OF those who realise the excitement and want of repose of Mozart's life
in Vienna, and the variety of occupations and distractions which beset
him, it must appear matter of wonder that he was able to produce so
large a number of compositions, each bearing an individual character of
maturity and finish. The wonder increases as the conviction grows that
not only was he ready as each occasion arose to prove, as Goethe says
every artist should, that his art came at his command, but that he had
the power of bringing forth at will his deepest, best conceptions, so
that the external impulse appeared only as the momentum given to an
artistic inspiration. It must at the same time be remembered that Mozart
was not fond of writing, and generally waited until the last moment to
give shape to his ideas. He was occasionally, therefore, late with his
compositions, as with the sonata for Strinasacchi (Vol. II., p. 337), or
had only time to write the parts without scoring them (Vol. II., pp.318,
366), or scarcely allowed the copyist time to finish his work (Vol. II.,
p. 327); it is only necessary to look through his Thematic Catalogue
to see that most of his compositions were written as short a time as
possible before they were actually wanted. His
{DISTASTE TO WRITING.}
(413)
father, who, as a man of business, considered the proper disposition of
time as a matter of vital importance, often called his son's attention
to this failing. "If you will examine your conscience closely," he
writes (December 11, 1777), "you will find that procrastination is your
besetting sin and when Wolfgang was at work on "Idomeneo" in Munich, he
warned him "not to procrastinate" (November 18, 1781). After his stay
in Vienna, convinced that his son was in this respect unchanged for the
better, he writes to Marianne, on hearing from Wolfgang that he was over
head and ears at work on the "Nozze di Figaro" (November 11, 1785), "He
has procrastinated and thrown away his time after his usual habit, until
now he is forced to set to work in earnest, in compliance with Count
Rosenberg's commands."
It cannot be denied that Leopold Mozart was right, and that a judicious
and methodical distribution of time is as desirable in an artist or a
genius as in any one else; it is true also that perseverance and
care may enable even an artist to overcome his inclination to
procrastination.
But a glance at the extraordinary fertility of Mozart's genius, at the
burning zeal and intensity with which he worked, will suffice to show
the injustice of accusing him of idleness, or of never working unless he
was actually driven to it. He was perfectly justified in writing to his
father from Vienna (May 26, 1781): "Believe me, I do not love idleness,
but rather work." The father's injustice was the result of a want of
comprehension of the peculiar creative process of his son's genius. He
did not appreciate the activity and industry of his mind, because it
made no show, and, indeed, often hid itself behind a careless demeanour;
he failed to perceive that the disinclination to write generally arose
from the feeling that the workings of the mind were not yet in a shape
to be expressed by the pen.
A conception of Mozart's work, almost equally mistaken, is that which
takes as a measure of his genius his wonderfully rapid production, which
often made his grasp of an artistic idea coincident with his embodiment
of it in music. The overture to "Don Giovanni" is most often quoted as
an example of this extraordinary speed. Niemetschek says (p. 84):--
{MOZART AS AN ARTIST.}
(414)
Mozart wrote "Don Juan" at Prague in 1787; it was finished, rehearsed,
and announced for performance in two days' time, before the overture was
begun to be written. The anxiety of his friends, increasing every hour,
appeared to entertain him; the more apprehensive they became, the less
he would consent to hurry himself. It was not until the night before
the performance, after spending the merriest evening imaginable, that
he went to his room at near midnight, began to write, and completed the
admirable masterpiece in a few hours.
This very credible account is corroborated by Mozart's wife:[1]--
The evening before the performance of "Don Juan" at Prague, the dress
rehearsal having already taken place, he said to his wife that he would
write the overture at night, if she would sit with him and make him some
punch to keep his spirits up. This she did, and told him tales about
Aladdin's Lamp, Cinderella, &c., which made him laugh till the tears
came. But the punch made him sleepy, so that he dozed when she left off,
and only worked as long as she told tales. At last, the excitement, the
sleepiness, and the frequent efforts not to doze off, were too much for
him, and his wife persuaded him to go to sleep on the sofa, promising to
wake him in an hour. But he slept so soundly that she could not find it
in her heart to wake him until two hours had passed. It was then five
o'clock; at seven o'clock the overture was finished and in the hands of
the copyist.
This musical myth has received a stronger colouring in the account of
the elder Genast, then a young actor at Prague. According to him, Mozart
partook so freely of the hospitalities of a certain gentleman on the
evening in question that Genast and a friend brought him home, laid
him senseless on his bed, and themselves went to sleep on the sofa.
On awakening, they heard Mozart lustily singing, as he composed his
overture, and "listened in reverential silence as the immortal
ideas developed themselves."[2] A good instance, this, of the way to
manufacture an anecdote.
Niemetschek, who had previously remarked with justice that Mozart's work
was always ready in his head before he sat down to his writing-table,
was no doubt of the correct opinion that the overture was only written
down in this haste, not composed. Whether the wife believed this or not
{CONSCIENTIOUS INDUSTRY.}
(415)
is doubtful, since she adds ingenuously: "Some will recognise the
dozings and rousings in the music of the overture." An evident
repetition of some one else's words, and a very ingenious idea. One can
only say with Hoffman: "Some people are fools!"[3]
An unprejudiced examination soon disposes of the not only foolish but
detrimental idea[4] that rapidity of workmanship is a sign of true
genius; but it is not by any means so easy a task to gain a clear
and comprehensive insight into the workings of an artist's nature.[5]
Fortunately for our purpose, however, averse as Mozart was to talk much
of himself or his compositions, he has left us characteristic traits and
expressions sufficient to enable us to realise his individualities in
this respect.[6]
It is a matter of universal experience that the great men of every art
and science, who have left any enduring proofs of their genius, have
worked the more zealously and the more earnestly in proportion as their
genius surpassed that of other men. That this holds true of Mozart no
one who has studied his life and works will wish to deny. In his youth,
as long as he remained under the direct control of his father, his
studies were regular and severe. And as a man and a fully developed
artist he had no ambition to be considered one who threw off his
compositions with the carelessness of genius, or who was ashamed of
his honest efforts and labours. His dedication of his quartets to
Haydn speaks of them as the fruit of long and painful labour, and in a
conversation with the orchestral conductor Kucharz, at Prague,
{MOZART AS AN ARTIST.}
(416)
before the performance of "Don Giovanni," he expressed himself as
follows: "I have spared neither labour nor pains to produce something
worthy of the reputation of Prague. It would be a great mistake to
imagine that my art is an easy matter to me. I assure you, my dear
friend, no one has given more trouble to the study of composition than
myself. It would not be easy to find a celebrated musician whose works
I have not often and laboriously studied." And in point of fact, the
narrator continues, even when he had attained to classical perfection,
the works of great masters were always to be seen lying on his desk.[7]
We have already seen how eagerly and with what good result he studied
Bach and Handel, when once Van Swieten had given him the impetus.
Rochlitz[8] declares that he was as familiar with the works of Handel as
if he had been all his life director of the Ancient Concerts in London.
He had arrived in Leipzig just after arranging "Acis and Galatea" and
the "Messiah" for Van Swieten, and the impressions of these works were
fresh upon him. "Handel," Rochlitz heard him say, "knows better than
any of us what will make an effect; when he chooses he strikes like a
thunderbolt."[9] He admired not only Handel's choruses, but many of his
arie and solos, which were not thought much of at that time. "Although
he is often prosy, after the fashion of his time," said he, "there is
always something in his music."[10]
At Leipzig Mozart became acquainted with the vocal compositions of
Sebastian Bach. Doles made the St. Thomas choir sing him the wonderful
eight-part motett, "Singet dem Herrn ein neues Lied." His surprise at
the flow of melody, wave upon wave, passed all bounds; he listened with
rapt attention, and exclaimed with delight: "That is indeed
{METHOD OF WORKING.}
(417)
something to take a lesson from!" When he heard that the St. Thomas
school possessed several other motetts by Bach, he begged to see them,
and no score being accessible he surrounded himself with the parts, and
was buried in study until he had worked them all out; then he asked for
copies of the motetts.[11] His interest in Benda's monodramas (Vol. II.,
p. 74) and his expressions on the importance of French opera, prove
that he had profited by the study of living masters; all his works bear
traces of the kind of influence which is exercised upon a genial and
receptive nature by the great performances of others.
Of a different kind to these general preparatory studies, is that which
may be properly be called the labour of production: such a technical
skill and perfection as enables an artist to clothe his ideas in
form. It is impossible in any art (and more especially so in music)
to separate absolutely form and substance, and to treat each as a
self-sufficing element, and equally impossible to divide at any given
point the creative, inventive force of an artistic production from its
formative, executive force. The process of production, whether physical
or mental, is a mystery to mankind; whence and how the artist is
inspired as by a lightning flash with an idea, he knows himself as
little as he can trace in his completed work the actual momentum of its
conception.
The characteristics of the gradual formation and perfection of artistic
ideas vary greatly in different artists; even in great and highly
organised natures the mental powers are variously endowed and developed.
Statements as to the easy or painful, rapid or deliberate, methods of
working of different artists, vague and unsatisfactory in themselves,
are for the most part the result of superficial observation and
knowledge. It is of little consequence whether an artist at his work
is easily distracted by external impressions, or whether he pursues his
train of thought undisturbed by what is going on around him. It is of
little consequence whether an artist feels necessitated or has made it
his habit, to regulate his intellectual labours, and to give a written
{MOZART AS AN ARTIST.}
(418)
form to every creative impulse, or whether he renounces external aids,
and shapes, proves, elaborates and connects his ideas in his own
mind only. That which is of consequence, that which no true artist is
without, is the power to carry on a train of thought from its earliest
germs to its full development, unhindered by interruptions and
distractions; and the further power to realise the idea of the whole at
every point, as the determining element of the details of conception and
form. It is difficult to know whether to admire more the steady flow
of invention and form as it proceeds from some minds, or the gradual
evolution of a unique self-contained whole out of an apparent waste of
disconnected ideas which is characteristic of others. Mozart displayed
from every point of view an exceptionally happy organisation. His
copious and easily excited productive power was supported by a delicate
sense of form, which was developed to such perfection by thorough and
varied study that he employed the technicalities of musical form as if
by a natural instinct. In addition to this he possessed the gift of so
detaching his mind from what was going on around him that he could work
out his ideas even to the minutest detail; his wonderful memory
enabling him to retain in its completeness whatever he had thus inwardly
elaborated, and to reproduce it at any moment in a tangible form.
The impulse which drives an artist to production is seldom consciously
felt by himself and is never capable of definition. In most cases this
signifies but little, for external impulse usually furnishes only the
occasion for a work of art, and even when the impulse happens to be a
visible one our attention is concentrated on the creation which it
has called forth. This is especially true of music, which draws its
immediate inspiration neither from nature nor from the world of thought.
It would be of the highest interest to follow the process by means of
which impressions made on the artist's mind produce well-defined
musical ideas. This, however, is impossible; the idea and its musical
development are simultaneous efforts of the mind; the work of art thus
called into being cannot be immediately referred to any impulse from
without.
{METHOD OF WORKING.)
(419)
Nor is it by any means essential that it should. It is of far greater
psychological interest to consider those characteristics of the artist
which give a clearer insight into his disposition and ways of feeling,
although it may not be possible to trace them in the details of his
works. Thus we are told that the sight of beautiful nature stirred
Mozart's productive powers to activity. Rochlitz writes on Con-stanze's
authority:[12]--
When he was travelling with his wife through beautiful scenery, he used
to gaze earnestly and in silence on the scene before him; his usually
absent and thoughtful expression would brighten by degrees, and he would
begin to sing, or rather to hum, finally breaking out with: "If I could
only put the subject down on paper!" And, when I sometimes said that he
could do so if he pleased, he went on: "Yes, of course, all in proper
form! What a pity it is that one's work must all be hatched in one's own
room!"
He always endeavoured to pass the summer in the country or where there
was a garden; it is well known that it was chiefly in a garden that he
wrote "Don Juan" in Prague and the "Zauberflöte" in Vienna; and in 1758,
having taken a country residence for the summer, he wrote to Puchberg
(June 27): "I have done more in the ten days that I have been here than
I should have done in two months anywhere else." This love of nature is
not surprising in a man of Mozart's healthy tone of mind, who had been
brought up amid the beautiful surroundings of Salzburg. But he was by no
means wedded to these, or to any other influences from without. Wherever
he was he was incessantly occupied with musical thoughts and labours.
"You know," he writes to his father (Vol. II., p. 43), "that I am, so to
speak, steeped in music--that it is in my mind the whole day, and that
I love to dream, to study, to reflect upon it." Those who knew him well
could not fail to be aware of this. His sister-in-law Sophie describes
him well:[13]--
He was always good-humoured, but thoughtful even in his best moods,
looking one straight in the face, and always speaking with reflection,
whether the talk was grave or gay; and yet he seemed always to be
carrying on a deeper train of thought. Even when he was washing his
{MOZART AS AN ARTIST.}
(420)
hands in the morning, he never stood still, but walked up and down the
room humming, and buried in thought. At table he would often twist up
a corner of the table-cloth, and rub his upper lip with it, without
appearing in the least to know what he was doing, and he sometimes
made extraordinary grimaces with his mouth. His hands and feet were in
continual motion, and he was always strumming on something--his hat, his
watch-fob, the table, the chairs, as if they were the clavier.
Karajan tells me that his barber used to relate in after-years how
difficult it was to dress his hair, since he never would sit still;
every moment an idea would occur to him, and he would run to the
clavier, the barber after him, hair-ribbon in hand. We have already
observed that musical ideas occupied him during all bodily exercises,
such as riding, bowls, and billiard-playing; his timidity in riding
may have arisen from the frequent distraction of his attention from the
management of his horse. General conversation, as Frau Haibl says,
did not disturb his mental labours, and his brother-in-law Lange was
particularly struck by the fact that when he was engaged on his most
important works he took more than his usual share in any light or
jesting talk that was going on; this resulted from an involuntary
impulse to find a counterpoise for his intellectual activity. Even when
music was going on, provided it did not particularly interest him, he
had the power of carrying on his own musical thoughts, and of ignoring
the music he heard, as completely as any other disturbance. His elder
sister-in-law, Frau Hofer, told Neukomm that sometimes at the opera
Mozart's friends could tell by the restless movements of his hands,
by his look, and the way in which he moved his lips, as if singing
or whistling, that he was entirely engrossed by his internal musical
activity.
The abstraction and absorption of men of genius appears natural and
comprehensible, and is respected even by those whose intellectual
activity is not concentrated in the same way. But few are able to enter
into the workings of a mind which is ever conceiving and shaping ideas
in its hidden recesses, without severing its connection with what is
going on around; such a mind has a sort of double existence, and appears
able to follow two paths leading in different
{MENTAL LABOUR AND PREOCCUPATION.}
(421)
directions at the same time. If, as sometimes happens, the outer
activity fails to keep pace with the inner, a superficial observer
possesses himself of this fact, and makes it the basis of his judgments,
leaving out of account the inner and true activity of which the outer
is but a manifestation. Even Mozart's father failed to comprehend his
peculiar organisation, and refused to recognise any results of his
labour but those which were written down, and which had thus, after a
long and uninterrupted chain of intellectual exertions, received the
seal of their artistic completion. To Mozart himself, on the contrary,
this part of his labour seemed unimportant and even burdensome, his
productive powers having little share in it. He postponed it as long as
possible, not only because he wished to retain his power over the work
which occupied him, until it was fully matured in his own mind, but also
because he took far more pleasure in creating than in transcribing. It
cannot be denied that he sometimes postponed this least congenial part
of his task too long. To the methodical man of business this appears
all the more blamable, since Mozart was always able at need to execute
commissions accurately and punctually; to speak of idleness, or of
forced industry, shows complete ignorance of the man. It is true that
Mozart laid himself open to the imputation by the speed at which he
wrote when he actually set to work; those who observed this could not
conceive why a man with such "gifts of Providence" did not "compose," as
people say, from morning to night. His wife said truly:[14] "The greater
industry of his later years was merely apparent, because he wrote
down more. He was always working in his head, his mind was in constant
motion, and one may say that he never ceased composing." Although his
wife was constantly called on by his admirers to urge him to work,
she considered it her duty far oftener to restrain and moderate his
activity.
The wonderful harmony of different artistic qualities in Mozart, which
Rossini expressed so finely by saying that Mozart was the only musician
who had as much genius as
{MOZART AS AN ARTIST.}
(422)
knowledge and as much knowledge as genius, may be traced in many
particulars. The more subordinate power of grasping the idea of a
strange composition at a glance, and of executing it on the spot, he
possessed as a matter of course. His playing at sight has already been
noted many times (Vol. I., pp. 37, log, 363, 365), and his criticism of
Sterkel and Vogler show his own view of the matter (Vol. I., p. 387).
"It must be," Umlauf said, as Mozart writes to his father (October 6,
1782), "that Mozart has the devil in his head and his fingers--he played
my opera, which is so badly written that even I cannot read it, as if
he had composed it himself." To this power of seeing at a glance the
details and whole conception of a musical work was added a marvellous
memory, capable of retaining all that was so seen. As a boy he gave
proof of this by his transcription of the Miserere (Vol. I., p. 119);
in later years he used to play his concertos by heart when he was
travelling; not merely one or another that he had practised, but any or
all; he was known to play a concerto from memory that he had not seen
for long, because he had forgotten to bring the principal part.[15] At
Prague he wrote the trumpet and drum parts of the second finale in "Don
Juan" without a score, brought them himself into the orchestra, and
showed the performers a place where there would certainly be a mistake,
only he could not say whether there would be four bars too much or too
little; the mistake was found just as he had said.[16] But this proves
only the power of remembering what was finished and impressed on the
mind. A more remarkable instance of musical memory was his writing
only the violin part of a sonata for piano and violin to perform with
Strinasacchi (Vol. II., p. 337), and playing the piano part from his
head without ever having heard the piece; or writing a composition
at once in parts, without having scored it (Vol. II., p. 366). This
displays the astonishing clearness and precision with which he grasped
and retained compositions he
{MENTAL POWERS AND METHOD.}
(423)
had once thought out, even in their minutest details, and we can now
account for the rapidity of his transcription from the fact of its being
mere transcription. External distractions, so far from annoying him,
served to divert his mind during the mechanical labour with his pen.[17]
He made Constanze tell him stories, or played bowls; his wife tells us
herself how she was confined of her first child while he was composing
the second of his quartets, dedicated to Haydn (421 K.). This was in
the summer of 1783, and he sat at work in the same room where she lay;
indeed, he generally worked in her room during her frequent illnesses.
When she complained of pain, he would come to her to cheer and console,
resuming his writing as soon as she was calm. This is a striking proof
how unshackled Mozart's musical activity was by external circumstances;
it is not given to many to remain so completely master of their
ideas and powers during an event which would naturally appeal to the
ten-derest feelings of the heart. Still more striking is his expression
to his sister when he sends her the prelude and fugue before mentioned
(Vol. II., p. 321). He apologises for the prelude being placed
improperly after the fugue: "The reason was," he says, "that I had
already composed the fugue, and wrote it down while I was thinking out
the prelude."
Such mental powers as these reduced the mere writing to an almost
mechanical operation; nevertheless, he did not rely so completely as he
might have done on his memory, but made occasional notes for his better
convenience and certainty. Rochlitz tells us, no doubt on Constanze's
authority:[18]--
Mozart, when in company with his wife or those who put no restraint on
him, and especially during his frequent carriage journeys, used not only
to exercise his fancy by the invention of new melodies, but occupied his
intellect and feeling in arranging and elaborating such melodies, often
humming or singing aloud, growing red in the face and suffering no
interruption. The briefest indications in black and white sufficed to
preserve these studies in his memory; his easily kindled imagination,
his complete mastery of the resources of his art, and his extraordinary
{MOZART AS AN ARTIST.}
(424)
musical memory needed little aid; he used to keep scraps of music paper
at hand (when travelling, in the side-pocket of the carriage) for such
fragmentary notes and reminders;[19] these scraps,carefully preserved
in a case, were a sort of journal of his travels to him, and the whole
proceeding had a sort of sacredness to his mind which made him very
averse to any interference with it.
These notes, having served their purpose, seem to have been thought
unworthy of preservation; the few that remain are interesting and
suggestive. The sketch which is given in facsimile of Denis's ode (Vol.
II., p. 370) gives an outline of the whole work in writing so hasty as
scarcely to be recognised for Mozart's. The voice part is written entire
as well as the bass of the accompaniment, and the other parts have all
their characteristics so clearly noted that there could be no doubt as
to their further elaboration. It is evident that the composition was
finished in Mozart's brain when the sketch was written, so that it does
not appear as one attempt among several to give shape to his conception,
but as an aid to the memory when it should be necessary to write down
the whole in detail. Similar, but still slighter, is the sketch for one
of the songs in "L' Oca del Cairo," which is given in facsimile in Jul.
André's edition in pianoforte score. Here again the voice part is given
from beginning to end, but the bass is not shown, and the accompaniment
only here and there (once with the direction that the clarinets are to
be used). The piece was simple enough to require very slight reminders
for its elaboration. It would not be easy to decide whether such a
sketch should be considered as the result of much previous reflection
and study, or whether it was the immediate fruit of a moment of
inspiration.
These two sketches never having been elaborated, so far as we are aware,
we can make no comparison which will show how far such sketches were
modified before the completion of the work. There is considerable
difference between the first hasty sketch of the terzet (5) from the
"Sposo Deluso" (430 K.), which Jul. André has given in the
{SKETCHES.}
(425)
preface to his pianoforte edition, and the later elaboration of it.
Nothing remains but the first motif--[See Page Image]
but so differently applied that this sketch cannot have been taken as
the point of departure for the working-out, but must be considered as an
earlier and rejected conception. On the other hand, the sketches for a
song from "Idomeneo" (Vol. II., p. 148) and for a tenor song (420 K.)
are almost identical in the voice part with the score as it stands.
Peculiar interest attaches to Sketch I., given in facsimile. The three
first lines are noted for a clavier composition; then follows the sketch
of a terzet (434 K.) for two bass voices and a tenor, from an opera
buffa, on which Mozart was apparently at work in 1783. A fair copy of
the work is partially preserved, and gives an idea of the way in which
Mozart arranged his scores. The sketch contains only the voice parts,
with slight hints for the accompaniment, showing how in one place the
first idea was rejected and then again resumed. It is evident from
the way in which the space is employed that the notes were made very
hastily.
The score, on the contrary, is a fair copy of the work accidentally
left unfinished. It has the proper number of parts for the voices and
orchestra, with the corresponding title before each. The ritornello is
first given, which is long, because it serves as an introduction to the
first scene of the opera. It is formed of motifs which recur later, and
it is plain that this independent introduction was written after the
completion of the terzet, in which the motifs have each their special
signification. The principal parts (first violin and bass), are written
in full, but only those parts of the wind instruments in which they have
independent motifs; all that was intended to give colouring and shading
to this simple outline is omitted. The voice parts are all inserted in
proper order, and the bass is given in full; but there are few hints for
the accompaniment. It is all written firmly and neatly, showing
plainly enough that it was finished. The deviations from the sketch are
unimportant
{MOZART AS AN ARTIST.}
(426)
in the bass voice, more striking in the tenor, where the primary
design of the melody remains, but the elaboration is modified and the
conclusion lengthened. Where the voices are together nothing has been
altered, so far as we can discover. The first sketch breaks off a
few bars sooner than the score, which itself is a comparatively small
fragment of the whole terzet.
It is evident, therefore, that the true artistic work was done before
the first sketch was made, and that the elaboration of the latter into
the score was no mere mechanical adoption of the motif (which seems to
have been rejected upon critical revision and, so to speak, bom
again), but the final reduction to form of what was already complete
in conception. This is still more the case in the elaboration of the
accompaniment in detail; the well-defined outline which is given keeps
it within certain limits without imposing on it any hampering restraint.
Further instances may be found in those works of which the plans of the
scores, generally unelaborated, are preserved. Particularly instructive
are the unelaborated movements of the Mass in C minor (427 K.) and of
the "Requiem" (626 K.) in André's edition; also the pianoforte score of
the duet (384 K.) from the "Entführung" and the unfinished opera "L' Oca
del Cairo," edited by Jul. André, are examples of similar sketches.
They possess peculiar interest to students, since they show those points
which Mozart considered as containing the germ of the whole conception.
The different stages of the elaboration can be traced in most of
Mozart's autograph scores. The voices and bass are invariably written
first, and enough of the accompaniment to show its characteristic
points; this fact can be recognised, even in scores afterwards fully
elaborated, by the differences in ink and handwriting, which is
generally more hasty in the elaboration than in the earlier sketch. When
once this was made, the elaboration was often long deferred; the whole
of the first act of "L' Oca del Cairo" was thus projected, and, the
design of the opera being abandoned, was never elaborated; so, too, all
the movements of the "Requiem," from the Dies irse to the Quam olim were
written entire for the voices with a figured bass, while the
{ALTERATIONS AND IMPROVEMENTS.}
(427)
instrumentation was only suggested. He waited for time and inclination
to continue the work thus begun, and needed more urging to it than to
any other, for once having fixed the outline of his design, it required
a mere mechanical effort to reproduce it in his mind with details of
form and colour. A striking example is that mentioned on p. 360 (Vol.
II.), where, by the figuring of the bass, he supplied an aid to his
memory of a peculiar harmonic succession which perhaps flashed across
him at the moment of transcription in his compositions.
Important alterations were seldom made by Mozart, unless at the instance
of the singer or the instrumentalist. He sent his father the score of
the "Entführung" with the remark that there were many erasures, because
the score had to be copied at once, and he had therefore given free
play to his ideas, and then altered and curtailed them before giving
the score to be written; it is evident from this that the alterations
were almost all made with reference to external circumstances. The
improvements made as the work proceeded were usually only trifling,
such as modifications in pianoforte passages, or unimportant turns of
expression in vocal parts. Thus, for instance, the close of the Count's
song in "Figaro" was originally simpler--[See Page Image]
{MOZART AS AN ARTIST.}
(428)
In the duet for the two girls in "Cosi fan Tutte" (4), Dorabella's part
had the bars--[See Page Images]
The decided heroic style of the first version, which would be fitting
enough for Fiordiligi, is thus toned down, and an expression of greater
elegance given to the passage.
It is worth remarking that the characteristic motif of Donna Anna's song
in "Don Giovanni"--
Or sai chi l' o-no- re ra - pi - re a me vol-se, chi fu il tra - di - to
-re, was originally--
Or sai chi l'o-no-re ra - pi - re a me vol-se, chi fu il tra - di - to -
re, and every one must feel how greatly it has gained by the alteration.
In every case Mozart's self-criticism has been founded on true feeling
and discrimination, even when it has not been called for on definite
technical grounds. In the Countess's song in "Figaro" (19) the
first division of the allegro, from bar eight, concluded originally
thus:--[See Page Image]
The phrase as it is now known was written underneath and the bass
scratched out. In the further course of the allegro the three bars--
{ALTERATIONS AND IMPROVEMENTS.}
(429)
were originally simply repeated after the interlude, and then went
on:--[See Page Images]
Mozart appears to have felt when he surveyed the whole song that such
an untroubled expression of a fresh joyous impulse was not altogether
appropriate to the character of the Countess, and he therefore inserted
seven bars on the repetition of the motif, which give the passage an
altogether different colour:--
The strongly accented change to C minor expresses such a depth of sorrow
and yearning pathos that the lively tone of the allegro seems to be
covered with a veil, and the whole emphasis of the song falls upon this
place. Certainly, none would have suspected this passage of being
an interpolation. The concluding bars of the Andante of the C major
symphony (551 K.) originally ran thus:--
How beautifully this passage is replaced by the eleven closing bars,
which now lead back to the chief theme, and give emphasis and dignity
to the close! In the terzet from "Tito" (14) the andantino originally
closed with a simple passage for the strings:--
{MOZART AS AN ARTIST.}
(430)
This is now replaced by a passage divided among all the
instruments--[See Page Images]
which, with its agitated motion, is more sharply characteristic of the
situation. All these are examples, not of improvements to a finished
work, but of a free act of production giving a new disposition to the
passages in their relation to the whole work. But Mozart sometimes
hesitated at the moment of decision, and made repeated experiments
before he was satisfied, as in the case of the conclusion of Susanna's
charming song in "Figaro," which seems to belong so naturally to its
position that one cannot imagine it other than it is; yet the sketches
and alterations of the original show that many earlier experiments
were made. Worthy of note also are the two bars in the overture to the
"Zauberflote" (p. 10, André), in which the clarinet leads the repetition
of the second subject--
and which Mozart, with just discrimination, has struck out of the
finished work.
It is a curious fact that Mozart was sometimes uncertain as to his
rhythm. The quartet in "Cosi fan Tutte" (21) was originally written:--
At the eighth bar Mozart saw that this was incorrect, and altered the
first bars--
and continued it so. There is an exactly similar case in the duet in the
"Zauberflote" (8) which Mozart wrote at first thus--
{ALTERATIONS AND IMPROVEMENTS.}
(431)
and did not find out his mistake until quite the end, when he carefully
scratched out all the bar lines and put in the correct ones:--[See Page
Images]
Again, in Sesto's air in "Tito" (19), the adagio originally began--
but the bar lines were afterwards erased and fresh ones supplied in red
chalk, making the first bar full. Another very singular mistake in the
duet in the "Zauberflöte" consists in the omission in the second and
third bars of the two chords for clarinets and horns, which Mozart has
evidently merely forgotten to transcribe. Now and then, but very rarely,
important alterations are made in the instrumentation of his works.
One instance occurs in the introduction to the "Zauberflöte," at the
beginning of which the trumpets and drums were in C, and were so carried
on to the entrance of the three ladies; then Mozart seems to
have thought that trumpets and drums could be used with effect as
accompaniment, and he has struck through all that he had previously
written, and noted the trumpets and drums upon a loose sheet in E flat;
he has then continued them for seven bars as an accompaniment to the
opening trio. At the beginning of Leporello's great songs in "Don
Giovanni" (1,4) trumpets and drums were indicated, but they were
afterwards struck out when it came to be performed. In a long comic air,
which was intended for "Cosi fan Tutte" (584 K.), he has struck out the
horn part, after writing the whole of it. In Dorabella's air (28) the
fundamental bass of those parts where only wind instruments are now
employed was intrusted to the double-bass; Mozart afterwards struck this
out, and expressly noted "senza basso." In the second finale
{MOZART AS AN ARTIST.}
(432)
of the "Zauberflöte" the _piano_ chords which follow Pamina's words,
"Ich muss ihn sehen" were first given by the strings, but flutes and
clarinets were afterwards substituted. In the G minor symphony he at
first intended to have four horns, but after a few bars he struck them
out, and limited himself to two. In the terzet in the "Zauberflöte"
(20), the first bar of the accompaniment was given to the violins,
thus--[See Page Image]
which was afterwards erased, and a single crotchet used on the
unaccented part of the bar, with great gain to the effect. But these are
solitary instances. The individual tone-colouring of the instruments
is an essential element of musical construction, which cannot be added
afterwards, but is contemporaneous with the conception, and has its
own share in the working-out of the musical idea. When, therefore, the
composer develops his work in his own mind, he hears not only certain
abstract sounds, but definite individual tones embodied in the voices
and instruments; the whole image glows with vivid colouring in his
mind, and only needs to receive its outward form. Besides, it must be
remembered that Mozart himself created the orchestra as it was employed
with increasing effect from "Idomeneo" onwards; the full use of wind
instruments, their combination with each other and with the strings;
the consequent radical change of colouring in the instrumentation as
a whole, and the wealth of charming detail in the blending of the
tone-colours, are all due to Mozart.[20] He had never heard the effects
he strove to produce; they existed in the orchestra, it is true, as the
statue exists in the marble; but just as the sculptor must have seen
with his spiritual eye what he strives to reproduce in the stone, so
Mozart can have heard only with his spiritual ear the sounds which he
drew from his orchestra.[21]
{SKETCHES.}
(433)
The alterations which have been mentioned are not to be considered as
selected from among many similar instances, they are the only ones of
any consequence with which my researches have acquainted me. In forming
our idea of Mozart's method of writing his score, we may remark further,
that he did not content himself with such hasty outlines beforehand as
might suggest the course of the whole by a few touches, but sketched out
fully those parts where he thought well to give particular attention
to the details. Canons, fugues, passages in counterpoint, with a
complicated disposition of parts or some other difficulty, were worked
out upon scraps of music paper or sheets which had been previously used
but not quite filled, and then transferred to the score. An accurate
sketch for the first finale in "Don Giovanni," for instance, where the
three dance melodies occur together in different measures, was shown to
me by Al. Fuchs, who had procured one such sketch from each of Mozart's
great operas. There was another also of the three-part canon in the
second finale of "Cosi fan Tutte," in which only the canon, not the
voice part belonging to it, was noted. There exists also, in addition
to the rough draft of the score of "L' Oca del Cairo," sketches of
those parts of the quartet (6) and finale (7) which demand particular
attention on account of the contrapuntal disposition of the parts.
Unfortunately but few of these sketches have been preserved, but those
few show Mozart's method very clearly, and leave no doubt that they were
made in order that his conception might be fully developed and arranged
in his own mind before its final reduction to writing. They testify,
too, of the thoughtfulness and deliberation with which he worked, of
the severe demands which he made upon himself, and the conscientiousness
which prevented his trusting to the lucky inspiration of the moment or
to his own well-tried readiness of resource. Our idea of Mozart as
an artist is no longer that which has been so commonly received and
admired, and which shows us a spendthrift of his artistic powers, who
was only driven by dire necessity to collect the fruits which his
genius cast unbidden into his lap. The prerogative of genius is not a
dispensation from labour and painful exertion, but
{MOZART AS AN ARTIST.}
(434)
the power of attaining the highest aims of such labour, and of
obliterating every trace of effort in the perfection of the work.
The external characteristics of Mozart's scores show also great care for
order and clearness. His handwriting was small, but though often rapid,
and sometimes hasty, always clear, decided, and individual.[22] The
smaller details, in which copyist's errors might easily creep in, are
specially cared for; all the instructions for delivery are carefully
given in each part. In short, Mozart's scores leave an impression, not
of pedantry, which magnifies what is unimportant and loses time in an
exaggerated regard for method and uniformity, but of a well-considered
order and careful arrangement of details in their due relation to the
whole work.
Admirably illustrative of Mozart's method, as we have endeavoured to
portray it, are the numerous unfinished compositions of which frequent
mention has been made; many of these were found after his death,[23]
and some are preserved in the Mozarteum at Salzburg. Among these rough
draughts of scores are several beginnings of masses belonging to his
Salzburg days, as also some songs and many unfinished instrumental
compositions, but by far the greater part were written in Vienna. Among
them we may note:--
6 fragments of string quintets.
2 quintets for clarinet and strings.
1 quartet for English horn and strings.
9 drafts of violin quartets.
9 drafts of pianoforte concertos.
1 pianoforte quartet.
2 drafts of pianoforte trios.
1 sonata for pianoforte and violoncello.
2 sonatas for pianoforte and violin.
4 movements for two pianofortes.
9 movements for the pianoforte.!!!
These are none of them roughly sketched drafts, but fair copies of
unfinished scores, the completion of which was prevented by outward
circumstances. Again we meet with
{UNFINISHED COMPOSITIONS.}
(435)
confirmation of the fact that Mozart never began to write until his
composition was in all essential points completed in his own mind. When
only a few bars are written they offer a perfected melody, a motif only
requiring its further development. When the sketches are longer they
form a well-rounded, continuous whole, that is evidently interrupted,
not because the continuation is not ready to hand, but because some
chance has prevented its further transcription. It may be plainly
discerned also that not only are detached ideas put into shape, but the
different characteristic traits of execution are indicated in the usual
way, so that the chief effects and capabilities of the motifs may be
clearly inferred.
It appears as if Mozart, when once interrupted in the transcription of
a composition, was very loth to return to it again. That he might have
done so cannot for a moment be doubted. His memory was infallible; but
his interest was concentrated on the work with which he was concerned
at the moment. He was easily impelled to write what he had already
completed in his head, and this led him naturally to the next piece of
work; to return to what he considered as over and done with was contrary
to his nature and habit. There is no reason whatever to suppose that any
of these sketches, preliminary notes, or unfinished compositions were
ever subsequently made use of. This not only testifies of the wealth and
ease of his productivity, which scorned to borrow even from himself,
but it proves that his creations proceeded immediately from spontaneous
impulses, each having independent birth, and owing its development to
the singular fecundity of his artistic nature. The individual truth
and fresh life of Mozart's works are founded in this natural spring of
ever-welling spontaneity. Their artistic perfection rests on the
skill with which the conception is developed; but in what consists the
peculiar charm and beauty which is acknowledged and enjoyed by us all
as inseparable from Mozart's music is, and will ever remain, an unsolved
mystery.
However carefully Mozart, as a rule, prepared his compositions before
writing them, we, who are acquainted with his nature and education, can
scarcely doubt that he was
{MOZART AS AN ARTIST.}
(436)
able on occasion to compose as he wrote. Such a song as that which he
wrote in the tavern for Frau von Keess cannot well have been ready in
his head. When he was in Prague at the beginning of 1787 he promised
Count Joh. Pachta to write a country dance for a public ball, but failed
to produce it. At last the Count invited him to dinner an hour earlier
than his usual time, and when Mozart appeared placed all the requisite
materials before him, and entreated him to compose the dance on the
spot, seeing that it was required for the following day. Mozart set to
work, and before dinner had composed nine country dances, scored
for full orchestra (510 K), which he certainly had not prepared
beforehand.[24] These and similar instances refer to easy pieces in
free form; but we have already seen (Vol. II., p. 366), that he could
improvise canons and double canons of an unusual kind; and what further
proof can be required than reference to his marvellous gift of executive
improvisation?
In composing Mozart never had recourse to improvisation. "He never came
to the clavier when he was writing." says Niemetschek (p. 82); "his
imagination pictured the whole work when he had once conceived it."
His wife also says naïvely, but graphically: "He never composed at the
clavier, but wrote music like letters, and never tried a movement until
it was finished."[25] When his compositions were completed he used to
rehearse them, singing or playing, with his wife or any one else who
happened to come in. Kelly narrates that Mozart greeted him one evening
with, "I have just written a little duet for 'Figaro.' You shall hear
it." He sat down at the pianoforte, and they sang it together; it was
the duet (16) "Crudel perché finora"; and Kelly often remembered
with keen delight how he had first heard and sung this charming
composition.[26]
{IMPROVISATION.}
(437)
In one sense, it is true, Mozart felt the necessity for an external vent
to his musical ideas; and for this he had frequent recourse to his
own special instrument, the clavier or pianoforte. "Even in his later
years," says Niemetschek (p. 83), "he often spent half the night at the
piano'[27] these were the hours that witnessed the birth of his divinest
melodies. In the silent calm of night, when there was nothing to
distract the mind, his imagination was kindled into supernatural
activity, and revealed the wealth of melodious sound which lay dormant
in his nature. At such times Mozart was all emotion and music, and
unearthly harmonies flowed from his fingers! Only those who heard him
then could know the depth and extent of his musical genius; his spirit,
freed from every impediment, spread its bold pinions, and soared into
the regions of art." It could scarcely fail to be the case that in such
hours as these the subject of his improvisation should often be the work
of which his mind was full at the time; but it would be a mistake to
consider the improvisation as an express preparation for a subsequent
work, or as the actual source from which it sprang. The improvisation
was the embodiment of the mood of the moment, its form and extent were
limited by the conditions of the instrument on which it was played, and
it could by no means serve as an immediate foundation to a work to
be performed under entirely different conditions and with a definite
object.
Mozart carefully separated his time for writing and his time for
improvising. To the end of his life he kept to his early habit of
writing in the morning (Vol. II., p. 208), and even when he had been out
the evening before, or had played far into the night, he was accustomed
to begin work at six or seven o'clock; in later days, however, he
indulged himself by writing in bed. After ten he usually gave lessons,
and never returned to the writing-table unless there were urgent
occasion. Such occasion arose often enough, it is
{MOZART AS AN ARTIST.}
(438)
true. When he was composing "Figaro," his father tells Marianne
(November 11, 1785) how he postponed all his pupils until the afternoon,
so as to have the whole morning free for writing, and we have already
seen that he sometimes wrote in the evening, and even at night. Mozart's
marvellous improvisations were not confined to hours of solitude and
calm, nor to the satisfaction of his inner cravings; he showed himself
equally master of the art when the impulse came from without, as was
frequently the case, for people loved to hear him improvise. There is a
peculiar charm in this accomplishment which, while it at once identifies
the artist with his creation, requires the highest concentration of
artistic energy to satisfy the varied conditions on which the production
of a work of art depends. The improvising musician and his audience act
and react upon each other; the latter receive the direct impression of
the artist's individuality and power, and feel themselves, as it were,
let into the secret of his method of producing the works which delight
them, while the former is inspired to fresh efforts of genius by his
consciousness of possessing the sympathy of his hearers. Mozart was
always ready to play when he thought he should give pleasure, but he
improvised in his best vein only "when he spied out among the crowd
surrounding him one or more of the privileged few who were capable
of following the flights of his genius; oblivious of all others, he
addressed the elect in the hieroglyphics of his art, and poured
forth for them alone his richest streams of melody."[28] We have
much contemporary testimony as to the impression made by Mozart's
improvising. Ambros Rieder, who died in 1851 at eighty years of age in
Perch-tolsdorf--an enthusiastic musician and a worthy man--writes in his
"Recollections";[29]--
{IMPROVISATION.}
(439)
In my youth I had opportunities of hearing and admiring many
distinguished virtuosi, both on the violin and the harpsichord; but
I cannot describe my amazement and delight in hearing the great and
immortal W. A. Mozart play variations and improvise on the pianoforte
before a numerous and aristocratic audience. It was to me like the gift
of new senses of sight and hearing. The bold flights of his imagination
into the highest regions, and again down to the very depths of the
abyss, caused the greatest masters of music to be lost in amazement and
delight. I still, in my old age, seem to hear the echo of these heavenly
harmonies, and I go to my grave with the full conviction that there can
never be another Mozart.[30]
And Niemetschek, when an old man, said to Al. Fuchs: "If I dared to pray
the Almighty to grant me one more earthly joy it would be that I might
once again hear Mozart improvise; those who have not heard him can form
no idea of his extraordinary performances."[31] Repeated mention has
already been made of Mozart's readiness and skill in playing "out of
his head," as he used to call it (Vol. I., pp. 385-386). He avoided
the common error of improvising virtuosi in the introduction of long
cadenzas, "making a hash in the cadenza of what had sounded well enough
in the concerto," as Dittersdorf says (Selbstbiogr., p. 47). A new
fashion came into vogue about this time; instead of a long cadenza, a
simple theme was delivered, and then varied according to every rule of
the art; but Mozart used also frequently to improvise a free fantasia in
his concertos (Vol. II., p. 285). Rochlitz narrates[32] how at Leipzig
the audience wished to hear him alone at the close of one of his
concerts, and though he had already played two concertos and an
obbligato scena, and accompanied for nearly two hours--
He sat down at once, and played to the delight of all. He began simply
and seriously in C minor--but it is absurd to attempt to describe it.
As he was playing with special reference to the connoisseurs who were
present, he brought the flights of his fancy lower and lower, and closed
with the published variations on "Je suis Lindor." (Vol. II., p. 174).
{MOZART AS AN ARTIST.}
(440)
Stiepanek, writing of the concert which Mozart gave in Prague (February,
1787), says:--
At the close of the concert Mozart improvised on the pianoforte for a
good half-hour, and raised the enthusiasm of the delighted Bohemians
to its highest pitch, so that he was obliged to resume his place at the
instrument in compliance with their storm of applause. His second stream
of improvisation had a still more powerful effect, and the audience
again tumultuously recalled him. Their enthusiasm seemed to inspire
him, and he played as he had never played before, till all at once the
deathlike silence of the listeners was broken by a voice from among them
exclaiming, "Aus 'Figaro'!" whereupon Mozart dashed into the favourite
air, "Non più andrai," and improvised a dozen of the most interesting
and artistic variations upon it, ending his wonderful performance amid a
deafening storm of applause.[33]
Niemetschek also speaks of this concert (p. 40):--
A sweet enchantment seized upon us in listening to Mozart's
improvisation on the pianoforte, which he continued for more than half
an hour, and we gave vent to our delight in a perfect storm of applause.
His playing surpassed anything that could be imagined, uniting all the
qualities of first-rate composition and perfect ease of execution.
Such moments of inspiration as this gave his countenance an expression
which betrayed the artist within him.[34] At other times, his appearance
was in no way striking or distinguished. His head was somewhat too large
in proportion to his body; his face was pale, though not unpleasing,
but in no way uncommon, and the Mozart family nose asserted itself very
plainly as long as he continued to be thin. His eyes were tolerably
large and well shaped, with good eyelashes and bushy brows, but they
were not bright, and his look was absent and restless. He had a great
dislike to hearing his appearance commented on as insignificant (Vol.
I., p. 381), and was seriously angry once when the Prussian ambassador
gave him a letter of introduction, in which he said that he hoped
Mozart's insignificant personal appearance would cause no prejudice
against him.[35] "This absent creature," says the notice in
Schlichtegroll's "Nekrolog," "became another being as soon as he sat
down to the piano.
{MANUAL DEXTERITY.}
(441)
His spirit seemed to soar upwards, and his whole mind was absorbed in
what seemed the proper object of his being, the harmony of sound." "His
whole countenance would change," says Niemetschek, "his eye became calm
and collected; emotion spoke from every movement of his muscles, and was
communicated by a sort of intuitive sympathy to his audience."
FOOTNOTES OF CHAPTER XXXII.
[Footnote 1: A. M. Z., I., p. 290; cf. p. 52. Nissen, p. 520.]
[Footnote 2: Genast, Aus d. Tageb. e. alten Schausp, I., p. 3.]
[Footnote 3: Hoffmann, Fantasiestücke (Ges. Schr., VII., p. 68). The story has
lately been discussed (cf. Signale, 1862, p. 531).]
[Footnote 4: C. M. von Weber deduces from his own experience "the ill results
upon the student's youthful mind of these marvellous anecdotes
concerning the masters whom he reverences and strives to follow."
(Lebensb., I., p. 177.)]
[Footnote 5: Rochlitz has frequently expressed correct views as to Mozart's
method of working, especially in the article "Ein guter Rath Mozarts"
(A. M. Z., XXII., p. 297. Für Freunde der Tonk., II., p. 281).]
[Footnote 6: A letter from Mozart to a certain Baron von P. upon this subject,
first printed by Rochlitz (A. M. Z., XVII., p. 561), and often
subsequently, is incontestably a fabrication as it stands. As it is
impossible to determine how far it is founded upon truth, it must remain
entirely out of the question.]
[Footnote 7: Niemetschek, p. 84.]
[Footnote 8: Rochlitz, A. M. Z., I., p. 115. Für Freunde der Tonkunst, IV., p.
239.]
[Footnote 9: Beethoven's expression is well known: "Handel is the unrivalled
master of masters; go and learn from him how with limited resources to
produce such grand results!" (Studien, Anhang, p. 22). Gluck took
Kelly (Reminisc., I., p. 255) into his bedroom, and showed him Handel's
portrait hanging near his bed, which he used reverently to greet each
morning on awaking.]
[Footnote 10: Haydn declared that Handel was grand in his choruses, but mediocre
in vocal solos (Griesinger, Biog. Not., p. 115).]
[Footnote 11: Rochlitz, A. M. Z., I., p. 117.]
[Footnote 12: A. M. Z., I., p. 147.]
[Footnote 13: Nissen, p. 627.]
[Footnote 14: Nissen, p. 694.]
[Footnote 15: Niemetschek, p. 85. Rochlitz, A. M. Z., I., p. 113. Fur Freunde der
Tonkunst, II., p. 287.]
[Footnote 16: Nissen, p. 560.]
[Footnote 17: Niemetschek, p. 82.]
[Footnote 18: Rochlitz, A. M. Z., XXII. p. 298. Für Freunde der Tonkunst, üI., p.
283.]
[Footnote 19: An old leather case which was used for the purpose was jokingly
called by him his portfolio, for the preservation of his valuable
documents.]
[Footnote 20: Cf. Niemetschek, p. 73.]
[Footnote 21: When Stadler once complained to him of an awkward passage, and
wished it altered, Mozart said: "Have you the notes in your instrument?"
"Yes," said he. "Then," answered Mozart, "it is your business to bring
them out." Neukomm told me this anecdote.]
[Footnote 22: The facsimile of the "Veilchen" affords an instance of Mozart's
handwriting during the time of the Vienna visit.]
[Footnote 23: The list compiled by Abbé Stadler (Rechtf. der Echth. d. Req.,
is given by Nissen (Anh., p. 18), and carefully revised by Köchel
(Anh., 12-109).]
[Footnote 24: Nissen, p. 561. Bohemia, 1856, No. 22, p. 118. There are four
quadrilles, each with a country dance; some of them are specially named,
"La Favorite," "La Fenice," "La Piramide." In one of them a theme is
delivered by the piccolo and big drum, which Weber has employed as an
Austrian grenadier march in "Kampf und Sieg" (Schr., üI., p. 97). He had
probably heard it in Prague.]
[Footnote 25: A. M. Z., I., p. 855; Nissen, p. 473.]
[Footnote 26: Kelly, Reminisc., I., p. 258,]
[Footnote 27: "From his childhood," says the article in Schlichtegroll's
Nekrolog, "he preferred playing at night; he seated himself at the
clavier at nine o'clock in the evening, and would remain at it until
midnight, having to be forced away even then; otherwise he would have
played through the whole night."]
[Footnote 28: So a contemporary asserts (Wien. Allg. Mus. Ztg., 1818, No. 3,
p. 62). Rochlitz speaks of Mozart's humour as one of his special
characteristics (A. M. Z., III., p. 590): "I have heard most of the
distinguished performers on this instrument since Mozart, except
Beethoven; the playing of many of them was admirable, but the
inexhaustible _wit_ of Mozart was never approached by any."]
[Footnote 29: N. Wien. Mus. Ztg., 1856, No. 25.]
[Footnote 30: Cf. Schink, Litt. Fragm., II., p. 288. An article on Beethoven
says (A. M. Z., I., p. 525): "He shows to the utmost advantage in
improvisation. Since Mozart's death, _who will always remain to my mind
the non plus ultra in this respect_, I have never had so much enjoyment
as from Beethoven."]
[Footnote 31: Deutsche Mus. Ztg., 1861, p. 322.]
[Footnote 32: A. M. Z., I., p. 113.]
[Footnote 33: Nissen, p. 517.]
[Footnote 34: Cf. Nissen, p. 622. Niemetschek, p. 66.]
[Footnote 35: Nissen, p. 692.]