LETTERS FROM GREAT MUSICIANS TO YOUNG -S PEOPLE ALETHEA B.CRAWFORD AND ALICE CHAPIN NEW YORK G.SCHIRMER fyxmW Hmwmtg ptarg BOUGHT WITH THE INCOME FROM THE SAGE ENDOWMENT FUND THE GIFT OF Henrg W. Sage 1891 tfrAifflf /f/l/j.K, . 9963 CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY MUSIC Cornell University Library ML 3930.C89 Letters from great musicians to young pe 3 1924 022 331 486 LETTERS < FROM ^ GREAT MUSICIANS * TO YOUNG PEOPLE BY ALETHEA B. CRAWFORD. AND ALICE CHAPIN * Lives of great men all remind us. We can make our lives sublime; And departing, leave behind us Footprints on the sands of time." NEW-YORK G. SCHIRMER, 35 UNION SQUARE 1906 K6 Copyright, G. Schirmek, 189a. SPcbiration. TO MY MOTHER, MY BELOVED EXAMPLE AND FRIEND, I DEDICATE MY PORTION OF THIS WORK. ALETHEA B. CRAWFORD. TO MY LITTLE SON, A SMALL PUBLIC OF ONE, I DED- ICATE MY SHARE IN THIS BOOK, THANKING HIM THUS PUBLICLY FOR THE LOVING INTEREST WITH WHICH HE HAS FOLLOWED MY LABORS. ALICE CHAPIN. Cornell University Library The original of this book is in the Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924022331486 CONTENTS. MOB 1. Giovanni Pierluigi da Palestrina I 2. Domenico Scarlatti 15 3. Johann Sebastian Bach 31 4. George Frederick Handel 41 5. Ritter Christoph Wilibald von Gluck 63 6. Josef Haydn 77 7. Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart 86 8. Ludwig van Beethoven 104 9. Carl Maria von Weber , 120 10. GlAOilO \LEVSRBEE/i ■ 152 PREFACE TO CHILDREN. HOW THE LETTERS CAME TO BE WRITTEN. Very tired, very gloomy in fact, for it had been a rainy, dismal day, sat a little girl before her piano. Weary with trying to produce the master's thought, she stopped play- ing and let her head fall upon her hands. " It's no use ! " she murmured, disconsolately. " How I wish that I had known the composer, had talked with him, perhaps had listened while he played ; then I could have understood better these compositions into which h.e has put his heart and soul. But now — I can't do it. It's im- possible." A slight touch on the shoulder made her start. Look- ing up, she found herself in the presence of an odd little figure, with bright, happy face, surrounded by waving brown hair. The rain had ceased, and the setting sun, shining into the room, seemed lovingly to bathe the strange figure of the little man, while it dazzled the tired eyes of the young musician, who sat blinking stupidly at the stranger before her. VI PREFACE TO CHILDREN. "Well, don't you know me?" cried he, gayly. "Dear me, what an ignoramus you are, to be sure! You know my music, I see — at least you have it before you." " What!" cried the child, a great awe stealing over her. "You are " " Of course I am ! Of course I am ! Glad to see you recognize me at last ! I heard you wishing we could meet, and as the time was convenient I popped in. Good gra- cious, what is the child about ! " The girl had slipped from her chair to her knees, and was reverently kissing the hands of the apparition. " Well, well, fancy kneeling to me ! Why, when I lived on earth I was almost a pauper, and my poor worn-out body was at the last thrown into a pauper's grave, unknown, dishonored!* And now you kneel as to a king!" " I would not kneel so before a king," whispered the child, stoutly. "Bravo, bravo, my little republican! Times have changed indeed! I had heard something to that effect. But I must hurry, so get up now, and listen. You wished to know me. You shall. You would like to know my brethren. You may. Look up." The child raised her eyes, and behind her friendly vis- itor she saw a myriad faces. Some she recognized, some were strange, but all regarded her kindly. * Mozart. PREFACE TO CHILDREN. VU " Here," said the master, " are a few of my brethren, and I am sure every one among them will be very glad to make your acquaintance." " Every one ! " came the answer in chorus. " There ! you see ? Now don't be frightened, we are all your friends. Possibly, as talking takes up so much time and we are all busy, you would like letters from us. I am sure we could tell you something that would make you feel better acquainted with us." " Oh, if you only would ! " cried the child in an ecstasy of delight. " Be it so. We will. Study reverently. Keep your mind pure. We ourselves shall be your masters. Good- by. Remember!" He was gone, and with him all the glorious company. But still upon her bowed head the child felt the touch of his caressing hands. One morning, while practicing and inwardly wondering if her glorious interview with the dear old master had been only a dream, something white fluttered down upon the piano. Hastily raising it, the young musician found it to be a letter — a letter from the " Prince of Music," as he is called. Perusing it with eager interest and tender love, the child found her heart drawn into closer sympathy with the mighty master-mind. Every day now brought its letter, and soon the child thought : " How selfish to keep all these treasures to myself! I will share them Vlll PREFACE TO CHILDREN. with other children, who also long to know the ' Great Im- mortals.' " So well did the masters like the child's generosity that they sent other and longer letters to all the dear children who wished to know them. May all the others enjoy them as did the first PREFACE TO CHILDREN OF A LARGER GROWTH. The object of this little book is to bring the reader nearer to the great masters in the realm of music, and make him or her acquainted with the man who worked, played, and suffered as do other men. Though confining themselves to a simple style, the au- thors have tried to enter into the life of each composer, and, wherever possible, by means of earnest study of let- ters and other data which have come down to us, to copy that composer's tricks of speech, manner of writing, and various idiosyncracies. The authors have had free access to the treasures of the British Museum library, as well as to the libraries of their own country. Among the mass of books which we have consulted, special mention should be made of: Fetis: Biographie Universelle des Musiciens. Magister Choralis, by the Rev. Francis X. Haberl. Plain Song, by the Rev. T. Helmore. La vie de Pierluigi da Palestrina, par Abbe BainL Life of Johann Sebastian Bach, by Spitta. PREFACE TO CHILDREN OF A LARGER GROWTH. Hawkins's History of Music. Dr. Burney's History of Music. Life of Handel, by Rochester. Life of Handel, by Marshall. Life of Haydn, by Dr. NohL Life of Mozart, by Dr. Nohl. Life of Mozart, by Otto Jahn. Mozart's Letters. Life of Beethoven, by Dr. NohL Beethoven's Letters. Seyfred's Anecdotes of Beethoven. Life of Von Weber, by Baron Max von Weber. From Mozart to Mario, by Dr. Engel. Chorley's Reminiscences. Moschele's Recent Music and Musicians. Hogarth's Memories of the Opera. Haweis's Music and Morals. Sir George Groves's Dictionary of Music and Musicians. Ehlert's Essays on Music. Rocstro's History of Music. Filmore's History of Music. The Imperial Biographical Dictionary. History of Modern Music, by John Hullah. Musical Studies, by Francis Hueffer. The Story of Music, by J. Henderson. LETTERS FROM GREAT MUSICIANS. GIOVANNI PIERLUIGI DA PALESTRINA. Born 15 14. Died 1594. "Very Holy Father : Study and care are never in accord ; especially is this so when the latter arises from poverty. With the necessities of life (to ask more is to fail in moderation and temperance) one can easily deliver one's self from other cares, and the man who is not content with this has only himself to blame. But those alone who have proved it know how painful is this labor to maintain honestly themselves and those belong- ing to them, and how this obligation incapacitates the mind for the study of science and the liberal arts. I have always had sad experience of this, now more than ever. "Always do I render thanks to the Divine Goodness, which has permitted that, in spite of my greatest embarrassments, I have never interrupted the study of music (wherein have I found also a useful diversion). " In the career which I have run, and of which the end ap- 2 LETTERS FROM GREAT MUSICIANS proaches, I have published a great number of my compositions. But I have many others, the imprinting of which is retarded only by my poverty ; for it is a considerable expense, par- ticularly because of the large characters of the notes and let- ters necessary in order that they may easily be used in the churches." Letter of Palestrina to Pope Sixtus V. My Dear Young Friends: I have been told that I am chosen as the first to address you in this familiar style. I am very glad to be so chosen, and will try to make what I tell both interesting and easily understood. I lived so long ago that you may regard me almost as a myth, so much obscurity hangs over my life. But do not make such a mistake, for, though the year of my birth is disputed, though my circumstances while on earth are the subject for fierce debate, no one disputes my ability as a musician and my claim to the proud title of " Prince of Music." That, after all, is the principal thing. It matters not so much whether I was born in the year 15 14, 1524, or 1529 {for all these dates have been given as the year of my birth), it matters not so much whether I was poor or in comfortable circumstances (for again these facts are dis- puted), as it matters that I was born, that God inspired me with His great gift of music, that I used that gift to honor Him, and that I led a pure, true, God-fearing life. TO YOUNG PEOPLE. 3 Now, my children, do not expect that I shall enlighten you as to all the dark passages in my history. If about some simple tale has gradually grown a wealth of fantastic legend, depend upon it there is some reason for it all. If, after he has passed away, about a man's life grows obscu- rity so dense that only a few bright spots shine out un- dimmed, there is a reason again for this. Everything, how- ever small, is guided by a Divine Intelligence, and far be it from me to oppose my wisdom to that Divine Guidance which, for its own unfathomable ends, has decreed a misty veil to fall over certain portions of my earth-life. I will tell you my simple story as I am allowed to do, and where there is bickering and strife over any part of it, like a faithful chronicler I will set before you both sides of the tale. My parents were peasants living in a little town belong- ing to the papal states, and at the time of my birth called Palestrina. In ancient times this town was known as Prae- neste. But when we inhabited it it was a tiny place nest- ling among rocks and surrounded by vine-clad hills. It is even more insignificant now, and would hardly be known save as my birthplace. My father's name was Sante Pierluigi, my mother was called Maria Gismondi. Like many more of their country- men and women, they owned a vineyard ; and cannot you fancy me, their son, reveling in the beauty about me or gazing deep into the bright blue sky? I had a brother, 4 LETTERS FROM GREAT MUSICIANS so that I was not a solitary child, though my great gift set me, as it were, apart from the others. I was named Giovanni Pierluigi. When I became fa- mous I was often mentioned as Giovanni Pierluigi da Palestrina, until finally, instead of being mentioned as of Palestrina, I was simply called Palestrina, and thus am I known to you. My parents were, as a matter of course, faithful children of the Roman Church, and so I was carefully trained in our holy ritual, first entering the service of Mother-Church as a choir-boy. To the Church I owed my earliest training, and to the Church I remained faithful all my life. I gavt up willingly for her service the more luxurious life I might have led had I turned my talent into other and more worldly channels. I was by disposition devout and in- clined to severity, therefore it seemed good to me to dedi- cate my gifts to the uses of what I believed to be God's earthly tabernacle. Perhaps I inherited my disposition, perhaps it was partly the result of early training. A music-loving soul like mine could not fail to be impressed and uplifted when as a boy I joined in our beautiful service. At length the time came for me to leave behind my vine- clad hills and to wander forth to the great city of Rome, there to seek instruction in my dearly loved art. A boy's mother is very often willing to go to personal inconvenience to help her son, is she not? Therefore if you TO YOUNG PEOPLE. 5 hear a tale to the effect that my mother sold a piece of land to furnish the necessary money for my studies in Rome, you will not find the story difficult to believe; and you may be sure that I did study, and that right earnestly, though you may hear different tales as to my teachers and general training. The men who conducted the music in the principal chap- els throughout Italy — indeed, the most celebrated musi- cians in Rome itself — were not Italians, but foreigners of many nationalities, Flemings, Spaniards, and Frenchmen, all congregated at Rome, or held high positions in the country. The first regular school of music instituted at Rome is said to have been estabished by Claude Goudimel, called by some of Felmish descent, by others a Frenchman. He perished at Lyons in that terrible massacre, into which a weak and cowardly king was forced by his cruel mother upon the eve of St. Bartholomew's day. But that was many years after the events of which we must now speak. I was thoroughly and strictly taught in the severe style of the time, and proved an apt and forward scholar. I made several warm friends among my fellow-students, and among the musicians and music-lovers, who could not fail to note my genius. I was at this time strongly influenced by those under whom I studied, and my earliest attempts at composition bore traces of the stern, unbending theories in which I was trained. 6 LETTERS FROM GREAT MUSICIANS After some years I returned to my native town to serve as chapel-master in the church, but in 1551 I was called to Rome and appointed to the vacant post of master of the choir-boys of the Julian Chapel. To show me special honor I was named " Master of the ChapeL" I held this honorable and responsible position for four years. During this time I published my first book of masses, four of which were for four voices, one for five. These compositions were much liked, and I was allowed the honor of dedicat- ing them to Pope Julius II. So kind was his Holiness that he gave me a strong proof of his good- will by making me one of the singers in his chapel. In order to become a singer in the pontifical chapel, a strict examination was necessary, but, as a mark of special favor, I was passed in without this preliminary. This had the effect of making all the other singers very jealous of me. This was not unnatural, for many of them possessed voices far superior to mine, and they could not but have hard thoughts of the mediocre singer who was thus honored Mediocre singer I may have been, but as a musician I tow- ered above them all. Shortly after my appointment Pope Julius died. The next pope enjoyed but a brief reign, and then came Paul IV., a stern man, who took his seat in the papal chair de- termined to purify the Church from all abuses. Shortly before this time I had married a damsel whom I dearly loved. We were very happy together, and soon TO YOUNG PEOPLE. 7 we were made all the happier by those dear gifts of the Almighty — little children. My position as pontifical sing- er was supposed to be for life. My wife had brought me a modest dower, and though far from being in affluent cir- cumstances, we were happy and content. I had a great recourse in my art. I had only lately composed some charming madrigals to signalize the acceptance of my new position — in short, all seemed assured tranquillity, when almost without warning the bolt fell. Paul IV. turned his attention to his holy chapel, and asked if any of the sing- ers therein were married men! The answer came that three were wedded. The stern Father ordered our instant expulsion. Pleading was in vain, and after barely half a year in the papal service I was ejected as unworthy ! My genius availed nothing. I was a married man, and Pope Paul IV. considered it a shame and a disgrace that married men should sing in the Sistine chapel. I fell ill from grief and despair. My dear wife was a tender comforter, and some of the very singers who had formerly regarded me with such jealous eyes, in the hour of my distress came to comfort me. I appreciated their kindness, but it was a weary time before my sensitive spirit recovered from such a cruel disgrace. The three singers who were ejected were granted a beggarly pension to soften the blow — barely fifty francs a month was given to each of us. Talent such as mine could not long remain idle, and I 8 LETTERS FROM GREAT MUSICIANS soon received the position of chapel-master in the church of St. John Lateran. Here I remained from 1555 till 1561. During this period, besides my duties as chapel-master I was very busy composing. Many works fell from my dili- gent pen, among others my " Improperia," which were sung in Rome during Holy Week, and are very beautiful. On leaving the church of St. John Lateran I went to St. Mary the Greater, where I was employed for ten years, the most brilliant years of my life. But in order to ex- plain why they were so brilliant I must explain to you how many errors and abuses had crept into the music used in the church service. That one folly leads to another is a true saying, and it is not hard to show how tampering with one part of sacred music led to bolder and bolder innovations, until the crown- ing sin was reached and worldly music was used even in God's holy temples. At first musicians were content to use the Gregorian chants as a chain on which to string various attempts at counterpoint. One very singular composition of this kind is worthy of mention, as it was treated entirely upon the Gregorian melodies, and was regarded in its time as nothing less than a prodigy. One part of the choir sang the Ave Regina Ccelorum, another the Regina Cceli, a third the Alma Redemptoris Mater, and the last the Inviolata. This was the remarkable idea of the celebrated composer Jo- zenin Vesprez, and it found many imitators. TO YOUNG PEOPLE. 9 Thus confusion reigned in place of former simplicity, and soon the folly was reached of writing church music quite independently of the words, which the singers must adapt to the notes as well as they were able. Then came the crowning disgrace, and from founding masses upon Gregorian chants musicians came to found them upon popular songs of the day. Could anything have been more disgraceful? Yes, worse things came to pass, for the ofttimes indecent and filthy words of these worldly songs were sung even in the celebration of the mass! Some of the singers sang per- haps a lewd French song, or possibly an equally vile Italian ditty, while others again were singing the solemn Latin of the Sacred Script, and all this at the same time and with the same force, until the celebration of the holy ordinances grew to sound more like the shrieking of furies than the singing of sane men. Affectations also crept in to mar the majestic face of the divine art. Perhaps because the music did not express the meaning of the words this foolish idea came into vogue : when the words expressed darkness or obscurity, then the notes were made black ; to express sunlight or warmth the notes were red; when one sang of lovely fields or meadows 'twas from green notes! And so on through all the changes of this puerile fancy. I must confess myself a guilty man in that I, even I, sinned to the extent of following the prevailing mode and IO LETTERS FROM GREAT MUSICIANS founding one of my earlier masses upon a popular ditty. I did penance for my grievous fault, but I could not forget my weakness. It served to remind me of the naturally sinful nature of man. It was a deeper sin in me than in another, for had I not more talents of which it behooved me to render a strict account? Now all these evils of which I have spoken had reached a climax, and under the guidance of Paul IV. the Council of Trent made a searching inquiry into the state of church music. The pope named Cardinals Vitelozzi and Borro- meo, and they called together eight members from the col- lege of singing chaplains to discuss in a most exhaustive manner the present evil. It was decided that masses or motets in which different words were used should be forbidden. Masses composed upon the theme of profane songs must be banished. The words must always in future be taken from the offices of the Church. And lastly, this momentous question was asked: Was it possible, in a figured song written for several parts (never in the choirs less than four), for the words to be constantly and distinctly understood? The singers an- swered that this would be difficult, if not impossible. The cardinals, however, declared this to be necessary, and these compositions — a Te Deum by Constanzo Festa, and my " Improperia " — were quoted by them as being noble sped- TO YOUNG PEOPLE. II mens of truly devotional music, and in which the words were very distinctly understood. Finally it was decided to allow me to compose a mass after the intentions manifested by the cardinals. This mass was to be the supreme test. If it reached the re- quired standard, then music, freed only from the abuses already mentioned, should remain in the service of the Church. If not successful, then the Church would return to the system of former times, using simply the plain chant of St. Gregory. Think what a terrible blow to the music not only of my age but of all future ages ! Beautiful as is Gregorian chant, to have confined church music to such narrow limits would have done her serious harm. Some of the most inspired songs ever sung have been written for the church to which I belonged. The opportunity of my life was before me, and I seized it. Not in vain-glorious pride, nor with idle boasting, but quietly, fearlessly, understanding well the gift with which Heaven had endowed me, with a prayer in my heart, I set myself diligently to my task. The future of church music depended upon me. I was inspired by the magnitude of the occasion. I wrote not one, but three masses for six voices ; they were given at the house of Cardinal Vitelozzi. The two first received much praise, but when the third was executed, then came my triumph! 12 LETTERS FROM GREAT MUSICIANS It was pronounced a wonderful composition. The car- dinals were loud in admiration, and it was adjudged that church music, purged of her excrescences, should remain the pride of our religion. This mass which won so impor- tant a victory has been mentioned as typifying the very best style of devotional music. Grand and majestic, its harmonies beautifully interwoven, it lifted the soul of the worshiper to a higher level. It was dedicated to the memory of that pontiff whose reign was so very brief, and is known as the " Mass of Pope Marcal." It will be sung and admired as long as the Church of Rome exists upon earth. Though this work brought me much glory, all the money it added to my store was a trifle over sixteen francs ! I possessed, however, many powerful friends. St. Philip of Neri, both friend and confessor, placed me in the oratory which he founded as master of the music. At the same time I returned to the Vatican, to hold my position there during the remainder of my stay on earth. This happened in the year 15 71, and it was at nearly the same time that I took the direction of a school of music founded in Rome by Giovanni Maria Nanini. I was very busy. Besides these many labors Pope Gregory XIII. gave me a conge- nial task in bidding me revise some of the church service music. It was a work too great for one man, and I left it incomplete. Besides these appointed tasks I yet found time to instruct TO YOUNG PEOPLE. 1 3 my dear children and a few chosen pupils in the art I loved. I had four sons. Angelo, my eldest-born, was a lad of whom any father might well be proud. He was musically gifted and wrote some motets, which I published among my own works. A motet written by my second son, Ro- dolfo, is also among my published compositions. He also was gifted and lovable, but all too soon he slipped from our clinging arms and passed away from earth, leaving us very lonely, but with the happy consciousness that a dear saint awaited us in heaven, and that we who remained be- hind must be all the more affectionate each to each. My third boy, Silla, was also musical : two of his motets are with my own. One by one I saw these gifted youths pass from me, till only my youngest-born, Igino, remained. In 1580 the light of my life went out when my dear wife died. I was inconsolable. It did not seem possible to live without my faithful partner. For so many years we had lived and labored together that it was as if part of my heart and soul went from me with my wife. Prince Giacoma Buoncompagni, a son born to Pope Gregory XIII. before he entered holy orders, made me at this time master of his concerts. I took the added duty, for did I not have my boys to work for ? Three of them were still with me. And I welcomed the added labor, which kept me from thinking too often of the dear ones gone before. In my old age I was honored and beloved, for from the 14 LETTERS FROM GREAT MUSICIANS time of my battle for church music my fame and fortune grew. I received many titles of praise, and was known and admired throughout Europe. I was an indefatigable worker. Nearly a hundred masses, besides motets, madri- gals, offertories, hymns, litanies, and magnificats flowed from my busy pen. Some of these I myself published, dedicating them to my different patrons. So working and attending to my many duties I lived on till my final sum- mons came; then I called my sole surviving son to my bedside, and spoke to him as follows : " My son, I leave to you a great number of unpublished works ; thanks to the Father Abbe de Baume, to the Cardinal Aldobrandini, and to the Grand Duke of Tuscany, I leave to you also that which is necessary to print them. I recommend you that this may be done soon to the glory of the All-Powerful and for the celebration of His religion in the holy temples." * Unworthy was the young man who let pass unheeded his father's solemn charge ! Soon my tired eyes closed upon earth to open to the glories of a brighter land. This is in brief my story. Let me hope, my children, that it has not wearied you, and that you will now feel that you are better acquainted with Your friend, Giovanni Pierluigi da Palestrina. * Dying words of Palestrina to his son Igino. TO YOUNG PEOPLE. 1 5 DOMENICO SCARLATTI. Born 1683. Died 1757. " We are too apt in this rushing, pushing century of ours, with its instru- ments that only require winding up to give us music and its manifold con- trivances, to forget the past with its great men who worked slowly toward the civilization of to-day. It is good to turn aside from our broad highway into the quieter paths in which they walked. And, listening to the voices of a time long gone, we do fitting reverence to the mighty dead who worked when harmony was young." I fully understand, my dear young friends, that you are not to blame for inviting me to write to you instead of first requesting that honor from my revered father. But, in- deed, I have been angry at the seeming neglect! I rated those who asked me for a letter, and that in good round terms. They muttered something about my being the "Founder of modern technique." Modern fiddlestick! What if I were the first clavecin player of my time; my father did much for all music, and was therefore far greater than a performer and composer for one instrument could ever be. We were both daring innovators, but there — I will be- gin my letter by a description of my father and his work ; then will I speak of his humble pupil, myself. Thus will 16 LETTERS FROM GREAT MUSICIANS we chastise these daring people who have ventured to neg- lect him. Ha, ha! but we will give them a lesson which they will not forget in a hurry. Have you already had a letter from that great man, Pierluigi da Palestrina? Won- derful, was he not? But, between you and me, was not his letter a trifle heavy? Just the least bit dry, eh? He always did and always will take things so solemnly. Life to him was a very serious business, while I — I confess it boldly — was a wicked worldling. I simply went in for a good time while on earth, and I got it. I always looked at life through rose-colored glasses, and, my dear children, I was rather a sad dog. Don't be prim, and say, " What a naughty man ! " for you have not yet listened to what I have to tell. You are my pupils now, and I will wager that when I have fin- ished you will call me a far jollier master than was Pierluigi da Palestrina. Rather peppery, though, so look out for yourselves ! My father, Alessandro Scarlatti, the greatest musician of his time, was born in 1659, in Trapani, a little town in Sic- ily. When quite a lad he left Sicily, and some will tell you that he studied in Rome, some will say in Parma. They will all get you into a delightful muddle, and you will begin to believe that he never studied at all. Now don't you pay any attention to these people. He studied, and so well that he became the most learned man of his time in counterpoint, and understood from top to bottom the TO YOUNG PEOPLE. I J " Science of Composition." That is the important point, not where he studied. He was always very diligent, and had the common sense to realize that a knowledge of this science of his art was necessary if he would be a truly great composer. You see there had been a species of rebellion against scientific music. It was so mercilessly exact, so — so old fogyish, in point of fact, that many a great composer re- belled, and swore that he wouldn't, couldn't, and shouldn't be scientific, that counterpoint might go far away for all he cared, that he could do well enough without it, that it ex- alted its school at the expense of its soul, and such kind of talk. Of course you will see that, like all such movements, this reaction against science was likely to go to the other ex- treme. Yet there was much to admire in these reaction- ists, as we might almost call them. One more point I must mention. Toward the close of the sixteenth century a few musical spirits banded together for the purpose of reviving the grand musical declamation of the old Greek tragedy. That style of declamation, accompanied as it had been by flute and lyre, was so very defunct that it could never be revived. Nevertheless, these ardent souls set to work. Genius they possessed, art they possessed, science — oh ! well, sci- ence was represented in their cases by a big round O. However, they didn't care, said they didn't want it, and 1 8 LETTERS FROM GREAT MUSICIANS actually dared to call science names! Impertinent creat- ures! Out of their rich genius they conceived — what? A pretty little creature called the cantata, first written for a single voice and single instrument. The child thrived and grew. Here was a method which could express hu- man passion in all its varying shades. Many cantatas were written. All that was aimed at was to give exact rendering of the words, to be, in short, dramatic. Simple, pure, rhythmic delivery they sought, and they gave to the world " declam- atory recitative," that " speaking music," which tells so much and does it by such simple means. Thus came into the world child number two, Italian opera! For so she looked when first born — principally recitative and very lit- tle accompaniment But a remarkably strong, vigorous infant she was, and of rapid growth. In the year 1600 the first Italian opera was produced during the wedding festivities of Henry IV. of France and Maria de' Medici. Peri was its composer. He chose the old story of " Eurydice " for his theme, and that opera was given in Florence with great splendor. The libretto was written by Ottavio Rinuccini. The orchestra for this first opera is worth remembering. It comprised a harpsichord, chitarrone or guitar, lira grande or viol di gamba, theorbo or large lute, and three flutes. The other cities of Italy were not to be outdone by Florence. Mantua next, in 1607, celebrated some wed- TO YOUNG PEOPLE. 1 9 ding festival. Rinuccini this time prepared two libretti. One was set to music by a man whose name you would soon forget, even were I to tell you, but the other I want you to remember, Claudio Monteverde. He was a wonderful genius, and a man you should know about, for he is called the " Originator of the modern style of composition." There ! stow that fact away in some corner where you can always find it. Monteverde not only gave little heed to counterpoint, he even boldly opposed many of its laws. He wrote many madrigals, where he used strange dissonances and progres- sions. " Let the feeling be_ expressed," was his cry, and when, in his opera "Ariadne," these passionate dissonances moved all the audience to weep with the deserted maiden, the victory was won. The great pity was that Monteverde and his followers could not see that what was just and right for dramatic music was not right for sacred compositions. Palestrina left a grand, pure style for the mass ; but then reformers are never content without battering away at the noblest monuments they can find. Polyphonic art reached perfection only to be destroyed by the new school. Do you ask, "What is Polyphonic?" Palestrina's masses are Polyphonic; that is, they are unaccompanied vocal music. Each voice sings a melody of its own. All are evenly balanced and bound together by the laws of counterpoint. You see how different this is from " mono- die," as it is called, where one part takes the melody and 20 LETTERS FROM GREAT MUSICIANS in the other parts voices and instruments fill in the har- mony. Dramatic music traveled from city to city, until finally it grew bold enough to have another abiding place than the palaces of the nobility, and a theater was built for it in Venice. Still it grew and prospered, till along came my father, a thoroughly equipped musician, and proved that art and science can join hands, and that a man may be dramatic, even if he be a contrapuntist Everywhere rec- ognized as the most learned musician of his time, he pos- sessed the weight of authority. He knew better how to elaborate and expand his music than any who had pre- ceded him. Just as dramatic as they, he possessed knowl- edge — that golden key which opened to him boundless treasure. The almost uninterrupted recitatives, accompanied only by a bass, were rather wearisome. The aria was feeble and imperfect. Using the simple recitative of his time to express ordinary emotions, my father brought forward something stronger and more powerful. He invented ac- companied recitative, which he used to express pathetic or violent emotions. The aria he strengthened by adding to it what is known as " the second part." Then he returned to the original strain by using what was barely hinted at before his time, but to which he gave the name of " da capo." All this was done by degrees, not at once. His first TO YOUNG PEOPLE. 21 opera, written when he was one and twenty, was called " L'Onesta nell' Amore." It was given in the palace of Christina, ex-Queen of Sweden, and pleased all who heard it. The queen made my father chapel-master, and this position he held for eight years, when his patroness died. Left for a time without other employment than composing for Church and stage, his next position was master of the Chapel Royal of Naples. He wrote over one hundred operas and two hundred masses, besides composing motets, madrigals, and other kinds of music. He would often write a mass or a vesper- service for some convent. The manuscript would be sent to the nuns to be learned and sung, and there in the convent it would remain lost to the world, as if it, too, with the holy sisters, had taken the vows and entered upon a monastic life. An oratorio which my father wrote is called " The Sorrows of Mary the Ever Virgin." It was his opera of " Feodora " which first saw the " da capo " introduced ; and this same opera, composed in 1693, contained all his first innovations in recitative. He vastly improved also the accompaniments to songs. From their very ignorance of that which they affected to despise, the older musicians were often feeble and tiresome. Their accompaniments followed the air in a rather monotonous fashion. He introduced life and vivacity ; gave his accom- paniments a special design, and made them interesting. Of necessity such a man would be much sought after. Three 22 LETTERS FROM GREAT MUSICIANS music schools were honored by his services. Nowhere did he teach more faithfully than in a charity school, where for years he gave his services gratuitously, laboring faithfully and well, teaching these poor children, called "Jesus Christ's Poor of Loretto." Was not this noble? No wonder that the Neapolitans loved and reverenced him as a man while admiring him as a genius ! I was born in Naples in 1683, when my father was quite a young man. You see I made my appearance only three years after his first opera. In 1 703 we went to Rome to live, as my father had the position of assistant chapel-mas- ter in St. Maria Maggiore offered to him. On the death of his chief, in 1 707, he became the head. It was at this time that Cardinal Ottoboni, a lover of art and a powerful protector of her followers, procured for him the honor of being decorated by the pope with the order of the Golden Fleece. Resigning from St. Maria Maggiore in 1 709, my father took his family back to Naples, which was his home during the remainder of his life. This last period, from 1 709 to 1725, was a very busy one. He was never idle, but much time was now devoted to teaching. I have already men- tioned his three schools, and I must not forget to tell you that he was a good singer, and master of the harp and harpsichord. I possessed the great advantage of having him for my earliest instructor, and he did not leave the earth until I was forty-two years old. TO YOUNG PEOPLE. 23 It was very pleasant for a young composer like myself to have this solid rock of knowledge to go to. My father's favorite pupil was Hasse, of whom you have doubtless heard. Perhaps it is not generally known that he was really the cause of my father's famous " Cat's Fugue." One day my father felt weary and out of humor, unable to harmonize the various notes floating through his brain. Suddenly Hasse rushed in upon him, interrupting his medi- tations. He carried a suspicious looking bundle under his arm, the squirming and audible miauing of which made my father at once guess at the contents. It was his favorite cat. He scolded his pupil roundly for the caper. The bundle fell to the floor, out jumped the cat, dressed in wig, spectacles, feathers, etc., and Hasse's dog started in hot pursuit. The cat jumped in terror on the spinet, wildly ran from one end of the instrument to the other, and then struck a chord with cat-like vehemence. Hasse, in the meanwhile, had departed. When he next appeared, my father showed him a sheet of paper, covered with notes, over which was written this title, "The Cat's Fugue." He had taken for his theme the notes so harmoniously struck by Puss, and thus composed his world- renowned fugue from it. I will now tell you something about my own develop- ment. After being thoroughly grounded in music by my father, I studied also with another celebrated man, Gaspa- rini. Very soon I began to show my bent, and also that 24 LETTERS FROM GREAT MUSICIANS I was the true son of my father, for if he can be called " the creator of modern opera," I may be spoken of as the " founder of modern execution." You see we not only kept up with the times — we ran ahead of them. I labored under a disadvantage in this, for my favorite instrument, the harpsichord, was so little played in Italy that it was ill understood. Here's ignorance ! I am told by some one who is look- ing over my shoulder that some of you are unacquainted with the harpsichord. I refuse to believe such a slander. Just as if you did not know the instrument from which the piano-forte is descended! The two instruments look like relatives. The strings of your piano are struck with delicate little hammers, producing a clear, precise sound. The strings of my harpsichord were struck by "jacks," made of quill, or sometimes of metal or leather. There -were other differences in the instruments also. During my time of activity, Bartolommeo Cristofori, a harpsichord-maker of Florence, was busy inventing a new harpsichord with a "piano and forte," as it was called. He made considerable stir among musical people, but I can't bother with him now. The harpsichord always kept me busy. The organ was the great instrument of my time, and oh, my children, what a treat did I have, and what a glorious combat on these two instruments ! It was in this way. In 1 708 I was in Venice, and met there a wonderful musician. We called him in Italy " II TO YOU NO PEOPLE. 2$ caro Sassone." * His name was George Frederick Handel. Such a man ! Both as composer and player he excelled. We Italians went mad over him. His operas were tre- mendously successful. He was feted and caressed by every one. Naturally we liked each other. I have said that I liked gayety, and Handel was not averse to good living. We became very friendly, and when he went on to Rome I went also. My father's good friend, Cardinal Ottoboni, was of course a friend to this new genius, and he, knowing my skill as a player, arranged that Handel and I should compete on organ and harpsichord. We agreed to this with delight. First came a trial of skill on the harpsichord. The in- strument spoke then, if it never did before ! We were on our mettle, and each did his best. Such playing had never yet been heard, and it left our judges undecided as to who had won the victory. Now came our trial on the organ, but, dear me! I decided, without the aid of judges, that Handel was vastly my superior. I had never dreamed of such playing. It was something, once heard, to be remem- bered for a lifetime. From that contest we came forth bosom friends. We were inseparable during the remainder of Handel's stay in Italy. How often did we spend glo- rious evenings together, mingling our ideas on music, and playing to each other by turns ! We met, too, at balls and masques. Once, at a masquerade, I knew my friend, dis- * The dear Saxon. 26 LETTERS FROM GREAT MUSICIANS guised as he was. He began to play on a harpsichord. (He could not have gone by one without touching it.) I entered while he was playing, and cried, " That is either the Saxon or the devil!" The latter personage was not among the invited guests, but then he might have slipped in on the sly ! Well, all good things come to an end, and soon, all too soon I thought, Handel must leave Italy and return to England. I missed my friend sadly. Long years passed before we met again. We were both well employed, both were sought after and had many friends, yet we were very glad to meet when, in 1 720, I visited London to produce in the Italian Opera-house an opera (" Narcisse " was its name) which I had written for that theater, and to play the harpischord in the orchestra. Again we enjoyed each other's society, and when at last we were obliged to say farewell each had a host of pleasant memories to carry with him, as fate and duty took us far asunder. Let me see what I had been doing in those years be- tween 1709 and 1720! I had not been idle, I assure you. First, as to composing, I had written some cantatas, which won what I considered high praise, for they were favorably compared to some of my father's works. Then, too, I wrote a mass, and a " Salve Regina " for one voice, two violins, a viola and bass, which was exceedingly commended and pronounced very beautiful. Then in 171 5 I became chapel-master of St. Peter's in Rome. In this position I stayed until I resigned it to visit London. TO YOUNG PEOPLE. 27 There, bless me, what a memory I have ! I have said so much about my father's operas that my own are clear driven out of my head. I ought to have mentioned that when only twenty-one I remodeled an opera of Polaroli's. Six years later I composed my " Dramma Pastorale " for the theater of Maria Casimira, Queen-dowager of Poland. This was written the year following my delightful inter- course with Handel. Every year saw its opera, till, in 1 715, I composed "Amleto," and can claim to be the first to set that story to music. Of course I had to compose masses, Salve Reginas, and other religious music while oc- cupying the position of chapel-master of St. Peter's. After my stay in London I traveled, in 1 721, to Lisbon, where I became a favorite at court. The king was delighted with my playing, showered gifts and praises upon me, and at- tached me to his service. I had the princess of Portugal for my pupil, and altogether I led a charming life. But in 1725 my dear father's failing health called me back home. In spite of my comfortable existence I had often longed for my own land. Now I saw it once more, but under very sad circumstances. My father died, and deeply we mourned for him. I remember meeting at that time some of my father's favorite pupils. They mourned him as if he had been their father. I have already mentioned one of his specially gifted pupils — Hasse. I had much to do with him. I remember the enthusiasm which he expressed over my playing. 28 LETTERS FROM GREAT MUSICIANS I could not long keep by me the money I brought from Lisbon, for, I own frankly, I was passionately fond of gam- bling, and once under the sway of that demon, a man would gamble away his head if he could take it off. Did my family like this? No, they did not, but they could not cure me, and so made the best of it. I made much money, too, as a rule, so they fared quite well, generally speaking. A gambler's life will have its ups and downs. But you can see that my passion for games of chance never drew me from my music. After a few years' stay in Italy, I accepted an offer from the court of Spain to teach once more my little princess of Portugal, now princess of the Austrias and living in Madrid. I wanted to stay in Italy, but the Italians did not then ap- preciate a harpsichordist of my ability, so once more I went to a foreign land. I knew I should be treated like a prince, and I was not deceived. My princess became, after a time, Queen of Spain, but I was still retained, and used to play the harpsichord in her majesty's apartments on many a brilliant evening, and often, too, when only the court ladies were gathered about their sovereign in a quiet, attentive group. My two first "suites" for the harpsichord are dedicated to the princess, and during my long stay in Madrid I wrote many sonatas for my favorite instrument. Most of these pieces demand rapid execution, and most of them are short. The earlier ones are more difficult than those I wrote TO YOUNG PEOPLE. 29 afterward. You may wonder why. Let me tell you. I was still young and enthusiastic when, in 1 729, I went to Madrid. My execution was marvelous. I produced great effects by crossing my hands. Like a well-trained racer I was on my mettle and liked to do my best, so my first pieces were difficult enough to make every one marvel. But I was so petted at court and I enjoyed the delights of the table to such an extent, that I grew stout, very stout. My princess became queen in 1 746. I still astonished all by my brilliant playing, but it grew very difficult to cross my hands ! The stouter I grew the more difficult this be- came. For a man as fat as I was to cross his hands was a labor of time. To cross them while playing a rapid passage on the harpsichord was an impossibility. This trick, then, by which I had made my most beautiful effects, had to be abandoned. It was a pity, but it was a stern fact. Per- haps I ought to have dieted. No, thank you ! Thus and for this reason my later sonatas are much easier than my first. Like my father, I wrote a great quantity of music ; over three hundred and fifty sonatas besides the other music I have mentioned. Both my father and myself were fortu- nate in the times in which we lived. The old was crum- bling, the new was gathering together its strength. The operatic chicken had already picked its way out of its shell. It was my father's pleasant task to give the pretty creature good, strengthening food, which would make it grow into 30 LETTERS FROM GREAT MUSICIANS a fine, healthy bird. I did nothing so great as that. I did nothing to improve the form of the sonata, but I introduced some manual dexterity into harpsichord playing, and so modern technique claims me as its founder. There is little more to tell about my life. It ran always in the same groove. The queen, my patroness, passed away in 1 754. But I was not then forgotten. I received a pension always. Soon age and ill-health gave me the longing to see my native land once more. I returned to Naples. There is no more to tell. So good-by. You have been patient listeners. Reward me by saying that I have made my story interesting. Your friend, Domenico Scarlatti. TO YOUNG PEOPLE. 3 1 JOHANN SEBASTIAN BACH. Born 1685. Died 1750. To him music owes almost as great a debt as a religion owes to its founder. — Schumann. I have taken the trouble to compose singing music for the piano, for I think music ought to touch the heart. The piano-player who merely thrums and drums, with no regard to feeling, cannot succeed in this, according to my idea. — Bach. My Dear Little Friends : Music is one of the fair- est and most glorious gifts of God. Next to religion music deserves the highest place and honor. It is the only art that can calm the troubled soul. God in His great good- ness bestowed upon me this divine gift, and I showed my appreciation by a life's devotion to it. I was born at Eisenach in 1685. In my tenth year I was left an orphan and went to live with my elder brother, Johann Christoph, who held the position of organist (the family profession) at Ohrdruf. At the time of my birth there were about thirty of my relatives in responsible posi- tions as organists in Saxony and Thuringia. For several generations my ancestors had been very musical, but it was left to me to make the name of Bach famous in the history 32 LETTERS FROM GREAT MUSICIANS of music. My brother Christoph was a painstaking teacher, and he had a faithful little pupil, but, according to his idea, a too ambitious one. I could soon play all my lessons by heart, and aspired to more advanced music. He had in his possession a manuscript volume containing pieces by Froh- berger, Kerl, Buxtehude, Pachelbel (Christoph's old mas- ter), and other composers of the day, which I longed to play, but which my brother would not allow me to touch. How was I to secure the treasure? Have you ever thought, my dear friends, that if we have a longing for something we may finally, by steady perseverance, over- come all obstacles and accomplish our point? You shall see how I gained mine. When I found that my brother would not yield to my entreaties, I decided to have the book at any cost. When all in the house were fast asleep, I would creep downstairs and manage with my little hands to extract it from its sup- posed safe quarters. Then tremblingly I would hurry back to my little garret room, and by the light of the moon would delightedly copy note by note. It took me six months to complete the task. Unhappily for me, my brother discovered the transcript shortly after its comple- tion, and robbed me of it I never saw it again till after his death, when I recovered my hardly earned treasure. It was a crushing blow to my boyish hopes when I was not allowed to keep it, but I did not then realize the ex- tent of my misfortune. The effort of copying the notes by TO YOUNG PEOPLE. 33 moonlight injured my eyes so seriously that they always troubled me. As I grew older the affliction increased, and for several years before I died I was totally blind. When I was about fifteen my brother and guardian died. I then entered the Michaelis school at Liineburg, where I remained three years. I possessed a very beautiful soprano voice, which at once procured a place for me. I sang in the church, and in return received my education. I was instructed in both vocal and instrumental music, but organ and piano-forte playing was my chief study. Bohm, the organist at Liineberg, no doubt inspired me to work, but Reinken, a renowned Dutch organist at Hamburg, was my boyish admiration. He was indeed a wonderful player. The chief recreation of my holidays was to walk to Ham- burg and listen to his grand music. My means were very scanty at this period of my life, but my nature was such that I did not brood over my many discomforts. I remember distinctly that once, returning from one of my expeditions to Hamburg, I was so hungry that as I was passing an inn I stopped to sniff the delicious aroma of cooking viands. No doubt the expression of my counte- nance was wistful in the extreme, and it was certainly watched by some one, for suddenly I was aroused from my meditations by two herrings' heads hitting me, evi- dently thrown by some one inside. I picked them up, and to my astonishment found in each head a gold coin. Never was a gift more appreciated. The amount was sufficient 34 LETTERS FROM GREAT MUSICIANS for me to buy a dinner at the inn and to defray my ex- penses to Hamburg again. Many times I wondered who was the generous giver, and I longed to express my heart- felt gratitude for the timely aid. There are many ways of bestowing charity, and the less ostentation shown by the giver, the nobler is the charitable deed. I remained at Luneburg three years. In 1 703 I became organist at Arnstadt. Here I must confess I became so interested in my own development in both technique and theory that I most shamefully neglected the training of my choir. While there I begged a leave of absence, and went to Lubeck to hear the famous organist, Buxtehude. I prolonged the four weeks agreed upon into three months, which was considered a grave offense. On my return I was summoned to appear before a com- mittee to give an account of my absence, and also to be taken to task for the remarkable way I had of introducing variations into the chorales. I never considered my stay there of any importance. I was waiting for a better posi- tion, to be able to marry my cousin, Marie Bach, to whom I was engaged. In 1 707 I was so fortunate as to secure the long-desired position as organist of St. Blasius's Church at Muhlhausen. I then married as I had hoped to. By this marriage I had eight children. Friedemann and Eman- uel became, as you know, celebrated musicians, especially the latter. My wife bade farewell to her earthly home after a brief TO YOUNG PEOPLE. 35 married life. I desired companionship. I could not live alone with my motherless little ones. Therefore, about a year and a half afterward, I married Anna Magdalena Wulkens, the daughter of the court musician to the Duke of Weissenfels. She had a beautiful soprano voice, and what a pleasure it was to teach music to her and my two boys, Emanuel and Friedemann! I had twelve children by this marriage, only two of whom survived me and be- came musicians. Altogether I had twenty children. How dearly I loved them all! But I am going too fast. In 1 708 I went to Weimar, where I met Duke Ernst, who was so charmed by my play- ing that he engaged me as court organist. I then had more time to devote to composition, which had such a fas- cination for me, and I also had more time for organ play- ing. By degrees I became known throughout Saxony and north Germany. What a charm fame has for one ! We are all of us more or less susceptible to praise. When we feel that we excel in any special art, we naturally crave the praise that we feel we deserve. The first taste is always the most delicious. I was invited in 1 7 1 2 to become or- ganist of the church at Halle, where Zachau (Handel's old master) had been for so many years. The committee was somewhat unreasonable in its requirements, so that I de- clined to accept the offer. In connection with this position, as a test of my powers of composition, I wrote a cantata which has always been considered very fine. It is called l6 LETTERS FROM GREAT MUSICIANS " Ich hatte viel Bekiimmemiss." Soon afterward I received from the duke the position of conductor of his orchestra and concert-director. It was the custom in my time to have musical contests. Augustus II., King of Poland and Elector of Saxony, pro- posed to give a public competition. My principal rival was a very conceited Frenchman, one Marchand, who had been creating quite a sensation by his brilliant playing, and the king had been charmed with his execution. We were both to improvise on the same theme. As Marchand failed to appear at the time appointed it was supposed that he con- sidered me his superior and consequently thought it wiser to leave the city secretly, as he did. Augustus sent me a large sum of money by one of his court officials, which, sad to say, never reached me. How welcome that gift would have been to me, who worked so hard and was so scantily paid! I remained six years as director of the orchestra of Leopold of Anhalt-Cothen, who was an enthusiastic patron of the arts and throughout my life remained my steadfast friend. But although I found the prince delightful, I was not satisfied with my life there. The salary received was not sufficient for the wants of my family, and besides, I had no chance here for the composition of church music, which I desired above all things. I visited all the large churches throughout the country, playing all the organs where the post of organist happened to be vacant While TO YOUNG PEOPLE. 37 in Hamburg I played on the organ of the church where, when a boy, I had been so fond of visiting for the purpose of listening to Reinken's masterful organ playing. At the time of which I am now speaking he was more than ninety years of age. He stood by me while I played. I was asked to improvise on the well-known chorale " By the Rivers of Babylon." He shed tears of joy, exclaiming, " I had thought that this art would die with me ; but I see that in you it will live." How sweet was that praise! Finally, in 1723, after many disappointments, I became cantor at the Thomas-Schule at Leipzig, and held this posi- tion for twenty-seven years. My duties here were most laborious. They began at five o'clock in the morning in summer, and at six in winter. I had to supply with choir- boys from the school four churches in Leipzig, attend funerals, weddings, and concerts. For all my services I received a mere pittance. But, dear children, I went contentedly on doing my work, delighting in my art, bringing up my family care- fully, and was never so happy as when, after a hard day's toil, I could sit down at my own fireside, surrounded by my loved ones. My art and my family — " those were the two poles around which my life moved." My activity was unceasing and remarkable. Besides my official duties and my labor as a composer, I made copies of other composers' works, I engraved on copper, and even manufactured in- struments. I invented one which I called " viola pomposa," 38 LETTERS FROM GREAT MUSICIANS and also devised a piano with catgut strings. I gave spe- cial attention to the musical education of my sons. Eman- uel became a musician at the court of Frederick the Great, King of Prussia, where he held the position of cembalist. I was finally prevailed upon in 1 747 to pay a visit to the king, who had repeatedly invited me. Frederick was a great lover of music, and regularly every evening had a concert. He played on the flute, and very cleverly too, for a king. When Friedemann and I arrived at the palace, it was about time for the evening concert. Frederick, when he heard of our arrival, exclaimed, " Gentlemen, old Bach has come at last." There was no concert that night. The king was most gracious to the old man whose one attraction was the glo- rious gift bestowed upon him by a great and generous Deity. Though he was a king and I a musician, poor in a worldly sense, in another rich above all kings, my art made me his equal. I tried all the Silbermann piano-fortes and organs at Potsdam, and delighted and surprised every one by my improvisations on themes either given to me or chosen by myself. On my return to Leipzig I worked out the theme given to me by Frederick and sent it to him. I called it a " Musical Offering." Before I finish this letter to you, my dear little friends, I must say a few words about my compositions. I com- posed no less than three or four hundred cantatas during a space of five years. You have doubtless now only about TO YOUNG PEOPLE. 39 one hundred and eighty-six for special church festivals, and thirty or forty without any particular reference to the days. While a cantor at the Thomas-Schule I wrote my grandest work, the " Passion Music," which was a relic of the old Passion Play, when at Easter-tide the Crucifixion of our Saviour was represented in a dramatic form in all the churches. Another of the greatest works of sacred music was a Christmas oratorio written in 1734. I also wrote many preludes, fugues, and arrangements of chorales. I used to be called the " master of the fugue." I will tell you now about the fugue. The learned say that no one has ever written fugues like mine, uniting both mastery of the science and the poet's thought. We get the word fugue from the Latin Jugare, meaning to put to flight ; because the subject or motive of the piece is chased throughout first by one part and then by another. Technically speaking, it is a regular composition con- structed on a short subject in the style called polyphonic, that is, consisting of several parts progressing at the same time, according to the laws of counterpoint, which is the art of composing music in parts in conformity with the laws of melody. Melody, you know, has been called horizontal music, in contradistinction to harmony, which has been called perpendicular music. First, in the fugue, one voice part enters alone with the subject in the key of the tonic, or chief tone of the piece ; then a second part, the answer, enters in the dominant, the 40 LETTERS FROM GREAT MUSICIANS tone governing the tonic; other parts follow in regular order, until all have been sufficiently elaborated. One of my last works is a treatise on the "Art of the Fugue," which of course now you could not understand, but when you grow older I trust you will find profit in studying it. Perhaps some day, here and there, a learned musician will add greatly to his fame by a display of learning in editing and commenting upon my "Art of the Fugue." Stranger things have happened. A few years before I finished my career, as I have said before, I became totally blind — a terrible calamity, but not unexpected. It was doubtless caused by excessive strain- ing of my sight. You will see by this simple sketch that I led a very quiet life, devoted to my art and to my family. I always tried to be honest and upright. In all my trials and misfortunes, the belief in a Supreme Being who orders all things for our good ever sustained me. Good-by. Johann Sebastian Bach. TO YOUNG PEOPLE. 4 1 GEORGE FREDERICK HANDEL. Born Feb. 23, 1685. Died April 14, 1759. " Some say that Signor Buononcini Compared to Handel is a ninny : Whilst others vow that to him Handel Is hardly fit to hold a candle. Strange that such difference should be 'Twixt tweedle-dum and tweedle-dee. " Dear Children: I am told that you desire a letter from the " Great Bear " himself, for by that name was I sometimes called. You must know that this name was given me because I could, upon occasion, growl an exceed- ing deep and sonorous growl! Yes, truly I possessed a very fiery temper, and according to the too frequent cus- tom of my time I could use very fiery language. Now, however, I will remember that I am addressing young peo- ple, and my growl shall be made sweet. To begin at the beginning, I was born, so they tell me, in the year 1685, at Halle. My father was a surgeon, and while I was still very young he determined that I should when grown win fame and dignity as a doctor of laws. Now I always loved music. When a mere baby I de- 42 LETTERS FROM GREAT MUSICIANS lighted in a little orchestra of Jew's-harps, toy drums, trumpets, horns, and flutes. When I was holding high carnival with all these instruments going at once, then I was happy ! When I became a man my enemies accused me of loving to put much noise into my music. They should have known me as a boy ! But all too soon my darling orchestra melted away. My stern father became alarmed at what he realized was a growing passion, and forbade any more "jingling," as he called it. Music, he said, would do for silly people, but his son must be a " gen- tleman." As music was taught after a fashion in almost every school, I was kept at home for fear I might learn the notes, and I was not allowed to visit any people who would have given me the chance to sing or play. I became very sad under these strained conditions, and some kind friends, observing my melancholy, took pity on me. We managed to smuggle into the house a little clavichord, or dumb spinet. A tiny thing — a man could carry it easily under his arm, and the sound it was capable of producing was so very weak that when it was hidden away up in the attic I could safely play upon it without fear of being overheard. And there I practiced every night, and there, when all the family were fast asleep, I taught myself to play. When God endows a mortal with genius He often adds to this great gift perseverance and strength of will I was the child of my father's old age ; by a former mar- riage he had quite a family of children, who were grown TO YOUNG PEOPLE. 43 to manhood or womanhood before he married my sweet and noble mother. Some of these children had families of their own, and one of my father's grandchildren was in the employ of the Duke of Weissenfels. One day my father set off in state to visit this grandson, and I begged to be allowed to accompany him ; but no, it was decided that I must stay at home. All my importunity did not win my father's consent, and while I stood crying bitterly from dis- appointment my father stepped into his carriage and drove away. But not in vain was I my father's son, with a very fair inheritance of my father's will. I watched my oppor- tunity and gave chase to the carriage. I was a good run- ner, and at the very first stopping-place I appeared sud- denly before my astounded parent. Of course he was angry, of course he scolded me well, and of course I cried and promised never to be so bad again, but I must go with him, I could not possibly go back home all alone, I really must go with him. So at last I was lifted into the carriage, where I soon dried my tears and forgot all my troubles. When we reached the ducal palace I was made very happy. I found kind friends in abundance. I was taken into the chapel and even into the loft with the singers, and one fine day I was allowed to clamber on the bench and try my sturdy little hands upon the chapel organ. I was in heaven! I sent glorious harmonies and full- resounding chords rolling through the aisles, and I forgot my listeners, 44 LETTERS FROM GREAT MUSICIANS I forgot that my father might hear me, in the perfect hap- piness of realizing at last the music which filled my soul. The duke heard me playing, and quickly asked, " Who is the new organist ? " I was told that I must go to the duke, and then indeed all my new-found happiness fell away from me, for my father was with the duke, and I feared the worst. My secret was out at last, he would know that I could play! But I had not in my awe of my father counted upon the influence of the duke. He told my father that his son was a genius, that it was a crime to forbid him to play, that he must be taught, and well taught ; and then he ended by filling my pockets with gold pieces. What with the money and the kind things he had said, I was so happy I could hardly keep from dancing then and there ! A duke's ad- vice will be taken by the wise. My father was a wise man, so when we were once more at home I was allowed to study with Friedrich Wilhelm Zachan, an organist and composer. He was my only teacher, and was quite a young man when I studied with him. He made me copy countless scores, and as I always had a very retentive memory many of these old exercises remained in my mind, to be used in after-life as themes in some of my numerous compositions. Besides composition Herr Zachan taught me to play upon the organ, violin, harpsichord, and many other instru- ments. My favorite instrument at that time was the haut- TO YOUNG PEOPLE. 45 boy, and many a little piece did I write for it. I was a " very devil at composition in those days." * When only eight or nine years of age I wrote sonatas, church cantatas, and organ music. After three years of study my master said that he could give me no more instruction, I already knew more than he did. I begged my father to send me to Berlin, which was quite a musical center, the Elector being very fond of the art, while his wife was an accomplished musician. Though exceeding loth to part with me, my father finally gave his consent, and in Berlin I played upon the harpsichord for the Elector and his wife, who were very kind to me. Two composers were then living in Berlin, Giovanni Buononcini and Attilio Ariosti. A dear good soul was this latter, and very kind to me. Many a useful hint did he give me while I sat in his lap, or played for him upon the harpsichord. I was called in those days " the infant prod- igy," and whenever Buononcini heard me so mentioned he would shrug his shoulders and say that I could not play, while in his wily heart he hated me for the very talent he refused to acknowledge. Finally, as a test, and to forever crush me, as he hoped, Buononcini composed a cantata with a very difficult accompaniment for the harpsichord, which accompaniment he asked me to read at sight. I did so, and after that he changed his demeanor, treating me * His own words. 46 LETTERS FROM GREAT MUSICIANS with respect and freezing politeness, but hating me more cordially than ever. The kind-hearted Elector wished to complete my musi- cal education by sending me to study in Italy. My dear old father at once took alarm when this plan was proposed to him. He could not bear to part with me for so long a time as an Italian journey would necessitate, and in his secret heart he still cherished his pet ambition — to see me a doctor of laws. Accordingly he called me home from Berlin, but died a few months after my return to Halle. My mother faithfully fulfilled my father's wishes, and for the next few years I was kept very busy with school work. Money was not over-plentiful with us, and when I was seventeen years of age I felt that I must no longer be a burden upon my mother. I managed to get an appointment as organist of the cathedral in Halle, where I worked very hard and earned very little ; but I felt cramped in Halle ; the place was too small for me. I wanted more room, so at the end of a year I went to Hamburg, where I found employment as second violin in the orchestra of the opera. At this time I became very friendly with a young musi- cian also employed in the orchestra; we were inseparable for some time, only to quarrel at a later period, for this dear friend gave me one evening a violent box on the ear ! That meant a duel. We fought before the opera-house, and Mattheson's sword broke against a big metal button on my coat. Ah ! my young friends, but for that button TO YOUNG PEOPLE. 47 there would have been no more of Handel, and he would have flown to the " angels ever bright and fair " without ever composing anything worthy remembrance. Having fought our duel, Mattheson and I became not only reconciled, but warmer friends than ever, and ate a dinner together to cement our friendship. As a second violin I was not very brilliant, but as I al- ways enjoyed my little joke I used occasionally to pretend to simply colossal stupidity. At last, however, my oppor- tunity came, and I seized it. The harpsichord player was absent from a rehearsal, and as he was the most important personage in the orchestra at that period, nothing could be done without him or a substitute. No one knew that I could play, but I sat quietly down to the instrument and began. My success was so great that even in the rehearsal I was applauded. After this success I was fre- quently called upon to play the harpsichord in place of second violin. While I was in Hamburg a new organist was wanted in Liibeck. Mattheson and myself both applied for the posi- tion, and took the journey to that town together. We en- joyed our outing extremely, played on many of the organs and harpsichords in the place, and were received with the most open-handed hospitality. But we returned to Ham- burg even as we had left it, without the appointment as organist in Liibeck. But we were not without a reason for our conduct, a reason, too, which made us very merry. 48 LETTERS FROM GREAT MUSICIANS The retiring organist in Liibeck had a daughter. Whoever took his position must take his daughter also ! We were too content with our bachelor liberty to dream of marriage, so a braver man than either of us carried off the double prize. Shortly after this comic episode I composed some Pas- sion music, and my first opera, "Almire," was produced at the opera-house. It was successful, and as a consequence I was a very happy young man. I was gradually collect- ing a little hoard, and when enough had been saved I bade " good-by " to my Hamburg friends and started for Italy. A kind-hearted nobleman had indeed offered to pay all my expenses, but I was always independent. How I enjoyed that journey! The cordial greetings everywhere extended to me would have warmed a colder heart than mine. I first went to Florence, where I pro- duced an opera ; then I journeyed to Venice, where I gave another work. I was cheered with all the enthusiasm of which the Italians are capable. " Long live the dear Saxon!" was the cry. That was the name they gave me ■ — " the dear Saxon." Such appreciation as I received in Italy, the land of music, made me very proud and happy, and was ever after a grateful memory. One evening while in Venice I attended a masquerade. I thoroughly enjoyed myself wandering through the crowded rooms, and, occasionally attracted by a pair of bright eyes peeping slyly at me, I would endeavor to see TO YOUNG PEOPLE. 49 more of the face the envious mask concealed. Thus led as fancy dictated, I wandered into one room where stood a harpsichord, a stronger attraction to me than a pair of bright eyes. I sat down and began playing, when Domen- ico Scarlatti entered the room. He heard the music, and moving quickly toward the harpsichord cried out, " That must be either the famous Saxon or the devil himself." Thus, masked as I was, did he find me out. From Venice I traveled to Rome and Naples, every- where busy composing and producing my works, while gaining at the same time ideas for future use. Some of the airs in my earliest operas and cantatas I used many years after in my later works. I am not the only composer who has done this. In Rome I made the acquaintance of the great Maestro Alessandro Scarlatti, father of the Domenico I have men- tioned. Domenico and I had a friendly contest for superi- ority on both organ and harpsichord. Our judges declared that at the harpsichord our skill was so equal it was impos- sible to decide between us ; but on the organ, though Scar- latti was a glorious player, I was declared victor. In fact, my manipulation of this my favorite instrument was so won- derful that ever after when praised for his organ playing Domenico would say, devoutly crossing himself the while, " But you should hear Handel " After my return from Italy I visited Hanover, and through the intervention of a kind old friend, the Abbote 50 LETTERS FROM GREAT MUSICIANS Steffani, I was made Kapellmeister to the Elector, and also granted leave of absence to complete my travels. Accord- ingly I turned my face toward England, the country which was to be my future home. Toward the close of the year 1 710 I first landed on the British coast, and proceeding to the great city of London, I was soon at work writing an opera. England must then have Italian opera, though some of her singers sang in Italian, some in English, and some in a language I cannot classify except as gibberish. Still the English were content, believing themselves the proud pos- sessors of Italian opera built on proper models. The first opera I presented in London was called <( Rinaldo," and was very cordially received. I do not be- lieve that it would please a modern audience. Tastes have greatly altered since my time ; besides, the whole forma- tion of opera has been greatly altered. Now your tenor is a hero ; when I wrote he was an unimportant character. Male singers had voices called artificial soprano or contralto. Both my hero and heroine were sopranos, the father of my heroine was a contralto, and one principal part was sung by a bass. There is one air in this opera of " Rinaldo " which Avill never die. It is called " Lascia ch'io pianga," and is very simple music, but contains the beauty of absolute sin- cerity. The music fitly conveys the sentiment of the song. Both time and money were lavished on my opera, and it was presented in fine style. On the opening night during TO YOUNG PEOPLE. 51 one song quantities of little birds were set loose to flutter upon the stage. It was a cruel thing to do, for the poor little fellows could so easily have been burned as they flew about dazzled by the brightness and attracted by the glare of the footlights. Some of the librettos which were given me to set to music were very poor productions, but I did my best with them, and endeavored to infuse life into the characters by means of the music. Though the words of the song were meaningless folly, yet I tried to make my music express what the poem failed to tell. I was full of enthusiasm and love of my art, and even the stupid characters invented by some of my librettos could not quench my ardor. " Rinaldo " became a great success ; all over the kingdom it was sung and drummed. The music dealer who pub- lished it made so much money from the large sales of the work that I told him dryly, next time he should compose the opera, I would sell it. I spent six delightful months in London, feted, petted by both the aristocracy and the great public. It is no wonder that I disliked returning to Hanover, and that after London Hanover seemed very stuffy, and the pompous little electoral court was tiresome and monotonous. As soon as possible I ran away from the tedious routine of my duties, and, happy as a school-boy playing truant, appeared once more in London, where I composed the music to an ode on Queen Anne's birthday, and in the following year 52 LETTERS FROM GREAT MUSICIANS a " Te Deum " and a " Jubilate " on the occasion of the Peace of Utrecht. Both of these compositions show more of my style as it is known to you, and less of the Italian school in which for so long a time I tried to write. Queen Anne granted me a pension, and straightway my memory concerning Hanover and the electoral court became more defective than ever. If I had been requested to point out Hanover on the map I doubt if I could have done so! But if I did not return to Hanover, Hanover, in the per- son of its Elector came to me. Queen Anne died very suddenly, and who should succeed her but Elector George of Hanover! This was a predicament I had little dreamed of. I had cared little for the rage of a patron at the safe distance of Hanover from London. Now that neglected patron was King George I. of England, and his anger was exceedingly unpleasant. Moreover he was very angry, as I had good cause to know, for he would not allow my name to be mentioned before him. I had doubly offended, first by my neglected duties as Kapellmeister, then by my Utrecht " Te Deum." The House of Hanover was ill pleased by the peace that " Te Deum " commemorated. But, though I dared not show myself at the palace, my music often pene- trated to the royal ears, for it was more popular than ever, and many a new opera rolled from my facile pen. In my day the displeasure of the reigning house was a very serious matter to an artist, and indeed I imagine that TO YOUNG PEOPLE. 53 this will be true for a long time to come ; so kind friends busied themselves to bring about a reconciliation between the king and me. At last it was managed, and in a very- charming manner. One day the royal family was going to take an excursion on the Thames. On their return in the evening both sides of the river were illuminated, there was firing of cannon, and the river was alive with small boats, all prettily deco- rated and bearing colored lights. One boat followed dis- creetly after the royal boat, and from it came the strains of some new " water music." The king listened with de- light as the pretty melodies came floating over the water, then naturally he asked the composer's name. The ques- tion had been expected, and a true friend of mine was close at hand to answer. Of course you have guessed that I wrote the music. The king accepted the sweet-toned peace-offering and became reconciled to his runaway musician. After this event, whatever quarrels I had with the nobil- ity the royal household were always my staunch friends. The Prince and Princess of Wales were especially kind to me. I remember even now scenes when I used to play before the court. The silly court ladies were unable to abstain long from their gossip and scandal-mongering, so would begin to whisper even while I played. This always put me in such a rage that my very wig would shake and tremble with emotion; then the gentle princess would 54 LETTERS FROM GREAT MUSICIANS whisper to the silly gigglers : " Hush, hush, Handel is in a passion." I could endure no noise while music was in progress, neither could I endure to hear instruments tuned. It was the imperative rule in my orchestra that all the instruments should be in proper tune and the performers begin play- ing without any preliminary scraping of fiddle-bows. One night, and a grand opera night too, all the instruments, in perfect tune, were lying in their places. A wicked fellow must have got at them and put them every one out of tune. The house was crowded, the Prince of Wales being in the royal box. First the musicians entered and took up their instruments, then I appeared, smiling and bowing my thanks to the enthusiastic greeting tendered me. I raised my baton and the overture commenced. Oh, what a fiend- ish noise it was ! I felt as if a volcano had suddenly shot up under me. I bounded into the air, kicked over a double-bass which stood in my way, and seizing a kettle- drum, threw it with all my strength at the leader of the orchestra Off flew my full-bottomed wig, and rushing to the footlights, I stood fuming and raging with passion, while the audience roared with laughter. Could I then have laid hands upon the joker it woald have gone hard with him. You know, of course, how interesting was the era in which I lived. I have no time here to discuss its famous men. But I will mention one remarkable character who TO YQUNG PEOPLE. 55 often entertained some of the most brilliant men in London. This was Thomas Britton, a " small- coal man." He was poor, lowly born, self-educated, but he was also the truest of gentlemen. After his day's work of peddling small-coal from a sack which he carried on his shoulder, he devoted his evenings to music or study. Here was a character which could not be crushed by poverty, adverse circum- stances, or unbending fate. He rose superior to them all. His house had once been a stable ; its best room was long and so low that one could barely stand upright, but in that room could be heard the best chamber-music in all London. Musicians, artists, and gentlefolk all crowded into Thomas Britton's small, ill-furnished room, and we gave him of our very best, for he was worthy of it Between the years 1 7 1 7 and 1 720, I was engaged as or- ganist in the household of the Duke of Chandos. He was a very magnificent patron and lived like a king. He pos- sessed a beautiful private chapel, in which we had some fine services. It was for the music of this chapel that I composed what are usually called the Chandos Anthems. Here, too, I wrote my first oratorio, called " Esther," and also an English version of a work composed previously in Italy, but now known as " Acis and Galatea." There is one song in this work which I understand bass singers still enjoy. I refer to " Oh, Ruddier than the Cherry." In the year 1 720 the Royal Academy of Music was first organized. I was put at the head of affairs, and as there 56 LETTERS FROM GREAT MUSICIANS seemed to be no lack of funds, it was decided to produce opera as it had never been produced before. I did my best. My first opera was a great success, and while I com- posed one opera after another, the two composers I had known in my boyhood were also engaged to write for the Academy. I have told you how Buononcini sneered at the boy ; he tried now to sneer at the man. There was bitter rivalry between us, and as is usual in such cases, enthu- siastic partisans of either side to make the strife more deadly. Ariosti was at this period, as he had been before, a sweet-tempered, kindly soul; he was not equal to fierce fight and the war of factions, and he came to grief, as you shall hear. It was arranged, partly no doubt with the idea of a great advertisement, for the Royal Academy was steadily losing money, that we three composers should all be associated in one opera. Ariosti took the first act, Buononcini the second, I the third. Poor Ariosti was crushed, for his act was unanimously dubbed the poorest, while the rival factions fought more bitterly than ever over the other two. Then, as a climax to our misfortunes, the " Beggar's Opera " was produced at another theater, and the whole town nocked to see it, leaving our fine company to play to empty benches. Jealousy and bickerings were rife in our camp. As if there was not trouble enough before, our singers began to TO YOUNG PEOPLE. 57 make disturbances ! At last came a climax which roused all my German emotion. A singer (very celebrated he was, too) refused to sing one of the loveliest airs I ever wrote, and sent it back to me. But I was not called a "Great Bear" for nothing. I took up my rejected song and marched to the recalcitrant's house. Shaking the music in his face, I cried : " You dog ! don't I know better than you what you shall sing? If you will not sing all the song as I give it you, I will not pay you one stiver!" The song was sung, and the rebellious singer scored a grand success. I would not stand the airs and graces of these singers. They could not order old Handel ; it was for them to obey him. I remember once a singer finding fault with my manner of accompanying him, and telling me that if I played so he would jump upon and smash the harpsichord ! His threat made me laugh heartily, and I replied : " Let me know when you will do that and I will advertise it ; for I am sure more people will come to see you jump than to hear you sing." My greatest trials were with my prima donnas. There were two of them, Cuzzoni and Faustina. They hated each other with a bitter hatred, and neither would be sec- ond to the other; neither would yield in any way to the other. I contrived to make their songs equal, and to give them the same in their duets, but with all this labor some- 5 8 LETTERS FROM GREAT MUSICIANS times the public would show a preference, when immedi- ately the slighted one fell ilL Once Madame Cuzzoni openly revolted and refused to sing an aria I had written for her. That was too much ! "Ah, Madame!" cried I in a fine fury, "I knew you were a very devil, and I shall now let you see that I am Beelzebub, prince of the devils ; " and seizing her I dragged her to an open window, out of which she would certainly have gone had she not solemnly promised to sing my song ; and sing it she did, and well, too! Perhaps the shaking did her good. I have already mentioned the " Beggar's Opera," which was produced in 1757, and which completed the ruin of the Royal Academy. All our capital was spent, and we were obliged to close our affairs and send away our com- pany. Then I determined to become myself a manager. I went abroad, engaged a company of the very best singers I could obtain, and began a season of Italian opera. I ruined myself in my efforts. Overcome with disappoint- ment, and almost in despair, I became very ill, and for a time my mind gave way under my many troubles. Some of the nobility had become very bitter against me, and in order to make my ruin sure gave all their money and influence to the opening of a rival opera-house. To this house went Buononcini, always my enemy, and more so now than ever ; another composer, too, came from Italy — a pedantic and pompous soul. I used to call him " Old TO YOUNG PEOPLE. 59 Porpoise." All that party spite and bitter jealousy could do to crush me was done. My enemies very nearly suc- ceeded in killing me. Caricatures of me were circulated, coarse attacks were made upon me. No wonder that with my splenetic, hasty nature I became crazed with it all. But I had a constitution of iron, and came back to the scene of my defeat to conquer all — even my bitterest ene- mies. How? Have you ever at Christmas time listened to the oratorio of the " Messiah " ? That was the kind of music I could write, but so pig-headed was I that I stuck to opera and spent two fortunes in a mad endeavor to prove that I could tie my genius down to the standard of the Italian opera of my day. The year 1 740 may be considered the date of my eman- cipation from opera. Before that date I had composed "Esther" and "Deborah," after that time I composed eleven oratorios. My greatest work, the " Messiah," was first produced in Dublin, and the proceeds of the perform- ance went to aid the poor, miserable creatures languishing there in the debtors' prison. The oratorio was received with unbounded enthusiasm ; it was by request repeated, and the Irish ladies, bless them, consented to leave their hoops at home so that one hundred more people could be accommodated in the audience! Only a few months before " Israel in Egypt " had been coldly received in London, but now all my troubles were forgotten, and I enjoyed the triumph of this truly noble 60 LETTERS FROM GREAT MUSICIANS work. On the occasion of its first production in London, my enemies assembled in force, hoping for a failure, and refusing to credit the extravagant reports received from Dublin of my great success there. But my enemies could not cavil long; when "The Hallelujah Chorus" was sung, at the words " The Lord God Omnipotent Reigneth," the king and all the audience, as by one common impulse, started to their feet and remained standing to the end. When I wrote that great chorus, " I did think I did see all heaven before me, and the great God Himself." * Ah, my young friends, behold the joy attendant upon such a gift as mine, the divine gift of music in one's soul. It raises one to heaven! It can descend into the depths! All there is of joy, beauty, and light is open to it, while equally it can portray misery, blackness, and despair. Cultivate this gift ; worship it, for it is divine. My oratorio of " Judas Maccabaeus " was composed in thirty days, and was as fine in its way as is the " Messiah." One of its songs is probably very familiar to you — I refer, of course, to " See, the Conquering Hero Comes." Though I had triumphed at last, my enemies were still active. They were, indeed, good haters, and by their con- triving I was once more reduced to poverty. On the nights of my performances parties and different amuse- ments were given to tempt people away — that is, to tempt the nobility and fashionable folk. The common people of * Handel's own words. TO YOUNG PEOPLE. 6 1 England — God bless them! — ever loved and appreciated me. They never swerved in their allegiance, and I know they never will. They may be good " haters," but they are good lovers as well, and once they take any one into their hearts they will not cast him out at the arrival of a stranger. I loved my adopted country, and am proud to know that I am often called an " English composer." After my last trouble, peace seemed granted me. I was an old man then, but I had my enjoyments — a row on the river, the society of my friends, or, almost best of all, a quiet ramble through the streets in the direction of St. Paul's, to slip into the noble building, and sitting at the great organ to lose myself in the waves of harmony evolved by my skillful fingers. No audience could be played out of church while I sat at the organ! Impatient vergers might wait conveniently near the open doors, but the con- gregation sat spellbound, as worshipful under the spell of the music as while taking active part in the beautiful ritual. At last I became blind! It is a terrible affliction. I could still conduct my works, I could still play, but my last composition, "Jephtha," caused me many a struggle, as, with failing vision, again and yet again, I seized the pen and strove to break through the night fast settling upon me. You will remember me now, my friends, will you not? And will you not love me a little ? " Big Bear " as I was, many children loved me. They knew that the bear, not- 62 LETTERS FROM GREAT MUSICIANS withstanding his deep roar, possessed a warm, true heart, and that there was a warm ^corner in it for them. And they were right ; but every heart which possesses the gift of music should be loving and true. It should be uplifted and glorified by this dearest gift of Him who made us ! Now, my children, let me tell you one or two important items which I think you ought to know. I was in my fifty- sixth year when I began the " Messiah;" I completed it in one month. My oratorio of " Israel in Egypt " is specially notable for its choruses, and the " Hailstones and Coals of Fire " chorus is a gem. I used the orchestra as well as the limited resources of my time allowed ; I used large bodies of vocalists as they had never been used before. I was a very voluminous composer and an indefatigable worker. I never married — my music was my all. If you remember all this, you will have a more just idea of me than sometimes prevails. Your friend, George Frederick Handel. TO YOUNG PEOPLE. 6j RITTER CHRISTOPH WILIBALD VON GLUCK. Born 1714. Died 1787. The more truth and precision are sought after, the more necessary are precision and exactness. — Gluck. Simplicity, truth, and nature are the great fundamental principles of the beautiful in all artistic creation. — Idem. My Dears : So I am to write you a letter, the subject of which must be myself. I shall try to grant the request which has been wafted to me in this beautiful, glorious world, where, free from all cares, I revel in its delights. But it is very pleasant to think of the years spent on earth, and it is with keen pleasure that I write you about them. I am indeed honored that I am asked to be among the galaxy of great musicians who have all been sending you letters from this " Land of Beulah." The date of my birth is July 2, 17 14. My parents were poor and occupied a humble position in life, my father being a forester in the service of Prince Lobkowitz. Many a time have I, a bare-footed, ragged urchin, trotted after my father, carrying his luncheon, while he was engaged in his duties about the estate. I have been hungry, cold, and tired. My sturdy legs have ached with fatigue, but even 64 LETTERS FROM GREAT MUSICIANS then, occasionally, a little song would rise to my lips and cheer me on my weary way. It was my father's wish that I should follow his calling, as he did not think that any man could support himself by music ; but almost from in- fancy music ruled me. All my spare time was devoted to it. The prince soon discovered my gift, and became my teacher. With very little assistance I played on the violin and 'cello, and could sing almost anything that was put before me. Finally my father became greatly alarmed at my preference, and took severe measures to eradicate this taste. He would not permit me to practice during the day, and when he discovered that I practiced at night he put the musical instruments under lock and key. I succeeded in retaining my jew's-harp, and what a treasure it was, in the circumstances! I practiced so much on this that I acquired wonderful skill, and I always felt that my future career was greatly influenced by that jew's-harp. When I was twelve years old, my father having been transferred to the prince's estate in Bohemia, I was sent to the Jesuit school at Komotau, where I was instructed in the ordinary branches of learning, organ and piano playing, and also in counterpoint. During one of my holidays I received permission from my father to make an excursion. I had only a few coins in my pocket and my dearly be- loved jew's-harp. Not in the least intimidated by my scanty means, I began my travels. When very hungry, I would enter a farm-house, play on my jew's-harp, and was TO YOUNG PEOPLE. 65 frequently treated hospitably. In the homes of the parish priests, who were more or less music-loving, I was always kindly received. After fourteen days I reached Vienna. Through the influence of one of these priests my father was convinced of my gifts and prevailed upon to withdraw his objections, and on my return I was permitted to follow my heart's de- sire. I shall always think with pleasure of this period of my life ; of the little adventures ; the kind-hearted people I met; and, above all, the treasured jew's-harp, which I always kept. Such memories brighten our lives. Kind- nesses received when really needed spur us on to better things. I remained six years at the Lyceum, and then obtained my father's consent to go to Prague to complete my musi- cal studies. My father not being able to continue his mod- est allowance, I was thrown upon my own resources, and at the age of eighteen I found it no easy matter to gain a livelihood. I played on the organ in different churches, on the violin at village fairs, at the peasants' dances, gave lessons and concerts ; in fact, I did everything or anything of a musical nature by which I could earn an honest penny. By strict economy and fully realizing the value of money, I finally saved enough to go to Vienna, as I had been longing to do for several years. I once more saw my dear old master, Prince Lobkowitz, and was most kindly received by him and his family, who 66 LETTERS FROM GREAT MUSICIANS were very musical. My singing and playing gave them great pleasure. Through the goodness of the prince I be- came the private artist to Prince di Melzi, who took me to Milan and put me under the teaching of Sammartini, the famous teacher and chef d'orchestre, for the purpose of completing my studies in harmony. I labored most assidu- ously for four years, and at the expiration of that time, in 1 741, I produced at Milan my first opera. It was called "Artaserse," and was received with unbounded applause. In four years I composed eight operas, which, between you and me, my dear children, are now quite forgotten, and, I assure you, deserve to be, for, judging them from a musical standpoint, they were failures. London was then one of the musical centers of the world, so I went there in 1745 as composer for the opera at the Haymarket. I produced two operas without suc- cess. Handel, whom I always greatly admired, criticised them in these words : "Mein Gott ! he is an idiot ; he knows no more of counterpoint than my cook." Severe, was it not ? Nevertheless there was more truth than fic- tion in what he said. But the time came when Handel discovered that I could write a noble opera, and that per- haps I knew a little more about counterpoint than he ac- corded to me in those early days, although, I must confess, it was never my strong point. My early operas did not even possess originality. My career in London was not a success. However, pos- TO YOUNG PEOPLE. 6"J sessing good common sense, I could ponder calmly over my failure and learn a useful lesson from it. Before leav- ing London, I determined that if I had not been listened to as a composer, I would be as a performer. Accordingly I appeared at a little theater and played a concerto on twenty-six drinking-glasses tuned with water. I played on them whatever could be done on the violin and other instruments, and was accompanied by the band. Need I say that I was successful? You have learned by this time that I was a determined fellow. I would succeed, if not in one way, then in an- other. Defeats did not discourage me ; they only spurred me on to better work. I always moved in the society of princes and felt that I was their equal, and I never humili- ated my art to gain personal favor from the great ones of earth. I always felt that I had an important mission to perform in the musical world. You will learn later that if I were not the founder of the modern opera, I certainly was of dramatic opera. My whole life was brightened by the sense of my own power. I delighted in my music and my strength. Many have said that I possessed inordinate vanity. Not so ; I only felt conscious of immortality in my compositions, and so expressed myself. When I fin- ished "Armida" I said: " I have written it in such a manner as will prevent it from growing old." And, as you know, those words were true. 68 LETTERS FROM GREAT MUSICIANS A visit to Paris about this time influenced my future more than I then dreamed. I listened to Rameau's operas, and as I heard his admirable recitatives I fully realized the insipid style which had grown up in Italian opera. Abuses had crept in until in place of a genuine and connected drama, with words and music closely allied, it was but a collection of airs fit only to be sung on some concert plat- form ; as the Abbe Arnaud said : " The drama furnished the pretext." I returned to Vienna in 1 746, by the way of Dresden and Hamburg. For some time I lived in seclusion, study- ing the question of music as connected with the drama. I learned that art had been totally forgotten in the eager de- sire to please. I studied diligently the language and liter- ature of different countries, and never neglected an oppor- tunity which might be offered me to mingle with intellect- ual and refined people. The more one is with those who are intellectually superior (or equal) the better it is ; it in- creases one's ambition and urges one on to better work. I began now to compose on a new basis. Of course in the meanwhile I had to live, and being invited to Naples and Rome, I composed a number of operas which did not differ much from the then prevailing style of Italian opera. I met at Florence the poet Calzabigi, and in him found one who appreciated my ideas and who could write a libretto according to them. " My purpose was to restrict music to its true office, that of ministering to the expres- TO YOUNG PEOPLE. 69 sion of poetry, without interrupting the action and weaken- ing it by superfluous ornament." * Calzabigi wrote all the librettos belonging to my noblest and greatest works. My first opera written in the reformed style was " Orfeo ed Euridice " (Orpheus and Eurydice), which was produced at Vienna in 1 762 with marked success, and actually had a run of twenty-eight nights — an unprecedented triumph ! I did not go right on composing in the reformed style, as I was always obliged to conform to circumstances and had many princes to please, who protected me and sang my music. About this time, 1765, I composed " II Parnasso," a melodrama written for the court on the occasion of the marriage of Joseph II. It was very unsubstantial, I assure you, though it had the great honor of being acted by four archduchesses, Duke Leopold playing the accompaniment on the clavecin. "Alceste " was produced in 1767. Hasse and the poet Metastasio, who had written many of the librettos of my earlier operas, were my powerful adversa- ries, but notwithstanding their adverse criticisms, at every repetition of the opera the applause increased. I was now surrounded by all the comforts of life. I had married very happily in 1750. Like everything else in life, I had to work hard to obtain my wife. She was the daughter of a wealthy banker, but on account of her father's dislike for a musical son-in-law, the marriage was delayed for two years. However, I persevered in my suit, * His own words. 70 LETTERS FROM GREAT MUSICIANS and at last, after the death of old Joseph Pergin, his lovely daughter Marianne, whom I loved devotedly, and who returned my affection, became my wife. Although she seemed to yield to my will, she understood how to guide me, and it was her tact that kept peace between me and the outer world, especially in Paris. I must not forget to mention that in 1 767 I became not only Maria Theresa's chef d'orchestre, but instructed her children in music. Marie Antoinette was my favorite pupil. I had many other lovely princesses to teach, but none so winsome as she, nor so guileless. She was undeserving of her tragic fate. When, in 1773, I returned to Paris with my wife and niece (having received a most urgent invitation from the managers of the French Opera to go there), it was through the influence of Marie Antoinette, now dauphiness of France, that I gained the patronage of royalty. I unexpectedly met in Paris a very influential friend, the Duke of Zweibriicken, and in him found a protector. At his urgent invitation we took up our residence at his beau- tiful palace, where I was always treated as a distinguished guest. Here I met many of my Viennese friends, and felt, I assure you, very happy in such surroundings. I was fifty-nine years old when I migrated to Paris, and it was decreed that the most important part of my life was now to be lived. I must say a few words about the condition of affairs in TO YOUNG PEOPLE. •ji France at this time. The infamous career of Louis XV. was almost at its close when I reached there. He had brought the name of king into contempt, and had paved the way for the destruction of it at the hands of an over- burdened and outraged people. The person nearest the crowned vice of France was his grandson, Louis XVI., who succeeded him in 1 774. He, with his beautiful wife, Marie Antoinette, was too good for that corrupt age. Notwith- standing the corruption of this period, it was prolific of great men in every department of life. To Voltaire, Mon- tesquieu, Rousseau, and the Encyclopaedists is attributed in part that dreadful overturning of the institutions of society that formed so terrible a characteristic of the great French Revolution, soon to engulf the whole world in blood. But I must not ramble on in this way any longer, for I have been given a subject to write on, so I must obey the orders. Before I left Vienna to go to Paris I had composed an opera called " Iphigenie en Aulide," founded on Ra- cine's tragedy. Du Rollet, who was the French ambassa- dor to Vienna, was also somewhat of a poet. He was an enthusiastic supporter of my musical theories, and assisted me in writing the libretto for it. It was first rehearsed in Vienna. Marie Antoinette was as much interested in my new opera as I myself was, and when my " Iphigenia " was first performed it was enthusiastically received. The critics were very glad to praise one who was so fa- vored by royalty. The criticisms of Jean Jacques Rousseau 72 LETTERS FROM GREAT MUSICIANS and the Abbe Arnaud were very dear to me. The former wrote me : " I have just attended a rehearsal of your ' Iphigenia,' and am charmed with it. Let me congratulate you and express my unbounded admiration." This honor, believe me, dear children, conferred upon me by that renowned philosopher and writer, was not lost upon me, " for such praise was indeed flattering, and I felt that all my time and trouble had not been in vain." * Ar- naud exclaimed, after hearing "Iphigenia": "With such music one might found a new religion." It became quite the fashion for royalty to attend my re- hearsals. I must have looked very funny, and I do not wonder the rehearsals were so crowded. Before taking my seat in the orchestra I always took off my coat and my wig, and for the latter substituted a cotton night-cap. I then conducted very comfortably. But I often grew very cross, and scolded the singers with force, I assure you. My wife always went with me, ever striving to reconcile my lack of amiability with the stupidity of the artists. How tedious it must have been for her, for the rehearsals lasted from nine o'clock in the morning until late in the afternoon. Then, too, she must have been in constant dread that some of the musicians would throw their instruments at me, as I did not spare any of them, calling their performances " thoughtless, insipid, drawling," stopping them constantly * His own words. TO YOUNG PEOPLE. 73 and making them repeat, and showing them how this and that passage should be rendered. Altogether those re- hearsals must have been very trying to the poor musicians, amusing to the lookers-on, and, I confess right here, they were simply maddening to me. My rehearsals of " Orpheus " were conducted more quietly. I now knew the capacities of my artists, and, be- sides, they had been so successful in their various parts in " Iphigenia " that, although they did not love my strict dis- cipline, they respected it thereafter. Owing to the death of Louis XV., the performance of "Orpheus" was post- poned for a time. Notwithstanding the fact that I had many opponents, my success was magnificent. The part that created the great- est sensation is the aria " Orpheus descending into Hades," and the Furies' singing in the chorus of " Non, non." The second act was considered a masterpiece in my day, and I trust it is still regarded as a wonderful production of the human mind. Marie Antoinette was so pleased with " Or- pheus and Eurydice " that she granted me a pension of six thousand francs, with the promise of the same amount for every new opera I bestowed upon the French stage. I now re-arranged "Alceste," which I have mentioned to you before. It was produced in 1776, and was a brilliant success. Some one on the first night of its presentation said: "The piece has fallen." Abbe* Arnaud, always my staunch friend, arose in his 74 LETTERS FROM GREAT MUSICIANS box and replied : " Yes, fallen from heaven ! " I was called the " Hercules of Music." Every one considered me a great composer. It made no difference whether they knew anything about it or not. Admirers followed me when I walked abroad ; I was feted and courted by everybody. Gifts were showered upon me. But, my dear children, after this wonderful tide of prosperity there was to come a reverse wave. I began to work on a new opera, "Armida," which I in- tended to be my masterpiece. At this time there were two factions in the musical world of Paris — my followers, called Gluckists, and those of Piccini, dubbed Piccinists. Piccini was patronized by Madame du Barry, Marmontel, and La Harpe the eloquent. Abbe Arnaud fought for me, also Du Rollet, and of course the queen was my patroness. Piccini was a talented musician, and was now at work on an opera called " Rolando," which was to be produced shortly after "Armida." My "Armida" at its first production did not have the success it deserved, but afterward it was fully ap- preciated and attained great popularity. Need I say that "Rolando" was an immense success? It was now decided that Piccini and I should compose an opera on the same subject. The one selected was " Iphi- genia in Tauris," my second " Iphigenia." It was produced in 1 780, and was a masterpiece ; indeed, my rival, Piccini, put his score away out of sight for two years. Paris went wild over mine. Even my enemies were silenced. Abbe TO YOUNG PEOPLE. 75 Arnaud said : " There is only one beautiful part, and that is the whole of it." By this I showed my superiority over Piccini, whose "Iphigenia" was not produced until 1781, and could not compare with mine. In 1 768, while living in Vienna, and shortly after my "Alceste" had been produced, a boy of twelve had the presumption not only to write an opera, but to consider that opera worthy of production ! Absurd ! What could a boy know of counterpoint, of thorough-bass? Could a boy fit to music words he knew nothing about ? Of course I opposed the little fellow. A nice enough boy, no doubt, but as a musician hardly fit to conduct one of his childish works in the same place where my compositions had been heard. Hardly fit, indeed, to stand where I had stood, leading my forces! Young people are inclined to be for- ward. But I like to encourage real merit, and so when this boy grew to manhood and wrote some really beautiful operas, I was delighted, praised his works, and invited the composer and his wife to dinner. I have forgotten to mention the musician's name : it was Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. The last opera I wrote for the French stage was " Echo et Narcisse," but it was not very successful. I now deter- mined to leave Paris, return to Vienna, and there spend the remaining days of my earthly pilgrimage. In 1 780 I bade farewell to Paris. Marie Antoinette begged me to remain, but I longed for the quiet of a home. Still, in my retire- 76 LETTERS FROM GREAT MUSICIANS ment I was visited by the great and illustrious of the world, among them, the emperor and empress of Russia. I fully- realized that I was not forgotten. Before finishing this letter I must tell you that I always understood the value of money, and by the four operas produced in Paris I made 700,000 francs. So in my old age I was surrounded by all the comforts and luxuries money could buy. I was very fond of a glass of wine, and unfortunately I sometimes drank to excess. When I wanted to make my imagination very vivid, I would go into a meadow, have my piano taken there, and, with a bottle of champagne on each side of me, I would compose in the open air. In this companionship I wrote my two " Iphigenias " and " Orpheus." Are you shocked at this confession? Well, we all have our faults, but I am sure that if I had my life on earth to live over again I should not yield to such a habit. I would fight against it, as I did against everything else, and perhaps I should come out triumphant Please overlook my faults, and think only of the music I have left to posterity. I fear I have wearied you, but if so, forgive me, and believe me to be Your sincere friend, RlTTER CHRISTOPH WlLIBALD VON GLUCK. TO YOUNG PEOPLE. 7 J JOSEF HAYDN. Born 1732. Died 1809. My language is understood all over the world. — Haydn. My Dear Children : A short time ago one said to me : " Down there, in the work-a-day world, in the big towns — ay, and in the little ones too — young people are playing your symphonies, are practicing your sonatas, and are loving you for the beautiful music which filled your brain long before they or their parents were born or thought of." Oh, how glad I was ! Happy as I now am, it made me happier to know that children, dear boys and girls, full of ambitions and hopes, untouched by worldly care, were playing the music I left behind as a message to posterity. If one has music in one's soul, it must out. One could as easily fetter in some noisome dungeon a great, beautiful, white-robed angel, as chain up in one's breast the melodies set throbbing there by the touch of that dear child of God's grace — Genius. I wonder if any one reading these words knows what poverty means ? If so, shake hands, for I knew the mean- ing of that hard word well. My parents were very hum- 78 LETTERS FROM GREAT MUSICIANS ble people, but, like most German peasants, they were fond of music ; and how the songs and the sweet harp tones en- livened many a humble meal ! My father could both sing and accompany himself on the harp. But he knew too lit- tle to instruct me, and was too poor to have me taught. I was sent to a village school in Austria. When I was a mere baby I used to watch my teacher with wondering eyes when he played on his violin, and I longed to be able to do the same. One day I took two pieces of wood and handled them as if they were a bow and fiddle. While my parents sang their evening songs I kept exact time with them, flourishing my bow like the village master. A relative happened to be present, and thinking that I must be very fond of music to be content with such a dumb in- strument, offered to take me to Hamburg to be instructed. So at six years of age I left my home and went to the big town. There I stayed two years, working hard, so hard that soon I was able to sing in the masses of the " church choir." I am now very grateful to my teacher, Herr Franckh, for keeping me so hard at work as he did, for I assure you he was a stern task-master. But then I was often tired and naughty too, and received more floggings, I must con- fess, than I did food. Yet my love for music never dwin- dled, though I am afraid that you will think my taste in musical instruments was not of the highest, for in those boyish days I loved to play the drum! Once a great TO YOUNG PEOPLE. 79 honor fell to me. We boys were to march in a grand pro- cession, when, lo! just as everything was arranged the cry arose, " Where is the drummer? " All was confusion. "No drummer!" What to do we did not know, for we could not march without the drum. Then one boy shouted — oh, how I loved him for it — " Where is little Josef? He can play." " Yes, yes," cried all the boys, "Josef can play," and before I could realize my happiness I was thrust into the drummer's place, while a little hunchback good-naturedly carried the drum on his shoulders for me, for, truth to tell, my drum was nearly as large as myself. When I grew to be a man I often led orchestras, and bowed my thanks to applauding thousands; but I never remember a prouder moment than when, scantily clad and half starved, I marched proudly among my boyish friends, beating my big drum. One day Herr Reutter, the court composer at Vienna, visited Hamburg in search of boy singers to be choristers in the great St. Stephen's Church at Vienna. I was pro- posed, and was sent for to appear before Reutter, who was staying at the dean's. According to the custom of the day I wore a bob-wig, and indeed my dress was as poor as possible. There happened to be some cherries on the dean's table, and I, being very scantily fed, could not take my eyes off of them. Reutter noticed it and gave me some handfuls in my hat. He then made me sing some SO LETTERS FROM GREAT MUSICIANS Latin and Italian strophes, the meaning of which I did not know. But Reutter seemed satisfied, and then asked me to execute a " shake," which of course I could not do. So, in a childish way I said, " I couldn't shake, nor my cousin either." My school- master seemed annoyed, but Reutter only laughed, and gave me some hints about how to do one. I imitated him so well that he took me, and thus, at the age of eight, I became a chorister-boy in St. Stephen's Church. Here I remained for five or six years. The house in which I lived was close to the cathedral. My days were spent in singing in the choir or studying whatever my master would teach me, but Reutter (I will hurry over this, for he has often since owned his sorrow at his mean- ness) grew rather jealous of a pupil who made such rapid strides as did the child he had one day fed with cherries, and hardly instructed me at all. Unfortunately for me, I became the possessor of a new pair of scissors, and the pig-tail of one of my school-fellows suggested an opportunity for their use. The fatal scissors met, and the pig-tail was removed. Reutter condemned me to a caning and then to be expelled. I was sent adrift My parents were too poor to support me ; there were al- ready ten brothers and sisters for them to look after. I wandered about the streets of Vienna, until I remembered the one person, a barber named Keller, who had ever encouraged me. I went to his humble abode, where I re- TO YOUNG PEOPLE. 8 1 ceived a most cordial welcome, though he had very little to offer me : only a loft in which there was an old harpsi- chord, and a seat at his plain table. How joyfully I went to work in this wig-maker's family, and how diligently I used to practice on that old worm-eaten clavier! Life was indeed hard. One day, having bought very cheap some good music, I studied it earnestly, and began to prepare myself for the life of a composer. Now and then I would go into Kel- ler's shop, where he and his daughter were at work on wigs, and often I would assist them. Anne Keller was a plain girl, and knew nothing of my great art ; still, she was very kind to me. I became engaged to her, and later, when I was more prosperous, I married her. My marriage was not a happy one, and the wretched temper of my wife forced me to separate from her. I always cared for her tenderly, and I feel sure she was content with her lot in life. About this time I met the Italian poet Metastasio, who possessed a very kindly nature and made it his special task to assist me. I gave his adopted daughter lessons in sing- ing, in consideration of board and a small salary. I occu- pied this position for three years. My acquaintance with Metastasio proved of great advantage to me. Through him I met Porpora, an Italian maestro and an admirable singer. I became his private servant, and received the salary of two florins a month, with board, and now and 82 LETTERS FROM GREAT MUSICIANS then a lesson from him. It was the great love for my art that prompted me to accept the position of a servant, and it was very hard sometimes for me to submit to the abus- ive language of old Porpora. I remained with him three months. During that time my style of playing attracted much attention, and I received numerous visits from his artist friends, which proved of great advantage to my immediate future. When I returned to Vienna I secured pupils through the kindness of my new friends, and accepted a position as organist at Count Haugwitz's private chapel. I also took charge of the first violin at the convent of the Carmelites, and sang in the choir at St. Stephen's or in any other church where help was wanted. I now began some ambitious compositions, more particularly string quartets, and before I had completed my nineteenth year the first of these was published with great success. Doubtless you have all heard how I happened to write my "Tempest Music." Never mind, if you do know you will forgive me if I tell you now. A comic actor wanted me to put a farce of his to music. In one part a terrible thunder-storm at sea was supposed to be raging. The music must tell the story. As I had never seen the sea, I had not the slightest idea of what a storm at sea might be. The actor tried to tell me about the waves running mountains high, the pitching and tossing of the ship, the roll of the thunder, the howling of the wind, but I only TO YOUNG PEOPLE. 83 brought forth all sorts of ugly, jerky, and noisy sounds. The man was hoarse in consequence of his efforts to make me understand. I became infuriated also, and in a rage I crashed my hands on the two ends of the instrument and cried, " Let's have done with this tempest." The actor jumped up and embraced me, shouting, " That is the right thing." Many years after, when I was cross- ing the Strait of Dover to England, I had occasion to think of my "Tempest at Sea." I was very sea-sick, but amid my sufferings I could not help laughing at the ludicrous recollections of this early experience. Well, well, I have been rambling on ! But do you feel that you know me a little better? I hope so. One word more — have any of you small hands? Let me tell you how I managed sometimes with a big chord. One day I was playing a great piece ; the music crashed and rolled and then died into soft, dreamy melody, to wake again in a stirring harmony. I was all entranced. Suddenly I came to a passage where, after using every finger I possessed, I still found myself unable to touch one note, and that a note necessary to complete the harmony. Nature, per- haps foreseeing this very occasion, had gifted me with a long nose. Quick as a flash I struck that rebellious note with my nose and saved my harmony. In 1760 Prince Esterhazy appointed me as his chef d'orchestre, which post I filled for thirty years. My dearly beloved mother did not live to know of my success, but 84 LETTERS FROM GREAT MUSICIANS my good old father was indeed proud of me. In 1 790 I visited England. My pet pupil Mozart tried to dissuade me from going. How well I remember his parting words : " Good-by, dear Papa Haydn. I feel I shall never see you again" How true ! I never saw my beloved friend again. The sad foreboding that the parting would be a final one was unhappily too well founded, for in less than a year that gifted child had passed from death into life eternal. My sojourn in London was delightful. " My arrival in London created a sensation for which I cannot account. For three days my name was mentioned in every newspaper. Every day I was expected to dine at some house or other, because people were curious to see and know me. I was told that such honors had not been conferred on any one for the last fifty years. This is all very flattering, and I do not know how I have deserved it ; but sometimes I felt a longing desire to be back in Vienna, if only for a time, in order to have more leisure for work, for the noise of the hawkers in the streets of London was really past endurance." * I gave a series of concerts in London with ever-increas- ing success. Before I left England the University of Ox- ford conferred upon me the degree of doctor of music. So the years of my earth-life slipped by ; years of toil at my art. Finally I was permitted to write the oratorio of " The * His own account in one of his letters. TO YOUNG PEOPLE. 85 Creation" and "The Four Seasons." Although I wrote many such works during my youth and early manhood, it remained for my old age to accomplish my greatest works, and that by which I am best known is " The Creation." I never felt that it was my work, but that it came from above. Now that you know something about the man, will you not be more interested in his works? I trust so. Think of me in my garret playing on my old clavier, while you are practicing in cheerful rooms. From the few facts given you know that my life was of a mingled skein, good and evil together. I beg of you to remember that the great path of human welfare lies along the highway of steadfast well-doing, and they who are the most persistent and work in the truest spirit will in the end achieve success. I say in the end, for many a sad story of starving genius tells us that your world has a way of putting her great ones into garrets and crushing many of their best years under the weight of her neglect. Nevertheless, it is still a glorious truth that success treads upon the heels of every right effort. Your friend, Josef Haydn. 86 LETTERS FROM GREAT MUSICIANS WOLFGANG AMADEUS MOZART. Born 1756. Died 1791. "This boy will one day cause us all to be forgotten." — [Said of Mozart when a youth, by Hasse, a celebrated musician.] My Dear Children : I was born in a very beauti- ful town of Germany, called Salzburg. You must get others to praise the place, however, for I had little love for it. It so cramped me musically that I was always glad to get away, though my own home was a very happy one. My father, mother, sister, and myself were all devoted to one another. My mother was gentle and loving. My sister, who was older than myself, was also musically gifted, and was a very lovely girl, though we sometimes accused her of being rather selfish and grasping in her disposition. But do we not all have faults? To be sure we do, and it is much easier to criticise our friends' faults than to correct our own. As to my father, when I tell you that in boyhood I used to say, " Next to our gracious God comes papa!" you will understand how dearly I loved him. Every night when I went to bed we sang together a meaningless little duet — " Oragina, fiago, ta, fa," — then I used to kiss the tip of his TO YOUNG PEOPLE. 87 nose and declare that when I was older I would put him under a glass case to keep him from the cold and make him stay at home ; then after more nonsense I would go to bed, a very happy boy. For many years my father's practical common sense guided me in all business matters. I own (this is in strict confidence, mind you) that I never had enough business capacity to fill a thimble ! I never could learn the value of money. When I had it I spent it, was generous with my friends, and gave away freely ; when I had it not I was sometimes worried and depressed, though I generally got along in a happy-go-lucky manner. We geniuses are treated in a curious manner, don't you think so ? Think how many of us have lived in attics, half starved, and, worse than that, have seen our dearest and nearest suffer want, and all the time the great relentless world goes on, unnoticing, or, if noticing, only sneering at " impractical fools," as it calls us. Then we leave it, and, presto ! it dis- covers a great liking for us, erects some costly memorial, and always mentions us with becoming reverence. But there, there, I started to tell you something about my boyhood, and I am running on like a garrulous old woman. I don't know whether I cried in scales and chro- matic intervals when I was an infant, but I do know that music seemed always my natural language. I used to play with my toys to some kind of a musical accompani- ment, and put them away to march music. I entered so 88 LETTERS FROM GREAT MUSICIANS thoroughly into everything that I did that for the time I forgot all else ; eating and drinking had to be mentioned to me, otherwise I should never have remembered them. When I was four years old I was found one day busily writing, and on being questioned I said that I was writing a piano-forte concerto! My father had a hearty laugh over this remarkable composition, for every time that I dipped my pen in the ink, down it went to the very bottom, of the bottle, and so big drops of ink fell on my paper, but I calmly smeared them off with my finger and wrote over them. After laughing over my inky paper, however, my father discovered, when he looked more closely at my sprawling notes, that I had written quite correctly and according to rule ; then he praised and petted me, and I was very happy. I owned a dear little violin of my very own, and on this I loved to play. Once when my father and some friends were playing together they allowed me to play with the second violin, though they did not dream that I could do so correctly. Soon, however, the second violin laid down his fiddle in amazement ; he was not needed, for I could play perfectly well ! They all praised me so much that I became bold enough to try first violin. Then there was a good laugh over my original fingering, but by hook or crook I managed to get the right notes. I used to call the violin belonging to one of our friends " a butter violin," because it had such a full, soft tone. A shrill noise, like TO YOUNG PEOPLE. 89 that made by a trumpet, would give me a terrible fright, and once I came near fainting when one was sounded near me very- suddenly. When I was six and my sister " Nannerl " ten, my fa- ther took us to Munich to show people how well we could play. From there we went to Vienna, where, to begin with, I saved my father from paying custom duty. I made friends with the officer, showed him my harpsichord, played him a minuet on my violin, and " that passed us through." In Vienna we were treated most kindly. The great empress, Maria Theresa, and her consort were delighted with us. They called me " little magician," and the em- peror tried my skill in many ways. One day he told me laughingly that playing with one finger was much more difficult than playing with all. I played with one finger to his delight. At another time he had the keyboard covered with a cloth, but I played away as securely as if I could see all the keys. I afterward did this in public, at my concerts. Besides this, I could name all the notes when they were played out of my sight, either in chords or one by one on a clavier or any instrument, or even on a bell, a glass, or the striking part of a clock. I used to im- provise on the organ, and also on the harpsichord. Some of these things, like playing with the keys covered, are only silly tricks, and music is too noble to be treated so. I used to love playing to musicians best, for they could appreciate my wonderful acuteness of ear. I could detect 90 LETTERS FROM GREAT MUSICIANS in an instrument a difference of a quarter of a tone in any note ! Think of this when you strike a false note in your playing and have to be told before you notice it. Once when the court crowded around to hear me play, I called for an old musician to come and stand by me, saying rather coolly that he knew " something about it." The em- peror himself moved aside to let him pass. This did not concern me much, for I had very little reverence for crowned heads and stood in no kind of awe of them. I jumped into the lap of the empress, Maria Theresa, and kissed her heartily, and one day I told the little arch- duchess, Marie Antoinette, that I would marry her! This was because she was so kind to me and picked me up when I had a tumble on the slippery floor. Poor little Marie Antoinette! How much happier her life would have been could she have married some honest burgher's son! The empress gave to " Nannerl " and myself some clothes which had been made for her own children, and a fine dash we cut in them ! Our portraits were painted in these dresses, and I was very proud when I saw myself in a violet- colored suit trimmed with broad gold braid, my little coat-tails sticking out stiff and pompous to behold, powder on my head, and, best of all, a real sword by my side! In the year following this trip we went to Paris. Here also the court was very kind to us. But in this court a TO YOUNG PEOPLE. 9 1 certain Marquise de Pompadour was all-powerful. One day she placed me on a table before her, and I bent for- ward to give her a kiss, but she would not let me, on which I cried out in anger, " Who is this who will not kiss me ? The empress kissed me!" I don't believe Madame de Pompadour liked this at all. What do you think ? While in Paris I showed how wonderfully quick was my ear by accompanying a lady in a song I had never heard, without seeing the music. After going through this once, when of course I made some errors through my entire ignorance of the air, I played the second time, melody and all, without a mistake ! This feat was much discussed, and I won by it great praise. From Paris we went to London, where we were splen- didly received, and where we won the admiration due to artists, not to infant prodigies. After our return home to Salzburg, I studied quietly, until, in 1 767, I composed the first part to an oratorio. I was then only ten, and tried my hand at this serious work at the wish of the archbishop, who did not believe in my powers and so put them to the test. He kept me shut up away from my home while I was composing, as he fancied that my father was the real composer of some of the music which bore my name. After this we went back to Vienna, but were frightened away by small-pox, which, however, we caught. Both my sister and myself were very ill, and what an anxious time my poor parents had! Careful nursing brought us 92 LETTERS FROM GREAT MUSICIANS through, and when we ventured back to Vienna once more I was asked to compose a comic opera. I was wild with delight, as it was even then my dream to be able to com- pose operas. At about this time Gluck's "Alceste" was produced in Vienna. This opera was a protest against the dramatic music which had gone before it. But I did not then appreciate this as I did in after-years. Possibly I could not think very kindly of Gluck at this time, for when my opera was finished he declared against me, and did not believe that a boy of twelve could write an opera worth listening to. Gluck was honorable and straightforward in what he said, but plenty of people were not so good, and jealousies and numberless strifes arose. Even the singers grew frightened at last, as they were promised a round hissing whenever the opera should be performed. After months of weary waiting we were all compelled to abandon hope. But one great good came from this bitter disappoint- ment. It had been said that I knew nothing about Italian, and consequently could not fit melodies to Italian words, and people also asked what could I know, when I had never studied in the home of art, fair Italy ? This stirred my father, and as soon as it could be managed, he and I crossed the borders which separated Germany from the land of music. Here I composed operas which were presented. In Milan, in 1770, I had the great pleasure of directing my TO YOUNG PEOPLE. 93 first opera which was given in public. The name of the work was " Mithridates." The audience shouted and cheered, and cried, "Long live the little maestro!" till I felt wild with delight. Wherever we went we were re- ceived with enthusiasm, and while we were in Rome the pope gave me the cross of the order of the Golden Spur, so that now I was called the Chevalier Mozart. But my father would always laugh when people called his boy " signor cavaliere." Of course you have heard the story of how, when in Rome during Holy Week, I wrote down from memory Al- legri's " Miserere," which was always sung in the Sistine chapel, and was carefully guarded, none of the parts being allowed to leave the chapel. Don't make too much of this feat, for should you ever hear this music, you will realize that it is rather easy to remember. I afterward heard it sung for a second time, and made some corrections in my first draught of it. What delighted me particularly during this my first stay in Italy was the glories of the carnival season, and the many balls, masques, and other festivities which we attended during our travels. I always enjoyed jollity, and was tremendously fond of dancing. I used to declare that I could dance as well as I composed. On my return home I was honored by a commission from the Empress Maria Theresa to write a theatrical cantata for the marriage of her son Ferdinand with Beatrice of Mo- dena. I had so little time given me in which to do this 94 LETTERS FROM GREAT MUSICIANS work that my fingers ached from holding the pen so stead- ily, and I wrote home that a violinist was in the room above me, a singing-master giving lessons next door, and an oboist opposite. All this, I said, was capital for compos- ing; it gave me " new ideas." My cantata was a success. The newly married couple bowed to me from their box, and called out many kindly bravoes. Again I produced a successful opera, " Lucio Silla," in Milan. Such a funny thing happened on its first night. Our tenor was nothing of an actor, and in the prima don- na's first song to him he must express great rage. Poor fellow! so anxious was he to appear angry that he made many wild gestures, which looked for all the world as if he wanted to box the lady's ears ! The audience roared with laughter, and the poor prima donna was nearly frightened out of her voice. After my travels in Italy and my stay in Vienna, Salz- burg seemed to me worse than ever. Besides, my father and myself had a very disagreeable patron in the new arch- bishop (the good one of my boyhood having died). This man treated the musicians of his court as if they were slaves. I came in for worse treatment than any of the others, and he always pretended not to believe in my ability, while keeping me busy composing church music for him. At last I shook off the fetters of the " grand Mufti," as I called our prelate, and started on a tour, accompanied TO YOUNG PEOPLE. 95 only by my mother. The " Mufti " would not give my father leave of absence, and his position and salary were all we had to depend upon until I could find some good posi- tion. I tried to attach myself to some court, and thus be assured of an income ; but though people still spoke highly of my talents, I found money much harder to earn as a young man in search of a fortune than when I first ap- peared as a child. Some tried to get all the work they could out of me for nothing, or for very little, and though I was moderate in my wishes, still I had to live. We visited both Munich and Augsburg without finding a chance to settle in either place ; then we traveled to Mannheim, where I made the acquaintance of a family from whom I was destined to re- ceive many blessings and some trouble also. But blessing and trouble are often mixed together, as you may have noticed. I must tell you that a pretty face always at- tracted me, and when the owner of that face happened to be musical as well, why, naturally for a time my feelings were very intense, or I thought they were — much the same thing. The music director in Mannheim (that is, the di- rector of the Elector's orchestra), Herr Cannabich by name, was a great friend and admirer of mine. I was received in his house with great heartiness, and began to give some lessons to his youngest daughter, who made quite a clever pupil. Other families also gladly received me, and at length I made the acquaintance of a theater copyist, Herr 96 LETTERS FROM GREAT MUSICIANS Weber. His second daughter, Aloysia, had a glorious voice, and I was at once interested in her. I taught her all chat I had learned about singing while in Italy, and I wrote an aria especially for her. It was very difficult, running up to E in alt, so you see what a compass her voice had. This air she sang in a manner that simply enchanted me. It was for a sister of Aloysia' s that long years afterward I wrote the part of the " Queen of the Night " in the " Magic Flute." It was then the custom in writing an opera first to know your singers and fit your music to their voices, not their voices to your music. This never gave me much trouble, as I had the gift of melody to a marked degree. I was very anxious to join the Webers in a concert tour, but my father would not hear to this, and sent a peremp- tory letter urging us on to Paris. Indeed, he was right. My love for Aloysia had gradually absorbed every other feeling, even making me neglect my first best gift — that of composition. True love spurs us on to renewed labor, and does not dampen our energies, but this restless feeling that now possessed me made me moody, excitable, and easily an- gered. I listened perforce to my father's well-meant ad- vice, and to Paris we went. If you would know how many struggles and how much suffering it cost me to leave Mannheim, and all it held so dear to me, look over my sonata in A minor. I composed it at this time as a relief to my overburdened heart. People have wondered over TO YOUNG PEOPLE. 97 the manner of it. It reminds them of that great musician, Handel, more than of my usually light-hearted self. If he often felt as I did, then I am sorry for him. I poured out my sad, passionate heart in that sonata, and it still speaks a language that the initiated may understand. During my stay in Paris I was unconsciously being well schooled. The conflict between the old-fashioned Italian opera style, as then represented by Piccini, and the new French style, with Gluck as its founder, was now raging, and to Gluck's beautiful works I was drawn more and more. I presented a symphony of my own to the public, and I was well received. I was a very boyish-looking conductor even then, for though now a man grown, I was a little man, and my round, good-humored face made me appear younger than I really was. A great grief came to me during this sojourn in Paris ; my dear mother sickened and died, leaving me very lonely and sad at heart. I tried to bear my sorrow as a man and a Christian should, but I was very glad to turn my back on Paris and begin at last my long journey homeward. With my whole heart I longed to be settled in Munich, where Aloysia had been made a court singer. I rejoiced at her good fortune, for she could now be of much assistance to her family, who had long suffered from poverty. How eagerly did I look forward to meeting her once more! Many weary weeks were consumed in my homeward journey, for though I left Paris in September, I did not 98 LETTERS FROM GREAT MUSICIANS reach Munich till Christmas day, and then only to have every hope dashed to the ground. Aloysia no longer cared for me. I was heart-broken. I put on a bold face before her, singing a song which said : " I gladly leave the girl who does not care for me." But, alas ! I was not glad, I was most miserable, " unfit for anything;" as I wrote my father, " My heart is too full of tears." Back I went to Salzburg, where I received a warm welcome from my father, " Nannerl," and many friends. Every one did something to prove his love and friendship. I had been away nearly two years, but I had not been for- gotten. One wished me to use his carriage, another had a horse that I could ride, and my sister petted and coddled me. Unhappy as I then was, I appreciated all this kindly friendship. My father had gained an appointment for us with the old " Mufti," who was crosser and more dictatorial than ever. It was but natural for my father to wish to have me near him, but how I chafed at our narrow life, with its manifold restrictions! Soon a commission came from Munich to write a grand opera. Oh, the joy I felt ! Off I packed to take the measure of my singers, and every thought, every nerve was strained till my opera was done. " Idomeneus, King of Crete," was a grand success, and when our old muff of an archbishop heard every one sing- ing the praises of one of his musicians, I was at once or- dered to attend upon him in Vienna, where he then was. What a life he led me ! I was made to feel in a thousand TO YOUNG PEOPLE. 99 ways that he had but considered me as a common servant ! The Viennese were most enthusiastic over my playing, but I was allowed to play only at the archbishop's concerts, and when a chance came for me to earn money by play- ing elsewhere, he peremptorily refused to allow me to play. As my fame grew his insolence grew with it. My dear children, I will not weary you with all the wretched details, how I, a musician and a man, was treated like a slave. My blood boils when I but recall that sad time. I was ordered back to Salzburg. A heated talk with the archbishop took place ; he loaded me with insult- ing epithets, and I left his presence determined to be a free man. My father grieved me deeply by urging me to ac- cept all the insults which were heaped upon me, and to continue in my servitude. But a man's first duty is to be true to himself, and so, for the first time, I refused to obey my father's commands. Not content with insults, my ene- mies of the archbishop's household assailed my character. I am sure that you now know me too well to believe their malicious stories. Time has cleared my name, but at the time of which I am writing, I suffered much from the at- tacks of venomous tongues. While I was working away giving lessons, composing, and rejoicing in the fact that I was at last a free man, I became aware that a quiet little personality which I had long known, but which had before been overshadowed, was growing exceedingly dear to me. In plain language, IOO LETTERS FROM GREAT MUSICIANS I found that Constanze Weber, a younger sister of the Aloysia whom I had once so worshiped, was necessary to my happiness. I loved her, and she returned my love. How much harder I worked when I thought of my little Constanze, and the home I wished to prepare for her. This was no restless, unhappy passion, but a manly, deter- mined love. But my father, grown so unlike himself of late, refused to sanction our marriage, and my future wife's mother also made us both very unhappy. At last, after numberless bitter and reproachful letters had passed between my father and myself, without bringing us any nearer a peaceful settlement, a noble lady, the Bar- oness von Waldstadten, took pity on us. She advanced me enough money to make my marriage possible. She had my Constanze stay at her house. She prevailed upon my father to relent, and one happy day in August, 1782, we were married. Such a blessing as my little wife proved to be ! When I returned home weary from teaching, there was always a sweet face smiling a welcome on me. When I was com- posing, and was so wrapped up in my own thoughts that I was blind and deaf to all ordinary life, Constanze saw that I was not disturbed. She even cut my food for me, lest in my absent-mindedness I should carve myself instead of the meat. When I was overworked, she read aloud to me, or told me entertaining stories. Suppose we did sometimes quarrel? That is no one's business but our TO YOUNG PEOPLE. IOI own. We forgave each other after these little tiffs, and we loved each other tenderly. Our housekeeping depended upon my earnings, and to tell the truth neither my wife nor myself were good managers. But we were young and in good health, and could afford to laugh at petty ills. Sometimes I spent more money than I ought upon some pet, for I was very fond of animals. Once I bought a star- ling that whistled one of my airs. I was much attached to the dear little fellow, and when he died I erected a monument over his grave in our garden. Now I will tell you a story over which I know you will laugh, but, never mind, I will laugh with you. One day a friend came to call at my house and found me dancing gayly about the room with my wife in my arms. "What!" he cried, "are you teaching Madame Con- stanze to dance?" " Oh, no ! " said I, " we are dancing to keep warm," for it was in winter, and we had no fire- wood ! The dear fel- low insisted upon sending us some, for which I promised to pay when I had some money. How proud I was when my first baby, a son, lay in my arms. Now there were two to think for. But, alas ! " the poor, dear little fat baby " stayed with us only six months. Perhaps he was wise in turning his back upon a world which is so often cruel and cold, but we missed him sadly. I loved to be surrounded by jolly friends. I liked when not working to be easy and gay. I have said that I was 102 LETTERS FROM GREAT MUSICIANS fond of dancing, and during one carnival season I per- formed in a little pantomime as " Harlequin " ; Aloysia (now my sister-in-law) was "Columbine"; words and music were mine, and we greatly enjoyed the fun of the thing. The minuet was my favorite dance. I have written some pretty ones, have I not? Do you dance them now? I hope that you like to play my sonatas, and that some- times you listen to my symphonies, quintettes, or some other of my numberless works. I composed very rapidly ; my head simply buzzed with melodies while I worked. I have enriched the service of my Church with many beau- tiful masses, for I was a Roman Catholic, and I loved de- votional music, though my weak point was opera. I loved to write dramatic music. I have told you how I succeeded at operatic work when a boy and a young musician. My first opera after my marriage was " The Marriage of Fi- garo," and it succeeded in spite of intrigue, jealousy, and the attacks of envenomed enemies. I had already written "The Escape from the Seraglio," and that was produced at about the time when my Constanze escaped from her unhappy home and became my wife. My greatest opera is "Don Giovanni." But perhaps you like "The Magic Flute " best. Either of these works, or my last composi- tion, the " Requiem mass," would be all the monument I need to prove my rank as a composer. Once I had the pleasure of meeting a young man who TO YOUNG PEOPLE. 103 was afterward a king in the realm of music. That was Bee- thoven; but another and an older musician was a dear friend of mine. I mean Josef Haydn. I called him " papa," and we were very fond of each other. He was a dear, sweet old man, kind and genial to all. People did not then appreciate him as his genius deserved, and noth- ing made me more angry than to hear stupid people criti- cising his beautiful works. Once I told a stupid fellow that he and I rolled into one could not make a Josef Haydn. Now I beg of you not to think me too conceited if I end this long letter by quoting what dear old Papa Haydn said about me to my father: " I tell you before God and as an honest man that I recognize your son as the greatest composer I ever heard. He has such taste, and possesses the most solid knowledge of comparison." Is not that a great compliment ? Ah, my dear children, it is the praise of such men that is worth working for! The shouts and cheers of the common herd are but as a breath of wind which, while we are enjoying it, has passed on to fan other cheeks and buzz in other ears, leaving us with our faces burning and the silence too oppressive, un- less through it we can hear the golden words of those who, like ourselves, have toiled and struggled, and know the mysteries whereof they speak. Farewell, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. 104 LETTERS FROM GREAT MUSICIANS LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN. Born 1770. Died 1827. Art always represents the Divine, and man's relation to it is -religion. What we achieve through art is God' s gift of an aim for human endeavor to strive after. — Beethoven. Dear Children : I was born at Bonn, on the 1 7th of December, 1770. My boyhood was not a merry one, but like the rest of my life was brightened and purified by my divine art. My father was a tenor singer in the chapel of the Elector of Cologne, who was a son of the great Empress, Maria Theresa, and brother to the then reigning Emperor, Joseph II. My mother, Maria Magdalena, was a daughter of the head cook at the castle of Ehrenbreitstein. Music seemed to my father the all-important element in life, so that music was the beginning, middle, and end of my education. Naturally shy, my reserve was increased by the strict orders I was under to remain in my room and practice. Thus I grew up a brooding, reserved nature, giving myself up heart and soul to the art I so loved, and getting many a scolding from my mother when, engrossed in my violin or piano, I let the dinner hour pass unheeded. Ungainly, and short of figure, my plain face disfigured TO YOUNG PEOPLE. 105 by pock-marks, no wonder that people laughed at the ugly- lad with his queer, wild ways, even as in after years they laughed at the man. Not that I cared for their laughter ; I possessed a treasure they could not comprehend. I was not unsocial by nature; on the contrary, I was possessed of strong affections; I loved my friends and they loved me. I admit I was something of a tyrant, and possibly growled at them occasionally, but they laughed, called me a good-natured old bear, and thought very little of my rough exterior. When my deafness came upon me it shut me out from many social pleasures. I was so sensitive that I could not say to people, " Shout, I cannot hear you, I am deaf," and so I went away from them all and shut my- self up with my malady, with art for my comforter. I am rambling on too fast. I have already told you that my father was a very severe task-master. He soon dis- covered my extraordinary musical talents, and at once set to work to make a " prodigy " of me. Well do I remember how, when I was only five years old, I was made to stand on a bench before the piano, laboring over the notes, while the tears flowed fast down my cheeks. My father was most anxious to amass a fortune, without making any spe- cial effort himself, and expected my unusual gifts to yield one. Besides having my father for instructor, I also re- ceived lessons from Pfeiffer, a clever musician who lodged in the house with us. I learned more from him than from any one else, but he was ever ready to encourage my 106 LETTERS FROM GREAT MUSICIANS father's tyranny. Very often they would come home at midnight, beastly intoxicated, make me get up, and com- pel me to practice until day-break. My next instructor was Neefe, the organist of the archbishop's private chapel. I studied under him for several years. Very early in my life, when yet a mere child, I loved to improvise, but I did not then preserve my vagrant fancies. The first writing that I did was in my twelfth or thirteenth year, when I wrote three little sonatas; colorless things they were, showing principally my acquaintance with " Father Haydn," Mozart, and Sterkel, and that I had been drilled in their compositions. My father published these early works with a dedication, purporting to have been written by myself, to the Elector of Cologne. A fulsome, flattering letter it was, and if I did write any part of it, I was thoroughly ashamed of it afterward. In this dedication I was made to call myself in my eleventh year, but the date of my birth was not well known, and my father wished to make me appear as an infant phenomenon. As such I played for the people, and once even for Mozart, who ex- pressed himself as well pleased with me. What a contrast we must have made ! He, a charming, lissome figure, full of courtly grace; I, an overgrown boy, made more awkward than usual by my embarrassment, my face redder than its wont, and my bushy hair more aggres- sive than ever. But when I began to play I showed the working of my better angel; the veins in my forehead TO YOUNG PEOPLE. 107 swelled, my eyes glowed with the passion of my mood, and I was no longer an ordinary mortal : I was the genius of the piano, and made the instrument speak and tell wonder- ful stories. As I grew older, my improvisations grew more and more famous, and it was reckoned a catching thing for a concert if one item of the programme was " L. van Beethoven will improvise." In my sixteenth year I became organist to the Elector, which position I held for some time. Once I brought my- self into trouble and disgrace by so accompanying a singer I did not like as to make him sing falsely ; but I had not time for many such pranks, though I was by no means dull. The funniest of all things to me was bad playing or singing, or poor music of any kind. I could not contain my merriment when I heard any such, and used to explode with laughter. When I was settled in Vienna, famous, and growing more famous as I produced my great harmonies, I used often to lead the orchestra that was called upon to play some new piece of mine. Into what perturbations were they not thrown ! They dreaded the unknown diffi- culties before them, and they dreaded my wrath. Fre- quently I have dropped my baton and laughed at their per- plexity, though my own leadership must have caused them to smile in secret, if they dared not do so openly. I acted out the music. At piano I bowed down even with my desk ; as the phrase grew softer I disappeared behind it, 108 LETTERS FROM' GREAT MUSICIANS till the ppp. found me on the ground, my arms spread out. I gradually rose during the crescendo, till ff. made me spring up into the air like an arrow sent from the bow. No wonder these antics, of which I was sublimely uncon- scious, frightened and puzzled those whom I led! While I possessed my hearing I enjoyed all the pleasure of hearing my creations rendered by skillful and loving musicians, but frequent illnesses were sapping my strength, and I heard mutterings of evil warnings of my doom. Then for years I refused to believe in my calamity. I mentioned my defective hearing in strict confidence only to a few dear friends. I fought against fate. I called science to my aid, and then, after years of hopeless struggling, I gave up in despair, realizing that the greatest of evils had befallen me ; had it not been that Christian faith forbade it, I should have perished by my own hands. I prayed for strength to live till my work should be accomplished, and then I hoped that death would claim me. True and stanch friends I always had, but none more true than my friend and patron, the Cardinal Archduke Rudolph. I owed him thanks and gratitude for his unvary- ing generosity. When I was offered the position of court kapellmeister to the King of Westphalia, Jerome Bona- parte, it was the archduke who made it possible for me to refuse an offer so tempting from a pecuniary standpoint by joining with two other noblemen in promising to grant me an income which should place me above want, and leave TO YOUNG PEOPLE. 109 me free to work in the best interests of art ; and though from different causes the income was sadly diminished, the Archduke Rudolph's share was always promptly paid. I was always in a worry over money matters, incompe- tent servants, and the petty details that clip the wings of genius. You see I had no woman to look after me! I never married. One woman I loved, ardently, passionately, but she was not for me. It was my fate to live alone. Yet one sacred charge was left to me. An invalid brother, for whom I had been able to provide during his long and lingering disease, dying, left to my care his little son Carl. The child grew dear as a son to me, and dear as a son he remained, though his levity and wild behavior, when he came to man's estate, often gave me much pain. I asked Czerny to teach my nephew the piano, when Carl was quite a lad, and possibly the advice I sent to that fine teacher may be interesting now. I urged Czerny, after the pupil was able to play with tolerable correctness, to look first to his execution — not to stop him after every lit- tle mistake made while playing a piece, but to wait and point them out at the finish, as thus the musical idea was not sacrificed, and the pupil did not run the risk of being mechanical. Czerny took my advice, as he once took a scolding I gave him, with becoming meekness. I wonder if I ever sent him one of my humorous visiting-cards? I cannot now remember. The card had written upon it, "Wir bleiben die alten" (We are the same as ever), and IIO LETTERS FROM GREAT MUSICIANS on reversing it, two asses' heads stared the receiver in the face! My works are many and varied. I wrote many sonatas, some for the piano only, some for piano with obligato for violin or 'cello. Perhaps some of you play my " Moon- light Sonata," or its companion. Think how the deaf com- poser watched the moonlight filtering through the trees, and silvering grassy bank and tiny rivulet, till he turned his thoughts into a tone poem. Do you know my symphonies ? How the world has quarreled over the Ninth ! The world of my day was divided in their judgment of it, some scof- fing and laughing, some saying that the work was the greatest musical achievement of the time. In that sym- phony I rose beyond all my other works, and pointed toward the path which has been made so glorious by my " godson in art," Richard Wagner. It was in 1800, when only thirty years old, that I became totally deaf. My deafness was so extraordinary that in the theater I was obliged to lean close up against the orchestra in order to hear, and a little way off I could hear none of the high notes of the instruments or singers. In 1 80 1, when I was so desperately in love with Julia Guic- ciardi, I wrote the most glorious love-song ever composed, "Adelaide." My " Battle Symphony " was greatly liked in my own day, as the stirring events it transcribed had only just taken place. I wrote some cantatas, an oratorio, "The Mount of Olives," and a grand mass which was TO YOUNG PEOPLE. IIP specially dedicated to my friend and benefactor, the Arch- duke Rudolph. Only one grand opera is mine, " Fidelio," which was at first a failure, being presented only three times ; but when after the lapse of years it was revived, with the libretto altered, and much of the music re-written, it was a grand success in its new dress. I wished to write another opera, but could not find a subject that altogether pleased me. Trios, quintettes, sextettes, and other works were always teeming in my busy brain, as my muse spoke in clearer and clearer tones ; and as my harmonies grew more varied and different from all that had been before, those could be found who affirmed that my deafness was the cause of my strange and powerful harmonies. Absurd! As if the musician's brain were distorted because his ears no longer admitted the sounds of outward life! Look upon my life! Was ever tragedy more sad, fate more blighting than mine ? It is a terrible misfortune for any one to be stricken with deafness. How much more terri- ble for a musician ! Never to hear played the divine melo- dies with which his brain is crammed ! That was my fate. Yet the ears of my soul were open to celestial harmonies, and my greatest works were achieved after my affliction had come upon me. Once I said to an enthusiastic artistic soul, with whom I had some converse, " Music is the only spiritual entrance to a higher world of knowledge " ; and feeling so, it was but natural that I should uplift my soul to 112 LETTERS FROM GREAT MUSICIANS the " Divine Essence," and should struggle to produce in my compositions the loftiness and tragic destiny of man. I am growing very prosy — it was always my way when thinking or speaking of my art to soar into cloudland. I do not understand speaking to the young, and I fear I have wearied you. As I have already told you, I was a queer fellow. I will now tell you some things about myself which will convince you of this fact. The greatest confusion reigned in my home, although I then thought that I was a very marvel of order and neatness. In thinking of that time I have since changed my opinion, and acknowledge that I did not know the first principles of neatness. Books and music were scattered everywhere ; the remnants of a meal, bottles with and without beer, were to be seen in that room called my study ; on my desk were hasty sketches of quartettes ; on my pianoforte some scribbled notes for a symphony, per- haps; proof-sheets, business and friendly letters strewed the floor. What confusion! It was past all description. Sometimes I could not find what I wanted, and then I would abuse my servants, declaring that they were all rogues and in league to annoy me. Once a copied score of a mass was missing. After searching everywhere for it I found it in the kitchen, where the cook had put it to prac- tical use. Housekeepers were a constant source of annoy- ance to me, and I once tried to do without them altogether. My friends remonstrated with me. I became indignant, TO YOUNG PEOPLE. IIJ and finally invited them to dine with me in order to test my skill as a cook. They all arrived at the appointed time, finding me in the kitchen busy with preparations for the banquet. After taxing their patience for nearly two hours, dinner was ready. What a repast! Suffice it to say, I was the only one who praised and ate the delica- cies prepared with my own hands. After this memorable venture I decided to engage a cook at once ! I remember writing this in my diary : " My precious servants were occupied from seven o'clock till ten trying to kindle a fire. The cook is off again. I shied half a dozen books at her head. They made my din- ner so nasty I could not eat it. No soup to-day, no beef, no eggs. Got something from the inn at last." So you see how continually I was fretted by the servants in whom I was compelled to trust. I had a habit of fre- quenting taverns and coffee-houses. When I was pro- voked I was very violent. Once, my cook, having brought a number of bad eggs for the bread soup (which I always prepared myself, as I did my own coffee), I called her into my presence. She received with surprise the eggs aimed at her with directness and promptness. I threw a dish full of stewed meat at the head of the waiter in the dining- room of " The Swan." While he and I quarreled in a for- cible way, the company shouted with laughter. My temper and great peculiarities made it difficult for me to live in peace with landlords and fellow-lodgers. As 114 LETTERS FROM GREAT MUSICIANS my deafness increased, of course I thumped all the harder on my piano. Even then I could not hear a sound. The music floating through my brain gave me no rest. I would sometimes become almost frantic, beating time with hand and foot to the music ever with me, pacing up and down the room like an insane man, " howling and roaring." Naturally, I became feverish with this excitement, and in order to cool off, I would empty the contents of my water- jug over my hands, or plunge my head into a basin filled with water, allowing it to flow over on the floor, whence it finally trickled through the ceiling. This was the cause of my frequent changes of abode. The landlord did not appreciate a damaged ceiling, nor did the lodgers like my noise, they declaring me to be a madman. I never stayed long in one lodging-place at a time. As soon as I was interfered with I left. From this cause I once had to pay the rent of several lodgings at one time. Another queer habit I had was to write on the walls, the tables, in fact on everything, as soon as I entered a house. Once I went into a restaurant in Vienna, and instead of giv- ing my order, I began to write a score on the back of a bill of fare. Finally, I asked the waiter for my bill, perfectly unconscious of the fact that I had not eaten. He assured me I owed him nothing. When he had convinced me that such was the case, I gave him my order. Do not be sur- prised at these things, they were the outcome of genius. Yet beneath these eccentricities I had much tenderness TO YOUNG PEOPLE. 1 1 5 and sympathy. I was always eager to do what I could to alleviate suffering, and never refused to give alms when I could bestow it. I recall a touching little incident which I must tell you. I was one afternoon at Kahlenberg, near Vienna, where I liked to go, indulging in a cup of coffee and talking with my friends. While we were deep in an in- teresting conversation I was approached by an old woman, who begged for assistance. I had no money to give her, but I was so touched by her apparent misery, that I called for a sheet of paper and composed a march for her, telling her to take it to Haslinger, the publisher, who would buy it from her. She did so, and received from him twenty florins for it. So you see, children, if I was such a bear generally, I could be kind sometimes. As I have already told you, I was fortunate in my friends. I had many devoted ones throughout my life, and none more devoted than Prince Karl Lichnowski. In 1 794 he and his wife invited me to live with them at their palace. They had no children. A suite of rooms was set aside for me, and the offer was made in such a delicate way that I gladly accepted it, and lived with them for ten years — the happiest years of my life. Although I began to feel my terrible affliction then, my deafness must have been apparent to my friends long before I became aware of it. The first time I .noticed it was when out walking in the country with my only pupil, Ferdinand Ries. I saw a shepherd playing a pipe, and, no sound reaching my ears, Il6 LETTERS FROM GREAT MUSICIANS I inquired of my friend if the man were playing. He, out of the goodness of his heart, assured me that it was only pretense. But I knew differently, and then for the first time I realized my infirmity. I began now to live only in my music, and no sooner was one thing completed than another was begun. I must not forget to mention an incident in connection with the representation of my Ninth Symphony, in Vienna. I attempted to conduct it, notwithstanding my total deaf- ness. There was another conductor present, near me, to give the correct time to the orchestra. At the close of the performance the audience burst into tremendous applause. I did not know the music was ended, so went on conduct- ing. Standing with my back to the audience, I remained unconscious of their enthusiastic cheers until my attention was attracted by one of the " prime donne " making signs to me. I then faced the audience, and at last their deafen- ing shouts penetrated even my closed ears. It must have been a pathetic sight to see me, the poor, lonely, afflicted man, before them, bowing my acknowledgment, having de- lighted them with thoughts embalmed in divine melody, but unable to hear one sweet note. I saw tears stealing down their cheeks, and I then knew that the public felt for me, and at last realized the extent of my malady. " O God, Thou alone knowest what I suffered!" I could best compose when in the open air. It was always my greatest pleasure to walk in the fields and TO YOUNG PEOPLE. 1 17 woods, drawing inspiration from the beauties of nature. I always arose at daybreak, worked till two o'clock, and then, after my dinner, I made the circuit of the town several times, no matter what the weather was. I always took with me my note-book, in which I jotted down my thoughts. With the gloaming I returned home. Then I only cared to sit at my beloved piano and play, but, alas ! what sounds could I hear! When wearied of that, I would take my violin or viola. I never worked in the evening. I smoked my pipe generally, and often went to a tavern near by to read the news. One night at the Blue Star inn at Toplitz, where I was dining, I first met the actor Lowe. He was quite atten- tive to the landlord's daughter. They arranged that Lowe should come there at the same time I did, as I, being deaf, would not interfere with love-making. This answered for a time, until the parents discovered the ruse, and ordered the actor from the house. The lover being in despair, and desiring to correspond with his sweetheart, approached me one day during my walk. After a full confession from him, I finally consented to take charge of his letters to the girl, and also to give him her answers. I did this for some weeks, or as long as I remained in the town. I was glad to be the means of giving them both some happiness. There is so little of it in this world that when one can be the means of adding a little to one's life, why not do it ? Although I knew what poverty was, I hope I never Il8 LETTERS FROM GREAT MUSICIANS forgot to be generous. I remember once at a concert given for the benefit of the wounded soldiers, I conducted. After it was over I was offered payment for my services, but rejected it, with these words : " Beethoven never ac- cepts anything where humanity is concerned." I once gave a new symphony to an Ursuline convent to be per- formed at their benefit concert. No one ever applied to me in vain. One word more before I finish this long letter. I never had much to do with my family. I always hated snobbery. My brother Johann having acquired some property, he once sent me a card on which was written, " Johann van Beethoven, Land- owner." My reply was my card, saying, " Ludwig van Beethoven, Brain-owner." To be endowed with gifts by God was more, in my way of thinking, than all the money of the world. As I have mentioned to you in the first part of this let- ter, I loved my nephew Carl. I gave him every luxury and indulgence ; I ever felt an interest in everything that concerned him, but he proved himself to be a hypocrite, only caring for me for what I gave him. I became con- scious at last of his ingratitude and wrote him : " I know you have no pleasure in coming to see me, which is only natural, for my atmosphere is too pure for you. God has never yet forsaken me, and no doubt some one will be found to close my eyes." * * Beethoven's own words. TO YOUNG PEOPLE. 119 The last four years of my earthly career were passed amid distress. I composed but little. I must not linger over my trials. I had many blessings and I appreciated them. I will close this letter in the words of a sweet song- writer, a young composer whose untimely end the whole musical world deplored. He understood me, and he said of me : " He can do everything, but we cannot yet under- stand it all. The Danube will empty itself many times into the ocean before his compositions are universally comprehended." * Farewell, Ludwig van Beethoven. * Said by Schubert. 120 LETTERS FROM GREAT MUSICIANS CARL MARIA VON WEBER. Born 1786. Died (in London) 1826. " Be it as God will! " — Weber's motto. Of course, now, my childhood to begin with. Let me think ! I can recall a sad young mother, never very strong, but always strong enough to help me in every childish ill A handsome, dashing man in middle life, restless, ambi- tious, and eager — such was my father. Then, too, I re- member a strong, sensible, but very affectionate woman, whom I called Aunt Adelheid. This good aunt was ever ready to assist my unhappy little mother. Then there were three big half-sisters and some big half-brothers also, though only one was living with us at the time of which I write. No memory comes to me of any pretty home, such as most children enjoy. No, indeed. I could not claim an interest in one special room in any house and invest it with all a boy's belongings. Instead of this, and in place of the settled, anchored feeling a home gives, I can only recall an uneasy wandering from place to place, which often tired me greatly. Neither can I tell you about boyish rambles on some river's bank, or merry scrambles over dewy mead- ows, or beneath waving trees. TO YOUNG PEOPLE. 121 No, in place of these things, I had but pasteboard trees, painted streets, and for a playground, the stage of some theater. For both my babyhood and childhood were passed in traveling from place to place, as my father was the manager of a company called " Weber's Company of Comedians," and my big half-brother and sisters were the company. Up and down we traveled, going to many a town in my native Germany. We were strolling players, in the days when the stroller led a hard life. We journeyed in big, clumsy wagons, rattling and jolting along over the uneven roads. Thus the family went to fulfill engagements of varying lengths in the different towns, and thus my mother and myself, two nervous invalids, were dragged in the train of these restless seekers after fame and fortune. I have spoken of my young mother. She was my father's second wife, and was only seventeen when I was born. Poor little mother! With what bitter heart- ache did she long for the quiet home she forever left when she married my father. Then, too, her tender heart bled for me, her first-born. I was a sickly child, with some sort of a hip trouble which all my life made me limp a little when I walked. I needed a bracing air and careful training so that the poor little body might grow stronger. Instead of this, I was pushed and urged to my studies in a way most injurious to me. It was in this way : My father was tremendously ambi- 122 LETTERS FROM GREAT MUSICIANS tious. He wanted to shine, and if he could not do so per- sonally, then he must shine through his children. My half- brothers had been carefully educated. One of them had studied with Josef Haydn himself. But, though showing talent, they did nothing great. So when I appeared, I was seized upon, almost in my cradle, in the insane hope that at last an infant wonder, a second Mozart, had been born. I was very far from being an infant phenomenon. My genius needed time to ripen and mature. Not till I was — let me see, how old was I ? Bless me, I was over thirty when I began my opera of " Der Freischiitz ! " So you see the forcing process was very painful. Not every genius is a Mozart. We are many and various in kind, and must have our several ways of developing. The great master, Mozart, seemed made of music. It was his natural language. How different was he as a child from the ordinary sickly and unnatural wonder! I was sickly, but I was no wonder! My father's forcing made me simply wretched. I remember how I used to whimper and beg off from the hard tasks imposed upon me. My father grew desperate, my half-brother Fridolin angry, till one day he snatched the fiddle-bow from my trembling hand and whacking it over my knuckles, cried : " Whatever may be made of you, Carl, it will never be a musician." That didn't do any good. Such treatment seldom does. My mother soothed me, as she always did, and my father, thinking I might have a different gift from that which had TO YOUNG PEOPLE. 1 23 usually run in the family, tried me at some of the other arts. I was clever in them, nothing more. When I was ten years of age we spent some time in one town on account of my mother's failing health. Here I met Hilburghausen, an earnest, thorough young musician who, becoming interested in me and the ability I displayed, gave me proper training. My father was all on the surface ; he never went thoroughly into anything. But with my kind young master I studied the science of music. It was weary work he led me through. Thorough-bass we thumped over, slowly but patiently, and little by little I began to appreciate the knowledge now growing in my wretched little head. Dark ways grew light. His teach- ing lasted, and in my mature years I owed whatever clear execution on the piano I possessed to my dear young mas- ter. But, alas, how soon I had to leave him! Barely a year and we must up and away upon our wanderings once more. With tearful eyes I parted from my teacher, and I wrote him afterward many a loving letter. In Salzburg, our next halt, I thought myself a lucky boy to be instructed by Michael Haydn, a brother of Josef Haydn, and a very celebrated master, also a very dry one ! In studying the wonders of the human frame you must thoroughly understand the bony frame-work, must you not? Well, it is just so with music. You must know the laws upon which it is founded if you expect to be a musi- cian. In other words, you must know how to erect the 124 LETTERS FROM GREAT MUSICIANS skeleton before taking upon yourself the role of a creator and endowing that skeleton with a rounded form and giv- ing to it life and a soul. Old Michael Haydn delighted in shaking up the dry bones of art, but he did not possess the creative instinct that was in his brother Josef. He was, however, a thoroughly conscientious master. I owe him much. While still in Salzburg a great woe came to me, crushing my heart so cruelly that I thought I should never be happy again. My mother died, and as I knelt by her side, cling- ing fast to her stiffening hand, I prayed in an inarticulate, broken-hearted fashion, that I too might go with her over the dark river which so soon separated us. What now would have become of me had it not been for my aunt? She was a second mother to me, and in her turn guarded me from many of the difficulties in the life we led. Ah, dear little mother, you would have gone away with a heart less filled with care for your boy could you have known the tenderness of that noble heart ! And yet my mother knew and experienced that tenderness, only I suppose that it is natural for a mother-heart to be anx- ious, and besides, while my mother was with us my aunt never usurped her place. But now, when I was deprived of my dearest one, my good aunt came to the front, and was the best of guides to me. I was always quick of wit and inclined to sarcasm. I should have grown, perhaps, to be one of those bitter, caustic wretches whom every one TO YOUNG PEOPLE. 12$ secretly loathes. My aunt, however, so cleverly turned the bent of my humor, that I forgot my sarcastic speeches while retaining my love of funny sayings, and all my life I de- lighted in jollity, and saw the funny side of things. When nearly twelve, I wrote six little fugues, which were published and dedicated to one of my half-brothers. My foolish father, delighted at this proof of my genius, tried in the dedication to make me appear a year younger than I really was. This he did once or twice afterward, filling me with shame and mortification. Fugues did not satisfy my father long, however. He wanted operas. Michael Haydn was not the master for dramatic music, so off we went to Munich, where, under new masters, I learned sing- ing and the dramatic side of my art. I fell now into har- mony with the pushing system, and pushed out of my over- crowded young brain a very green fruit in the shape of an opera called " The Power of Love and Wine." You never heard of it ? No, it was never published, and a good thing too! A former friend of my father invented lithography and brought his invention to Munich. We both studied it and became intensely interested, and — will you believe me? — for a time I abandoned music for lithographing ! I almost made up my mind that I had mistaken my bent and that lithographing was my forte. Some compositions of mine were destroyed about this time in a strange fire which touched little else besides the receptacle containing my 126 LETTERS FROM GREAT MUSICIANS music. I was always inclined to believe in omens and such things, and I saw in this fire a guiding hand, pointing me away from art. Whatever pointed me away, music called me back. I could not long stifle my desire for composition or my love of harmony. We visited several cities, and I played in concerts with success. You see we were still traveling. My father could never stay long enough anywhere to get the home feeling, and so we left Munich, as we did every other place. From this time I was entirely under my father's control. My aunt was worn out and could travel no longer. You have already seen what manner of man my father was. I can only mournfully confess that he was not a good guide for an eager, impulsive lad. I say this mournfully, because I loved him. I loved him deeply and truly ; when his health and mind failed I cared for him, and when he died I was a sincere mourner. But looking back, I cannot but see how my vanity was fostered by his training, how his instability taught me insta- bility, and how his careless life led me into careless ways which I recall with bitter regret. If you ever hear that, when a young man, Von Weber was wild and foolish, lack- ing in moral tone and strength, think of my strolling child- hood, of my youth passed amid unwholesome influences, and pity while you judge. Now, then, to astonish you ! When I was fourteen years of age I composed an opera which was produced. The TO YOUNG PEOPLE. 127 name of this mighty work was " The Dumb Girl of the Forest." It was a " grand, romantic, comic opera," or so it was announced, and it was played in several towns. Now then, aren't you prepared to call me a great man ? Do not waste time in hunting up this work, for though fairly long lived, this fruit also was green. I once wrote about it, and truly, that it was " a very crude work, but not wholly with- out inventive power." Some bits in it showed that my power of melody was budding, but it needed much more sunshine before bursting into the full and perfect flower. Dear me! How poetical I am! Never mind, little friends, you will understand me. Children are poets by nature. My next work, produced two years after the " Dumb Girl," was another opera, called " Peter Schmoll and His Neighbors." My crusty old master, Michael Haydn, was pleased to approve of this composition and to express his approval in writing, which was very kind of him. I can distinctly hear some of you laughing in a very disrespectful manner and whispering together about the name of my first opera. So you think the "Dumb Girl " a funny heroine for an opera, do you? And you wonder who sang that part? Don't laugh too heartily or I shall end by laughing at you. However, I will tell you, in spite of your disrespectful con- duct, that the " Dumb Girl " found her voice before the end of the opera ; before that, she required very charming acting. 128 LETTERS FROM GREAT MUSICIANS While my powers were maturing, I wrote numerous pieces for the piano, only to have many of them rejected by the publishers. Six little four-hand pieces were, how- ever, successful, for besides being published they were highly praised. This praise was very sweet to me, for I did not have too much of it in those days. My father's boasting often prejudiced people against us. As he grew older his love of boasting grew, and he seemed to care less and less for the truth. People who wished us well often turned away in disgust, chilled by this fault, and by his pretensions to rank and office. Rank we had, but it was foolish to insist upon it at all times. Office under any reigning sovereign he did not possess, yet he often claimed it. After much wandering up and down, and many weary days, my father decided upon taking me to Vienna, where Josef Haydn and Beethoven now dwelt. I thought of it more frequently as the former home of my idol, Mozart. I was, during our residence in Vienna, placed under another master, the Abbe Vogler. A queer, vain old man was this master of mine, but I always loved and reverenced him highly. He showed his belief in my capacity by sending me, in my eighteenth year, to Breslau, as conductor for the theater orchestra. There I settled for a time and rushed into many reckless ways of living, which we will not talk -about now. I made some good and true friends in this town, and together we held some merry, artistic meetings. TO YOUNG PEOPLE. 1 2 9 I delighted in improvising songs to my accompaniment on the guitar, and often very sweet melodies would come floating from my brain, to the delight of my comrades. But this is all about my playtime, and I worked hard while in Breslau. My conductorship was often attacked because I introduced reforms and changed the position of my orchestra. Reformers may always count upon opposi- tion, for people will cling to the old order of things, good or bad, and so, though my changes were all for the better, and some of my musicians acknowledged this, I met with bitter and constant rebuffs. The old musicians objected to being ruled by such a youngster as myself, and one of the very best left the orchestra and avowed himself my enemy. My friends were faithful, my enemies persistent. Finally, a serious accident ended everything. One day while busy composing, tired and cold, I stretched out my hand for a flask of wine that stood near, and, without looking up from my work, drank. In an instant I knew my horrible mis- take, and, springing up, tried to summon aid, but my brain reeled, and I fell senseless to the floor. A friend coming in found me, and at last I was restored to life. I had taken, not wine, but one of the deadly acids we used in our litho- graphing. My throat and mouth were terribly burned, and I suffered much. For two months I lay ill, and when finally I was able to return to my duties, I found that my enemies had been busy and all my reforms were undone and swept aside. I30 LETTERS FROM GREAT MUSICIANS This I could not endure, and I threw up my position. At this time, that great robber, Napoleon, at the head of his army, was conquering and devastating Austria and Southern Germany. My Aunt Adelheid was, in conse- quence, frightened out of Munich, and came to my father and myself for protection. So now, without a position, I had them both to provide for. A nobleman, the good Duke Eugen, took us all under his protection, and sheltered us in all that wretched time. How cruelly the country suffered ! Not only were the poor peasants in dread of the French, but some of the German soldiers, who to their everlasting shame, were French allies, were even more cruel than the foreigners. I saw so much misery in that dread- ful time that my blood boiled with indignation, and it is not much wonder that at a later date the remembrance of these horrors brought forth from my brain some stirring patriotic songs. Though Duke Eugen was called away to the war, he did not forget me. Artists had a hard time in those bitter days, for art requires peace and tranquillity for its devel- opment. I had to live in some way, and my kind patron managed to secure an appointment for me as private secre- tary to his brother, Duke Ludwig, who lived in Stuttgart at the court of another brother, the King of Wurtemburg. My good duke meant to do me a kindness. It was not his fault that his brothers were very unlike himself. How I grew to hate that fat old king! He was so fat TO YOUNG PEOPLE. 131 that a hole had to be cut in his dinner-table to allow him to come near enough to feed himself. His temper was as big as his frame. Duke Ludwig was everlastingly getting into debt, and then appealing to his brother to help him out. These appeals made the king furious. I, as private secretary, carried these petitions. Consequently, I got the royal scolding. Now, when a tyrant storms, those in that tyrant's power will be wise to listen with bowed head, but I could not. My temper would rise, and, king or no king, I would talk back ! One day when in a fury of rage over some outrageous insults the king had heaped upon me, I met an old woman in the passage. She asked me where she could find the court washerwoman. "There," said I, pointing to the king's room! In she went, and was nearly killed by the king, who hated old women. She managed to gasp out that a young man had said she would find the " royal washerwoman " in that room. They were not long in guessing the identity of the young man, and I was marched off to prison. It was quiet in prison if it was nothing else. I got an old piano, tuned it with a door-key, and composed a very well-known song. My patron managed to procure my release, but the king never forgave me, and in his own good time had his revenge. After I was released from prison I ran on in my usual course, and composed an opera, " Sylvana," the book of which was founded on the libretto of my old opera, " The 132 LETTERS FROM GREAT MUSICIANS Dumb Girl of the Forest." While I was busy rehearsing this opera, and was in the theater working with the com- pany, I was suddenly arrested by the guard of the wretched old king and carried off to prison. The charge against me was that I had promised a certain man, in return for a sum of money, to find a court position for his son, thus saving the poor lad from going as a soldier. Almost every one in that wicked court did this very thing. I did not ; so when after sixteen weary days in prison I was examined before the king, the charge fell to the ground. It was, however, a wicked plot, an unscrupulous fellow having used my name, as if I could be capable of such baseness ! The king had his opportunity, and lost no time in packing my father and myself out of his domains, banishing us for life. Off we went with very little money, homeless vagabonds once more. Friends are never wanting to those who are true of heart, and a dear old friend in Breslau managed to smuggle to the exile a small sum of money and some let- ters introducing me to musical people in Mannheim. So to Mannheim we went, where I met a true man, and one who was for many years a devoted friend — Gottfried Weber. Another bosom friend of mine was Von Dusch. We three were very happy together. Weber was married to a charm- ing little woman, and a delightful musical set met often at their house. Besides these evenings there were others when Weber, Von Dusch, and myself, to the music of our guitars, sang serenades as we stood in the moonlight under TO YOUNG PEOPLE. 1 33 some fair lady's window. And I may just mention in passing that the ladies liked it. But, with a father to sup- port and with little money in my purse, I had to bestir my- self and do something more than sing charming serenades. So after giving a concert at which I produced a new cantata, " Der erste Sohn," with great success, I trudged off to Darmstadt, where lived my old master, the Abbe Vogler. There, too, I met a dear old friend, Gansbacher, and made the acquaintance of a young man who was then studying with the Abbe. He was a young Jew from Berlin and his name was Jacob Meyer Beer. He afterward ran his two names together, I suppose because the longer name looked much more imposing on a manuscript. He was a fine fellow, the son of wealthy parents, who often sent him boxes of good things which, as friends, you know, we de- voured with him. We christened him the " Little Bear." In those days we often went " melody hunting," as we called it; that is, we would roam about together listening to the popular songs of the day and seeking inspiration from their strains. In this way came my idea for " The Invita- tion to the Dance," but could you hear the simple ditty which inspired me, you would find as great a difference between it and my piece as between a grub and a butterfly. Melodies would sometimes come to me only to be again forgotten. Once a friend heard me sing two lovely bits just before going to bed. In the morning they were for- gotten, when suddenly that sly rascal began humming 134 LETTERS FROM GREAT MUSICIANS them. Laughingly I took him and gave him a good shake, saying, " You scoundrel, you have stolen that out of my head, where I had happened to mislay it!" In this same year, 1810, I stumbled over the story of " Der Freischiitz," and said: "What a fine subject for an opera!" But I was then busy upon my operetta of "Abu Hassan," and " Der Freischiitz " slumbered for some years. We were very happy together in Darmstadt. The old Abbe called us his " three dear boys," and afterward said of Meyerbeer and myself, that if he had been obliged to leave the world before forming us he " would have died a miserable man." Sometimes " Papa," as we called him, made us miserable fellows. For instance, we once arranged a grand fete as a surprise in honor of his sixty-first birth- day. We invited guests, composed music, I wrote an ode (you see I could rhyme upon occasion), and then if that perverse old gentleman was not crusty and out of temper and did his level best to spoil our evening! All because the duke had forgotten, or had not noticed, his birthday! The duke snubbed him and he snubbed us. From Darmstadt I made trips to several towns near by, giving concerts. My opera of " Sylvana " was soon to be produced in Frankfurt, and I was busy directing rehearsals and superintending everything. All my company worked with me heart and soul, and none more nobly than the young lady who played the part of Sylvana, a charming little singer and actress named Caroline Brandt. You shall TO YOUNG PEOPLE. 135 hear of her again. My evil star would have it that on the first day of my opera a wretched Madame Blanchard should go up in a balloon. What chance could I have against such a wonder as a balloon ? Those who were in the thea- ter pronounced my opera a success ! In connection with some of my Mannheim and Darm- stadt friends was formed a " Harmonic Society." Our aim was to criticise and to write our criticisms in the interests of the" highest art. We took false names to be signed to our articles. Thus I was " Melos," Gottfried Weber was " Giusto," Von Dusch was " Unknown Man," and Meyer- beer was "Philodekaios." We went into our scheme eagerly, but gradually cooled down, till our society was finally dissolved. However, I often wrote criticisms, and have done quite a little literary work. I mapped out a novel at one time, with the intention of telling the history of an artist's wanderings, but it was never finished, and I finally decided that to be great in any art, one must give all one's toil and attention to that one art and not divide one's allegiance. Disappointed in my hopes of a permanent position in Mannheim, I once more turned stroller, and went forth to be the " art peddler," and carry my wares far and wide. I was so poor that I sold my last new pair of trousers! So you will agree with me that I had to be up and work- ing in order to earn some money before my one remaining pair should wear out. I did not laugh then, however. I 136 LETTERS FROM GREAT MUSICIANS was heart-broken at parting from my dear friends, and in Von Dusch's room, with streaming eyes, I extemporized what was afterward called "The Artists' Farewell." Often, both in concerts and in private, I used to extempo- rize. This used to be expected as a great feature, and when worry or depression destroyed my power for the time being, my audiences were sadly disappointed. Let me see, where was I ? Oh, I remember, wandering around after the wherewithal to procure another pair of trousers ! I soon made enough money for them and a lit- tle to spare. My evil star kept under cover and all went well. I received orders to compose new pieces. My oper- etta, " Abu Hassan," produced in Munich, was a great success. I was both busy and happy once more, and wrote droll rhyming letters to some of my friends. I always had a fund of humor which would not be suppressed. Even in later years, ill and suffering as I then was, my love of the ridiculous would come cropping up in very incon- gruous situations. During my travels I visited Switzerland. On my way there I crossed a little corner of Wurtemburg territory when, presto ! I was arrested, and frightened into a fever by my arrest. I knew the temper of the fat old king! However, they did not lock me up for .years in some wretched prison, but bundled me over the border, luckily in the direction of my journey, and once more I was free. In Switzerland I met the " Little Bear " with his parents. TO YOUNG PEOPLE. I37 They were such kind people. Whenever, afterward, it was my lot to visit Berlin, they entertained me royally, and made me feel that I had a home with them. My next permanent position was in Prague, as musical director of the theater there. Though sorry to give up my journeyings, which I had been hoping to make on an extended scale, I was nevertheless very glad to settle and have a home — that is, as much of a home as a bachelor can have. I had much power given me to do as I thought best in my new position, and to engage the artists I thought necessary to a fine production of opera. The first person I engaged was the little singer who had so beautifully acted my " Sylvana " — Caroline Brandt. For some time I saw and admired this lovely woman as an artist, till gradu- ally I felt the charm of a pure love for a pure woman. The course of true love did not run smooth in my case, for though my passion was returned, Caroline was a jeal- ous little body. We quarreled fiercely, too, over politics. Fraulein Brandt admired Napoleon, and just then my pa- triotic songs were making a great stir in Germany ; these same songs, dropped burning from my pen, were not par- tial to the robber chief, as I thought him. All this was trouble enough ; but no, we had still another cause for strife. I insisted that my wife must be for myself alone. In other words, that when we married, Caroline must give up the stage. Some of you will call this selfish. We men are selfish where our nearest and dearest are concerned. It I38 LETTERS FROM GREAT MUSICIANS was only the stage I objected to. My wife sang in con- certs, as you shall hear. But remember, the blackest side of stage life had been turned toward me since my child- hood. I could not help being prejudiced. Though allowing my suit, Caroline's mother by no means approved of her daughter giving up her career as a singer for me, and so we went on in a very unsatis- factory way, till I grew so wretched and unhappy that, after four years' service, I resigned my conductorship and left Prague. Engaged, yet not allowed to announce my en- gagement, I went to Berlin, where I fortunately found a chance for my adored one to sing. She jumped at once into people's hearts, and also found cause to be proud of her lover, for I was treated with distinguished honor. At last, at a banquet, she allowed me to announce our engage- ment. We were overwhelmed with congratulations, and I was a very happy fellow. Back went my loved one to Prague to act there till we were married. On Christmas morning of the year 1816, I received a letter appointing me as " kapellmeister to His Majesty the King of Saxony." Thus did I write the good news to my betrothed : " Round I went to all my friends, who laughed and made the new royal kapellmeister the most reverential of bows. I must rig myself out now in true court style. Perhaps I ought to wear a pigtail to please the Dresdeners ! What do you think ? I ought to have an extra kiss from you for this good news." TO YOUNG PEOPLE. 1 39 And it was good, this news promising me a life position and the chance to marry. Yet when I reached Dresden, that formal and precise court, I found myself in a swirl of intrigue and jealousy. The Italian party, with the Italian kapellmeister at its head, were bent upon ruining me, defrauding me of my position, and making German opera subservient to Italian. Catch me being subservient to an inferior musician! I knew my own worth too well. I assumed a determined front, treated all with firmness and at the same time with cordiality. As a musician I was a firm disciplinarian, as a man a jolly good fellow, and slowly I won my way. I went through the horror of a formal presentation to the king and queen. Goodness, what a guy I was in court attire! Fancy me in knee-breeches, silk stockings, and pumps! Me, with my wofully thin legs, long neck, and big nose, with the spectacles resting serenely upon it ! But never mind, my brain was of more importance. My company could not compare in point of artistic merit with the Italian company, and inferior it remained, for in- trigue and " sneaking meanness " deprived me of many good singers whom I longed to retain. True, some great artists appeared under my regime, but I could rarely get them a permanent position. The first opera produced under my leadership was, methinks, " Joseph and His Brethren." My artists suffered during our rehearsals and complained bitterly of my strictness — not an error escaped 140 LETTERS FROM GREAT MUSICIANS me. I was here, there, and everywhere, on the stage ar- ranging the groupings, in the orchestra directing the play- ers, with the scene-painters discussing the scenery needful, and next talking costumes with the wardrobe mistress. But my painstaking triumphed. Our first night was a brilliant success. Royalty was pleased; what more could one ask? One of my singers, the tenor, dared to introduce into his part an embellishment in the Italian style. I gave him a look through my spectacles which made him wince and re- gret his daring. When the opera was ended he made a bolt for home, hoping to escape my wrath, but I was too quick for him, and giving him my plain opinion of his " crinkum crankum " sent him home to sleep over a lecture which he wisely took to heart. Among other new friends, I made the acquaintance of a poet named Kind, who wrote for me an opera book founded on an old legend. First we called the book " The First Shot," then we changed it to "The Jager's Bride." As soon as it was finished I sent it to my " public with two eyes," as I called my Caroline. She suggested many changes, which I wisely adopted and thanked her for. I bought the book from Kind, thus making it my property, though too busy then to work much on my prize. My duties as kapellmeister were very heavy, and besides I was occupied in preparing a home. Blessed word ! A home for my future wife. When she wrote me of her triumph TO YOUNG PEOPLE. 141 on the Prague stage, I wrote in answer that I was glad to hear of successes, but hoped soon to see her lay aside stage finery for home attire, and concluded : " It is very shocking, I know, and what will my own pearl say to be dissolved in the sour vinegar of domestic life and swallowed up by a bear of a husband? " While thus working and dreaming happy dreams, I met with a crushing blow. All my own and my betrothed' s savings were in a bank in Prague, and the bank was ruined. Caroline knew nothing of this trouble. For some time I had managed her money matters. Now, therefore, it was easy for me to replace her savings and never let her know it. Not for many years did she know of my loving fraud, which was at last revealed to her by accident. After this loss, I wrote in my diary : " Courage ! Heaven has helped me thus far. It will help me again at need; I trust to its mercy." I have always found this to be true. My life had many seamy sides to it, but I always trusted firmly in the Divine Goodness, and my trust was not vain. I needed to trust in a goodness above that of men, for in Dresden I was surrounded by intrigue, and baited and badgered on every side. During the summer months there were delightful little excursions to a summer theater called " The Bath," where we performed by royal command. We went to these per- formances in boats on the river Elbe. Coming home some- times by moonlight, I would bring out my guitar and sing 142 LETTERS FROM GREA T MUSICIANS to the others as we floated over the silvery water. Not always could I do this. The sights of nature always had a great effect upon me, and so sometimes the coming on of twilight made me depressed and sad. On occasions, however, I would receive odd effects from outward objects. Sublime scenery suggested to some per- verse little imp in my brain a merry capriccio. Joyful sights were by the same imp turned into adagios. Funny things became grave, grave things gay, in the hands of this familiar of mine. Once he made an extraordinary suggestion. We had been performing at "The Bath," and it was always my habit after dinner to take my coffee in the gardens by the Elbe. While walking there down came the rain, and I reached the garden only to find the place deserted and chairs and tables piled one upon the other. Long I looked upon the awkward things helplessly sprawling their legs in air. As I gazed they seemed to suggest musical ideas — chords, trumpet blasts ! On reaching home my idea was put down on music paper. Years after it ripened into the grand march in " Oberon." Now, however, my head was full of "The Jager's Bride." I received the book in February, 1817, and while reading it, felt a " spring of melody " bubbling up within me. Not till September of that same year did I begin to compose. It was my way to let the music stay in my head and bubble away there for a time, till, when perfected, TO YOUNG PEOPLE. 1 43 down it went upon paper, as fast as I could write, with sel- dom a note to alter. Sometimes I felt barren of ideas, but then my mind was only resting. I remember once writing to my wife that I had not a single musical idea in my head, and felt as if all my music must have been written by somebody else! I thought of that "Bride" by day, I dreamed of her by night. " I dressed her with the best I could supply, and fed her with my own heart's blood." In the character of "Aenchen " I could see my beloved. As I wrote down the music I could fancy her singing it, or studying it and nodding her pretty little head. " In that merry, coquettish little demon you will find her portrait." I could not help composing first that portion of the music where Aenchen was employed. The " laughing chorus " in this opera came to me while hearing some old women droning out their responses in the Litany in Pillnitz chapel, and doing it out of all time, tune, or rhythm. The wolf's glen music came to me one morning as I drove to Pillnitz in a heavy fog, which swept about my carriage, now dense, now vaporish, now tinged with sunlight, now heavy with shadows. With my mind full of my opera, I had to compose a cantata for a royal wedding, and do it, too, in a fortnight. That done, could I think about my own wedding? Not a bit of it! Just as I was starting for Prague, in rushed Kind to say that a German cantata must now be composed. The first had been to Italian words. I wrote the thing 144 LETTERS FROM GREAT MUSICIANS somehow, finishing it just before my wedding. Then at last, surrounded by good friends, my Lina and myself knelt in a crowded church and were made man and wife. It was a solemn and a happy time. I prayed that I might always make my wife content and blessed. Looking back from behind the gates of time I can truly say that earth has seldom seen a happier union. We had a blissful little journey and gave some concerts to defray our expenses. My wife sang and put me entirely in the shade. This would never do! I improvised so grandly that madame was obliged to look to her laurels. Then together we sang some comic songs, accompanied by piano and guitar, and so restored the balance. When we turned our faces toward Dresden, I had a fine surprise for my wife. I always delighted in surprises. She expected nothing. She found a comfortable little home supplied with everything. I had even engaged a cook! When my wife put her soft, round arms about my neck and thanked me, who shall say that I was not fully repaid for all the trouble which I had taken? Now, at last, the wandering artist had a home and an angel to grace it. In all my troubles I was sure of her sincere sympathy. Indeed, so keenly did my little wife feel any slight or indignity put upon her husband, that her intense feeling often made her quite ill, prostrating her as with bodily weakness. My life was never an easy one. Remember that, little TO YOUNG PEOPLE. 1 45 friends. I had many joys, but also many heart-burnings. I was fighting the battle of German music, when Italian was still the more highly prized. I was surrounded by intriguing fellows who longed to see me crushed, but I did not crush easily. And now that in my house there was the most charming of hostesses, I found that not only had I now a devoted wife, but also a firm ally and a sage coun- selor. People were glad to come to us, to be entertained at our table, to listen while my wife sang or sometimes recited a poem, while I improvised a piano accompani- ment. When warm weather came, we took a nice country house which we called our little Paradise. Here we had all our animals about us, for I was devoted to pets. Let me see : we had a splendid big hound, an Angola cat, a raven that could say " Good-night," a star- ling and a deliciously droll monkey. The monkey frightened us nearly into fits one night by keeping up an unearthly knocking. I leaped up, seized my pistols, looked for robbers, and found — master monkey in a nightmare! Indigestion or — a guilty conscience! Once my wife wickedly dressed up our pets and marched them into my room. It was on our fete day. The big dog was turned into an elephant. Little did he like it ! Puss was a donkey with panniers and was gravely dis- pleased. Then came master monkey dressed in gorgeous hooped petticoat, and hat with nodding plumes, proud as a I46 LETTERS FROM GREAT MUSICIANS nobleman in court attire. Not as I felt in that attire ! I used to say of myself, " I ought to be stuck in a wax fig- ure show." In 1820 I finished "The Jager's Bride," then began work on " Preciosa " ; did that quickly, and produced other work beside in that year of tremendous mental activity. Then my wife and myself took a journey. I visited, among many other towns, my birthplace, Eutin, which is a little town in the Duchy of Holstein, and was received with such overflowing honors that I was glad to run away again. In all the university towns I received tremendous ovations from the students, who loved me for my patriotic songs. After our return home a lad came to me for instruction, who remained for a long time my favorite pupil. I parted from him only when ill health compelled me to do so. His name was Julius Benedict. "Preciosa" was produced in Berlin, and then off went my wife, myself, and my dog, to be present when " The Jager's Bride " made her bow. The opera on being ac- cepted had been re-christened " Der Freischiitz." * The good Beers entertained us, and simply overflowed with hos- pitality. I busily rehearsed my people, while my wife was nearly ill with anxiety. There was, of course, some of the usual fighting with Italian prejudices to be gone through. Spontini was just producing a new opera called " Olympia," which was a great success and a most magnificent spectacle. * The huntsman who shoots enchanted bullets. TO YOUNG PEOPLE. 1 47 It had a live elephant in it ! Never mind — is not the Old Nick himself in my opera? A last the expected night came. The overture was en- cored, to begin with, but after the first act there was some growling, as none of the female parts are introduced till Act II. However, that act won the day. The house went mad with enthusiasm, while I sat quietly out of sight in my wife's box, wiping away her happy tears and kissing her into some semblance of calm. " Der Freischiitz " tri- umphed. But poor Kind, the poet, was very angry, be- cause no one thought of the poet while listening to my music! Owing to cabals some time elapsed before my great work was given in Dresden, but when it was pro- duced, it met with the same success as in Berlin. On its first night, in my home, I was presented with a beautiful laurel bush. This was all the more precious in Dresden, as I never received there such honors as other cities will- ingly paid me. From Vienna now came an order for an opera, and a queer old lady wrote me the libretto of " Euryanthe." I might have chosen a better book. In this opera you will find again my favorites — supernatural creatures. I loved to deal with ghosts, bogies, dragons, fairies, and other creat- ures of that ilk. My genius had a bent that way. When I went to Vienna to produce my opera, I met the great master, Beethoven. He received me with open arms, shouting out, " There you are, my boy. You are a devil 148 LETTERS FROM GREAT MUSICIANS of a fellow! God bless you." I wrote what I wished to say on his tablets and we had a long conversation. He enjoyed a hearty laugh at me when he found my book was not a good one. Henrietta Sonntag sang the part of Euryanthe when the opera was first produced. Though cheered and applauded till I believed that my work had scored another great success, this success was not lasting. I liked " Euryanthe " better than I did " Der Freischutz," and nothing made me more angry than to hear praises of the earlier work, and requests for it while my favorite was ignored. During this time I was far from well, and suffered terri- bly with my chest. I had such a happy home that I could not but be better in it, yet I was ordered away to some baths and obliged to leave wife and babies behind. When- ever I left home, I was always dazed by the honors show- ered upon me. In one hotel, I believe it was in Ems, I was not known when I engaged my room and was shown to a small one. Suddenly in rushed the landlady, followed by an excited line of waiters, gasping incoherently, " Pre- ciosa," " Der Freischutz," I didn't know — I'll turn every- body into the streets!" Off she ran, to be followed by a string of lodgers, each offering to give up his room to me. The band played selections from my works during dinner, and my popularity fairly drove me out of town. Nothing could restore my poor weak lungs, or give me TO YOUNG PEOPLE. 149 strength again. I looked this fact in the face and a bitter fact it seemed, when I thought of my wife and two chil- dren. I was doomed to leave them and that right soon. The body was wearing out and could hold the struggling spirit only a few months longer. The years would come and go, my boys would grow to manhood, but I should never watch their growth, or join in their boyish games. These thoughts were sad ones, but they would not leave me. Sometimes they made me bitter, sometimes my Christian faith triumphed, and I arose from the conflict serene. At least I could provide for my dear ones. Charles Kemble, the London manager of Covent Garden Theater, had made me a good offer to compose and produce music for an English play. I accepted, composed the music for Planche's " Oberon," and went to London to produce it. That looks so cold on paper. But can you imagine the heart-break of my parting? Of course you cannot, dear little friends; do not try. Childhood and heart-ache should never go together. I pressed my dear wife to my heart, I kissed my boys, and then leaned back in my trav- eling carriage, sobbing and exhausted, feeling intuitively that never on earth should I see my loved ones again. I traveled by way of Paris, and there met Rossini, Cher- ubini, and the great men who made the French capital their home. I was touched to the heart when the veteran Cherubini went out of his way to do me honor. ISO LETTERS FROM GREAT MUSICIANS In London the people shouted themselves hoarse over me. " Oberon" was a success, and I directed the first twelve performances. What cared I for cheers and bra- voes, or even for the harrowing fact that the English aris- tocracy did not patronize me very extensively! I was away from home, and that was ever the burden of my cry- ing. Kind friends and noble hearts surrounded me during my sad time in London. Once I was a little disappointed. A concert, from which I had expected very much, was a financial failure. The last song I ever composed was sung at this concert and to empty benches ! To the last I labored and fought for my wife and little ones. By day and night they were in my thoughts. Their safety was my constant prayer. Truly you can say of me, " A prophet is not without honor, save in his own coun- try." And remember, too, I was a prophet. I stood be- tween two schools and stood with my face turned toward the music of the future. Yet some of the great expo- nents of that music, while calling me their head, have forgotten that with which my music was filled — melody. Melody, without which wonderful orchestration and weird or startling effects are but as sounding brass and a tink- ling cymbal. Remember this, that I improved and altered the arrange- ment of the orchestra, and my reforms are lasting. Re- member me as an artist. Love me as a man, who grew to the strength of upright manhood through years of weak- TO YOUNG PEOPLE. 151 ness and conflict, and, little friends, just take to heart these words of mine, written after hearing a cutting criticism on one of my early works : " I cannot sink into mediocrity. If I cannot climb the highest step in the ladder, I had rather earn my scanty bread as a mere piano teacher. But, no! I will tread on in the path I have chosen. Perseverance wins the goal! But I must watch strictly over all I do. Time will show whether I have really honorably used the advantages be- stowed upon me." Good-by, Carl Maria von Weber. 152 LETTERS FROM GREAT MUSICIANS GIACOMO MEYERBEER. Bom 1794. Died 1864. " Where there is no heart, there can be no musie." DEAR FRIENDS : I am requested to give you a sketch of my life, telling you all about my struggles, labors, and final triumph in my great calling of a musician, but before I begin I must ask you to make allowances for my prosy style of doing so, as I am not gifted with my pen as are many of my brother composers. However, I shall do my best, and you know I cannot do any more. I was born in Berlin, in 1 794. Perhaps you will be told by some of my biographers that 1791 is the correct date of my birth, which fact, they say, is proved by " The Jew- ish Initiatory Rites at Berlin." They will also tell you that I had the weakness to appear younger than I was, and that all my life I cut down my age, in order to make others appear older than myself. Never mind what they say. I claim 1 794 as the year of my birth. My father, a Jew, was a wealthy banker, and fully able to give me every advantage. Therefore, unlike many mu- sical geniuses, I did not have to contend with poverty. TO YOUNG PEOPLE. 1 53 The family name was Beer. I was called Jacob Meyer Beer, which I afterward changed to Giacomo Meyerbeer. More euphonious, is it not? When I was only four years old I began to show my love for music. Any tune I heard played on the hand- organ in the street I could readily play on the piano. My father was so impressed with this evidence of musical talent that he at once had me instructed. My first teacher was one Lauska, a distinguished pupil of Clementi. Old dem- enti himself, who had long given up teaching, after hearing me play insisted upon giving me lessons, during one of his visits to Berlin. When I was seven years old I played in public the D Minor Concerto of Mozart, and when nine years old I was considered the best pianist in Berlin. It was strange that I so loved music, as I did not inherit the talent from my mother or from my father. Indeed, I was the only member of my family who ever attained to any prominence in the musical world. My mother was a refined, intellectual woman, very sym- pathetic, and always showed the greatest interest in all my work. My father, too, encouraged me, and notwithstand- ing he was a wealthy man, he did not regard music in the light of a mere pastime, as was often the case among the wealthier classes in Prussia. My parents recognized my special bent and did their utmost to give me a thorough professional training. It was as a pianist that I expected to be famous, but at an early age I showed great talent for 154 LETTERS FROM GREAT MUSICIANS composing, and was placed first under Zelter for instruction in composition. He made himself excessively disagreeable to me by his unusual severity, and I was therefore placed under a former pupil of Vogler, Bernard Weber, the great- est musical theorist in Germany, and the director of the Berlin opera. Weber was an ardent admirer of Gluck and an adept in operatic composition, but he knew very little about the higher branches of counterpoint. He sent one of my early productions, a fugue, to Vogler, who, after keeping it some time, returned it to me in a memorable way. First, he wrote out all the principles of the fugue ; second, he sent back mine analyzed by such principles and found sadly wanting ; and third, a correct one written by himself, choosing the same theme — analyzed and ex- plained. I was delighted with such honest dealings, and immediately began writing a new fugue, which when fin- ished I sent to Vogler. This was a portion of his reply : " There is for you a beautiful future in art. Come to me • repair to Darmstadt ; I will receive you there as a son, and I will make you drink at the source of musical knowledge." Such an invitation was not to be slighted, so at the age of fifteen, in 1810, I became an inmate of Vogler's school, as he called it. This abbe was regarded by some as a most profound theoretician and by others as a charlatan. He was most eccentric, quaint in his conceit, which was excess- ive, possessed much originality, and above all had a mania for teaching others. He was not so learned as he appeared TO YOUNG PEOPLE, 1 55 to be. His great confidence in himself attracted many ardent young men who desired to pursue a truly artistic course. Vogler had led an adventurous life, and had finally settled at Darmstadt, where he received a pension and the protection of the grand duke. I met there Carl Maria von ' Weber, a musical genius, who was eight years older than I. We became devoted friends, and remained so till the end. Let me tell you of one prank among the many which we devoted friends played. Carl had a little dog named " Ma'm'selle" which would run on before us when walk- ing. Now we two young musicians thoroughly enjoyed a glimpse of a pretty face, and sometimes as we strolled along a young girl would pass us whose carriage or figure raised high expectations regarding her features. Then we would loudly call, " Ma'm'selle, Ma'm'selle!" Round would turn the startled maiden, and while we studied the countenance which our mischievous trick had revealed to us, we would with many apologies and sweet smiles explain that we were only calling our little dog. For our working time we all had lessons in counterpoint, composing church music, and listening to the analysis of our compositions by Vogler. Organ fugues were impro- vised in the cathedral on themes given by each one in turn. My greatest recreation was to accompany my master to the cathedral, where there were two organs, on which he and I improvised by turns, on the subject of the given fugues. 156 LETTERS FROM GREAT MUSICIANS I sometimes became so interested in my work that I would stay in my room for days together, forgetting even to take off my dressing-gown. I was a diligent pupil, wrapped up in my art, which, I assure you, when one loves it as I did, becomes most absorbing. One cares for noth- ing else. I stayed in Darmstadt for two years. At the expiration of that time Vogler gave up his school and set out with his pupils to travel through Germany. When seventeen years old I wrote an oratorio called " God and Nature." The grand duke on hearing it made me court composer at Darmstadt. About this time I also wrote an opera, "Jephtha's Vow," which was more in the style of an oratorio than of an opera. Both of these belong to my Vogler period, as I was entirely under his influence at this time. I now decided to go to Vienna, to make my appearance as a pianist. When I arrived I found Hummel there be- fore me, creating the greatest furore by his exquisite play- ing, which was entirely devoid of tricks, but was remark- able for the best qualities. Instead of making an effort to establish an opposition party to that of Hummel by dis- playing my own gifts, I immediately shut myself up for ten months in Vienna, devoting the entire time to correcting my technique and to the composition of pieces for the piano- forte, of which, however, the greater portion were never published. When I was nineteen I had such a reputation TO YOUNG PEOPLE. 157 as a pianist that I was requested to write for the court theater of Vienna. I had the delight of meeting Moscheles in Vienna at this time. We became great friends, and remained such from youth to old age. For hours together we would im- provise and extemporize on our piano. Many lively duets did we produce, among them " The Invitation to a Bowl of Punch." What fun we had! Moscheles was a good fellow. He ranks among the small number of pianists who can be called great musicians. You will doubtless receive a long letter from him later on, so I will not say any more, though I could write pages about him which I am sure would be far more interesting than writing about myself. In 181 3 I wrote for the court theater of Vienna "The Two Caliphs," but, like my first oratorios, it was a failure. The Viennese were under the influence of Italian music, and consequently my scholarly attempts were not pleasing to them- I was finally convinced of two things (having been severely criticised and made to see them) : First, that I did not understand the mechanism of the human voice sufficiently to enable me to write successfully for singers, and second, that if I wished to win popularity I must go to Italy, " the land of song," as it was called, to study. Up to this time I had never heard any Italian music that could make me change my low opinion of it, but in 18 15 I went to Venice. It was Carnival time, and Rossini's " Tancredi " was creating a profound sensation. I was 158 LETTERS FROM GREAT MUSICIANS overcome with enthusiasm for it, and do not be surprised when I tell you that I was most eager to become a disciple of the " New Romantic," as opposed to the " Old Classic, School." You may already have heard that musically I was very changeable. Brought up in the German school, I went first to the Italian, and then, taking with me my added knowledge of melody, became the most striking of compos- ers in the French school. Let me tell you the whole story. It took several years of hard work to accomplish my first transformation. Then at the age of twenty-four I produced at Padua my first Italian opera, " Romilda e Costanza " (Romilda and Con- stance), which was most heartily welcomed by the Padu- ans. I now wrote many Italian operas, which were all well received. Finally, " Emma di Resburgo," produced in Venice the same year as Rossini's " Eduardo e Cristina " (Edward and Christine), established my fame in Italy. I appreciated my success more than I otherwise should have done, for owing to Rossini's wonderfully magnetic influence over the Italian people, it was difficult for any one but him to obtain a hearing. My operas, however, were received with the greatest enthusiasm. In 1823 I went to Berlin, where I tried to have a per- formance of a three-act German opera, but failed. This was a time of transition in my life. I was beginning to weary of the Italian manner, and besides, I heard of the TO YOUNG PEOPLE. 1 59 dissatisfaction my change had caused in Germany. My dear old friend Weber wrote me : " My heart bleeds to see a German composer stoop to become an imitator in order to win favor with the crowd." Severe, was he not? Weber had only one idea in music, and could not understand what attractions Italian music could possess for me; he therefore regarded me as a faithless renegade. Although our opinions clashed our friendship did not suffer. Weber did everything in his power to have me return to my former principles, and even brought out at Dresden, with greatest care, my German opera, " The Two Caliphs," the rejection of which at Vienna, you remember, children, sent me off to Italy. " II Crociato in Egitto," my last distinctly Italian opera, was represented in Venice in 1825, when I was in my thirty-second year. It created a great furore. I was called for and crowned on the stage. This opera carried my name into both England and France. Although this opera is still Italian, yet in it can be seen an inclination to harmonize the German and Italian schools. I was now invited to go to Paris to direct its representation there. It did not meet with the reception I had looked for. The French "rarely divide their crowns;" they fall all on one head, and at this time they reposed on the head of Rossini. The Parisians had the impression that I had done my utmost in the composition of " Crociato." They afterward learned their mistake. I had only waited my time, as I 160 LETTERS FROM GREAT MUSICIANS had always done. You know I was rich, therefore I was not dependent upon my art for my livelihood, in a great measure, I assure you, although my happiness rested upon it. In the mean time events were happening in my private life which kept me from public life just at the time when I had attained great popularity. My marriage and the birth and death of two children occurred in this interval, and also the death of my dear father, whose kind encourage- ment to me had never been lacking. From 1 824 to 1 83 1 no opera appeared from my pen. I had now taken up my residence in Paris and lived most of my subsequent life there. All these years during which I was silent I was making a profound study of French art, history, and char- acter, which resulted, my dear children, in the final change in my dramatic and musical style, and in the great operas by which I am so well known. I did not shrink from the industry which had always been my most prominent char- acteristic, but I went back as far as the days of Lulli, and studied the literature of the French operas great and small. It was a curious sight, and an untidy one, too, I confess, to see in my library hundreds of opera scores, some not known even by name to the most learned musicians. When you grow older, you will observe that in my later operas, to the substantial harmony of the German school and the flowing melody of the Italian school, I united the pathetic declamation and the varied piquant rhythm of the French TO YOUNG PEOPLE. l6l I began to write "Robert the Devil" in 1828. Many misfortunes happened before its first performance at the Academie in 1831. France was in a state of commotion. The Revolution of 1830, which of course you have studied about, produced a widespread sensation throughout Eu- rope. Louis Philippe was the king. He did not want war, as he realized that France needed rest, so, in order to strengthen his throne, he made alliances with all constitu- tional and free governments, especially that of England, for which he entertained a sincere and special admiration. Notwithstanding his desire for peace, during the first years of his reign the internal condition of France was one of disquietude. About the time I first thought of producing " Robert," Paris was in too riotous a state to run the risk. Its production was delayed till 1831, and was then the sen- sation of the time. The drama of " Robert the Devil " is by Scribe and Delavigne. It has some poetical merit, but I confess, dear children, that the libretto is absurd in its conception and most sensational in its treatment of the story. However, if it had not been for me, it would have been even more ridiculous. I did not wonder at Mendels- sohn's criticism : " I cannot imagine how any music could be composed on such a cold, formal extravaganza as this." Nevertheless, the music is powerful and very original. The Italian style is quite forsaken. The melodies are of a national character, and both the vocal and instrumental harmonies have the depth and fullness of the German 1 62 LETTERS FROM GREAT MUSICIANS school. This opera has been translated into every Euro- pean language, and will ever be a standard work. One great fault in " Robert the Devil " was spoken of by every one : it was too long ; there was enough in it for two even- ings' performances rather than for a continuous one. It began at seven o'clock and lasted till midnight, so I had to undertake the unpleasant task of cutting my work down to bring it within something like a reasonable time of pres- entation. It was not an easy thing to do, but I did it, of course. I was never afraid of work, and never shirked it during my entire career. " Robert le Diable " has fulfilled the prophecy of a wise official of that time who, when every one predicted its fail- ure, said: "Don't disturb yourself; it will rise to the clouds and will make the tour of the world." So it did. It made the fortune of the Paris Opera, besides saving from failure directors of provincial theaters. It had a run of one hundred and sixty representations, and still the fickle French did not tire of it. One of the most popular songs in this opera is "Robert, toi que j'aime." Do you know it? I must not forget to tell you that this great opera was at first refused by the management of the Opera, who would have nothing to do with it, and only finally accepted it on condition that I should contribute 30,000 francs to- ward the mise -en-scene ! I was pleased to accept these con- ditions, as I could then impose my own in exchange, sure TO YOUNG PEOPLE. 1 63 of success as I was, for I never doubted my own ability. I consequently controlled the casting of the opera and could direct everything. I made so many changes in the libretto that, out of all patience, Scribe said : " I will change anything you like in my pieces, but what it will cost you is twenty sous a line." I made no objection; I never did where my success was concerned. My greatest weakness was my fear of the critics. I bribed every critic that could be bought, and spent large sums on the Paris claque. I was very simple in my own tastes and really very mean with myself. I will give you an instance of that meanness. I had had a drink at a refreshment place and an anchovy sandwich, and I wanted another. After deep thought I asked the waitress to sell me a quarter of a sandwich. She replied that they never sold quarters. I walked up and down, meditated deeply, then asked for a half. They " never sold less than a whole sandwich." Deep thought, more walking, and finally I went away, unable to allow myself another sandwich. " How droll," you will say, " for him to do so," and I now think the same. As " Robert le Diable " was such a grand success, the French manager engaged me to write another opera, en- titled " Les Huguenots." I promised to have it finished at an appointed time, under the penalty of a fine if it were not forthcoming. My wife was suffering from some lung difficulty which made it necessary for us to go to Italy at 164 LETTERS FROM GREAT MUSICIANS once. So, as my request to have more time to do the work in was not allowed me, I threw up the agreement and paid my fine. However, matters were finally peace- ably settled, and I finished " The Huguenots," which was produced in 1836. It did not at first realize the hopes that had been built upon it, but you all know now how popular it became. It is superior to "Robert," although it suffered by contrast. It is founded on the massacre of St. Bartholomew, the horrors of which are strongly represented. "As a drama it depends for none of its interest on the su- pernatural." As treated by me it has been called the most vivid chapter of French history that was ever written. In 1838 I began my opera "L'Africaine," which had a peculiar charm for me, and the " composition and re-com- position and re-casting of this work " occupied me now and then to the end of my life. One reason why this opera was never produced by me was that I never could find a heroine to my liking. I often went long distances to find good singers, and if I liked them I trained them and taught them to sing my operas. Once I went off to Prague to hear a fresh voice. I liked it. I brought the singer to Berlin and gave her careful training. Her name was Pauline Lucca. I bought the libretto of " The Prophet " from Scribe, which so delighted me that I at once began work on it, and in one year completed it. This was in 1843, hut I did not produce it until some years later, in 1849. I think TO YOUNG PEOPLE. 1 6$ that in this opera I showed the same power that is felt in "The Huguenots" and "Robert the Devil." The great climax in "The Prophet" is the " Coronation March." I forgot to tell you that in 1841 I was appointed by the King of Prussia as kapellmeister or director of music in Prussia. Consequently a good deal of my time now was spent in Berlin. I wrote many cantatas, marches, and other pieces, and finally a three-act German opera called "The Camp of Silesia," which was first produced in 1844, and eleven years after, under the name of " The Star of the North," in Paris. It was given in London in the same year, 1855, and I went over specially to superintend the rehearsals. " The Camp of Silesia " is memorable for the debut of Jenny Lind. I introduced her to the Berlin public, having heard her in Paris. What a glorious singer she was, and so unpretentious! She enchanted every one. She was unique in her way. She became the idol of the Berlinese, and need I say that the success of my work was won- derfully increased by this " Swedish Nightingale " ? The name of Jenny Lind shines the brightest in the world's list of glorious singers. A most painful coincidence occurred to me at the representation of "The Camp of Silesia." I was obliged to hurry from the opera to go to the bedside of my dearly beloved daughter, Bianca, who was most alarmingly ill. Moscheles came to congratulate me on my successful work, but I had only a moment to .speak to him, 1 66 LETTERS FROM GREAT MUSICIANS for my one thought was to be with my dear, sick child. 1 am thankful to say she recovered. Have you forgotten about my dear friend, Carl Maria von Weber? I hope not I now discharged the debt I owed him by producing his "Euryanthe" at Berlin, it hav- ing been a failure when first produced by Weber. At my representation of it it was a grand success, and musical Germany at last accorded it the praise and position it deserved. But it was too late for Weber to receive the atonement; he was dead. In 1846 I produced an overture and incidental music to my brother Michael's drama called " Struensee." His early death saddened my life. He was considered a poet of great promise. I had the trial of parting from many dear ones, but I always found in my art a soothing influence and in work was comforted. From 1845 I only conducted my own operas and those in which Jenny Lind sang. I was not a good conductor. I think there never was another composer who suffered from anxiety as I did. I was often dissatisfied while com- posing; then, when my work was complete, I made many changes in it. Then came the rehearsals — how tiresome for me, and perhaps more so for the poor actors ; I never allowed myself a moment's peace, and I assure you no one under me had it. It was always hard for me to receive adverse criticism. One reason of this was that I had al- ways been accustomed to praise and encouragement from TO YOUNG PEOPLE. 1 67 my earnest years. As I have already mentioned to you, I bribed the critics. Although my operas brought me mill- ions of francs, I never kept as much as 150,000 francs. This was because I spent such large sums on singers and stage accessories, and bought up all the journalists that could be bought. I told you that I began the opera " L'Africaine " in 1838. The public had been looking for its presentation with great impatience, and I dare say with much curiosity. I kept back the production of it simply for the reason that I could not find the cast which I thought I must have. My qver-fastidiousness and nervous anxiety resulted in its never being presented during my lifetime. We all have our faults, and I know that mine were excessive anxiety and desire for popularity, changing music as often as I changed climate. Still you must acknowledge that I waa a born composer, devoted to my profession, with a keen appreciation of the beautiful and a wonderful capacity for work. I had wealth, which aided me in my various un- dertakings, but in many men that same money would have been an excuse for idleness, and their talents, given them by the great Creator, would have been lost. " I left no disciples, for I had no doctrine to bequeath ; but I filled a gap which no one else could fill." When you grow older, you will doubtless read more about me and my compo- sitions. Many musicians criticised me severely, none more so 1 68 LETTERS FROM GREAT MUSICIANS than Richard Wagner. We had met while I was in Paris, and he, being in necessitous circumstances, came to me for assistance. I gladly introduced him to members of the musical world, for I was ever ready to assist the struggling artist. After a long and very careful preparation of one of his earliest operas, " Rienzi," I produced it in Berlin in 1847 with marked success. He subsequently wrote the " Fliegende Hollander " (" The Flying Dutchman "), to his own libretto. The score being rejected by the theaters in Leipzig and Munich it was forwarded by Wagner to me. I used all my influence, and finally got it accepted at Berlin. For these good offices this Wagner called me " a miserable music-maker;" "a Jew banker, to whom it occurred to compose operas." He forgot my good offices to him and requited kindnesses by unjust criticisms. But in music, as in everything in life, there exists rivalry, one striving to pass another on the road to fame. Still, I felt that if Rich- ard Wagner did not like Meyerbeer as a musician, he need not have attacked his sect, nor have been quite so ferocious in his language. Be that as it may, I recognize in him a grand musical genius, whom the world will pay more hom- age to as it progresses in the greatest of all arts — music. My opera of " Dinorah " was produced at Paris in 1859. I was now sixty-five years old. I gave this same opera in London under my personal superintendence. In addition to my operas I wrote some sacred music, the most impor- tant being a " Stabat Mater," a " Miserere," a " Te Deum," TO YOUNG PEOPLE. I69 and the setting of the Ninety-first Psalm and of the Lord's Prayer. I also wrote music to celebrate the centenary of Schiller's birth, various events in the lives of the Prussian royal family, and I must not forget to add that I also wrote many songs. In my day I occupied many honorable positions, such as kapellmeister to the King of Prussia, Member of the Academy of Fine Arts at Berlin, officer of the Legion of Honor, and chevalier of the Belgian order of Leopold and of that of the Southern Cross. Before I finish this sketch, my dear children, I will criticise my own music myseif for you : "As a composer, I had individuality, strength, and fine harmonies," but — must I confess it? Yes, I will — when I had no very powerful situation to interpret, my music sometimes became marred by triviality, or perhaps in desiring to be very original I became a little mannered. Enough! One can say what he pleases about himself, but let an outsider take the same privilege, and presto ! what a difference ! Good-by. Your sincere friend, Giacomo Meyerbeer.