“Mozart, the celebrated German musician, was born at Salzburg, in the
year 1756. His father was also a musician of some eminence, but not to
be compared with the son, of whom we have the following account, in one
of the Monthly Miscellanies, taken by Mr. Busby, from some biographical
sketches, of two eminent German professors.
“At the age of three years, young Mozart, attending to the lessons
which his sister, then seven years old, was receiving at the
harpsichord, he became acquainted with harmony, and when she had left
the instrument, he would instantly place himself at it, find the
thirds, sound them with the liveliest joy, and employ whole hours at
the exercise. His father, urged by such early and striking indications
of genius, immediately began to teach him some little airs; and soon
perceived that his pupil improved even beyond the hopes he had formed
of him. Half an hour was generally sufficient for his acquiring a
minuet, or a little song, which, when once learned, he would of himself
perform with taste and expression.
“At the age of six years, he made such a progress, as to be able to
compose short pieces for the harpsichord, which his father was obliged
to commit to paper for him. From that time, nothing made any impression
upon him but harmony; and infantine amusements lost all their
attractions, unless music had a share in them. He advanced from day to
day, not by ordinary and insensible degrees, but with a rapidity, which
hourly excited new surprise in his parents—the happy witnesses of his
progress.
“His father, returning home one day with a stranger, found little
Mozart with a pen in his hand. “What are you writing?” said he.—“A
concerto for the harpsichord,” replied the child. “Let us see it,”
rejoined the father, “it is a marvellous concerto, without doubt.”—He
then took the paper, and saw nothing at first, but a mass of notes
mingled with blots of ink, by the mal-address of the young composer,
who, unskilled in the management of the pen, had dipped it too freely
in the ink; and having blotted and smeared his paper, had endeavoured
to make out his ideas with his fingers; but, on a closer examination,
his father was lost in wonder, and his eyes, delighted and flowing
with tears, became riveted to the notes.—“See!” exclaimed he, to the
stranger, “how just and regular it all is! but it is impossible to play
it; it is too difficult.”—“It is a concerto,” said the child, “and must
be practised till one can play it. Hear how this part goes.” He then
sat down to perform it; but was not able to execute the passages with
sufficient fluency, to do justice to his own ideas. Extraordinary as
his manual facility was universally allowed to be, for his age, it did
not keep pace with the progress of his knowledge and invention. Such
an instance of intellectual advancement, in a child only six years of
age, is so far out of the common road of nature, that we can only
contemplate the fact with astonishment, and acknowledge, that the
possible rapidity of mental maturation is not to be calculated.
“In the year 1762, his father took him and his sister to Munich,
where he performed a concerto before the elector, which excited the
admiration of the whole court; nor was he less applauded at Vienna,
where the emperor called him the _little sorcerer_.
“His father gave him lessons only on the harpsichord; but he privately
taught himself the violin; and his command of the instrument afforded
the elder Mozart the utmost surprise, when he one day, at a concert,
took a second violin, and acquitted himself with more than passable
address. True genius sees no obstacles. It will not, therefore, excite
our wonder, if his constant success, in whatever he attempted, begot
an unbounded confidence in his own powers; he had even the _laudable_
hardihood to undertake to qualify himself for the _first_ violin, and
did not long remain short of the necessary proficiency.
“He had an ear so correct, that he felt the most minute discordancy;
and such a fondness for study, that it was frequently necessary to
take him by force from the instrument. This love of application
never diminished. He every day passed a considerable time at his
harpsichord, and generally practised till a late hour at night. Another
characteristical trait of real genius, always full of its object, and
lost as it were in itself.
“It is lamentable that premature genius too rarely enjoys a long
career. The acceleration of nature in the mental powers seems to hurry
the progress of the animal economy, and to anticipate the regular close
of temporal existence.
“In the year 1791, Mozart, just after he had received the appointment
of _Maitre-de-Chapelle_ of the church of St. Peter, and when he was
only thirty-five years of age, paid the last tribute, and left the
world at once to admire the brilliancy, and lament the shortness of his
earthly sojournment.
“Indefatigable, even to his death, he produced, during the last
few months of his life, his three great master-pieces, _La Flute
Enchantée_, _La Clemence de Titus_, and a _Requiem_, his last
production. _La Flutte Enchantée_ was composed for one of the theatres
at Vienna; and no dramatic _olio_ could ever boast of a greater
success. Every air struck the audience with a new and sweet surprise;
and the _tout-ensemble_ was calculated to afford the deepest and most
varied impressions. This piece had, in fact, so great a number of
successive representations, that, for a long time, it was unnecessary
to consult the opera bill, which only announced a permanent novelty.
And the airs selected from it, and repeated throughout the empire,
as well in the cottage as in the palace, and which the echoes have
resounded in the most distant provinces, favoured the idea, that
Mozart had actually the design to enchant all Germany with his _Flutte
Enchantée_.
“_La Clemence de Titus_ was requested by the states of Bohemia, for the
coronation of Leopold. The composer began it in his carriage, during
his route to Prague, and finished it in eighteen days.
“Some circumstances attending his last composition, the _Requiem_, the
last effort of his genius, are too interesting to be omitted. A short
time before his death, a stranger came to him, with the request, that
he would compose, as speedily as possible, a _Requiem_ for a Catholic
prince, who, perceiving himself on the verge of the grave, wished, by
the execution of such a piece, to sooth his mind, and familiarize it to
the idea of his approaching dissolution. Mozart undertook the work; and
the stranger deposited with him, as a security, four hundred ducats,
though the sum demanded was only two hundred. The composer immediately
began the work, and during its progress, felt his mind unusually raised
and agitated. He became, at length, so infatuated with his _Requiem_,
that he employed, not only the day, but some hours of the night, in its
composition. One day, while he was conversing with Madame Mozart on the
subject, he declared to her, that he could not but be persuaded that it
was for himself he was writing this piece. His wife, distressed at her
inability to dissipate so melancholy an impression, prevailed on him to
give her the _score_. He afterwards appearing somewhat tranquillized,
and more master of himself, she returned the _score_ to him, and he
soon relapsed into his former despondency. On the day of his death, he
asked her for the _Requiem_, which was accordingly brought to his bed.
“Was I not right,” said he, “when I declared, that it was for myself
I was composing this funeral piece?” And the tears trickled from his
eyes. This production, of a man impressed, during its composition, with
a presentiment of his approaching death, is _unique_ in its kind, and
contains passages which have frequently drawn tears from the performers.
“Only one complaint escaped him during his malady. ‘I must quit life,’
said he, ‘precisely at the moment when I could enjoy it, free from
care and inquietude, at the very time, when independent of sordid
speculations, and at liberty to follow my own inclinations, I should
have to write from the impulses of my own heart; and I am torn from my
family, just when in a situation to serve it.’ Mozart, at the time of
his death, was considerably involved in debt; but Vienna and Prague
disputed the honour of providing for his widow and children.”
_Encyclopædia Britannica._