caused to be engraved, and sent on a card to the friends who visited
him. The end was indeed now near. On May 26, 1809, he had his servants
gathered round him for the last adieus; then, by his desire, he was
carried to the piano, where he played three times over the "Emperor's
Hymn," composed by him. Then he was taken to his bed, where five days
afterward he died.
BEETHOVEN
By C. E. BOURNE
(1770-1827)
[Illustration: Beethoven.]
In one of his letters to Frau von Streicher, at Baden, Beethoven
writes: "When you visit the ancient ruins, do not forget that
Beethoven has often lingered there; when you stray through the silent
pine-forests, do not forget that Beethoven often wrote poetry there,
or, as it is termed, composed." He was always fond of claiming the
title "Ton-dichter, poet in music;" and surely of all the great
geniuses who have walked the earth, to none can the glorious name of
"poet" more truly be given than to Ludwig von Beethoven.
He was born at Bonn, on December 17, 1770. His father, Johann von
Beethoven, was a tenor singer in the Electoral Chapel of the
Archbishop of Cologne, at Bonn, and his mother, Maria Magdalena, was a
daughter of the head cook at the castle of Ehrenbreitstein. The
Beethoven family originally came from Louvain, in Belgium; but the
composer's grandfather had settled in Bonn, first as a singer, and
afterward as Capellmeister to the court. Musicians were not held of
much account in those days, and the marriage of a singer with the
daughter of a cook was not at all considered a mesalliance. Johann was
a sad drunken scapegrace, and his poor wife, in bringing up her family
upon the small portion of his earnings which she could save from being
squandered at the tavern, had a pitiably hard and long struggling life
of it.
Johann soon discovered the extraordinary musical endowments of his
child and at once set to work to make a "prodigy" of him, as Handel,
Bach, and Mozart had been before; for in this way the father hoped to
secure a mine of wealth and lazy competence for himself. So the boy,
when only a few years old, was kept for long weary hours practising
the piano, and one of the earliest stories of his life is of the
five-year-old little child made to stand on a bench before the piano
laboring over the notes, while the tears flowed fast down his cheeks
at the cold and aching pain, from which his hard taskmaster would not
release him. Besides his father, a clever musician who lodged in the
house, Pfeiffer, an oboist at the theatre, gave him lessons. Beethoven
used afterward to say that he had learnt more from this Pfeiffer than
from any one else; but he was too ready to abet the father in his
tyranny, and many a time, when the two came reeling home late at night
from drinking bouts at the tavern, they would arouse the little fellow
from his sleep and set him to work at the piano till daybreak.
His next instructor was Neefe, the organist of the Archbishop's
private chapel, a really skilful and learned musician, who predicted
that the boy would become a second Mozart. Under him Beethoven studied
for several years, and in 1782, when he was hardly twelve years old,
we find him acting as organist in Neefe's place during the absence of
the latter on a journey. The next year three sonatas composed by young
Beethoven, and dedicated to the Elector in fulsome language, which was
probably his father's production, were printed. Soon afterward the boy
obtained the appointment of assistant-organist to the Elector, with a
salary of a hundred thalers, no inconsiderable addition to the
resources of his poor mother, who, with her family of three children,
Ludwig, Carl, and Johann, and the more and more frequent visits of her
ne'er-do-well of a husband to the tavern, was often grievously hard
put to it for money. Young Ludwig had little play time in his life,
and little opportunity for education; but amid his hard work some
indications of a mischievous boyish spirit are to be found.
In the year 1791, the Elector, as head of the Teutonic Order, had to
be present at a grand conclave at Mergentheim, and thither he resolved
to take his musical and theatrical staff. Two ships were chartered to
convey these gentlemen down the Rhine and Maine, and a very pleasant
excursion, with all sorts of frolics and high revellings, they had of
it. Lux, a celebrated actor, was chosen king of the expedition, and we
find Beethoven figuring among the scullions.
In the autumn of the year following, a visit was paid by Haydn to Bonn
on his return from his second journey to London. The musicians of the
town gave a breakfast at Godesberg in his honor, and here Beethoven
summoned up courage to show the veteran musician a cantata which he
had recently composed. This was warmly praised by Haydn, and probably
about this time arrangements were made for Beethoven to be received
as a pupil by the older master. It is in this period that we must
place a well-known anecdote. The young musician, already famous in his
own neighborhood, was composing, as his custom was, in the wood
outside the city, when a funeral cortege passed him. The priest,
seeing him, instantly checked the dirge which was being chanted, and
the procession passed in solemn silence, "for fear of disturbing him."
In the beginning of November, 1792, the young musician left Bonn for
Vienna, and, as it happened, he never afterward returned to the
familiar scenes of his birthplace.
Beethoven was never a very easy man to get on with, and his
intercourse with Haydn, who used to call him the "Great Mogul," does
not seem to have been the most friendly. He was dissatisfied with the
instruction given him, and suspicions were awakened in his mind that
the elder musician was jealous of him, and did not wish him to
improve. These thoughts were strengthened by the result of a chance
meeting one day, as he was walking home with his portfolio under his
arm, with Johann Schenk, a scientific and thoroughly accomplished
musician. Beethoven complained to him of the little advance he was
making in counterpoint, and that Haydn never corrected his exercises
or taught him anything. Schenk asked to look through the portfolio,
and see the last work that Haydn had revised, and on examining it he
was astonished to find a number of mistakes that had not been pointed
out. It is difficult to understand Haydn's conduct in this matter, for
the perfidious treatment suspected by Beethoven is quite at variance
with the ordinarily accepted character of the old man, and I cannot
help fancying that the only foundation for Beethoven's suspicion was
that Haydn did not quite understand the erratic genius of the youth
till some time afterward. Beethoven dedicated his three pianoforte
sonatas, Op. II., to Haydn, and when the latter suggested that he
should add on the title page "Pupil of Haydn," the "Great Mogul"
refused, bluntly saying "that he had never learnt anything from him."
After Haydn, Albrechtsberger and Salieri were for a time his teachers,
but Beethoven got on no better with them, and Albrechtsberger said,
"Have nothing to do with him; he has learnt nothing, and will never do
anything in decent style." Perhaps not in your pedant's style, O great
contrapuntist!
Beethoven cannot be said to have been unfortunate in his friends. He
had many true and faithful ones throughout his life, and though he
suffered from pecuniary troubles, caused by the conduct of his
brothers, he was never in such a state of grinding poverty as some
other artists, such as Schubert, have been--never compelled to waste
precious years of his life in producing "pot-boilers"--working not for
art so much as for mere food and shelter. In 1794 Prince Karl
Lichnowski, who had been a pupil of Mozart, and who, as well as his
wife Christiane, was _fanatico per la musica_, proposed that Beethoven
should come and live at his palace. They had no children; a suite of
rooms was placed at the musician's disposal; no terms were proposed;
the offer was the most delicate and friendly imaginable, and was
accepted by Beethoven in the spirit in which it was made. For ten
years he resided with the Lichnowskis, and these were probably the
years of purest happiness in the great composer's life, although early
in their course the terrible affliction of deafness began to be felt
by him. He at this time freely frequented the salons of the Viennese
nobility, many of whom were accomplished virtuosi themselves, and were
able to appreciate the great genius of the new-comer, rough and
bearish as oftentimes he must have appeared to them--a great contrast
to the courtly Haydn and Salieri, who might be seen sitting side by
side on the sofa in some grandee's music-room, with their swords,
wigs, ruffles, silk stockings, and snuff-boxes, while the
insignificant-looking and meanly dressed Beethoven used to stand
unnoticed in a corner. Here is a description of his appearance given
by a Frau von Bernhard: "When he visited us, he generally put his head
in at the door before entering, to see if there were any one present
he did not like. He was short and insignificant-looking, with a red
face covered with pock-marks. His hair was quite dark. His dress was
very common, quite a contrast to the elegant attire customary in those
days, especially in our circles.... He was very proud, and I have
known him refuse to play, even when Countess Thun, the mother of
Princess Lichnowski, had fallen on her knees before him as he lay on
the sofa to beg him to. The Countess was a very eccentric person....
At the Lichnowskis' I saw Haydn and Salieri, who were then very
famous, while Beethoven excited no interest."
It was in the year 1800 that Beethoven at last was compelled to
acknowledge to himself the terrible calamity of almost total deafness
that had befallen him. He writes to his friend Wegeler, "If I had not
read somewhere that man must not of his own free will depart this
life, I should long ere this have been no more and that through my own
act.... What is to be the result of this the good God alone knows. I
beg of you not to mention my state to any one, not even to Lorchen
[Wegeler's wife]. But," he continues, "I live only in my music, and no
sooner is one thing completed than another is begun. In fact, as at
present, I am often engaged on three or four compositions at one
time."
[Illustration: An Anecdote about Beethoven.]
But at first all was not gloom; for Beethoven was in love--not the
love of fleeting fancy that, like other poets, he may have experienced
before, but deeply, tragically, in love; and it seems that, for a time
at least, this love was returned. The lady was the Countess Julia
Guicciardi; but his dream did not last long, for in the year 1801 she
married a Count Gallenberg. Hardly anything is known of this love
affair of Beethoven's. A few letters full of passionate tenderness,
and with a certain very pathetic simple trustfulness in her love
running through them all--on which her marriage shortly afterward is a
strange comment; the "Moonlight Sonata," vibrating, as it is
throughout, with a lover's supremest ecstasy of devotion, these are
the only records of that one blissful epoch in the poor composer's
life; but how much it affected his after life, how it mingled in the
dreams from which his loveliest creations of later years arose, it is
impossible now to say. In a letter to Wegeler, dated November 16,
1801, he says, "You can hardly realize what a miserable, desolate life
mine has been for the last two years; my defective hearing everywhere
pursuing me like a spectre, making me fly from every one, and appear a
misanthrope; and yet no one in reality is less so! This change [to a
happier life] has been brought about by a lovely and fascinating
girl who loves me and whom I love. After the lapse of two years I
have again enjoyed some blissful moments, and now for the first time I
feel that marriage can bestow happiness; but alas! she is not in the
same rank of life as myself.... You shall see me as happy as I am
destined to be here below, but not unhappy. No, that I could not bear.
I will grasp Fate by the throat; it shall not utterly crush me. Oh, it
is so glorious to live one's life a thousand times!" No misanthropy
this, surely; he could not always speak the speech of common men, or
care for the tawdry bravery of titles or fine clothes in which they
strutted, but what a heart there was in the man, what a wondrous
insight into all the beauty of the world, visible and invisible,
around him! The most glorious lovesong ever composed, "Adelaide," was
written by him; but Julia Guicciardi preferred a Count Gallenberg,
keeper of the royal archives in Vienna, and Beethoven, to the end of
his days, went on his way alone.
It was at this time that he composed his oratorio, "The Mount of
Olives," which can hardly be reckoned among his finest works; and his
one opera--but such an opera--"Fidelio." The greater part of these
works was composed during his stay, in the summer months, at
Hetzendorf, a pretty, secluded little village near Schoenbrunn. He
spent his days wandering alone through the quiet, shady alleys of the
imperial park there, and his favorite seat was between two boughs of a
venerable oak, at a height of about two feet from the ground. For some
time he had apartments at a residence of Baron Pronay's, near this
village; but he suddenly left, "because the baron would persist in
making him profound bows every time that he met him." Like a true
poet, he delighted in the country. "No man on earth," he writes,
"loves the country more. Woods, trees, and rock give the response
which man requires. Every tree seems to say, 'Holy, holy.'"
In 1804 the magnificent "Eroica" symphony was completed. This had
originally been commenced in honor of Napoleon Bonaparte, then First
Consul, who, Beethoven--throughout his life an ardent Republican--then
believed was about to bring liberty to all the nations of Europe. When
the news of the empire came the dream departed, and Beethoven, in a
passionate rage, tore the title page of the symphony in two, and, with
a torrent of imprecations against the tyrant, stamped on the torn
fragments.
"My hero--a tyrant!" he shrieked, as he trampled on the poor page. On
this page the inscription had been simply, "Bonaparte--Luigi v.
Beethoven". For some years he refused to publish the work, and, when
at last this was done, the inscription read as follows: "Sinfonia
Eroica per festigiari il sovvenire d'un grand' uomo" (Heroic symphony,
to celebrate the memory of a great man). When Napoleon died, in 1821,
Beethoven said, "Seventeen years before I composed the music for this
occasion;" and surely no grander music than that of the "Funeral
March" was ever composed for the obsequies of a fallen hero. This is
not the place to enter into a description of the marvellous succession
of colossal works--symphonies, concertos, sonatas, trios, quartets,
etc., culminating in the "Choral Symphony," his ninth, and
last--which, through those long years of a silent life, imprisoned
within himself, the great master put forth. His deafness prevented his
appearing in public to conduct, although, with the natural desire of a
composer to be present at the production of his own work, he long
struggled to take his part in the first performances of symphonies and
concertos.
When the great choral symphony was first performed he attempted to
conduct, but in reality another conductor was stationed near him to
give the right time to the band. After the majestic instrumental
movements had been played came the final one, concluding with
Schiller's "Hymn to Joy." The chorus breaks forth, thundering out in
concert with all the instruments. At the words "Seid umschlunger,
Millionen," the audience could no longer restrain their excited
delight, and burst into tremendous applause, drowning the voices of
singers and the sounds of strings and brass. The last notes are heard,
but still Beethoven stands there absorbed in thought--he does not know
that the music is ended. This was the first time that the people
realized the full deprivation of hearing from which he suffered.
Fraulein Unger, the soprano, gently takes his arm and turns him round
to front the acclaiming multitude. There are few in that crowd who,
while they cheer, do not feel the tears stealing down their cheeks at
the sight of the poor lonely man who, from the prison-house of his
affliction, has brought to them the gladness of thought so divine.
Unmoved, he bowed his acknowledgment, and quietly left the building.
His later years were embittered with troubles about his nephew Carl, a
youth to whom he was fondly attached, but who shamefully repaid the
love of the desolate old man. Letters like the following, to the
teacher in whose house the boy lived, show the constant thought and
affection given to this boy: "Your estimable lady is politely
requested to let the undersigned know as soon as possible (that I may
not be obliged to keep it all in my head) how many pairs of stockings,
trousers, shoes, and drawers are required, and how many yards of
kerseymere to make a pair of black trousers for my tall nephew."
His death was the result of a cold which produced inflammation of the
lungs. On the morning of March 24, 1827, he took the sacrament and
when the clergyman was gone and his friends stood round his bed, he
muttered. "_Plaudite amici, comedia finita est._" He then fell into an
agony so intense that he could no longer articulate, and thus
continued until the evening of the 26th. A violent thunder-storm
arose; one of his friends, watching by his bedside when the thunder
was rolling and a vivid flash of lightning lit up the room, saw him
suddenly open his eyes, lift his right hand upward for some
seconds--as if in defiance of the powers of evil--with clenched fist
and a stern, solemn expression on his face; and then he sank back and
died.
PAGANINI
(1784-1840)
[Illustration: Paganini.]
Nicolo Paganini, whose European fame as a violinist entitles him to a
notice here, was born at Genoa in 1784. His father, a commission-broker,
played on the mandolin; but fully aware of the inferiority of an
instrument so limited in power, he put a violin into his son's hands,
and initiated him in the principles of music. The child succeeded so
well under parental tuition, that at eight years of age he played three
times a week in the church, as well as in the public saloons. At the
same period he composed a sonata. In his ninth year he was placed under
the instruction of Costa, first violoncellist of Genoa; then had lessons
of Rolla, a famous performer and composer; and finally studied
counterpoint at Parma under Ghiretti and the celebrated maestro Paer. He
now took an engagement at Lucca, where he chiefly associated with
persons who at the gaming-table stripped him of his gains as quickly as
he acquired them. He there received the appointment of director of
orchestra to the court, at which the Princess Elisa Bacciochi, sister of
Napoleon I., presided, and thither invited, to the full extent of her
means, superior talent of every kind. In 1813 he performed at Milan;
five years after, at Turin; and subsequently at Florence and Naples. In
1828 he visited Vienna, where a very popular violinist and composer,
Mayseder, asked him how he produced such new effects. His reply was
characteristic of a selfish mind: "_Chacun a ses secrets_" In that
capital, it is affirmed, he was imprisoned, being accused of having
murdered his wife. He challenged proofs of his ever having been married,
which could not be produced. Then he was charged with having poignarded
his mistress. This he also publicly refuted. The fact is that he knew
better how to make money than friends, and he raised up enemies wherever
his thirst for gold led him. Avarice was his master-passion; and, second
to this, gross sensuality.
The year 1831 found Paganini in Paris, in which excitable capital he
produced a sensation not inferior to that created by the visit of
Rossini. Even this renowned composer was so carried away, either by
the actual genius of the violinist or by the current of popular
enthusiasm, that he is said to have wept on hearing Paganini for the
first time. He arrived in England in 1831, and immediately announced a
concert at the Italian Opera House, at a price which, if acceded to,
would have yielded L3,391 per night; but the attempt was too
audacious, and he was compelled to abate his demands, though he
succeeded in drawing audiences fifteen nights in that season at the
ordinary high prices of the King's Theatre. He also gave concerts in
other parts of London, and performed at benefits, always taking at
these a large proportion of the proceeds. He visited most of the great
towns, where his good fortune still attended him. He was asked to play
at the Commemoration Festival at Oxford, in 1834, and demanded 1,000
guineas for his assistance at three concerts. His terms were of course
rejected.
Paganini died at Nice, in 1840, of a diseased larynx ("phthisie
laryngee"). By his will, dated 1837, he gave his two sisters legacies
of 60,000 and 70,000 francs; his mother a pension of 1,200; the mother
of his son Achillino (a Jewess of Milan) a similar pension; and the
rest of his fortune, amounting to 4,000,000 francs, devolved on his
son. These and other facts before related, we give on the authority of
the "Biographie Universelle."
Paganini certainly was a man of genius and a great performer, but
sacrificed his art to his avarice. His mastery over the violin was
almost marvellous, though he made an ignoble use of his power by
employing it to captivate the mob of pretended amateurs by feats
little better than sleight-of-hand. His performance on a single
string, and the perfection of his harmonics, were very extraordinary;
but why, as was asked at the time, be confined to one string when
there are four at command that would answer every musical purpose so
much better? His tone was pure, though not strong, his strings having
been of smaller diameter than usual, to enable him to strain them at
pleasure; for he tuned his instrument most capriciously. He could be a
very expressive player; we have heard him produce effects deeply
pathetic. His arpeggios evinced his knowledge of harmony, and some of
his compositions exhibit many original and beautiful traits.
[Illustration: Paganini in Prison.]
MENDELSSOHN
By C. E. BOURNE
(1809-1847)
Mendelssohn's lot in life was strikingly different from that of all
the musicians of whom I have hitherto written; he never knew, like
Schubert, what grinding poverty was, or suffered the long worries that
Mozart had to endure for lack of money. His father was a Jewish banker
in Berlin, the son of Moses Mendelssohn, a philosopher whose writings
had already made the name celebrated throughout Europe. The composer's
father used to say, with a very natural pride, after his own son had
grown up, "Formerly I was the son of my father, and now I am the
father of my son!"
Felix Mendelssohn-Bartholdy was born on February 3, 1809. His
parents were neither of them trained musicians, though both
appreciated and loved music, and it was from his mother that young
Felix received his first music-lessons. When he had made some advance,
Ludwig Berger became his tutor for the piano, and Zelter, a very
learned and severe theorist, for counterpoint. At the age of nine
years Felix had attained such proficiency that we find him taking the
pianoforte part in a trio at a public concert of a Herr Gugel's, and
when twelve years old he began to compose, and actually wrote a trio,
some sonatas, a cantata, and several organ pieces. His home life was
in the highest degree favorable to his musical development. On
alternate Sundays musical performances were regularly given with a
small orchestra in the large dining-room, Felix or his sister Fanny,
who also possessed remarkable musical gifts, taking the pianoforte
part, and new compositions by Felix were always included in the
programme. Many friends, musicians and others, used to be present,
Zelter regularly among their number, and the pieces were always freely
commented on, Felix receiving then, as indeed he did all his life, the
criticisms expressed, with the utmost good-natured readiness.
[Illustration: Mendelssohn.]