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[Illustration: BEETHOVEN.
_Frontispiece._
From photo RISCHGITZ.]
STORY-LIVES
OF
GREAT MUSICIANS
BY
FRANCIS JAMESON ROWBOTHAM
AUTHOR OF
'STORY-LIVES OF GREAT AUTHORS,' 'TALES FROM PLUTARCH,' ETC.
_ILLUSTRATED_
NEW YORK
FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY
_PUBLISHERS_
TO
THE MEMORY OF
FREDERICK WESTLAKE, R.A.M.
PREFACE
Following the plan of his previous volume of _Great Authors_, the
writer has here endeavoured to weave into more or less story form a
few of the facts and incidents in the lives of some great musicians.
It is hoped that young readers--and especially those to whom music is
a subject of study--will take a greater interest in some of the
masterpieces of composition when they have learnt something about the
composers themselves, and the circumstances under which they wrote.
The author desires to express his acknowledgments for the assistance
he has derived from the following works:
Grove's _Dictionary of Music and Musicians_; Bitter's _Life of
Sebastian Bach_ (translated by J.E. Kay-Shuttleworth); Rockstro's _Life
of George Frederick Handel_; Williams's _Handel_ in 'The Master
Musicians'; Townsend's _Haydn_ in 'The Great Musicians'; Jahn's _W.A.
Mozart_ (translated by P.D. Townsend); Schindler's _Life of Beethoven_;
Nohl's _Life of Beethoven_; von Hellborn's _Franz Schubert_ (translated
by A.D. Coleridge); Benedict's _Sketch of the Life and Works of Felix
Mendelssohn-Bartholdy_; Hensel's _The Mendelssohn Family_; Hiller's
_Mendelssohn: Letters and Recollections_; Devrient's _Recollections of
F.M. Bartholdy_ (translated by C.N. Macfarren).
CONTENTS
PAGE
BACH 3
HANDEL 37
HAYDN 89
MOZART 151
BEETHOVEN 215
SCHUBERT 269
MENDELSSOHN 315
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
GAZING AT ITS COVERS THROUGH THE LATTICE DOORS OF THE
CUPBOARD 4
BY THE LIGHT OF THE MOON HE BEGAN HIS TASK 9
CHRISTOPH SEIZED THE MANUSCRIPT BOOK AND THE COPY 10
DURING THE WINTER MONTHS THE SCHOLARS WERE SENT OUT TO
SING IN THE STREETS 12
THE KING EXCLAIMED REPEATEDLY: 'ONLY ONE BACH! ONLY
ONE BACH!' 30
HANDEL'S BIRTHPLACE, HALLE, SAXONY 38
BECKONED SILENTLY TO THE REST TO FOLLOW HIM 41
HE CALLED TO THE COACHMAN TO STOP 44
THE DUKE PRAISED HIS PERFORMANCE 46
A RESORT TO SWORDS 55
A GRAND PROCESSION OF DECORATED BARGES FROM WHITEHALL
TO LIMEHOUSE 63
THE STROKES OF HIS HAMMER ON THE ANVIL KEPT TIME TO
HIS SONG 66
'DID NOT YOU SAY YOU COULD SING AT SIGHT?' 'YES, SIR,
BUT NOT AT FIRST SIGHT!' 76
HE WAS IMITATING THE PLAYING OF A VIOLIN 94
ST. STEPHEN'S CATHEDRAL, VIENNA 101
HE MANAGED TO SAVE SUFFICIENT TO PURCHASE TWO VOLUMES 104
THE TANTALISING PIGTAIL 109
'WHOSE MUSIC IS THAT WHICH YOU WERE PLAYING JUST NOW?' 117
HAYDN ENJOYED HIS FIRST SIGHT OF THE WAVES 133
LISSON GROVE A CENTURY AGO 135
HAYDN'S EYES FILLED WITH TEARS 145
HE PAID NO HEED TO THE ENTRY OF A SERVANT 152
THEY REMAINED STANDING, ROOTED TO THE SPOT 160
PLAYED BEFORE THE COURT AT VERSAILLES 164
CHELSEA AT THAT TIME WAS A RIVERSIDE VILLAGE 167
THE CARRIAGE WHICH WAS TO CONVEY THE TRAVELLERS DREW
UP AT THE DOOR 188
'THERE IS THE DOOR!' 199
'NOW THEN, LUDWIG, TIME FOR PRACTICE!' 220
'PAY ATTENTION TO THIS YOUNG MAN, FOR HE WILL MAKE A
NOISE IN THE WORLD SOME DAY' 228
SEATED BEFORE AN OLD, WORN-OUT PIANO 230
HAYDN PRAISED THE COMPOSITION HIGHLY 233
TAKING HIS HAND, TURNED HIM ROUND TO THE AUDIENCE 255
THEY INDULGED IN JOKES AT THE EXPENSE OF THE
SPECTACLED BOY 273
HIS CLEVER PLAYING ATTRACTED THE ATTENTION OF THE
LEADER 275
MANY EVENINGS WERE PASSED IN MUSICAL ENJOYMENT 282
THEY FOUND SCHUBERT HARD AT WORK 291
SCHUBERT FLED FROM THE ROOM 302
'HERE IS A GENTLEMAN WHO KNOWS ALL ABOUT THE NEW OPERA' 325
THE TUTOR'S CARRIAGE MET THEM 330
'THE SUCCESS WAS BEYOND WHAT I COULD HAVE DREAMED' 348
'WOULD NOT THAT BE SPLENDID FOR AN ORATORIO!' 362
PORTRAITS
BEETHOVEN _Frontispiece_
BACH 5
HANDEL 39
HAYDN 91
MOZART 153
SCHUBERT 271
MENDELSSOHN 317
BACH
STORY-LIVES OF GREAT MUSICIANS
BACH
'Christoph, I wish you would let me have that book of manuscript music
which you have in your cupboard--the one which contains pieces by
Pachelbel, and Frohberger, and Buxtehude, and ever so many others--you
know which I mean. I will take such care of it if you will only lend
it to me for a little while.'
Christoph was about to leave the room, but he turned sharply to his
little brother as the latter put his request.
'No, Sebastian, I will certainly not lend you the book, and I wonder
that you have the impertinence to ask me such a thing! The idea of
your thinking that you could study such masters as Buxtehude and
Frohberger--a child like you! Get on with what I have set you to
learn, and do not let me hear any more of such fancies!'
With that Christoph shut the door behind him, and Sebastian was left
to ponder sadly upon his elder brother's harshness in refusing to
accede to his simple request. The disappointment was very keen, for
little Sebastian had been longing to get possession of that precious
volume. For several days past he had spent hours in his brother's
absence gazing at its covers through the lattice doors of the
cupboard, and feasting his eyes upon the names of the musicians which
were written on the back in bold letters in Christoph's hand.
[Illustration: '_Gazing at its covers through the lattice doors
of the cupboard._']
What harm could there be in his _trying_ to play the works of those
masters? It seemed so unreasonable to the ten-year-old child, for he
was passionately fond of music, and exceedingly quick at learning; yet
Christoph persistently kept him to simple pieces such as he could
master without the slightest difficulty, and which, therefore,
afforded him no gratification whatever. He longed to be studying more
advanced works, and there were times when this longing seemed
insupportable--when the soul of this earnest child-musician rose in
revolt against the tyrannical treatment of his elder brother.
Christoph's lack of appreciation of Sebastian's capacity and gift for
music was, moreover, so marked as to crush the feelings of love and
respect which otherwise would have found a place in Sebastian's heart
for the brother whom the sad circumstances of his childhood had made
his guardian.
[Illustration: BACH.
From photo RISCHGITZ.]
Johann Sebastian Bach, as the young musician was named, was an orphan.
Ten years before the period at which our story opens--on March 21,
1685--he had first seen the light in the long, low-roofed cottage,
which is still standing in the little German town of Eisenach,
nestling at the foot of the wooded heights which form part of the
romantically beautiful district of the Thuringer Wald. It is a country
abounding in legendary lore, which, taking its birth from the recesses
of the interminable forest, and perpetuated in ballad, has for ages
found a home in the sequestered valleys lying locked between the
hills. On one of the latter, overlooking the town, stands the
Wartburg, in which Luther made his home, and where he translated the
Bible into the German tongue.
Sebastian's father, Johann Ambrosius Bach, organist of Eisenach, was
the descendant of a long race of musicians of the name who had
followed music not merely as a means of livelihood, but with the
earnest desire of furthering its artistic aims. For close upon two
hundred years before Sebastian was born the family of Bach had thus
laboured to develop and improve their art in the only direction in
which it was practised in the Germany of those days--namely, as a
fitting accompaniment to the simple, but deeply devotional, services
of the Lutheran Church. So greatly had the influence of this ancient
and closely-united family made itself felt in regard to church music
that at Erfurt, where its members had practised the art for
generations, all musicians were known as 'the Bachs,' although no Bach
had actually resided in the town for many years.
That Sebastian should have shown a fondness for music at a very early
age is not, therefore, to be wondered at; but, beyond learning the
violin from his father, he had not progressed far in his studies when,
in his tenth year, he found himself bereft of both his parents and
taken into the charge of his brother Christoph, who filled the post of
organist at the neighbouring town of Ohrdruff. Christoph, who was
fourteen years older than Sebastian, possessed nothing more than an
ordinary amount of talent for music, and in addition lacked the sense
to appreciate the gift which his little brother at once began to
display in response to his teaching. To give Sebastian lessons on the
clavier and send him to the Lyceum to learn Latin and singing and
other school subjects seemed to Christoph to comprise the full extent
of his responsibilities; but that Sebastian possessed genius which
called for sympathy and encouragement at his hands appears only to
have aroused in him a feeling of coldness and indifference, amounting
at times to stern repression.
Beneath this shadow of ill-feeling Sebastian suffered in silence, but,
fortunately, the force of his genius was too strong to be crushed, and
the spirit which was lacking in his brother's lessons he supplied for
himself. The injustice of the denial with which Christoph had met his
request for the loan of the manuscript music-book had fired him with
the determination to possess himself of the treasure at all costs, and
even the drudgery of playing over and over again pieces which he
already knew by heart appeared to him in the new light of
stepping-stones to the attainment of his cherished desire. Yet for
some time it was difficult to see how the book was to be abstracted
without his brother's knowledge.
One night, long after the other inmates of the house had retired,
Sebastian stood at the open casement of his chamber, buried in
thought. The moon was flooding the valley with her silvery light,
rendering the most distant objects clear and distinct, and throwing
into still deeper shadow the sombre hills which encompassed the town.
But the boy had no thoughts to bestow upon the music of the scene thus
spread before his eyes; his mind was absorbed by a great project which
he was resolved upon carrying out that night, and to which the
presence of the moon lent a promise of success. Perfect stillness
reigned in the house, and Sebastian, deeming that the opportune moment
had arrived for embarking upon his venture, closed the casement and
crept softly downstairs to the parlour.
The moonlight shining into the room revealed the position of every
object, and a glance sufficed to show him that the treasure he sought
was in its accustomed place, but the cupboard, of course, was locked.
He squeezed his little hands through the lattice-bars, and after much
effort managed to reach the manuscript book. To draw it towards him
required even more dexterity, but at length that was accomplished; and
then came the crowning feat--to get it through the bars. During this
time Sebastian had been tormented by fears lest his brother should
have discovered his absence from his bedroom, and nothing but his firm
determination to accomplish his purpose prevented him from quitting
the room and returning to his bed.
For a long time his efforts to pull the book through the bars were in
vain, but after trying each bar in turn he found one which was weaker
than the rest, and having brought the book to this spot, he succeeded
at last in forcing a passage for it by bending the bar, and the
coveted volume was freed from its prison!
Breathless with exertion and excitement, the child hugged his treasure
to his breast and stole back to his chamber. On gaining this haven of
safety, he listened for some time to ascertain whether his movements
had aroused the household, but finding that everything remained as
silent as before, he drew a chair to the little table before the
window, and by the light of the moon, which still streamed into the
room, he feasted his eyes upon the pages before him. Then, taking his
pen and some manuscript music-paper with which he had provided
himself, he began his task of copying out the pieces contained in the
book.
An hour or more slipped away in this absorbing occupation, and it was
not until the moon had shifted her position, so that her rays no
longer afforded the necessary light, that Sebastian ceased to ply his
pen. Then, having hidden the book away and removed all traces of his
work, the now wearied little musician sought his pillow and fell fast
asleep.
This was but the beginning of endless nights of toil pursued whilst
the house lay hushed in slumber. For six months, whenever the moon
sent her friendly rays through his casement, did Sebastian prosecute
his task, until the night arrived when he found himself at the last
page. The fear of discovery had ceased to haunt him as time went on,
and now he could only reflect with joy at the accomplishment of his
long task, and creep into bed utterly unmindful of everything
else--even of the precaution of putting his work out of sight!
[Illustration: '_By the light of the moon he began his task._']
Alas, for poor Sebastian! he was to pay dearly for this act of
forgetfulness. As he lay sleeping--his dreams filled with the
realization of the fruits of his untiring industry--the books lying
open on the table where he had left them, and the moonbeams falling
gently on the page whereon his fingers had traced those last passages
but a few minutes before, the door opened, and a figure stole softly
into the room. It was Christoph himself, who, fancying he heard sounds
proceeding from Sebastian's chamber, had come to seek the cause. His
glance fell upon the open books. With a stride he was at the table,
bending over them. The next moment he raised his head and darted an
angry glance at the child's sleeping figure. But Sebastian only
smiled, and murmured something in his sleep, and the elder brother
turned once more to examine the writing. As he scanned the pages which
witnessed Sebastian's heart-work throughout those long months his face
hardened. There was no pity in his breast for the child who had thus
displayed his devotion to the art which he himself must have loved
after his own fashion--no sympathy for one who had spent so many hours
snatched from sleep in acquiring that which he, Christoph, had had it
in his power to bestow as a free gift--only anger and jealousy at the
thought that he had been outwitted by his little brother. With his
mouth curved into a cruel smile, Christoph seized the manuscript book
and the copy, and, taking them from the room, hid them away in a new
place where Sebastian could not possibly find them.
[Illustration: '_Christoph seized the manuscript book and the
copy._']
It was well for Sebastian that his love of music enabled him to
overcome the bitter disappointment occasioned by his brother's
cruelty, and so to continue the struggle for knowledge in the face of
such terrible odds. But there was one thing which served to comfort
him in his hour of trial, and of which Christoph was powerless to rob
him, and that was the _memory_ of the beautiful music he had copied
with such infinite pains. This in itself must have been a resource of
priceless value to him in helping him to bear with his brother's
oppression.
A new life opened for Sebastian when, at the age of fifteen, he
quitted his brother's roof and, with a school-fellow from Ohrdruff,
entered the Michael Gymnasium, or Latin School, attached to the Church
of St. Michael at Lüneburg. The discovery that he possessed a
beautiful soprano voice gave him a place at once amongst those
scholars who were selected to sing the principal parts in the Church
services in return for a free education. Lüneburg possessed two
schools, attached respectively to the Churches of St. Michael and St.
John, and the rivalry between the two was so keen that when, as was
the custom during the winter months, the scholars were sent out to
sing in the streets in order to collect money for their support, the
respective routes to be traversed had to be carefully marked out so as
to prevent a collision.
Bach had not been long at St. Michael's, however, ere his wonderful
voice, which had attracted much attention at the services of the
church, began to break; but, fortunately, his knowledge of the violin
and clavier enabled him to retain his place in the school and to enjoy
the educational advantages which it offered. He was working hard at
his musical studies, spending a portion of each day in the convent
library, where the works of the best composers were to be found. But
all his thoughts and aspirations were beginning to centre themselves
upon the instrument which, before all others, had the power to stir
his musical soul to its depths. His love for the organ soon developed
into a passion which overcame every obstacle offered to its
gratification. The extremes of hunger and bodily fatigue were alike
powerless to restrain his desire to study the capacities of the organ
as these were brought forth by the ablest hands. His poverty forbade
the hope of his receiving instruction on the instrument, though later
on he gained much valuable help from his friendship with the organist
of St. John's Church at Lüneburg. In those early days, however, Bach
was almost entirely self-dependent--a penniless scholar, fortunate in
finding his services rewarded by the plainest and meagrest of fare,
yet swayed and urged forwards by a fixed determination to conquer and
attain the knowledge upon which he had set his hopes.
[Illustration: '_During the winter months the scholars were sent
out to sing in the streets._']
Hamburg, which in those days merited the description applied to it of
the 'Paradise of German music,' is situated at a distance of about
twenty-five English miles from Lüneburg; but when Bach was told that
the renowned Johann Adam Reinken, the 'father of German organists,'
played the organ at St. Katherine's Church in the city, he seized the
first opportunity that presented itself of tramping the whole way
thither in order to hear him. With Bach to listen was to learn; but to
enjoy this privilege he had to secrete himself in a corner of the
church where he could not be seen, for he had been warned that such
great players as Reinken resented the intrusion of strangers whilst
they were practising.
The deep joy of listening to such a master must have seemed to
Sebastian a fitting reward for his long tramp, and we may picture him
on his homeward journey, weary and footsore, but with his mind stored
with the memories of what he has heard. This visit to Hamburg was the
precursor of many others, though, of course, such expeditions could
only be undertaken when, by means of street singing, or in some other
way, he had contrived to save a few shillings to pay for food and
lodging. But he often went short of food rather than deprive himself
of a chance of hearing his beloved Reinken. On one occasion he had
yielded to the temptation of lingering at Hamburg until his funds
were almost exhausted, and he was confronted by the prospect of a long
walk with no means of satisfying his hunger until he reached the end
of his journey. Nevertheless, he set forth with a light heart, for his
stock of knowledge had been greatly enriched by the prolonged visit,
and, after all, what were five-and-twenty miles to the young musician,
possessed of limbs replete with strength and a head full of glorious
dreams?
He had not proceeded many miles, however, ere the keen wind made his
want of food painfully apparent, and the music within him became
drowned by the clamourings of Nature. At this juncture he found
himself opposite a small hostelry, from the open door of which a most
savoury odour was issuing--an odour so rich in the promise of all that
he needed that it brought him to a standstill. The kitchen window was
nigh, and he could not resist the temptation of peering into the room
to ascertain what was in preparation. At that moment he heard a window
above him thrown open, and a couple of herrings' heads were tossed
into the road. Probably some benevolent guest, attracted by the
youth's starving looks, had taken this means of bestowing upon him the
remains of his repast. The herring was a favourite article of food in
Germany, and poor Bach was only too glad to avail himself of this
feeble chance of satisfying his cravings. But what was his
astonishment, upon pulling the heads to pieces, to find that each
contained a Danish ducat! The acquisition of so much wealth fairly
took his breath away, and for a moment he almost forgot that he was
famishing. On realising his good fortune, he lost no time in entering
the inn and regaling himself at the expense of his unknown benefactor.
The money did more than this, however, for it enabled him to reckon
upon another visit to Hamburg in the near future.
That distance formed no obstacle to Bach's ardent desire to obtain
knowledge is proved by the fact that he performed several journeys on
foot to Celle, which was distant some forty-five English miles to the
south of Lüneburg, in order that he might hear the band at the ducal
Court. The Duke's musicians were chiefly Frenchmen, and French
instrumental music formed the principal part of their work. There was
but little opportunity in Germany of hearing this important branch of
music, and Bach seized upon the first chance that presented itself. He
was now making rapid progress with his studies, and his friendship
with Böhm, the organist of St. John's Church at Lüneburg, was a great
incentive to him in his love for the organ.
After remaining three years at the Lüneburg school, Bach obtained a
post as violinist in the private band of Prince Johann Ernst, brother
of the reigning Duke of Saxe-Weimar. This, however, was merely to fill
up the time until he could secure an appointment in the direction in
which his affections as well as his genius were guiding him. The
opportunity for which he sought was not long in coming. A visit to the
old Thuringian town of Arnstadt, in which three members of his family
had successively filled the post of organist in past years, took him
to the new church to inspect the organ which had just been erected by
the consistory. Arnstadt, in fact, was one of the centres in which the
influence of the Bach family had made itself felt, and whence several
of its members had gone forth to other parts of the country. The
savour of the former presence of the Bachs was still fresh in the
minds of the townspeople; the consistory of the new church, moreover,
were on the look out for a thoroughly capable organist, and Bach's
request to be allowed to try the organ was, therefore, willingly
granted.
No sooner had they heard him play than they offered him the post, and,
furthermore, stated their willingness to augment the pay attached to
it by a contribution from the town funds. Bach, therefore, found
himself installed as organist with a salary of fifty florins, with, in
addition, thirty thalers for board and lodging--equivalent in all to
about eight pounds thirteen shillings of English money--a small enough
salary indeed! but one which in those days was considered to be a fair
emolument for the services of a young player. On August 14, 1703,
Bach, who was then eighteen years old, entered upon his duties, having
previously taken a 'solemn pledge of diligence and faithfulness, and
all that appertaineth to an honourable servant and organist before God
and the worshipful Corporation.'
The requirements of the post left him plenty of leisure in which to
pursue his studies and improve his playing. Up to this point he had
done very little in the shape of actual composition, his aim having
been to perfect himself in a knowledge of the requirements of the
instrument on which he had fixed his heart's choice, to which end he
had spared no diligence in studying the works of the greatest masters.
Now, however, he set about teaching himself the art of composition,
for which purpose he took a number of concertos written for the violin
by Vivaldi, and set them for the pianoforte. By this means he learnt
to grasp the connection of musical ideas and the manner in which they
should be worked out, and as this exercise implied the rewriting of
many passages in order to adapt them for the piano, he gradually
attained facility in expressing his own musical thoughts on paper
without first playing them on an instrument. Thus, without assistance
from anybody, he worked on alone, very often till far into the night,
to perfect himself in this important branch of his art.
From the outset, however, his playing at the new church excited
attention and admiration, and that it should, nevertheless, have
failed to entirely satisfy the authorities was due, not to any lack of
power, but simply to the extraordinary manner in which the services
were accompanied. The fact is that Bach had no sooner seated himself
at the organ than he straightway forgot that choir and congregation
were depending upon him, and began to indulge his fancy to such
lengths that the singing soon ceased altogether, and the people
remained mute with astonishment and admiration. Naturally, these
flights of genius were not exactly in accordance with the wishes of
the consistory, who, moreover, saw little prospect of their choir
becoming efficiently trained under the circumstances. Yet,
notwithstanding there were frequent disputes between Bach and the
elders of the church with regard to his vagaries, so marvellously were
the authorities influenced by the power and beauty of his playing that
they overlooked his faults for the sake of his genius.
That Bach must have tried their patience sorely cannot be denied. On
one occasion, being specially desirous of visiting Lübeck, in order to
hear the celebrated organist Buxtehude perform on the organ at the
Marien-Kirche during Advent, he obtained a month's leave of absence
for the purpose. Fifty miles lay between Arnstadt and the town which
formed his destination, but Bach resolutely performed the entire
journey on foot, so eager was he to profit by the playing of this
master. Once at Lübeck, he became so wrapped up in the musical
attractions of the town that he completely forgot his promise to
return to his post until reminded by his empty purse of the fact that
he could no longer prolong his stay. By this time he had gratuitously
extended his leave from one month to three! Hence it is not surprising
that on his return to Arnstadt the consistory should have expressed
serious displeasure at his neglect. On the other hand, it affords a
striking proof of the esteem in which his playing was held that the
authorities should have allowed him to retain his post in spite of all
that had happened.
It was not long before the services of the young musician were sought
by the Church authorities of several important towns, whither the fame
of his organ-playing had spread. He longed to find a wider scope
wherein to prosecute his aims for raising the standard of Church
music. Arnstadt had become too narrow for his desires, and,
consequently, when, in 1707, he was offered the post of organist of
St. Blasius', at Mühlhausen, near Eisenach, he accepted it at once.
The invitation was coupled with a request that he would name his own
salary--a compliment to his powers to which he modestly responded by
fixing the sum at that which he had lately received; but, in addition
to pay, his emolument comprised certain dues of corn, wood, and fish,
to be delivered free at his door. His post at Arnstadt was filled by
his cousin, Johann Ernst, to whom, as he was very poor, and had an
aged mother and a sick sister to support, Bach generously handed over
the last quarter's salary which was due to him on leaving.
With this improvement in his worldly prospects Bach deemed that he
might prudently marry. He had been contemplating this step since the
time, some months before, when he had incurred the displeasure of the
Arnstadt authorities by introducing a 'stranger maiden' into the
choir--a proceeding altogether contrary to rule, but one which, like
the rest of his faults, was condoned for the sake of hearing him play.
The 'stranger maiden' was no other than his cousin, Maria Barbara, the
youngest daughter of Michael Bach, of Gehren, with whom he had fallen
in love, and to whom he was married on October 17, 1707.
It was customary in those days for organists to maintain their
instruments in repair, and Bach's first duty on entering upon his new
post was to undertake some extensive alterations in the organ
committed to his charge. The completion of these repairs, however, was
left to his successor, for Bach did not retain his position at
Mühlhausen for more than a year. He was filled with a desire to raise
the standard of Church music, reverently desirous of clothing the old
services in a new dress--one which should elevate the thoughts of the
worshippers to a higher plane by giving to the words of Scripture a
fuller and more sympathetic interpretation. In this longing for
freedom from the old modes of Church music, by which, owing to the
rigid simplicity of the Lutheran services, the truths of religion were
trammelled and obscured, Bach hoped to have secured the support and
sympathy of his congregation; but he soon found that his efforts were
unappreciated. For us, who now see this longing for the first time
clearly expressed in his life, and who know what important fruits it
was destined to bear in the future, this stage in the career of
Sebastian Bach possesses a peculiar interest. In his letter to the
town council announcing his resignation he explains that he has
'always striven to make the improvement of Church music, to the honour
of God, his aim,' but that he has met with opposition such as he sees
no chance of being enabled to overcome in the future. Moreover, he
states that, 'poor as is his mode of living, he has not enough to
subsist on after paying his house-rent and other necessary expenses.'
The shortness of his means, with a wife and the near prospect of a
family to provide for, no doubt had a good deal to do with Bach's
decision to resign his post at St. Blasius' at once. He had, in fact,
already received the offer of a more important engagement. An
invitation to perform before Duke Wilhelm Ernst of Weimar early in the
year 1708 had been seized upon in the hope that it might lead to an
appointment at the Court. The hope was not disappointed, for the Duke
was so delighted with Bach's playing that he immediately offered him
the post of Court and Chamber Organist. Bach had always been on the
best of terms with the elders of St. Blasius' Church, however, and the
separation was accompanied by marks of friendliness on both sides.
Thus we see Bach acting once more on his own initiative--choosing his
path deliberately as he saw the opportunity for furthering the great
objects he had in view.
The wider scope for which he had been longing was now within his
grasp, and from the date of his appointment at Weimar he began to
compose those masterpieces for the organ which in after-years were to
help to make his name famous. Hitherto we have followed the fortunes
of Sebastian Bach as a zealous student, self-dependent, and almost
entirely self-instructed as regards his art, battling against poverty
with stolid indifference to the drawbacks and discomforts that fell to
his share, unmindful of fatigue, seeking neither praise nor reward,
but with his mind wholly set upon the accomplishment of his
life-purpose--the furtherance of his beloved art. The promise of his
childish days had been largely sown in sorrow and disappointment. He
had not been hailed as a prodigy of genius. No crowd of wondering
admirers had gathered to listen to his childish efforts, and to
prognosticate for him the favours of fame and fortune in the near
future. Not even his parents, loving him as they doubtless did, could
have done more than dared to entertain the hope that he would do
honour and credit to the musical name which he bore ere they sank into
their untimely graves, and left him to fight the battle of life alone.
No; the childhood and youth of Sebastian Bach were stages in the life
of a genius which were entirely destitute of the advantages of either
wealth or the patronage of the great, and as such they command our
interest and respect.
Henceforth we have to picture Bach as settled in his Weimar home, no
longer as a student, but as a player and composer whose fame was
gradually spreading throughout the country. So rapid had his progress
been both on the organ and the pianoforte that he was even led to
overestimate his own powers, and one day remarked somewhat boastingly
to a friend that he could play any piece, however difficult, at sight
without a mistake. The friend, disbelieving his statement, invited him
to breakfast shortly afterwards, and placed several pieces on the
pianoforte, amongst them being one which, though apparently simple,
was in reality extremely difficult. He then left the room to prepare
breakfast, and Bach, seating himself at the instrument, began to play
over the pieces. Coming to the difficult work, he struck into it very
boldly, but after proceeding a little way he came to a stop, then
tried it again from the beginning, and once more halted at the same
place. His host then appeared bringing in the breakfast, and Bach,
turning to him, exclaimed, 'You are right. One cannot play everything
at sight--it is impossible!'
In August, 1712, Zachau, the organist of the Liebfrauen-Kirche at
Halle, and Handel's old master, died, and Bach, whose knowledge and
practical skill in the matter of organ construction had now become
widely known, was asked to plan a new instrument for the church. He
accordingly made his plans, and then, induced by the thought of having
a fine organ under his control, he applied for the vacant post. The
elders of the church, having heard a sacred cantata which he composed
for the occasion performed under his direction in the following year,
were most willing to accede to his application, but Bach, fearing that
his independence would be threatened by the conditions attached to the
position, withdrew at the last moment. Nevertheless, so great was the
appreciation in which his abilities were held that when the new organ
was completed he was invited to Halle for the purpose of inspecting it
and testing its capabilities.
In 1714 Duke Wilhelm Ernst raised him to the position of
Hof-Concertmeister--a step which afforded increased scope for the
exercise of his powers. Every autumn for several years he utilised his
leave of absence by journeying to the principal towns in order to give
performances on the organ and clavier, by means of which his
reputation was greatly enhanced. It was on one of these tours that he
found himself in Dresden at a time when expectation was rife
concerning the powers of a remarkable French player who had just
arrived in the town. Jean Marchand, as the Frenchman was named, had
achieved a great reputation in his own country, where, in addition to
filling the post of organist to the King at Versailles, he was
regarded as the most fashionable music-master of the day. His
conceited and overbearing manners, however, had led to his banishment
from the French Court, and he had undertaken a tour in Italy with
triumphant success before coming to the German capital. Bach found
everybody discussing the Frenchman's wonderful playing, and it was
whispered that he had been already offered an appointment in Dresden.
The friends of Bach insisted that he should engage Marchand forthwith
in a contest in defence of the musical honour of his nation, and as
Bach was by no means indisposed to pit himself against the conceited
Frenchman, he gave his consent to the challenge being dispatched.
Marchand, for his part, showed an equal readiness to meet Bach,
foreseeing an easy victory over his antagonist. The King promised to
grace the contest with his presence, and the time and place were duly
fixed. It was agreed that the contestants were to set each other
problems to be worked out on the piano, the victory to be adjudged by
the connoisseurs who were present.
The day fixed for the trial arrived. A brilliant company assembled,
and at the appointed time Bach made his appearance; but his adversary
had not arrived. The audience awaited his coming for some time with
impatience, and at length the news was brought that Marchand had left
the city suddenly that morning! It transpired that on the previous day
Bach had been performing on the organ in one of the principal churches
of the town, and Marchand, attracted by the crowd, made his way into
the building and listened to Bach's wonderful playing. So greatly had
the music impressed him that, when he learnt who the player was, he
began to tremble for his success at the coming contest. As the time
approached his fears grew apace, and at length, without a word to
anybody concerning his intentions, he fled from the city.
The year 1717, in which the above event took place, was marked by a
further advancement in Bach's fortunes, for on his return from
Dresden he was appointed Capellmeister to the young Prince Leopold of
Anhalt-Cöthen. His new position left him abundant leisure in which to
follow the bent of his genius in regard to the composition of
instrumental music, and many of his finest works were written at this
time. His relations with the Prince were of the most cordial
character. The latter was an enthusiastic lover of music, and on his
frequent journeys to various towns in order to gratify his taste he
insisted on having Bach as his travelling companion. Thus, for several
years Bach continued to lead a life which in every respect brought him
much happiness, and added not a little to his fame. Then a great
sorrow befell him, for during one of these expeditions with the
Prince, when, owing to their movements, he was unable to receive news
from home, his wife died suddenly, and when he returned to Cöthen it
was to find the family plunged into grief, and the mother already
buried.
The close of the year 1721 saw Bach married to his second wife, Anna
Magdalena Wülkens, a daughter of the Court trumpeter at Weissenfels.
Anna Magdalena was in every way suited for the wife of a musician, for
she had a deep love for music, in addition to possessing a beautiful
voice. Moreover, as time went on, her reverence for her husband's
genius, which she used every effort to promote and encourage, did not
fail to make itself felt in influencing the musical tastes of her
children.
Life, meanwhile, at the Court had not proceeded so happily for Bach as
heretofore, and in the year of his marriage he made a journey to
Hamburg with the object of competing for the post of organist at the
Jacobi-Kirche. His playing on this occasion excited the greatest
admiration, though, as a matter of fact, this was not the first time
he had awakened the enthusiasm of Hamburg audiences by his
performances; but the organ on which he now played was an
exceptionally fine one, and responded so perfectly to his touch as to
assist in imparting to his improvisation the character of an inspired
performance. When the trial came to an end, every one present felt
certain of the result. Not one of the competitors had approached Bach
in feeling or execution. Yet, notwithstanding the popular verdict in
his favour, the prize was snatched from him and given to
another--younger, unknown, and even insignificant man, who, however,
was enabled to offer four thousand marks for the position, whilst Bach
could only present his genius.
Nevertheless, Bach, with his characteristic indifference to fortune,
made no protest against this unfair treatment, but went quietly on
with his work at Cöthen, waiting for a fresh opportunity to present
itself. He had now become personally known to the famous and aged
organist of Hamburg, Reinken. At one of his visits he improvised on a
theme composed by the master in the latter's presence, and when he had
finished, Reinken seized him by the hand, and as he shook it exclaimed
with emotion, 'I thought that this art was dead, but I see that it
still lives in you!' This was the last meeting between Bach and the
organist from whose playing he had derived so much profit, for shortly
afterwards Reinken died at the age of ninety-nine, holding his post up
to the last.
His life at Cöthen was largely devoted to composition. His only pupils
appear to have been his wife and his sons, in whose musical education
he evinced the deepest interest, and for whose benefit he wrote many
works, including several books of studies and his famous 'Art of
Fugue.'[1] Another of his great works, the 'Wohltemperirte Klavier'
(Well-tempered Clavichord), better known in England under the title of
'The Forty-eight Preludes and Fugues,' was begun at this time. It is,
perhaps, the most popular of all Bach's works, and the idea of writing
it is said to have occurred to him whilst staying at a place where no
musical instrument of any kind was available. That he should have sat
down to write the first part of this monumental work (the second part
was not completed until twenty years later) in a place where from
sheer force of circumstances his fingers would otherwise have been
condemned to idleness is not surprising when we consider the mental
activity by which Bach's character was distinguished. He could not, in
fact, be idle. When not playing, or composing, or teaching, he would
often be found hard at work engraving his compositions on copper, or
engaged in manufacturing some kind of musical instrument--at least two
instruments are known to have been of his own inventing. The one idea
which seems to have pervaded his whole life from beginning to end was
to be of the greatest use to the greatest number of his
fellow-creatures, and it was this noble purpose which was urging him
at this time to discover a wider sphere of work. The Cöthen post,
while it gave him abundant leisure for composition, did not satisfy
his longing to be of greater use in the furtherance of his art--a
longing which can only be appreciated when we study the works which at
this period were occupying his mind. Moreover, the Prince, who had
recently married, no longer showed the same devotion to music as
heretofore--a change of feeling that necessarily produced a
corresponding slackening of the ties of friendship and interest which
had formerly existed between the Prince and his Capellmeister. The
opportunity which Bach sought came at length when, in 1723, he was
appointed cantor of the Thomas-Schule at Leipzig, and director of the
music in the Churches of St. Thomas and St. Nicholas in the town.
With this appointment Bach entered upon the final stage of his career,
for he retained the Leipzig post until his death. The story of his
connection with the Thomas-Schule is one that redounds to his honour,
for, in spite of considerable opposition at the hands of the
authorities, who failed to appreciate his genius and hampered his
activity by petty restrictions and accusations; in spite, also, of the
poverty of the material with which he was called upon to deal, he
laboured unceasingly to raise the standard of efficiency in the
scholars whose training was committed to his charge, and from whose
ranks the choirs in the two churches under his control had to be
furnished. Apart from his duties, however, those twenty-seven years of
Leipzig work and intercourse are marked out for us as comprising the
period during which he wrote and dedicated to the service of the
Church those masterpieces of undying beauty--the Passions according to
St. Matthew[2] and St. John. In these works, and in the 'High Mass in
B Minor,' which also belongs to this time, but more especially in the
first-named work, we seem to witness the crowning-point of those
generations of striving for the advancement of the art which have
indissolubly linked the name of Bach with the history of music. Bach
himself stood on the top step of the ladder: with him the vital
forces of the race exhausted themselves; and further power of
development stopped short.'
The life at Leipzig was distinguished by the simplicity which had
always been Bach's chief characteristic. That he was imbued by deeply
religious feelings is evidenced by the works to which we have just
referred; his genius, in fact, found its highest and noblest
expression in the interpretation of the spirit of the sacred writings.
Next to his art--if, indeed, they can be considered apart--came his
devotion to his family, in the training and welfare of whom he took an
absorbing interest. Outside these twin centres of attraction he hardly
ever ventured, and though his fame brought him notice, and to some
extent honour as well, his desire for retirement became stronger as
the years went on.
His modest, retiring disposition is well illustrated by an incident
which marked the latter period of his busy life. His third son, Carl
Philip Emanuel, had entered the service of Frederick the Great, and
was acting as cembalist in the royal orchestra. His Majesty, who was
exceedingly fond of music, and a considerable player on the flute, had
repeatedly expressed a wish to see Bach, and from time to time sent
messages to this effect to the old composer through the latter's son.
Bach, however, intent upon his work, for a long time ignored these
intimations of royal favour, until at length, in 1747, Carl brought to
him an imperative demand from his royal master which Bach saw that he
could not disobey without incurring the King's displeasure.
Accordingly, he set out for Potsdam with his son Friedemann. The King
was about to begin his evening music when a servant brought to him a
list of the strangers who had arrived at the castle that day.
Frederick glanced at the paper, and then turned to his musicians with
a smile. 'Gentlemen,' said he, 'old Bach has come!' and down went his
flute. Bach was immediately sent for--he had not time even to change
his travelling-dress--and with many excuses he presented himself to
the King. His Majesty received him with marked kindness and respect,
and when the courtiers smiled at the old musician's embarrassment and
his somewhat flowery speeches, Frederick frowned his disapproval. He
then conducted Bach through the palace, showing him the various points
of interest, and insisted on his trying his Silbermann pianofortes, of
which he had quite a collection. Bach extemporised on each of the
instruments, and then Frederick gave him a theme which he reproduced
as a fantasia, to the astonishment of all present. The King next
requested him to play a six-part fugue, and Bach extemporised one on a
theme selected by himself. The King, who stood behind the composer's
chair, clapped his hands with delight, and exclaimed repeatedly, 'Only
one Bach! Only one Bach!' It was a visit replete with honours for the
old master, and when he returned home he expressed his gratitude by
writing down and elaborating the piece which he had composed on the
King's theme, dedicating it to His Majesty under the title of
'Musikalisches Opfer' (Musical Offering), and sending it to Potsdam
with a letter begging its acceptance.