Page 36J+ JUNE 1920 THE ETUDE year; but this sop to Cerberus was merely to prevent him from going to London. Mozart's last great work, the Requiem, was composed under strange circumstances. In 1791 a black-garbed man came to the composer's house to order it, paying half the price at once, but refusing to give his name. He returned later for the finished work, but operatic matters had delayed it and a new date was set. Mozart then began to brood over the affair; and being in poor health, he became convinced that the stranger was a messenger from the other world, sent to presage his death. At this time, too, Mozart thought that someone was slowly poisoning him. His premonitions were cor-rect as far as his end was concerned, for he died (of typhus, it is said) when the work was nearly finished. The stranger then reappeared and took the composition, leaving the balance 'of the money due. This mysterious story was explained in part when the man in black was afterwards found to be the steward of Count Walsegg, a rascally nobleman who wanted to palm off the Requiem as his own. It almost seemed as if fate wished to pursue Mozart even beyond his death. On the day of his funeral, in December, 1791, a great storm arose, and the few friends who accompanied the hearse turned back at the cemetery gates. The body was then laid in one of the large common tombs, with many othercoffins—and lost! When the search was made, later on, no one could identify the master's resting place; and the Mozart monument in Vienna now stands over an empty grave. Haydn and Beethoven Haydn passed a more fortunate life. Born in a one-story Croatian farm-house, he attained comfort, if not too much dignity, in his long career as leader of Prince Esterhazy's private orchestra; and his London trips, marked by the performance of his best symphonies, brought him fame and respect. He, too, died in Vienna, though not without homage of an unusual kind. The Napoleonic forces were bombarding the town; and when a shell fell near his house, the composer called out to his servants, "Don't be afraid, for you have Haydn with you." Finally the city fell. But even the enemy knew Haydn's rank in music, and gave him the utmost respect. One French officer visited him at his death-bed, and sang In Native Worth with such expres-sion that the composer tried to embrace him. Haydn's last musical act was to have his servants carry him to the piano, where he played his Austrian National Hymn three times. Then he retired to his room and prepared to die. During the same bombardment of Vienna, another composer sat cowering in a cellar, fearing that the noise would ruin his already impaired hearing. This was no less a man than Beethoven himself. But all his precau-tions proved of no avail, and he finally lost that sense which seems to be the one special requirement of the musician. When his great ninth symphony was brought out, the audience went wild with enthusiasm; but the composer, who had not heard a note of the music, was also totally unable to hear the applause. Finally the audience hit upon the idea of waving handkerchiefs, so that he could at least see the plaudits. Beethoven's character was marked by a vein of rather fierce brusqUerie. A dreamer of human brotherhood, he was too often impatient of whatever smacked of sham or incompetence. Thus the cook who brought him stale eggs was stood in a corner and pelted with them; a waiter who served cold soup received it back as a shower-baih; and the pianist Himroel, after im-provising brilliantly for fifteen minutes, was treated to the remark, 'When are you going to begin?" Beethoven alienated many of his old friends, and even offended his doctor (Malfatti), though the latter generously returned to treat the composer during his last illness, whfch was dropsy. Beethoven's lack of respect for outward show extended even to the aristocracy. Yet in spite of many quarrels, Beethoven received much homage and many tributes during his life. While on his deathbed, Beethoven grew to appreciate Schubert's music. On being shown a picture of Haydn's birthplace, he exclaimed, "Strange that so great a man should have been born in such a hovel." He also looked through a new edition of Handel's works, and summed them up in the remark, "Das ist das Wahre," which may be slangily translated as "These are the real thing." Beethoven's actual death took place during a thunderstorm. After a specially loud crash, he shook his fist at the elements, as if making a last defiance against fate—and fell back dead. People of all ranks united in homage to him at his funeral, which became an impressive and tremendously crowded occasion. After this funeral, a group of musicians stopped to refresh themselves at an inn, on the way back from the cemetery. Among them was Schubert, who had only recently met Beethoven for the first time. Sud-denly Schubert arose and proposed a toast to the next great tone-master who should die. Was it a whim, or a presentiment? For Schubert himself was the next great composer to die; and he followed Beethoven to the grave in little more than a year. Schubert's Poverty Schubert's life was not one that tended to longevity; and yet it was not what would be called dissipated. Poverty led a band of poets, musicians, and others to unite in a little community, and join forces in keeping the wolf from the door. This group included such famous nanjes as Hiittenbrenner, Mayrhofer, Lachner, and Spaum, besides Schubert. The last-named was the acknowledged leader, and the social gatherings of the group were called "Schubertiades," in his honor. When any of these jovial communists had money, the entire group was properly fed and wined; while the lean days were passed in famine and enforced prohibition. If one of the group had to make a visit, he borrowed the best articles of attire that any of the comrades possessed and thus made a respectable composite costume. Once Schubert missed his spectacle case, and after a long hunt, he found Scliwind calmly using it as a pipe bowl. There was a supply of tobacco, but no funds for a pipe, and a hole bored in the case, with a tube inserted, made a suitable substitute. Schubert's poverty came in part from his modesty, and lack of aggressive "push;" but the chief cause of it was the ridiculously low prices that were paid for his work. Thus the publisher Diabelli bought a large number of his best songs for about ten florins apiece— and made twenty-seven thousand on the Wanderer alone! Later on, when Schubert's great facility in com-position had had the effect of overstocking the market, he had to sell some of his immortal Winterreise numbers at the ludicrous sum of twenty cents apiece! The composer's poverty, and the enforced irregularity of life resulting from it, brought the inevitable result. In 1828, at the age of only thirty-one, his constitution gave way. An intense loathing for food, followed by extreme weakness, led directly to a delirious condition, with fever. In the lucid moment that comes at the close, he turned to the doctor, and said, "Here, here, is my end." This most spontaneous of all composers, who gave the world lyric works of the most expressive beauty, left only sixty-three florins; and his brother had to advance the money needed for the burial. Mendelssohn's career was exactly the reverse of Schubert's, and the former's wealth and success make the latter's poverty seem doubly sad. Mendelssohn became the idol of the English public—was even rated too high. Mendelssohn was of a rather delicate consti-. tution, and probably could not have withstood adverse circumstances. His death was caused in part by the exertion of composing Elijah, and in part from the shock caused by his sister's death, the relationship be-tween the two having been most intimate. Schumann and Chopin Schumann who was Mendelssohn's rival in certain ways, grew to fame much more slowly. His romantic courtship of Clara Wieck, in the face of parental opposi-tion, resulted in a marriage that inspired him to pour forth his best, and create a long succession of master-works. Yet he was much less known than his pianist spouse; and when Clara once played at court, a certain nobleman asked Schumann, "Are you, too, musical?" In England the vogue of Mendelssohn prevented Schu-mann from being properly understood; and one of the former's critic-acquaintances spoke of Schumann's music as "the broken-crockery school." Just when the real breadth and nobility of his works was earning gradual recognition, the composer was attacked by insanity. He recovered from his first nervous break-down, but a second attack was attended with less for-tunate results. He insisted that the spirit of Beethoven was trying to communicate with him; he constantly heard the note A resounding in his ears; and'he claimed that certain themes were brought to him by spirits. One of these themes, which he noted down, was used by Brahms, in the variations that close with a funeral march. Sensing that his reason was going, Schumann actually tried to drown himself. His last two years were spent in an asylum at Endenich. Chopin was another of the delicate type represented by Mendelssohn. Like his music, he was all emotion; and Field called him " A talent for the sick-room." Even during his happier years he was always something of an invalid; and the rupture of his long friendship with George Sand (Mme. Dudevant) proved a great shock to a weak constitution. After that event, Chopin returned alone to his Paris quarters; and in his excited state, he thought he saw visions. The chivalry of Poland seemed to march before him in review; and he grew so frightened of fiis own condition that he rushed from his room, and wandered about the streets. But the themes that accompanied the vision remained in his mind, and were embodied in the great A-flat Polonaise. In spite of this nervous shock, Chopin came back to partial health; and in 1848 he dodged Polish Revolutionary scenes by giving concerts in England. It was not until the following year that the great, patriotic soul of the composer was released from the frail body, as a result of pulmonary troubles. Liszt, as a composer, was perhaps, the least known of all the great composers during his lifetime. This was largely because his phenomenal ability as a pianist made him familiar in that field chiefly as a performer. His orchestral work remained unknown for many years, in spite of the greatness of the Faust symphony or Lcs Preludes. Wagner borrowed much from them; and at a Bayreuth rehearsal, he once said to Liszt (then his father-in-law), "Here, papa, is one of your themes." "So much the better," replied Liszt. "The public will hear it now." Liszt's death took place at Bayreuth, fitting enough as the scene of that event. He had attended a performance of Tristan, after a tiresome trip from Muncaczy's chateau; and exhausted nature proved too much for him. He slept through the performance, and died a few days later from lung trouble. Wagner's long fight for recognition, and his rise to greatness during his lifetime, are of too recent date to demand extended mention. But the success was in every way deserved, for if Wagner, the man, was some-times petty and mean, Wagner, the artist, was always faithful to a high ideal, even when he had no hope that his works would ever be publicly known. Perhaps the cases of Wagner and Tschaikovsky give us the real idea of the way in which genius should be treated. Wagner was helped to success by King Lud-wig of Bavaria; while Tschaikovsky found a benefactor in Mme. von Meek, an engineer's wife, who sent him an annual pension for many years. This suggests that there should be private funds or public foundations for the support of great composers. Under such an arrangement, geniuses of the Mozart-Schubert type might have been kept alive for many years, and pro-duced many more great masterpieces than they did. Yet too often, even with the best of intentions on the part of others, true genius remains unrecognized, and help arrives too late. Handel's Success (Continued from page 3/6) One Sunday, having attended divine worship at a country church, Handel asked the organist to permit him to play the people out, to which the organist po-litely consented. Handel accordingly sat down to the organ and began to play in such a masterly manner as instantly to attract the attention of the whole con-gregation, who, instead of vacating the seats, as usual, remained for a considerable time listening in silent admiration. The organist began to be impatient and at length, ad-dressing the performer, told him that he was con- . vinced that he could not play the people out, and advised him to relinquish the attempt, which, being done, a few strains from the ordinary organist in the accustomed manner operated like the sounding of the fire alarm, and emptied the church instanter. Resuming, we find in Handel's career the following salient points as especially responsible for his unpar-alleled success A The opposition of his father to his musical career, which made it the more attractive and desirable to the boy. The "command" of the Duke of Sachsen-Weissen-fels to devote the boy to the study of music, to which an humble subject like Handel's father could not make serious resistance. The wonderful musical training received from a competent teacher like Zachau. The intimate friendship with the highly gifted Mattheson, which was a continuous inspiration to the re-sponsive young artist His sojourn in Italy, which added to his Muse all the charm and all the graces of the land "where the oranges blossom." As Beethoven said of him: A MONARC H OF TH E MUSICAL KINGDOM.
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