Story Lives of Great Musicians Part 17

In G, Op. 161. Comp. 1826, pub. 1852.

2 Trios for pianoforte and strings: Op. 99, in B-flat, Comp. 1827, pub. 1828.

Op. 100, in E-flat, Comp. 1827, pub. 1828.

4 Sonatas. } For Fantasia in C, Op. 159. Comp. 1827. } pianoforte Rondeau Brilliant in B minor, Op. 70. Comp. 1826. } and violin.

2 Sonatas (in C minor and B-flat), Comp. 1814 and 1824. } Fantasia in F minor, Op. 103 } Marche Heroque in A minor, Op. 66. Comp. 1826. } Marche Funebre in C minor, Op. 55. Comp. 1825. } For 25 Marches. } pianoforte 2 Divertiss.e.m.e.nts. } duet.

Variations on a French Air in E minor, Op. 10. } Comp. 1821, pub. 1822. } 2 Rondos. } 10 Polonaises. } Grand Duo in C, Op. 140. Comp. 1824. } Overture in F, Op. 34. Comp. 1824. } 10 Sonatas for pianoforte solo.

[We must mention the Sonata in A minor, Op. 42, and that in A major, Op. 120, both composed in 1825.]

Fantasia in C, Op. 15. Comp. 1820. } Fantasia Sonata in G, Op. 78. Comp. 1826. } 4 Impromptus, Op. 90. Comp. 1828. } For 4 Impromptus, Op. 142. Comp. 1827. } pianoforte 6 Moments Musicals, Op. 94. } solo.

2 sets of Variations. } 44 Part Songs for male voices.

6 Part Songs for female voices.

21 Part Songs for mixed voices.

457 Songs have been published. We may mention: Die Schone Mullerin (20 songs), Op. 25. Comp. 1823.

Die Winterreise (24 songs), Op. 89. Comp. 1827.

Der Schwanengesang (14 songs). Comp. 1828.

And the following single Songs: An Sylvia, Op. 106, No. 4. Comp. 1826.

Ave Maria (Scott's words), Op. 52, No. 6. Comp. 1825 Der Tod und das Madchen, Op. 7, No. 3.

Der Wanderer, Op. 4, No. 1. Comp. 1816.

Der Zwerg, Op. 22, No. 1. Comp. 1823.

Die Forelle, Op. 32. Comp. 1818.

Geheimes, Op. 14, No. 2. Comp. 1821.

Gretchen am Spinnrade, Op. 2. Comp. 1814.

Standchen (Hark, hark! the Lark!). Comp. 1826.

Erlkonig, Op. 1. Comp. 1815.

For a fuller account of Schubert's life the reader is advised to consult:

COLERIDGE (A.D.): Life of Schubert (translation of Kreissle von h.e.l.lborn's _Franz Schubert_). 2 vols. Longmans, 1869.

MENDELSSOHN

MENDELSSOHN

The short winter afternoon was drawing to a close, and a grey mist had already begun to blot out the ca.n.a.l and the trees which were studded along its banks, accentuating the prevailing cheerlessness and silence, and throwing into yet stronger relief the animated scene presented within the comfortable, well-warmed dining-room of a house standing on the further side of the broad street which ran parallel with the ca.n.a.l. A large company was gathered in this room for the enjoyment of music and conversation, and it was evident from the whispered remarks which pa.s.sed between the guests that something out of the common was expected at the hands of the youthful player who, in obedience to his father's request, now advanced to take his place at the pianoforte.

Peculiarly winning, both in manner and appearance, was the boy who modestly seated himself at the instrument. He was about thirteen years of age, of slight build, with a handsome face, in which strong traces of Jewish descent were apparent. His black hair cl.u.s.tered thickly above a high forehead, while the dark, l.u.s.trous eyes, with their continuous play of expression, imparted to the face an indescribable charm such as no degree of beauty in itself could have exercised. It was, in a word, the sensitive face of an artist, reflecting the varying imagery of a mind attuned to lofty and beautiful thoughts; and as such its power and charm could be felt even by those to whom as yet his thoughts were a sealed book. The temperament which we designate by the term 'artistic' resembles the ocean in its varying moods, and in the surprising swiftness with which one mood or aspect gives place to another. Just before he was called upon to play, the boy's eyes had been sparkling with merriment, and his spirits had so infected the rest of the company as to cause the intervals separating the performances to be filled with laughter and merry chatter. Yet no one watching his face now, as his fingers swept over the keys, could have failed to be struck by the change in its expression. Every trace of fun had vanished, and to the sparkle of the eyes had succeeded an expression of deep earnestness that showed how readily the mind had adapted itself to the character of the music he was playing, and as the performance progressed one could have read in his face every shade of feeling which the music was intended to express. No self-consciousness marred the spontaneity of the player's interpretation. Everything seemed to come direct from his soul, as if that soul had found the voice by which alone it could be heard and understood, and revelled in its freedom.

And as he played on, weaving fresh melodies out of the original theme, ever and anon breaking through the web of harmony to recall the simple, plaintive air with which he had begun--his face at one moment lighted up with radiant happiness and at the next shaded with quiet sadness--his listeners almost held their breath, fearful of losing any portion of the music which was pa.s.sing away from them, perhaps for ever. And as he played, the shadows of the December afternoon crept into the room, enveloping the slight figure seated at the instrument, until his outline became lost to view, and the melody pouring forth from beneath his fingers seemed to come from heaven itself.

[Ill.u.s.tration: MENDELSSOHN.

From photo RISCHGITZ.]

To those who visited the home of Abraham Mendelssohn, the wealthy Berlin banker, the fact that his son Felix had a remarkable genius for music did not admit of a doubt. The capacity for learning music had begun very early, but his wonderful gift of extemporisation, which gave his genius wings as well as voice, had only lately revealed itself at the time at which our story opens. Nevertheless, it had made great strides, and opened up all sorts of possibilities with regard to the future. And withal there was such an unaffected modesty and simplicity about the boy, so complete an absence of anything like a desire to show off his talents, as sufficed to disarm any tendency towards captiousness on the part of his hearers. Felix's whole wish was to satisfy himself as to his progress in music, and, young as he was, he had the sense and determination to pursue his bent without regard to the plaudits of his father's friends. Abraham Mendelssohn, notwithstanding his business capacities, was himself a great lover of the arts, and especially of music, in regard to which, indeed, he showed considerable judgment. That his children should exhibit similar tastes to his own was, therefore, to him a matter of delightful satisfaction, for he shared with his wife Leah a deep interest in all that affected his children's education. He watched Felix with peculiar care, for it seemed to him that he inherited many of the traits as well as the capacity for learning which had distinguished the grandfather and philosopher, Moses Mendelssohn. Felix undoubtedly possessed the bright dark eyes and the humorous temperament of his grandfather, for he was one of the brightest and merriest of children.

The family was not a large one. Jakob Ludwig Felix (to give the subject of our story his full names), who was born February 3, 1809, ranked second in age, the eldest child being f.a.n.n.y Cacilie; after Felix came Rebekka, and, lastly, little Paul. The three elder children were born in Hamburg, where the family continued to reside until the occupation of the town by the French soldiers in 1811 made life there so miserable for the German inhabitants that as many families as could contrive to do so escaped to other towns of Germany which were free from the presence of the invading army. Amongst those who successfully eluded the watchfulness of the French guards by resorting to disguise was the family of Mendelssohn-Bartholdy, the head of which had followed the example of his wife's brother in adopting the latter name as a means of distinguishing his own from other branches of the Mendelssohn family. With his wife and children Abraham fled to Berlin to make his home in the house of the grandmother, situated beside the ca.n.a.l in the north-east quarter of the town, to which we have been already introduced.

No happier surroundings could have been imagined than those amidst which Felix Mendelssohn's childhood was pa.s.sed. The residence was in the Neue Promenade, a broad, open street, bounded on one side only by houses, and extending on the other side to the banks of the ca.n.a.l.

Here a wide stretch of gra.s.s-land, with a plentiful dotting of trees, imparted a pleasant suggestion of the country, whilst the waters of the ca.n.a.l reflected the blueness of the sky, or, when rippled by the breeze, lapped the gra.s.sy banks with a murmuring sound that was half sigh, half song. To this spot daily resorted the Mendelssohn children in company with the occupants of other nurseries in the promenade, and here amongst the rest might often have been seen little Felix, his eyes sparkling with merriment, and his black curls tossed by the wind, as, with surprising quickness of movement and ringing peals of laughter, he joined with his sister f.a.n.n.y in the excitement of the game.

Every encouragement was given to the development of Felix's musical talent as soon as his fondness for the art made itself apparent. In company with f.a.n.n.y he began to receive little lessons on the pianoforte from his mother when he was about four years old. Then came a visit to Paris, when Abraham Mendelssohn, taking the two children with him, placed them under the care of a teacher named Madame Bigot.

Their progress was so satisfactory--for the lady was an excellent musician and quick to recognise the abilities of her pupils--that on their return to Berlin it was decided to engage the services of professional musicians to carry on the instruction in the pianoforte, violin, and composition as a regular part of the children's education.

There was a continual round of lessons in the Mendelssohn home at this time, for in addition to music the children were taught Greek, Latin, drawing, and other subjects; and with so much to get through it was necessary to begin the day's work at five o'clock. As a consequence of this close application to study, the children used to long for Sunday to come round, in order that they might indulge themselves a little longer in bed. No amount of lessons, however, could detract from the happiness of a home wherein love was the dominant note, and in which each strove for the good of all; whilst as for Felix himself, no name could have been more symbolical of his true nature than that by which he was called. Nothing served to check the flow of his spirits. Both in work and play he was thoroughly in earnest--indeed, he regarded both in the same enjoyable light. He and f.a.n.n.y were inseparables, and very soon after he began to compose they were often to be found laughing heartily together over Felix's attempts at improvisation upon some incident of a comical nature which had occurred during their play-hours.

Such beginnings, though small in themselves, soon led to more ambitious attempts being made to set to music short humorous dialogues, so as to make little operas. To write an opera, however, was not enough--it must be performed, in order to ascertain how it would go. This was a serious matter, and one calling for the services of several performers--a miniature orchestra, in fact--with singers to undertake the various parts. But Felix, as we have seen, was thoroughly in earnest about all that he undertook, and his earnestness enabled him to surmount even so great a difficulty as was here presented. The appearance in his character of this love of completeness must be noted, as, later on, it became one of his most strongly-marked characteristics. 'If a thing is worth doing at all, it is worth doing well,' was the saying which, even as a child, controlled all his actions; and so Felix would have his orchestra.

Love and money combined can accomplish the apparently impossible, and hence the orchestra was duly selected and engaged by the indulgent father from the members of the Court Band. To his delight--yet nowise to his embarra.s.sment--Felix found himself in command of a company of sedate and experienced musicians, ready to follow the lead of his baton when it pleased him to take his place at the music-desk.

Everything was now furnished for the performance, but the sense of completeness was not yet satisfied. There must be a better judge than the composer himself present to pa.s.s judgment on the merits of the piece, and so no less a person than Carl Zelter, the director of the Berlin Singakademie, and Felix's professor for thorough-ba.s.s and composition, was induced to undertake this delicate office, whilst a large number of friends of the family were invited for the occasion.

This was the beginning of a long and regular series of musical parties at the Mendelssohn house--parties to which, as time went on, it became a privilege to be invited, at which, indeed, hardly a musician of any note who happened to be pa.s.sing through Berlin failed to put in an appearance. The picture is before us as we write--and as it must often have been recalled by those who frequented the house beside the ca.n.a.l--of the child-musician standing on a footstool before his music-desk, baton in hand, gravely conducting his orchestra. 'A wonder-child indeed,' as one has described him, 'in his boy's suit, shaking back his long curls, and looking over the heads of the musicians like a little general; then stoutly waving his baton, and firmly and quietly conducting his piece to the end, meanwhile noting and listening to every little detail as it pa.s.sed.'

The performance of these operettas was not accompanied by action, the rule being for some one to read the dialogue at the piano, whilst the chorus were seated round the dining-table. It must not be supposed that Felix's compositions monopolised the entire time of the orchestra; though it rarely happened that the weekly concert failed to include one or more of his productions. At some of the performances all four children took part--f.a.n.n.y taking the pianoforte when Felix conducted at the desk, Rebekka singing, and Paul playing the 'cello.

Zelter, who was generally averse to praising any of his pupils, and, indeed, was regarded as a very grumpy personage, was a regular attendant at these performances, and never failed at the finish to speak a few words of praise or criticism. The old musician was secretly very proud of his pupil, and despite his habitual roughness of manner, Felix had a sincere affection for his master, as well as a deep respect for his judgment.

Felix was by this time composing a great deal, and, though little more than twelve years old, work of a more serious kind than the writing of operettas had been claiming his attention. To such a degree, in fact, had the flow of ideas and the facility of giving them expression developed, that within the s.p.a.ce of a twelve-month from the completion of his twelfth year he had composed between fifty and sixty pieces, including a trio for pianoforte and strings, containing three movements (an ambitious work for a child!), several sonatas for the pianoforte, some little songs, and a comedy piece in three scenes for pianoforte and voices. Now, too, he began to collect his writings into volumes, each piece being written out with the greatest care and in the neatest of hands, with the date at which it was written, and any other note which might serve to identify the work or to show how it came to be written. Nor was this care and neatness confined to his compositions. It soon showed itself in regard to everything which he undertook--his letters, memoranda, sketches, and so forth--and the strangest part of it all is that the more he wrote and the harder he worked, the more clearly this habit of orderliness and accuracy exhibited itself. It would seem, indeed, as if for Felix Mendelssohn time was as truly elastic as some other busy folk would fain have it to be.

Hand in hand with this thoroughness in regard to work went, as we have intimated, a love of frolic and games and every species of fun that the mind of a healthy and spirited boy could devise; and with all, permeating all, was a lovability that won its way to every heart.

Rarely has such a perfect combination of light-heartedness and seriousness--capacity for the hardest work and the keenest enjoyment of life--been seen as that which burst upon the world in the person of Felix Mendelssohn. The quickness with which he made friends, the firmness with which he bound those friends to himself, the constancy and affection which he lavished upon those nearest and dearest to him, were alike extraordinary.

One day a famous composer, named Carl von Weber, was walking in Berlin in company with his young friend and pupil, Jules Benedict, when the pair observed a slightly-built youth of about twelve years of age, with long, dark curls and bright, dark eyes, advancing towards them.

Suddenly the boy's keen eyes sparkled with the joy of recognition, for Carl Weber had lately visited his father's house, and he had taken a great liking to him at first sight; and now, without giving the composer time to realise the fact that they had met before, Mendelssohn, with a run and a spring, had thrown his arms about Weber's neck, and was entreating him to accompany him home. As soon as the astonished musician could speak he turned to his friend, and with a comical air, half apologetic and half proud, said, 'This is Felix Mendelssohn.' The friend held out his hand with a smile. Felix gave him a quick glance, then seized the hand in both of his own. The glance and the action that followed it settled the matter--Jules Benedict and he must be friends henceforth. Weber stood by, laughing at his young friend's enthusiasm, and Felix turned to him sharply and once more begged that he and Benedict would favour him with their company. But Weber shook his head. He had to attend a rehearsal--he had come to Berlin for that purpose. 'A rehearsal!' exclaimed Felix disappointedly, and then the next moment his eyes flashed. 'Is it the new opera?' he asked excitedly. Weber nodded. 'Oh,' said Felix thoughtfully; then, indicating Mr. Benedict, 'Does _he_ know all about it?' he inquired. 'To be sure he does,' a.s.sented the composer laughingly--'at least, if he doesn't he ought to, for he has been bored enough with it already.' Felix pa.s.sed unnoticed the last part of Weber's speech. It was enough for him that young Benedict was familiar with what he himself was dying to know. He therefore seized Benedict by the arm, exclaiming, 'You will come to my father's house with me, will you not?' There was no refusing the appeal in those eyes, and the young man acquiesced willingly. Then Felix dragged Weber down for a parting embrace, and, taking his new friend by the hand, as if fearful that he might change his mind, he pulled him away.

The distance to the house was short, but Mendelssohn's impatience could only be met by his companion's consenting to race him to the door. On entering he retained Benedict's hand tightly in his grasp, conducted him at once upstairs, and, bursting into the drawing-room, where his mother was seated at her knitting, he exclaimed, 'Mamma, mamma! Here is a gentleman, a pupil of Carl Weber's, who knows all about the new opera, "Der Freischutz!"'

If Benedict had expected a more formal introduction to Madame Mendelssohn he had reckoned without a knowledge of Felix's enthusiasm. But the mother knew and understood, and the young musician not only received a warm welcome, but found it impossible to take his leave until he had complied with his new friend's request that he would seat himself at the piano and play as many airs from the great opera as he could remember at such short notice, Felix listening, meanwhile, with rapt enjoyment.

[Ill.u.s.tration: '"_Here is a gentleman who knows all about the new opera._"']

The acquaintance thus begun awakened a mutual regard in Mendelssohn and Benedict, for the latter shortly afterwards paid a second visit to the house. On this occasion he found Felix engaged in writing out some music, and inquired what it was. 'I am finishing my new quartet for piano and stringed instruments,' was the reply, gravely spoken, and without the least self-consciousness. Benedict glanced at the work in surprise. He did not know Mendelssohn yet. It was the 'First Quartet in C Minor,' which, later on, was published as 'Opus I.' 'And now,'

said Felix, laying aside his pen, 'I will play to you to convince you how grateful I am for your kindness in playing to us last time.' He thereupon sat down and played with precision several of the airs from 'Der Freischutz' which Benedict had played on his previous visit. 'You see, I have not forgotten the pleasure you gave me,' he said, with a smile, as he rose from the piano. 'But now,' he added, as a new thought entered his mind, 'I want you to see the garden, please.' Down they went, and in a moment Mendelssohn had thrown off the musician's cloak, and was a boy again. With a bound he leapt over a high hedge, turned, and cleared it a second time, and then challenged his companion to a race. Another moment he burst out with a song, as if the open air had incited him to imitate the birds, and then, pointing to a favourite tree, he ran to it and climbed it like a squirrel.

These meetings took place in the summer of 1821, a year which brought much happiness to Felix, for ere it had drawn to a close he had found a new friend. When the autumn came round, Zelter announced that he was going to pay a visit of respect to his old friend and master, Goethe, the aged poet of Weimar, and he was willing to take Felix with him.

Needless to say, Felix and his parents were equally delighted with the proposal. The boy had so often heard Zelter speak of Goethe, whose works, moreover, he was always quoting, that he felt he already loved the master almost as much as Zelter did himself. Goethe's house at Weimar was regarded as a shrine at which his countless admirers were wont to pay homage, even though their devotion often met with no further gratification than was to be derived from gazing at its walls or peeping into the grounds, which were sacred to the poet's footsteps. Hence the promise of an introduction to one who was the object of so much hero-worship stirred the heart of Felix to its depths, and filled his mind with reverential emotions such as few events could have had the power to awaken in one so sensible of what was due to a great and lofty intellect.

It was a bright November day when Zelter and his pupil set forth upon their journey. Both were looking forward to the meeting, though with somewhat different feelings. What Mendelssohn's feelings were we have tried to imagine, but Zelter was nursing within himself a certain pride and confidence in the prospect of introducing his favourite pupil to so keen a judge as Goethe, which he would not have revealed to that pupil for worlds. Felix's spirits, however, were so high on this occasion that Zelter had enough to do to satisfy all his questions without allowing his usually taciturn nature to relax under the sunshine of the boy's enthusiasm.

On arriving at Goethe's home they found the poet walking in his grounds. The meeting was simple and affectionate. Goethe greeted Felix with every show of kindness, and sent the boy to bed with an overflowing heart and a mind resolved upon cherishing the minutest details of this happy encounter. The next day he was to play to Goethe, and at an early hour of the morning he was sauntering in the grounds, awaiting the poet's arrival, and feasting his eyes upon the scenes which were the accustomed haunts of the author of 'Faust'; and then, selecting a sunny spot, he sat down to write a long letter home, full of description of the events of the previous day.

Nothing short of the severest of tests would satisfy Goethe of the truth of what Zelter had privately conveyed to him regarding his pupil's talents. Accordingly, sheet after sheet of ma.n.u.script music was selected by the poet from his store and placed upon the music-desk to be played by Felix at sight. The manner in which he performed his task, the ease with which he overcame the difficulties presented by penwork of various styles, and often far from clear, astonished and delighted the a.s.sembled company. But their manifestations of delight were far more p.r.o.nounced when Felix, taking one of the airs which he had just played as a theme for extemporisation, exhibited in a most charming fashion, and with true musicianly feeling, the capacities of the subject for varied treatment. Still Goethe withheld his praise, and, interrupting the applause, declared that he had a final test to propose which, he jokingly warned Felix, would infallibly cause him to break down. Thus speaking, the poet placed on the desk a sheet of ma.n.u.script which at first sight was enough to strike terror and dismay into the stoutest heart, for it seemed to consist of nothing else than scratches and splotches of ink, interspersed with smudges. Mendelssohn glanced at it, and then, bursting into a laugh, exclaimed: 'What writing! How can it be possible to read such ma.n.u.script?' Suddenly he became serious, and bent to examine the writing more closely, Goethe looked triumphantly round at the company. 'Now, guess _who_ wrote that!' he said. Zelter rose from his place beside the pianoforte, and, looking over Felix's shoulder, cried out: 'Why, it is Beethoven's writing! One can see that a mile off! He always writes as if he used a broomstick for a pen, and then wiped his sleeve over the wet ink!'

Mendelssohn could decipher the ma.n.u.script only by degrees, having to search the sheet to find the successive notes; but when he reached the end he exclaimed, 'Now I will play it to you,' and this time he played it through without a mistake. Upon this Goethe let him off, and rewarded him with some kind words of praise. Thenceforth, until the visit came to an end, Felix was called upon to play to the poet every day, and the two became fast friends. The old man treated the boy as if he were a son, laughed and joked with him, and was never so happy as when he was near. It was altogether a delightful visit, and Goethe would only part with Felix on the understanding that they should meet again very soon.

The following summer brought a new happiness to Felix, for it had been decided that the entire family should make a tour through Switzerland.

In those days a journey of such length was an undertaking of much consequence, more especially when, as in this case, the family were accompanied by the children's tutor and the doctor, in addition to several servants. It was an essential part of the father's scheme of education that his children's minds should be widened by travel, and more particularly that they should make personal acquaintance with the cla.s.sic ground of history--advantages which wealth enabled him to place at their command. It was with light spirits that the party set out on their journey, Felix keenly alive to every fresh scene or incident as it presented itself, and there were few of either that failed to leave their stamp upon his impressionable mind. To his insatiable curiosity must be attributed the adventure which befell him on the very first day of their travel. They had to change carriages at Potsdam, and when the horses had traversed three German miles of road from that town Felix was suddenly missed, and a brief colloquy elicited the melancholy fact that the boy had been left behind at Potsdam. The tutor thereupon turned back in one of the carriages, whilst the rest proceeded to the next stopping-place. In the course of an hour he returned with the truant seated by his side, dusty and footsore, but otherwise as fresh as when he had started. He had, it appeared, strayed from the party at Potsdam, and returned to the starting-place in time to see the carriages disappearing in the distance enveloped in a cloud of dust. He began to run, but seeing that he could not overtake them, he abated his speed, and determined to perform the journey to Brandenburg on foot. A little peasant-girl joined him. They broke stout walking-sticks from the trees at the road-side, and together marched on cheerfully, conversing as they went, until the tutor's carriage met them about a mile from the next halting-place.