Wo man singt da lass dich ruhig nieder,
Boese Menschen haben keine Lieder;
is as untenable as Shakespeare's assertion--
The man that has no music in himself,
Nor is not mov'd with concord of sweet sounds,
Is fit for treasons, stratagems and spoils;
considering that the Italian banditti sing hymns to the Virgin Mary, and
that there are kind-hearted Englishmen who cannot distinguish between
the airs of 'God save the Queen' and the 'Old Hundredth.' Anyhow, it may
be doubted whether certain distinguished royal musicians had really
music in their soul. Take, for instance, the Emperor Nero, who lived
about the middle of the first century of our era. Some statements
transmitted to us, respecting the depravity of this cruel monarch may be
unfounded,--such as that the large conflagration of Rome, which
occurred in his reign, was the work of incendiaries secretly hired by
him, and that he amused himself with looking at the fire from the top of
a high tower, and singing to the accompaniment of the lyre the
destruction of Troy, of which he had read, and which he desired to see
represented in the spectacle before him. Some say that he played on the
bagpipe. His principal instruments, on which he practised assiduously,
were the lyre and the harp. His voice was weak and hoarse; nevertheless,
in contesting with the best singers of his time, he always, of course,
gained the prize. Foreign musicians streamed to Rome to hear him, and to
flatter him. About five thousand of them were successful in so far as
they obtained appointments in his service with high salaries. He
undertook a professional tour through Greece, to perform in public; and
as those of his audience who did not applaud him ran the risk of losing
their life, a brilliant success could not fail to be constantly the
result of his appearance as a musician. The surest means of obtaining
his favour was to praise his voice, to be enraptured by his singing, and
distressed when he took the whim that he could not sing. It gratified
him to be pressingly implored to sing. In short, he did not appreciate
music for the sake of its beauties, but because it appeared to him a
suitable means for flattering his excessive vanity.
Such miserable royal musicians would at the present day, fortunately,
not be tolerated. But a rather harmless vanity like that shown in the
following example is still not uncommon, and may easily be excused, as
it is not incompatible with a good heart.
Joseph Clemens Cajetan, Elector and Archbishop of Cologne, sent in the
year 1720, the following letter to the Jesuit Seminary in Munich. It is
here translated from the German.
"Bonn, July 28th, 1720.
Dear Privy Councillor Rauch!
It may perhaps appear presumptuous that an Ignoramus, who knows
nothing at all about music, ventures to compose. This applies to
me, as I send you herewith eleven Motetts and other pieces, which
I have composed myself. I have achieved this in a strange way,
since I am not acquainted with the notes; nor have I the slightest
understanding respecting the art of music. I am, therefore,
compelled, when anything musical enters my head, to sing it to a
musical composer, and he commits it to paper. However, I must have
a good ear and good taste, because the public, when they hear my
music, always applaud it. The method which I have prescribed to
myself in composing is that of the bees, which extract the honey
from the most beautiful flowers, and mix it together. Thus also I.
Everything I have composed I have taken from only good masters
whose works pleased me. I candidly confess my theft, while others
deny theirs, as they want to appropriate whatever they have taken
from others. No one, therefore, dares to be vexed if he hears old
airs in my compositions; for, as they are beautiful, their
antiquity cannot detract from their value. I have determined to
present this work to the church Sti. Michaelis Archangeli, with the
P. P. Societatis Jesu, wherein my grandparents founded a Seminarium
Musicale; and I desire that this memorial of myself shall be
preserved there for eternity, especially for the reason that I have
composed most of this music in the time of my persecution. The
causes which induced me to compose the several pieces I herewith
add, thus:--
No. 1. Adjutorium nostrum in nomine Domini;--I made when I had to
suffer the greatest persecution, anno 1706.
No. 2. Ne nobis Domine;--on account of obtained victories.
No. 3. Tempus est;--on leaving the two towns, Ruessel and Valencien,
in gratitude for the many kindnesses which I and my kindred
received from the inhabitants of those towns.
No. 4. Victoria;--after the battle of Belgrade against the Turks,
in 1717.
No. 5. Per hoc vitae spatium;--when I was debating with myself what
pursuit I should follow, whether I should become spiritual or
remain secular.
No. 6. Quare fremuerunt gentes;--for my own consolation at a time
when I was unjustly persecuted to the utmost.
No. 7. Quem vidistis Pastores;--for Christmas.
No. 8. Parce Domine!--at Lent.
No. 9. Maria Mater gratiae;--to the honour of the ever-blessed
Mother of God.
No. 10. When my brother-in-law, the Dauphin, died, anno 1711.
No. 11. On the death of the nephew of the Dauphin and his consort,
in 1712; which composition I request the Seminary to have sung also
for me after my death.
I therefore desire you herewith to deliver the compositions, with
this letter by my own hand, in my name, to the P. Magister Chori,
and at the same time to assure him and the whole Seminary of my
clemency. I attribute all this to Divine Grace which has
enlightened me to accomplish thus much. I also assure you of my
clemency.