La finta Giardiniera" were revived in Germany in 1892 and with considerable success. In the latter the characters are well defined; the melody is spontaneous; there is color; and the finales are well developed. But in "Idomeneo" (1781) we first see the peculiar dramatic genius of Mozart. There is still the formalism of theopera seria, but there are traces of the influence of French dramatic sincerity, and of his own artistic individuality. Jahn has described the opera as "the genuine Italianopera seriabrought to its utmost perfection by Mozart's highly cultivated individuality." The chorus is brought into prominence; the instrumentation is richer than in contemporaneous works, and there are evidences of the study of Gluck, as in the accompaniment of three trombones and two horns in the proclaiming of the oracle of Neptune. That he was convinced at the time of the superiority of French taste in dramatic music, as in truth of diction and sincerity, is shown by the fact that he wished to bring it out in Vienna rearranged after the French model. And it may here be said that if Mozart in the formation of his song was strongly influenced by Italian spirit, he was also deeply impressed by the sense of proportion, that was characteristic of French opera of his day. Grétry had shown great art in the connecting of the operatic scenes, translating faithfully the spoken word into musical speech, and individualizing by musical means the creatures of the play. It was reserved for Mozart,the greater genius, to carry Grétry's theories farther and at the same time never lose sight of the musical expression. Méhul once said that Grétry made wit and not music; this reproach could not justly be made against Mozart, although he walked in the same path with the author of "Le Tableau parlant" and "Richard." In spite of both the French and Italian influences, there was much that was novel in the expression of the phrase, the variety of thematic development, and the modulation, harmony, and instrumentation. Its first performance was an epoch in the history of opera.

In the "Escape from the Seraglio" (1782) there was a still greater advance, and here is seen the beginning of what is now known as German opera. Mozart, while composing it, wrote his father at various times concerning his operatic creed. Quotations from these letters will perhaps best explain his theories: "A man who abandons himself to his anger, becomes extravagant and is no longer master of himself. If music paints anger, it must imitate its model; and however violent the passions may be they should never provoke disgust. Music ought never to wound the ear. Even in the most horrible situations it ought to satisfy the ear. Music should always remain music." Here it will be seen that he is with La Harpe and against Gluck. "Poetry in opera should be the obedient daughter of music. Why do the Italian operas, in spite of miserable texts, please everywhere, even in Paris? Because the music dominates as sovereign and everything else is accepted." Here again Mozart is directly opposed to Gluck; the former is the disciple of the Italian school; the latter faithful to the French theory. Perhaps, as Victor Wilder suggests, the truth is between the two extreme points; poetry and music in opera are necessarily in reciprocal independence, and each ought in turn to dominate the other, as the action hastens or is at a standstill. Gluck himself admitted that "the union between words and music should be so close that the poem seems as much made for the music as the music for the poem." Now Italian dramatic music was chiefly concerned with the whole effect of the poetical thought; the French was more concerned with the detail; the German was more allied to the symphony, and there was a more even balance between the vocal melody and the instrumental phrase. (It will be borne in mind that I speak of German opera as it existed before the theories and work of Richard Wagner.) As "Idomeneo" is distinguished by choral dignity and French frankness of dramatic expression, the "Escape from the Seraglio" is characterized by exquisite melody, by delightful ensemble, and by ingenious instrumentation. There is an exuberance, a freshness in this opera, that led von Weber to affirm that here Mozart had reached "the full maturity of his powers as an artist, and that his further progress after that was only in knowledge of the world." It would be an interesting task to show the growth of Mozart's dramatic genius as seen in this glorification of the old German Singspiel; the characterization of the different parts by musical means. His letters to his father show the pains he took in the instrumentation, now seeking with triangle, big drum and cymbals Turkish effects, now emphasizing the sighs of Belmont with muted strings and the flute.

Rossini once said that his "Barbiere" was anopera buffa, while Mozart in "Le Nozze di Figaro" gave the model of thedramma giocoso: a fine distinction, worthy of the shrewdness of the author. This Italian adaptation of a French comedy set to music by a German differs from the accepted form ofopera buffa, in the development of the plot and the delineation of character. The opera is at once dramatic, comic and musical, not merely a bundle of comic situations and gross caricature with incidental music. Rossini's "Barbiere," a masterpiece for all time, is undoubtedly the truer reflection of the spirit of Beaumarchais; for Mozart has idealized the intrigues and characters of the play. The libretto of da Ponte is admirable in spite of the omission of the political satire that perhaps justifies the immorality of the play. In this opera the musical character-drawing is most cunning. Susanna and Marcellina are jealous, but how different is their common jealousy from the noble jealousy of the Countess. Rossini has drawn the Countess in her youth and made her a mischievous and rebellious child. Mozart finds her a loving and abused wife, who does not encourage the page's advances, but, suffering, yet not without hope, seeks to win back her husband's love. In Susanna's passion there is a tinge of sensuality, but the music given her by Mozart is nobly sensuous. And so her merriment, her teasing, her caprices are all fitly expressed. The Cherubino of Beaumarchais is a wanton youth who looks with amorous eyeupon all women; but his fever is turned into absorbing and trembling love when he is in the presence of Mozart's Countess. So too the men are carefully distinguished. The music given to each one of the characters can not be mistaken; it surrounds each like an atmosphere. This characterization is clearly seen in the masterly finales. Take the eight movements, each distinct in design, that form the finale of the second act. Succeeding complications as the number of persons in the action increases; different emotions, as jealousy, merriment, anger, forgiveness; the entrance and denunciation of the drunken gardener; the arrival of Marcellina and her confederates; all these seemingly opposing elements are firmly bound together and knit into an harmonious whole that constantly increases in dramatic and musical strength. The other great finale, a succession of misunderstandings and surprises is almost equally remarkable, and the sextet, which according to Kelly was Mozart's favorite piece in the whole opera, is not far below it. All these ensemble numbers are at the same time so skilfully constructed that there is an appearance of utter freedom of dramatic action. No words can give an idea of the wealth of melody, a wealth that is prodigally squandered, and yet this melody enhances the dramatic truth and does not stifle it. The instrumentation is always appropriate to the scenic effect. It supplements the voice. Whenever the same subject is used in a great number of recitatives, there is an astonishing variety of instrumental expression. It is said that Mozart's contemporaries were particularly struck by his employment of wind instruments, as in the accompaniment to Cherubino's romanze and air. And yet how simple the means; how meager the resources would seem to young composers of to-day who even in comic operas feel obliged to use the trombones and drums for the accompaniment of the slightest recitative. In this opera the orchestra takes its rightful place, it does not seek to dominate. It is always conscious of the action on the stage, but it is not envious; it gladly assists, and strengthens the impression. Its tone-colors aid in the distinguishing of the characters. And above all, in the orchestra as well as on the stage, there is ever present the sense of dramatic truth and unerring instinct in the expression of it.

The libretto of "Don Giovanni" has been often censured, and without real justice; for nearly all the feelings of humanity are expressed by the characters. The supernatural, the vulgar, tragedy and comedy are mixed together; even in the scene where the rake-helly hero plunges into eternal flames, the element of farce is present. Beethoven, it is true, thought the subject a scandalous one, unworthy of musical treatment; but it was admirably adapted to the dramatic temperament of Mozart. "Don Giovanni is a temperament of flame and fire that has no time for monologues; he acts; it is life without shackles, without curb, flowing as the lava of a volcano, which destroys everything in its path."

The various scenes, the conflicting passions, are marvellously reproduced in the music of Mozart. From the very opening where Leporello keeps impatient watch to the unearthly scene between the Statue and the libertine, there is an unceasing flow of exquisite melody that is not only appropriate to the characters and the action, but is also the fullest and most complete expression of the plot and incidents. Berlioz objected to the florid air sung by Donna Anna, on the ground that it was not essentially dramatic; but there have been singers who could express passion in a roulade and sway the hearer by a trill; such is the power of personal conviction. It is true that the last finale is an anti-climax. The interest ceases with the punishment of the hero, and although attempts have been made to give the opera with this finale, they have not been successful; and the curtain rightly falls with the descent of Don Giovanni. To speak in detail of the myriad beauties of this masterpiece would be simply to analyze the score measure by measure. Its immortal melodies are known throughout the world. Musicians of all schools have vied with men eminent in the other walks of life in the most extravagant eulogy. In this opera is seen the universality of Mozart's genius. His knowledge of humanity, his sympathy with all classes and conditions of men. It is the most realistic of his works; it is at the same time the most ideal. Not without reason did Goethe pass over Cherubini and von Weber, Auber and Rossini, Beethoven and the rest, and say that Mozart was the one who should have set his Faust to music. Not without reason did he mention him with Shakespeare.

"Cosi fan tutte" and "La Clemenza di Tito" were written hurriedly. Neither is an advance in the career of the composer. The first is a returnto the old-fashionedopera buffa; the second looks longingly towards the ancientopera seria. The plot of the former is vulgar, improbable and stupid; and that of the latter is extremely dull. The music of "Cosi fan tutte" is often delightful, as in the famous quintet, the second terzet; but there is not the same degree of psychological characterization found in his three great operas; and there are many concessions to popular taste. "La Clemenza di Tito" belongs to that class of compositions described by the French asgrandes machines officielles. The finale is worthy of Mozart; but as a whole the opera is inferior to "Idomeneo" even in the instrumentation.

When Schikaneder learned that Marinelli, a rival manager, also thought of putting on the stage a fairy drama made out of Wieland's "Lulu," he changed the plot of his "Magic flute" and substituted for the evil genius of the play the high priest Sarastro, who appears to be custodian of the secrets and the executor of the wishes of the masonic order. The libretto has been ruthlessly condemned by many for its obscurity, absurdity, triviality and buffoonery. Certain writers, however, have found a deep and symbolical meaning in the most frivolous dialogue and even in the music of the overture. Some have gone so far as to regard the opera as a symbolical representation of the French Revolution: with the Queen of Night as the incarnation of royalty; Pamina as Liberty, for whom Tamino, the People, burns with passionate love; Sarastro as the Wisdom of the Legislature. Others have claimed that no one who was not a Freemason could appreciate the merits of the libretto at their true value. Now, Mozart himself saw nothing in the text but the story of a magic opera. Goethe and Hegel were equally blind. The former once wrote of the text that "the author understood perfectly the art of producing great theatrical effects by contrasts," and Hegel praised the libretto highly for its mixture of the supernatural and the common, for its episodes of the initiations and the tests. Rubinstein likes the variety: "pathetic, fantastic, lyric, comic, naive, romantic, dramatic, tragic, yes, it would be hard to find an expression that is wanting in it. It is evident the genius of a Mozart was required to reproduce it all musically, as he has done; but such texts might incite less genial composers to interesting work." But who in listening to the music heeds Tamino pursued by the snake, the gloomy Queen, or the vengeance of the Moor? Who is disquieted by the padlock or the glockenspiel? He listens to the overture and forgets the "prodigious complexity" in "its clearness, fascination and irresistible effect," and he says with Saint Saëns, "it is atour de forcewhich Mozart only could have accomplished." He laughs with Papageno; he woos with Tamino; he is initiated into the solemn mysteries. He does not understand the plot; he does not desire to understand it; for his mind and his senses are soothed by the continual and varied melody. As regards the instrumentation Jahn has condensed all criticism into this one sentence: "It is the point of departure for all that modern music has achieved in this direction." Nor can the influence which the opera has exerted in the formation of German music be overrated. For the first time all the resources of great genius were brought to bear upon a genuine German opera. No one has summed up so tersely and so fully the operatic genius of Mozart as Rubinstein: "Gluck had achieved great things in the opera before him; yes, opened new paths, but in comparison with Mozart he is, so to say, of stone. Besides, Mozart has the merit of having removed the opera from the icy pathos of mythology into real life, into the purely human, and from the Italian to the German language, and thereby to a national path. The most remarkable feature of his operas is the musical characteristic he has given to every figure, so that each acting personage has become an immortal type. That which he has made, he alone could make: a god-like creation, all flooded with light. In hearing Mozart I always wish to exclaim: 'Eternal sunshine in music, thy name is Mozart!'"

Mozart once said in regard to his lesser works, "Woe to the man that judges me by these trifles." But the skill in instrumentation, the heaven-born song, the spontaneity of counterpoint, and the exquisite sense of proportion are often displayed in the serenades anddivertimenti. And in these qualities of art he still reigns supreme. It is true that he founded no school in the narrow sense of the word; but he smoothed the path for Beethoven; and without him the noble line in direct succession would have been of later birth. It is idle, and yet it is common in these days, to compare a composer of one generation, or even of a century, with the composer of earlier or later years. Music itself is in ameasure the expression of its time. When counterpoint was regarded as the only medium of music, the opera itself was stiffened by its contrapuntal dress, and religion could only find vent in a fugue. When the singer waxed arrogant, music existed only for his vain glory. Now we are taught to believe that absolute music, music that does not "paint" or "personate" or follow a "program," is of little account; that unless it puts in clearer light some poetical thought or some determined emotion or natural phenomenon, it is worthless; that music is not merely the vehicle of musical thought, but is rather a means of expressing many ideas that might be better expressed in poetry, in prose, or on the canvas. So the times change and with them the fashions in art of every species. There is then perhaps no greatest composer. Plutarchian comparisons between the men of different centuries are of little avail in determining true values. A man must be judged by the conditions of his own time and compared with the men who worked by his side. And what compositions of Mozart's day, instrumental or operatic, have stood the test of the revenger Time? Even the mighty Gluck with his noble theories and statuesque music has bowed the knee to the younger rival. Figaro and Papageno and the dissolute Don Juan Tenorio y Salazar live to-day upon the stage; they are as familiar as the characters of the Old Testament; as Robinson Crusoe or Don Quixote; they are immortalized by the genius of the music-maker of Vienna. It may be said without exaggeration that no composer began his work with such a natural endowment; that Nature created him the greatest musician. His dear friend Haydn, a man not given to vain compliments, a man of hard sense, declared that posterity would not see such talent as his for the next hundred years. And Rossini at the height of his glory, conscious of his own prodigious natural gifts, pronounced the final judgment so far as this century is concerned: "He is the greatest, he is the master of us all. He is the only one whose genius was as great as his knowledge, and whose knowledge equalled his genius."

Philip Hale

The Graces.Figaro.Magic Flute.Don Giovanni.Religion.FRESCO FROM VIENNA OPERA HOUSE

The Graces.Figaro.Magic Flute.Don Giovanni.Religion.

FRESCO FROM VIENNA OPERA HOUSE

LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVENReproduction of a life-size portrait by F. A. von Klober (1793-1864) made in 1817. Lithographed by Theo. Neu. This is the best known portrait of the master and the basis for many idealized portraits of later days. At this time Beethoven was in his forty-seventh year and began the composition of the Ninth Symphony, which he finished six years later.

LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN

Reproduction of a life-size portrait by F. A. von Klober (1793-1864) made in 1817. Lithographed by Theo. Neu. This is the best known portrait of the master and the basis for many idealized portraits of later days. At this time Beethoven was in his forty-seventh year and began the composition of the Ninth Symphony, which he finished six years later.

THE town of Louvain, in Belgium, is now a dull place, with a Hôtel de Ville, Gothic church, detestable beer, and about 34,000 inhabitants. In the 14th century it was the capital of the Duchy of Brabant, the residence of the princes, the home of 2,000 manufactories. Near this city, whose ruin was wrought by turbulent weavers, are villages called Rotselaer, Leefdæl, and Berthem; and in the 16th century people by the name of Van Beethoven were found in these same villages or hard by. If Léon de Burbure's researches are not in vain, these Van Beethovens were simple Flemish peasants, who ate beans during the week, and on a Sunday welcomed the sight of bacon.Vanis not in Dutch a sign of nobility. Nor was the spelling of the name invariable. It was Biethoven, Biethoffen, Bethof, Betthoven; and there were other variations.

About 1650 one of these farmers grew weary of the smell of fresh earth and the life with the beasts of the field, and he entered into Antwerp to make his fortune. There he married, begot a son, and named him Guillaume; and Guillaume was the great-great-grandfather of the composer of the Nine Symphonies. Guillaume, or Wilhelm, grew up, trafficked in wines, was apparently a man of parts, and was held in esteem. He married Catherine Grandjean. He named one of his eight children Henri-Adélard, and this Henri, the godson of the Baron de Rocquigny, became a prominent tailor, and wedded Catherine de Herdt, by whom he had a dozen children. The third, a son, was baptized Dec. 23, 1712, and his name was Louis. Louis was brought up in the Antwerp choirs, and there seems to be no doubt that he received a thorough musical education. His father, Henri, a year after the birth of Louis, fell into poverty, and it is probable that the boy, following the fortunes of some choir-master, lived for a time at Ghent. In 1731 he was a singer in Louvain. In 1733 he was named a musician of the court of the Elector of Cologne at Bonn. His salary was fixed at about $160, and he married, in September, 1733, Maria Josepha Poll, aged nineteen. Louis, or Ludwig, prospered. He rose from "Musicus" to "Herr Kapellmeister." Maria, his wife, with increasing good fortune and the addition of a wine shop to music lessons, took to drink, and died in 1775 in a convent at Cologne. Johann, their son, born towards the end of 1739 or in the beginning of 1740, inherited her thirst. He sang tenor and received his appointment as court singer March 27, 1756. For thirteen years he had served without pay as soprano, contralto, and tenor, and in 1764 he was granted one hundred thalers by Maximilian Friedrich, who had succeeded Clemens August as Elector. In 1767 he married Maria Magdalena Kewerich, the widow of Johann Laym, a valet. Maria was the daughter of a head cook, nineteen, comely, slender, soft-hearted. Old Ludwig objected to the match on account of the low social position of the woman. The young couple lived in the house No. 515 in the Bonngasse. Ludwig Maria was born in 1769 and lived six days. Ludwig, the great composer, was baptized the 17th of December, 1770, and he was probably born the day before the baptism. Of the five children born afterward, only Caspar Anton (1774-1815) and Nikolaus Johann (1776-1848) grew up. A brother, August, lived two years; a sister, Anna, four days, and Maria Margaretha about a year.

BEETHOVEN'S BIRTHPLACE IN BONN.

The seat of the electoral government of Cologne was transferred in 1257 from Cologne to Bonn. The ecclesiastical principality was a source of large revenue to the Elector, and his income was derived from rights of excise and navigation, church dues, benefits of games and lotteries, and secret sums paid the Elector by Austria and France for serving their interests. The Elector was also powerful in politics, and he had the privilege of putting Charlemagne's crown on the head of the emperor at Aix-la-Chapelle. The founder of the musical organization in Bonn was Joseph Clemens, ugly, humpbacked, witty, fond of practical jokes, music-mad. He was continually chasing after artists of merit. He introduced French and Flemish musicians. In 1722 the state of the electoral music-chapel was as follows: a director-in-chief of singing, and two concert-masters; six musicians who were sub-chiefs, organists, etc.; twelve singers, men and women, and to them must be added choir boys, and assistants chosen from the domestics of the court; seventeen players of stringed instruments; four trumpets, two horns and two drums; six players of oboes and bassoons. Joseph died in 1724. Clemens August succeeded him, and shared his musical taste. He in turn was followed in 1761 by Maximilian Friedrich, whose habits were sumptuous; but his prime minister cut down the expenses. He dismissed comedians, lessened the number of concerts, and so the Beethoven family suffered in pocket.

The death of the first grandchild healed the breach between old Ludwig and Johann. The old man died in 1773, but his grandson Ludwig remembered him and preserved his portrait painted by Radoux to the day of his own death. Dressed in court costume and wrapped in a red cloak, with great and sparkling eyes, he made an indelible impression on the three-year-old boy, as on his neighbors, who respected and admired him. It was his father who first taught Ludwig the rudiments of his art. It is said, and the reports are unanimous, that when the boy was hardly four years old, he was obliged to practise for hours on the pianoforte, and was often urged by blows. He was soon put under the instruction of Tobias Pfeiffer, the tenor of a strolling company. Pfeiffer was a good musician and a man of unquenchable thirst. Johann and he would spend hours in the tavern; and Pfeiffer, suddenly remembering that his pupil had received no lesson that day, would return home, drag him from his bed, and keep him at the instrument until daybreak. Or, locked in a room, young Ludwig practised the violin, and he was kept there until he had finished the daily allotted task. At the primary school he learned to read, write, and reckon. Before he was thirteen, his father declared that his scholastic education was finished. This limited education was a source of mortification to Beethoven throughout his life, and no doubt influenced strongly his character. He spelled atrociously, he was never sure of the proper expression, and the washerwoman disputed angrily his addition and subtraction.

After the death of the grandfather poverty entered the house. The second-hand buyer became the warm friend of the family, and the household furniture fed Johann's appetite. In response to a singular petition of the tenor, a pension of sixty thalers was granted to the poor woman in the conventat Cologne, who died a few months after it was given to her. Beethoven's patient mother was always sewing and mending, and the baker at least was paid. Meanwhile Johann meditated over his cups the possibility of fortune gained by his son. Pfeiffer left Bonn. The boy took a few lessons of Van den Eeden. They were gratuitous; the teacher was old and infirm; and Neefe, who succeeded Van den Eeden, took charge of Ludwig and gave him his first instruction in composition. Neefe was an excellent musician. The son of a tailor, he first studied law, and gained the title of "Doctor" by his thesis "A father has no right to disinherit his son because the latter has turned opera-singer." Now Neefe left on record a description of Ludwig at the age of eleven, which was published in Cramer's Music Magazine. According to him Beethoven played the pianoforte with "energetic skill." He played "fluently" Bach's "Well-tempered Clavichord." "To encourage him he had nine variations which the child wrote on a march theme engraved at Mannheim. This young genius deserves a subsidy that he may travel. If he goes on as he has begun, he will certainly be a second Mozart." Years after, Beethoven acknowledged gladly his many obligations to this master. In 1782 Neefe went to Munster for a visit, and Ludwig, then eleven years and a half old, took his place at the organ. In the following year he was promoted to the position ofmaestro al cembalo, i.e., he assisted at operatic rehearsals and played the pianoforte at the performances. During these years, operas by Grétry, Piccini, Cimarosa, Guglielmi, Sácchini, Sarti, Monsigny, Gluck, and Mozart were given. According to the recollections of those who then knew him, he was sombre, melancholy. He did not enter into the sports of his age. Once a year he assisted in the celebration of the birthday of his mother. There was music, there was drinking, and there was eating; there was dancing in stockings, so that the neighbors might not be disturbed.

Back to Index Next