This concert expedition of the two violinists, as narrated in Spohr's
"Autobiography," was full of interesting and romantic episodes. Both
master and pupil were of amorous and susceptible temperaments, and
their affairs were rarely regulated by a common sense of prudence. Spohr
relates with delightful _naivete_ the circumstances under which he fell
successively in love, and the rapidity with which he recovered from
these fitful spasms of the tender passion. Herr Eck, in addition to his
tendency to intrigues with the fairer half of creation, was also of
a quarrelsome and exacting disposition, and the general result was
ceaseless squabbling with authorities and musical societies in nearly
every city they visited. In spite of these drawbacks, however, the
two violinists gained both in fame and purse, and were everywhere well
received. If Herr Eck carried off the palm over the boyish Spohr as a
mere executant, the impression everywhere gained ground that the latter
was by far the superior in real depth of musical science, and many of
his own violin concertos were received with the heartiest applause. The
concert tour came to an end at St. Petersburg in a singular way. Eck
fell in love with a daughter of a member of the imperial orchestra, but
the idea of marriage did not enter into his project. As the young lady
soon felt the unfortunate results of her indiscretion, her parents
complained to the Empress, at whose instance Eck was given the choice of
marrying the girl or taking an enforced journey to Siberia. He chose the
former, and determined to remain in St. Petersburg, where he was offered
the first violin of the imperial orchestra. Poor Eck found he had
married a shrew, and, between matrimonial discords and ill health
brought on by years of excess, he became the victim of a nervous fever,
which resulted in lunacy and confinement in a mad-house.
Spohr returned to his native town in July, 1803, and his first meeting
with his family was a curious one. "I arrived," he says, "at two o'clock
in the morning. I landed at the Petri gate, crossed the Ocker in a boat,
and hastened to my grandmother's garden, but found that the house
and garden doors were locked. As my knocking didn't arouse any one, I
climbed over the garden wall and laid myself down in a summer-house at
the end of the garden. Wearied by the long journey, I soon fell asleep,
and, notwithstanding my hard couch, would probably have slept for a
long while had not my aunts in their morning walk discovered me. Much
alarmed, they ran and told my grandmother that a man was asleep in the
summer-house. Returning together, the three approached nearer, and,
recognizing me, I was awakened amid joyous expressions, embraces, and
kisses. At first, I did not recollect where I was, but soon recognized
my dear relations, and rejoiced at being once again in the home and
scenes of my childhood."
Spohr was most graciously received by the duke, who was satisfied
with the proofs of industry and ambition shown by his _protege_. The
celebrated Rode, Viotti's most brilliant pupil, was at that time in
Brunswick, and Spohr, who conceived the most enthusiastic admiration
of his style, set himself assiduously to the study and imitation of
the effects peculiar to Rode. On Rode's departure, Spohr appeared in a
concert arranged for him, in which he played a new concerto dedicated to
his ducal patron, and created an enthusiasm hardly less than that made
by Rode himself. He was warmly congratulated by the duke and the court,
and appointed first court-violinist, with a salary more than sufficient
for the musician's moderate wants. Shortly after this he undertook
another concert tour in conjunction with the violoncellist, Benike,
through the principal German cities, which added materially to
his reputation. But no amount of world's talk or money could fully
compensate him for the loss of his magnificent violin, one of the
_chefs-d'ouvre_ of Guarnerius del Gesù when that great maker was at his
best. This instrument he had brought from Russia, and it was an imperial
gift. A concert was announced for Gôttingen, and Spohr, with his
companion, was about to enter the town by coach, when he asked one of
the soldiers at the guard-house if the trunk, which had been strapped to
the back of the carriage, and which contained his precious instrument,
was in its place. "There is no trunk there," was the reply.
"With one bound," says Spohr, "I was out of the carriage, and rushed
out through the gate with a drawn hunting-knife. Had I, with more
reflection, listened a while, I might have heard the thieves running out
through a side path. But in my blind rage I had far overshot the place
where I had last seen the trunk, and only discovered my overhaste when I
found myself in the open field. Inconsolable for my loss, I turned
back. While my fellow-traveler looked for the inn, I hastened to the
post-office, and requested that an immediate search might be made in the
garden houses outside the gate. With astonishment and vexation, I was
informed that the jurisdiction outside the gate belonged to Weende, and
that I must prefer my request there. As Weende was half a league from
Gottingen, I was compelled to abandon for that evening all further steps
for the recovery of my things. That these would prove fruitless on the
following morning I was well assured, and I passed a sleepless night in
a state of mind such as in my hitherto fortunate career had been unknown
to me. Had I not lost my splendid Guarneri violin, the exponent of all
the artistic success I had so far attained, I could have lightly borne
the loss of clothes and money." The police recovered an empty trunk
and the violin-case despoiled of its treasure, but still containing a
magnificent Tourté bow, which the thieves had left behind. Spohr managed
to borrow a Steiner violin, with which he gave his concert, but he did
not for years cease to lament the loss of his grand Guarneri fiddle.
In 1805 Spohr was quietly settled in his avocation at Brunswick as
composer and chief _Kam-mer-musicus_ of the ducal court, when he
received an offer to compete for the direction of the orchestra at
Gotha, then one of the most magnificent organizations in Europe, to be
at the head of which would give him an international fame. The offer
was too tempting to be refused, and Spohr was easily victorious. His
new duties were not onerous, consisting of a concert once a week, and
in practicing and rehearsing the orchestra. The annual salary was five
hundred thalers.
One of the most interesting incidents of Spohr's life now occurred. The
susceptible heart, which had often been touched, was firmly enslaved
by the charms of Dorette Schiedler, the daughter of the principal court
singer, and herself a fine virtuoso on the harp. Dorette was a woman
whose personal loveliness was an harmonious expression of her beauty
of character and artistic talent, and Spohr accepted his fate with
joy. This girl of eighteen was irresistible, for she was accomplished,
beautiful, tender, as good as an angel, and with the finest talent for
music, for she played admirably, not only on the harp, but on the piano
and violin. Spohr had reason to hope that the attachment was mutual, and
was eager to declare his love. One night they were playing together at a
court concert, and Spohr after the performance noticed the duchess, with
an arch look at him, whispering some words to Dorette which covered her
cheeks with blushes. That night, as the lovers were returning home in
the carriage, Spohr said to her, "Shall we thus play together for life?"
Dorette burst into tears, and sank into her lover's arms. The compact
was sealed by the joyous assent of the mother, and the young couple were
united in the ducal chapel, in the presence of the duchess and a large
assemblage of friends, on the 2d of February, 1806.