There are some touching instances on record of royal personages in
affliction finding relief and consolation in studying music. The last
King of Hanover had the misfortune of being nearly deprived of his
eyesight some time before he came to the throne. As Crown Prince he
published a pamphlet entitled 'Ideas and Reflections on the Properties
of Music,' from which a few short extracts may find a place here, as
they show how soothing a balm this art was to him:--
"From early youth I have striven to make music my own. It has
become to me a companion and comforter through life; it has become
more and more valuable to me the more I learnt to comprehend and
appreciate its boundless exuberance of ideas, its inexhaustible
fulness, the more intimately its whole poetry was interwoven with
my whole being.... By means of music, ideas, feelings, and
historical events, natural phenomena, pictures, scenes of life of
all sorts, are as clearly and intelligibly expressed as by any
language in words; and we are ourselves enabled to express
ourselves in such a manner and to make ourselves understood by
others.... Of all the senses of man, sight and hearing are those by
which most effect is produced upon mind and heart, and which are
consequently the most powerful springs for the moral and rational
feelings, actions, and opinions of men. But Hearing appears to be
the most influential and operative of the two organs; for this
reason, that by inharmonious discordant tones our feelings may be
so shocked, even to their deepest recesses, and so painfully
wounded as to drive us almost beside ourselves; which impression
cannot possibly be produced in us by a bad picture, a dreary
landscape, or a very faulty poem.... I have known persons whose
spirits were broken, and their hearts rent by care, grief, and
affliction. They wandered about, murmuring at their fate, absorbed
in meditation, in vain seeking hope, in vain looking for a way to
escape. But, the excess of their inward pangs needed alleviation;
the heart discovered the means of procuring it: the deep-drawn
sighs of the oppressed bosom were involuntarily converted into
tones of lamentation, and this unconscious effusion was productive
of relief, composure, and courageously calm resignation. Yes,
indeed, it is above all in the gloomy hours of affliction that
Music is a soothing comforter, a sympathizing friend to the
sufferer; it gives expression to the gnawing anguish which rends
the soul, and which it thereby mitigates and softens: it lends a
tear to the stupefaction of grief; it drops mollifying healing
balsam into every wounded heart. Whoever has experienced this
effect himself, or witnessed it in others, will admit with me that
for this fairest service rendered by the art we cannot sufficiently
thank and revere it."
How sad and suggestive are these lines, penned by a royal musician!
Blind people delight in descriptive music depicting scenes which
painters might use as subjects for pictures. By the help of a lively
imagination, the ear to some extent serves also the purpose of the eye.
Thus may be explained the preference given by the Crown Prince to
certain compositions which are by no means of the highest class.
Speaking of Bellini's opera 'Norma,' he remarks: "In the Introduction
there is a most ingenious representation of a country. Commencing with
low tones, it unfolds itself in sombre harmony, and faithfully
reproduces the same impression that the darkness of the thick wood makes
upon the wanderer. Single, sliding, and abrupt notes seem to denote
lighter spots in the dark wood, and thus the first decoration of the
opera, the grove of sacrifice, is appropriately represented. The reader
will certainly be still more struck by the appositeness of this musical
picture, when I assure him that I know a blind person who, when he first
heard this introduction, immediately guessed that it was intended to
represent a scene in a wood."
Beethoven's Pastoral Symphony is, as might be expected, an especial
favourite with him, and he gives a detailed description of its several
movements, prefaced by the exclamation: "How clearly are the daily
occurrences and the individual scenes of rural life presented to the
hearer!"
Neither is it surprising that Haydn's 'Creation,' with its many
descriptive passages, should forcibly and very agreeably appeal to his
imagination. In commenting upon certain beauties in this oratorio, which
he especially admires, he remarks: "Above all, how strikingly has the
composer represented with all the powers of music the moment called
forth by the creative words 'Let there be light!' _and there was light_.
At these words the orchestra discharges itself in a truly electric
manner, so as absolutely to dazzle you. The hearer feels perfectly the
impression which the real occurrence of this adorable miracle of
Almighty power would make upon him; and in this delineation by tones is
exhibited to the sense of mortal man the only possible representation of
that sublime wonder in the most striking and convincing manner."
It not unfrequently happens to a musical composer that when a new idea
occurs to him while he is extemporizing, it appears to him at the first
moment more beautiful than he finds it to be on reconsideration. The
Prince, who enjoyed extemporizing on the pianoforte, kept in his service
a pianist, whose business it was to write down his inventions, which he
played repeatedly to the pianist to enable him to sketch at once as
faithfully as possible the chief ideas and modulations. These sketches
the pianist, who was a talented musician, had to take home in order to
work them out carefully according to the rules of musical composition.
Having accomplished his task, he attended at the palace with the
manuscript; and now it was his turn to play the new piece to his royal
master. But, however anxious he had been to preserve intact the original
ideas, he generally learnt to his concern that the music possessed no
longer those beauties which had been dictated to him.
Royal musicians who have studied Thorough Bass are sometimes formidable
critics. At any rate, it would appear so from some musical criticisms of
Frederick II., and of his sister the Princess Amalia. Frederick II.
(Frederick the Great) King of Prussia (born 1712, died 1786) was a
composer as well as a virtuoso on the flute. He regularly practised his
instrument daily. In earlier life it was his habit to play the scales
every morning as soon as he had risen from his bed; and he often
performed in the evening five concertos on the flute, which his royal
orchestra had to accompany. In composing he wrote down only the melody,
and he indicated with it in words how the bass and the other parts
should be contrived; for instance,--"Here the bass shall be in
Quavers;"--"Here the violins shall play alone," etc. These directions he
gave to his Kapellmeister Agricola, who then completed the score.
The musical pursuits of Frederick II. are interesting, but are too well
known to be here circumstantially recorded. Suffice it to mention his
singular behaviour on the occasion of the performance of Graun's 'Te
Deum,' after the termination of the Seven Years' War, in 1763. The
orchestra and singers who had assembled in the royal palace at
Charlottenburg punctually at the time at which they had been ordered to
appear, found to their surprise that there was no audience assembling.
After having waited for about half an hour in suspense, wondering
whether the performance of the 'Te Deum' was to take place, or whether
they had been summoned by inadvertence, they observed a side door being
opened at the end of the hall opposite to them, through which the King
entered quite alone, without any attendance. He sat down on a chair in a
corner, and made a sign to them to commence. At some of the full
choruses, when all the voices united, he held his hands before his eyes
to hide his tears. Several of the musicians who saw him became so much
affected that the tears rolled down their cheeks while they played. At
the end of the performance the King thanked them by a slight inclination
of his head, and retired through the side door through which he had
entered.
This noble royal musician was, however, so prepossessed by the
compositions of Graun, that hardly any composer, but such as wrote in
Graun's style, had a chance of finding favour with him. Kirnberger, the
celebrated theorist, in vain endeavoured to insinuate himself with the
King by submitting to "His Majesty's approval" a new treatise of his on
Thorough Bass. The treatise was soon returned to him with the following
letter:--
"His Royal Majesty of Prussia, etc., our most gracious Lord, cannot
persuade himself that the announced work of the Princely
Chamber-musician Kirnberger, in Berlin, contains anything new, or
particularly useful for the art of music, or for musical
composition, considering that Thorough Bass was already brought to
a certain perfection many years ago. This is, therefore, not to be
withheld from the said Kirnberger, in reply to his solicitation of
the day before yesterday.