FOOTNOTES:[9]It may be interesting to the readers of the above sketch to know something of this remarkable individual. Peter Pirad was born in Hamburg; his father was a dealer in grain and distiller; his business, though coarse, was lucrative, and Peter, his youngest son, was destined to follow the same. The son had, however, little inclination thereto; his whole heart and mind were bent to the science of music; and his father resolved, when he was but eight years old, to bind him apprentice to a town musician, since he was firmly persuaded that “nothing better could be done with the young rascal.”His master soon discovered Peter was not so dull as seemed at first; and after a course of instruction, when Telemann, a director of music in the city, heard him play on the viol and horn, and beat the kettle-drum, he became so much interested in the boy that he devoted several hours to giving him lessons, in recompense for which kindness Peter assisted whenever Telemann’s compositions were performed, playing the kettle-drum in a manner that astonished all who heard him.When Telemann died, Peter was about twenty-four. He remained a year longer in Hamburg, and prosecuted his higher studies under Philip Emanuel Bach. His father died in 1768; he had buried his mother a year before. He now left Hamburg for the first time in his life, to obtain a knowledge of the world. After some adventures he turned his course to Vienna, thence to Saltzburg, where he became acquainted with the court trumpeter, an intimate friend of Mozart’s family. Schachtner was master not only of the trumpet, but also of theviola di gamba, a now forgotten instrument. Pirad became warmly attached to him; without doubt the excellence of Schachtner stimulated him to higher proficiency as a kettle-drummer, for he ascribed his enthusiasm on that instrument to the impressions received during his stay in Saltzburg. From Saltzburg he went to Vienna; from Vienna to Prague, Dresden, and Berlin, where he made himself personally acquainted with all the great masters then living. The year 1788 found him at Bonn, where he beat the kettle-drum in the electoral chapel. He always looked upon Bonn as his home, till the outbreak of the French Revolution, when he became alarmed, and then there was no rest for the sole of his foot. In the later years of his life he used to speak with great emphasis of a bedstead, painted red, in which he had been often frightened from sleep for the space of half a year, because it reminded him of the guillotine.In Copenhagen, where he drew breath quietly after his terror, he applied himself to his favorite science. Naumann’s Orpheus so moved him that he was obliged to keep his bed several days. Except Hoffmann, and the excellent violin player, Rolla, in Dresden, I know of no artist on whose physical constitution the hearing of delightful music produced such violent, even pernicious effects, as on that of Peter Pirad.Till this time Peter had known little or nothing of love; here he became enamored of his landlady, the widow of a Danish ship lieutenant, a dame of goodly proportions, being about as tall and twice as thick as himself. He married this colossal fair one. His first son, even in his sixteenth year, was taller than his father. If I am not mistaken, he is yet living, a painter, in Riga.In the last years of his life Pirad settled at Hamburg, whence he made frequent and long excursions. At length his journeyings ceased at Flensburg, where, in 1822, he died, peaceful, happy, and full of years. As a performer on the kettle-drum, he has seldom or never been surpassed. He had also the most thorough knowledge of counterpoint; played on many instruments with skill and precision; and was perfect on the organ and double bass. But his kettle-drum was everything to him. He was incessantly occupied with it. He kept it in as perfect tune as the most devoted violin virtuoso ever kept his instrument. Not an indent was to be seen in it; the parchment was so fine and transparent it looked as though it would burst at every stroke, and yet Pirad would play without injuring it from the highest pianissimo to the deepest forte. He suffered none else, however, to meddle with it; and I verily believe, notwithstanding his characteristic timidity and gentleness, would have murdered any body outright, who should have spoiled his instrument.It may readily be conceived that his peculiarities caused him many vexations. He lived continually in disputes with his landlord and neighbors; for it was not unusual with him when, in the middle of the night, a new idea came into his head, to spring out of bed and beat his kettle-drum till the whole neighborhood was in an uproar.His language was a mangled mixture of almost all the different German dialects, varied with broken phrases of Italian, French, and Latin. With his wife he murdered Danish, which he understood as imperfectly as she did German; so that each seldom comprehended all that the other meant to say; yet they always agreed.Many amusing anecdotes might be related of Pirad, but the space allotted to a note is already filled up with this brief account of the leading incidents of his life.
[9]It may be interesting to the readers of the above sketch to know something of this remarkable individual. Peter Pirad was born in Hamburg; his father was a dealer in grain and distiller; his business, though coarse, was lucrative, and Peter, his youngest son, was destined to follow the same. The son had, however, little inclination thereto; his whole heart and mind were bent to the science of music; and his father resolved, when he was but eight years old, to bind him apprentice to a town musician, since he was firmly persuaded that “nothing better could be done with the young rascal.”His master soon discovered Peter was not so dull as seemed at first; and after a course of instruction, when Telemann, a director of music in the city, heard him play on the viol and horn, and beat the kettle-drum, he became so much interested in the boy that he devoted several hours to giving him lessons, in recompense for which kindness Peter assisted whenever Telemann’s compositions were performed, playing the kettle-drum in a manner that astonished all who heard him.When Telemann died, Peter was about twenty-four. He remained a year longer in Hamburg, and prosecuted his higher studies under Philip Emanuel Bach. His father died in 1768; he had buried his mother a year before. He now left Hamburg for the first time in his life, to obtain a knowledge of the world. After some adventures he turned his course to Vienna, thence to Saltzburg, where he became acquainted with the court trumpeter, an intimate friend of Mozart’s family. Schachtner was master not only of the trumpet, but also of theviola di gamba, a now forgotten instrument. Pirad became warmly attached to him; without doubt the excellence of Schachtner stimulated him to higher proficiency as a kettle-drummer, for he ascribed his enthusiasm on that instrument to the impressions received during his stay in Saltzburg. From Saltzburg he went to Vienna; from Vienna to Prague, Dresden, and Berlin, where he made himself personally acquainted with all the great masters then living. The year 1788 found him at Bonn, where he beat the kettle-drum in the electoral chapel. He always looked upon Bonn as his home, till the outbreak of the French Revolution, when he became alarmed, and then there was no rest for the sole of his foot. In the later years of his life he used to speak with great emphasis of a bedstead, painted red, in which he had been often frightened from sleep for the space of half a year, because it reminded him of the guillotine.In Copenhagen, where he drew breath quietly after his terror, he applied himself to his favorite science. Naumann’s Orpheus so moved him that he was obliged to keep his bed several days. Except Hoffmann, and the excellent violin player, Rolla, in Dresden, I know of no artist on whose physical constitution the hearing of delightful music produced such violent, even pernicious effects, as on that of Peter Pirad.Till this time Peter had known little or nothing of love; here he became enamored of his landlady, the widow of a Danish ship lieutenant, a dame of goodly proportions, being about as tall and twice as thick as himself. He married this colossal fair one. His first son, even in his sixteenth year, was taller than his father. If I am not mistaken, he is yet living, a painter, in Riga.In the last years of his life Pirad settled at Hamburg, whence he made frequent and long excursions. At length his journeyings ceased at Flensburg, where, in 1822, he died, peaceful, happy, and full of years. As a performer on the kettle-drum, he has seldom or never been surpassed. He had also the most thorough knowledge of counterpoint; played on many instruments with skill and precision; and was perfect on the organ and double bass. But his kettle-drum was everything to him. He was incessantly occupied with it. He kept it in as perfect tune as the most devoted violin virtuoso ever kept his instrument. Not an indent was to be seen in it; the parchment was so fine and transparent it looked as though it would burst at every stroke, and yet Pirad would play without injuring it from the highest pianissimo to the deepest forte. He suffered none else, however, to meddle with it; and I verily believe, notwithstanding his characteristic timidity and gentleness, would have murdered any body outright, who should have spoiled his instrument.It may readily be conceived that his peculiarities caused him many vexations. He lived continually in disputes with his landlord and neighbors; for it was not unusual with him when, in the middle of the night, a new idea came into his head, to spring out of bed and beat his kettle-drum till the whole neighborhood was in an uproar.His language was a mangled mixture of almost all the different German dialects, varied with broken phrases of Italian, French, and Latin. With his wife he murdered Danish, which he understood as imperfectly as she did German; so that each seldom comprehended all that the other meant to say; yet they always agreed.Many amusing anecdotes might be related of Pirad, but the space allotted to a note is already filled up with this brief account of the leading incidents of his life.
[9]It may be interesting to the readers of the above sketch to know something of this remarkable individual. Peter Pirad was born in Hamburg; his father was a dealer in grain and distiller; his business, though coarse, was lucrative, and Peter, his youngest son, was destined to follow the same. The son had, however, little inclination thereto; his whole heart and mind were bent to the science of music; and his father resolved, when he was but eight years old, to bind him apprentice to a town musician, since he was firmly persuaded that “nothing better could be done with the young rascal.”
His master soon discovered Peter was not so dull as seemed at first; and after a course of instruction, when Telemann, a director of music in the city, heard him play on the viol and horn, and beat the kettle-drum, he became so much interested in the boy that he devoted several hours to giving him lessons, in recompense for which kindness Peter assisted whenever Telemann’s compositions were performed, playing the kettle-drum in a manner that astonished all who heard him.
When Telemann died, Peter was about twenty-four. He remained a year longer in Hamburg, and prosecuted his higher studies under Philip Emanuel Bach. His father died in 1768; he had buried his mother a year before. He now left Hamburg for the first time in his life, to obtain a knowledge of the world. After some adventures he turned his course to Vienna, thence to Saltzburg, where he became acquainted with the court trumpeter, an intimate friend of Mozart’s family. Schachtner was master not only of the trumpet, but also of theviola di gamba, a now forgotten instrument. Pirad became warmly attached to him; without doubt the excellence of Schachtner stimulated him to higher proficiency as a kettle-drummer, for he ascribed his enthusiasm on that instrument to the impressions received during his stay in Saltzburg. From Saltzburg he went to Vienna; from Vienna to Prague, Dresden, and Berlin, where he made himself personally acquainted with all the great masters then living. The year 1788 found him at Bonn, where he beat the kettle-drum in the electoral chapel. He always looked upon Bonn as his home, till the outbreak of the French Revolution, when he became alarmed, and then there was no rest for the sole of his foot. In the later years of his life he used to speak with great emphasis of a bedstead, painted red, in which he had been often frightened from sleep for the space of half a year, because it reminded him of the guillotine.
In Copenhagen, where he drew breath quietly after his terror, he applied himself to his favorite science. Naumann’s Orpheus so moved him that he was obliged to keep his bed several days. Except Hoffmann, and the excellent violin player, Rolla, in Dresden, I know of no artist on whose physical constitution the hearing of delightful music produced such violent, even pernicious effects, as on that of Peter Pirad.
Till this time Peter had known little or nothing of love; here he became enamored of his landlady, the widow of a Danish ship lieutenant, a dame of goodly proportions, being about as tall and twice as thick as himself. He married this colossal fair one. His first son, even in his sixteenth year, was taller than his father. If I am not mistaken, he is yet living, a painter, in Riga.
In the last years of his life Pirad settled at Hamburg, whence he made frequent and long excursions. At length his journeyings ceased at Flensburg, where, in 1822, he died, peaceful, happy, and full of years. As a performer on the kettle-drum, he has seldom or never been surpassed. He had also the most thorough knowledge of counterpoint; played on many instruments with skill and precision; and was perfect on the organ and double bass. But his kettle-drum was everything to him. He was incessantly occupied with it. He kept it in as perfect tune as the most devoted violin virtuoso ever kept his instrument. Not an indent was to be seen in it; the parchment was so fine and transparent it looked as though it would burst at every stroke, and yet Pirad would play without injuring it from the highest pianissimo to the deepest forte. He suffered none else, however, to meddle with it; and I verily believe, notwithstanding his characteristic timidity and gentleness, would have murdered any body outright, who should have spoiled his instrument.
It may readily be conceived that his peculiarities caused him many vexations. He lived continually in disputes with his landlord and neighbors; for it was not unusual with him when, in the middle of the night, a new idea came into his head, to spring out of bed and beat his kettle-drum till the whole neighborhood was in an uproar.
His language was a mangled mixture of almost all the different German dialects, varied with broken phrases of Italian, French, and Latin. With his wife he murdered Danish, which he understood as imperfectly as she did German; so that each seldom comprehended all that the other meant to say; yet they always agreed.
Many amusing anecdotes might be related of Pirad, but the space allotted to a note is already filled up with this brief account of the leading incidents of his life.