Part 7

One evening in July a strange man called on Mozart with a strange errand. He was tall, gaunt, haggard in face, solemn in demeanor: a fantastic apparition, dressed completely in grey, or, as some affirm in black; such a character as might have appeared to Hoffmann when in the black and dark night, surrounded by spirits of his own conjuring, he wrote wild tales. The visitor gravely handed him an anonymous letter sealed in black, which begged him to write a Requiem as soon as possible, and asked the price. Mozart named 50 ducats, some say 100; the visitor paid the sum, and as Mozart did not name the time for the completion of the work, the unknown man left him, saying, "I shall return, when it is time." The mystery has been solved. The stranger was Leutgeb, the steward of Count Franz von Walsegg of Stuppach; the Count was in the habit of ordering thus mysteriously compositions from different musicians; he would copy them and have them performed as his own; the requiem was ordered in memory of his late wife; and it was sung as Walsegg's work under his direction Dec. 14, 1793. But Mozart knew nothing of the patron or the steward, and he grew superstitious. In the middle of August he received a commission to write a festival opera for the celebration of the coronation of Leopold II. as King of Bohemia in Prague. The subject was Metastasio's "Clemenza di Tito." The music was written hurriedly and first performed Sept. 6. It was not successful; the Empress is said to have spoken bitterly concerning the _porcheria_ of German music. Just as he was stepping into the carriage for his journey to Prague, the thin and haggard man suddenly appeared and asked him what would become of the Requiem. Mozart made his excuses. "When will you be ready?" said Leutgeb. "I swear that I shall work on it unceasingly when I return." "Good," said the solemn stranger, "I rely on your promise." And as soon as the "Magic Flute" was completed and performed Mozart worked eagerly on the Requiem. He postponed his lessons, giving as an excuse that he had a work on hand which lay very near his heart, and until it was finished he could think of nothing else. He had become subject to fainting fits, and in Prague he was not at all well. He became gloomy and superstitious. He thought some one had poisoned him, and indeed, for a long time it was believed foolishly by some that Salieri had hastened his death. He told Constanze that he was writing the Requiem for himself. There was a slight improvement for a time, and Mozart worked on the Requiem, which had been taken away from him, and finished a Masonic cantata. The last of November his feet and hands began to swell; he vomited violently; and he was melancholy in mind. The 28th his condition was critical and his doctor consulted with the chief physician at the hospital. The "Magic Flute" was now successful; he was certain of an annual income of one thousand florins contributed by some of the Hungarian nobility; and of a larger sum each year from Amsterdam in return for the production of a few compositions exclusively for the subscribers; but it was too late. The day before his death he said to Constanze, "I should like to have heard my 'Magic Flute' once more," and he hummed feebly the bird-catcher's song. In the afternoon he had the Requiem brought to his bed, and he sang the alto part. At the first measures of the "Lacrimosa," he wept violently and laid the score aside. Mrs. Haible came in the evening and Mozart said, "I am glad you are here; stay with me to-night, and see me die." She tried to reason with him, and he answered. "I have the flavor of death on my tongue: I taste death. Who will support my dearest Constanze if you do not stay with her?" The story of his ending as told by Otto Jahn is most pathetic. Mrs. Haible went to the priests of St. Peter's and begged that one might be sent to Mozart, as if by chance. They refused for a long time, and it was with difficulty she persuaded "these clerical barbarians" to grant her request. When she returned, she found Süssmayer at Mozart's bedside, in earnest conversation over the Requiem. "Did I not say that I was writing the Requiem for myself?" said he looking at it through his tears. "And he was so convinced of his approaching death that he enjoined his wife to inform Albrechtsberger of it before it became generally known, in order that he might secure Mozart's place at the Stephanskirche, which belonged to him by every right." The physician finally came; he was found in the theatre, where he waited until the curtain fell. He saw there was no hope; cold bandages were applied to the head; and then came delirium and unconsciousness. Mozart was busy with his Requiem. He blew out his cheeks to imitate the trumpets and the drums. About midnight he raised himself, opened his eyes wide, then seemed to fall asleep. He died at one o'clock, Dec. 5th. There was but little money in the house. The funeral expenses (third-class) amounted to 8 fl., 36 kr., and there was an extra charge of three florins for the hearse. In the afternoon of the 6th the body was blessed. There was a fierce storm raging, and no one accompanied the body to the grave. The body was put into a common vault, which was dug up about every ten years. No stone was put above his resting-place, and no man knows his grave. Constanze was left with two children and about sixty florins ready money. The outstanding accounts and personal property hardly amounted to five hundred florins. There were debts to be paid. She gave a concert, and with the assistance of the Emperor the proceeds were sufficient to pay them. In 1809 she married George Nissen and was comfortable until 1842, the year of her death. Karl, the elder son of Mozart, pianist-merchant, died in Milan in a subordinate official position. Wolfgang, born July 26, 1791, appeared in public in 1805; he afterward was a musical director and composer in Lemberg and Vienna; he died in Carlsbad in 1844. A statue was erected to Mozart in Salzburg in 1842, and one was raised in Vienna in 1859. The hundredth anniversary of his birth was celebrated throughout Germany, and that of his death throughout the world.

[Illustration: HOUSE IN VIENNA WHERE MOZART DIED.

Formerly at No. 934 Raubensteingasse. Building destroyed.]

The face of Mozart has been idealized. The authentic portraits coincide with the descriptions of his contemporaries. He was small, thin, and pale; with a large head and a large nose; eyes well shaped, but short-sighted, although he never wore spectacles; he had plenty of fine hair, of which he was proud, and he was vain of his hands and feet; he dressed carefully and elegantly, and was fond of jewelry. He rode horseback, and took great pleasure in playing billiards, bowls, and in dancing. He was very fond of punch, of which beverage Kelly saw him take "copious draughts." His prevailing characteristics were amiability, generosity, and a warm appreciation of all that was good and noble in music or mankind. His generosity was strikingly shown when, in the darkest hours of need, he offered to take care of Mariana until her betrothed had found the position necessary for marriage. It was no doubt often abused by such scapegraces as Stadler and Schikaneder. He poured out his affection on the members of his household. He associated freely, and apparently with equal enjoyment, with aristocrats, learned men, members of the orchestra, singers, and loungers in the taverns. He was full of fun, and he dearly loved a joke; he delighted in doggerel rhymes. His intercourse with musicians was as a rule friendly, and he seldom spoke ill of his neighbors. Gluck appreciated him as much as Salieri envied him, but he and Mozart were never intimate, although they dined together and paid each other compliments. Kozeluch and other small fry hated him, and they also hated Haydn. His relations with Paisiello, Sarti and Martin were most friendly; and nothing perhaps illustrates more clearly the sweetness of Mozart's nature than his immortalizing a theme from Martin's "Cosa rara," an opera which had prevailed against his "Figaro," by introducing it in the second finale of "Don Giovanni." He praised Pleyel, sympathized with Gyrowetz, foresaw the greatness of Beethoven, mourned the death of Linley, and loved Haydn.

In his youth he showed a fondness for arithmetic, and in later years he was a ready reckoner. He had an unmistakable talent for the languages; he understood the French, English, and Italian tongues. He was acquainted with Latin; he had read the works of excellent authors; he even wrote poetry, but as a manner of jesting. He was not without knowledge of history. He drew with skill. His letters are full of charm, and Nissen regretted that a man who used his pen so cleverly had not written concerning his art. The reply to this is simple, namely, that Mozart was too busy in making music to write about it. This most honest and amiable of men loved animals, and birds were particularly dear to him.

Whatever his religious convictions may have been after he reached man's estate, he wrote to his father, on hearing of his illness, as follows: "As death, strictly speaking, is the true end and aim of our lives, I have for the last two years made myself so well acquainted with this true, best friend of mankind, that his image no longer terrifies, but calms and consoles me. And I thank God for giving me the opportunity of learning to look upon death as the key that unlocks the gate of true bliss." The man as seen in his life and letters was simple, true, averse to flattery and sycophancy, generous, and eminently lovable.

[Illustration: Fac-simile of a letter from Mozart to his publisher, Hofmeister]

[Illustration: MONUMENT TO MOZART IN VIENNA CEMETERY]

[Illustration: Chorus by Mr. Wolfgang Mozart 1765.

Leopold Mozart brought his children Wolfgang (aged 8) and Maria Anna (aged 13), in April, 1764, to London, on a concert tour. The exhibition of these wonder-children lasted till July, 1765. Before leaving, the party visited the British Museum, which was opened to the public six years before (on the 15th January, 1759). On this occasion Wolfgang was requested to leave the Institution some manuscripts of his compositions. Mozart complied, and among the manuscripts left was this, his first effort in Choral-writing, and the only one composed on an English text. The father received the following acknowledgment:--

SIR:--I am ordered by the Standing Committee of the Trustees of the British Museum, to signify to You, that they have received the present of the Musical performances of Your very ingenious Son, which You were pleased lately to make Them, and to return You their Thanks for the same.

M. MALY, _Secretary_. British Museum, July 19, 1765. ]

[Illustration: LAST PORTRAIT OF MOZART.

Painted by his brother-in-law Lange in 1791. The head is finished, but not the coat.]

In considering the compositions of this man, who died before he was thirty-six, and spent much time in travel, the most superficial investigator must be struck by the mere number. There are 20 dramatic works; 2 oratorios, a funeral hymn, 3 cantatas, and the reinstrumentation of 4 oratorios by Handel; 66 vocal pieces with orchestral accompaniments; 23 canons and a collection of songs; 48 pieces for the church, and 20 masses, including the Requiem, which however was probably completed by Süssmayer; 22 pianoforte sonatas and fantasias; 17 organ sonatas, 16 variations for bugle and pianoforte, 23 little pieces, and 11 sonatas and pieces for four hands on two pianofortes; 45 sonatas for violin and pianoforte; 8 trios, 2 quartets and 1 quintette for pianoforte and strings; for strings alone there are 3 duos, 3 trios, 29 quartets, 8 quintets; then there are 2 quartets with flute, 1 with oboe, 1 quintet with horn; 10 concertos for violin, 1 for two violins, 1 for violin and viola, 28 for the pianoforte, 1 for two pianofortes, 1 for three pianofortes, 1 for bassoon, 1 for oboe, 4 for flute and 1 for flute and harp, 5 for horn, 1 for clarinet,--in all 55; in dance music there is one gavotte, 39 contradances, 56 waltzes, 96 minuets, a pantomime and a ballet; there are 27 different pieces of instrumental music, as marches, adagios, etc., 33 divertissements, serenades or cassations, all pieces of long breath, including each from 10 to 12 movements; there are 49 symphonies. These authentic works, accepted by Köchel, number in all 769 compositions. Then when one reflects on the quality of the music and its artistic value, when one finds in nearly each work the traces at least of genius, and reflects that a third of them are masterpieces, he begins to realize the might of the man. He was naturally the most spontaneous of musicians, and in this respect--in pure creation--without doubt the greatest of them all. Rarely are seen such fecundity and such versatility. Unlike Handel, when a work was finished, it was finished; it did not enter again into another composition. The charge of plagiarism was never brought against him except in one instance: the religious march in "Idomeneus" was traced by a friend to the march in Gluck's "Alceste." He wrote as though he could not help it. Jumping from the bed, he ran to the pianoforte. The barber found him restless. His mind was preoccupied at table. In travel, the landscape, the very motion of the carriage stimulated his imagination. He was constantly jotting down his thoughts on scraps of paper. Much of his greatest music was composed, even in detail, in his head before he took his pen. The conversation of his friends, noises in the house or street did not distract him. His faculty of concentration was incredibly developed, and Constanze said that he wrote his scores as though he were writing a letter. And so his inspiration, as shown in the hasty composition of the "Don Giovanni" overture, reminded Victor Wilder of the saying of the first Napoleon: "Inspiration is only the instantaneous solution of a long meditated problem."

In examining the works themselves, many of them must be passed over without notice. Some were written for special occasions; some, for combinations of instruments, that no longer, or rarely, are heard in concert-halls; and it would be idle to assert that all his works are equally worthy of respect. The complete collection of the writings of even such a genius as Voltaire contains dreary pages and frivolous opinions. Let us examine more particularly his pianoforte music, the chamber music, such as the string quartets and quintets; the symphonies; the religious music; and the operas, looking at the works themselves, comparing them with that which was contemporaneous, and observing the influence on the musicians that followed him. The songs, with the exception of the "Veilchen" (The Violet), were set to meaningless words and are not to be ranked with the best of his compositions; but this same "Violet" in its lyrical-dramatic setting pointed the way to the after glory of the German song as seen in Schubert, Schumann and Franz. And nearly all of the concert-arias written for special singers and for special use seem to-day a little antiquated, and cast in the old and traditional mould. As Mozart first was known as a pianoforte player, let us first look at his writings for that instrument. (I use the term pianoforte throughout this article, following the example of Rubinstein, who, in his "Conversation on Music" (1892), speaks of compositions for Clavecin, Clavichord, Clavi-cymbal, Virginal, Spinett, etc., "as written for pianoforte, as to-day we can only perform them on this instrument.")

There is no doubt but that Mozart was the greatest pianoforte player of his time. The testimony in his favor is overwhelming. His hands were small and well-shaped, and some of his hearers wondered that he could do so much with them. He had elaborated an admirable system of fingering, which he owed to the careful study of Bach, whose pianoforte music he had played from a very early age. He regarded good fingering as the basis of expressive playing. He insisted that the player should have "a quiet, steady hand," and that the passages should "flow like oil"; he therefore objected to all bravura feats that might be detrimental to "the natural ease and flexibility." He was vexed by exaggerations of tempos, by over-rapidity of execution, by sentimental rubatos. He demanded correctness, "ease and certainty, delicacy and good taste, and above all the power of breathing life and emotion into the music and of so expressing its meaning as to place the performer for the moment on a level with the creator of the work before him." It is hard for men of another generation to gain an idea of the qualities of the virtuosoship of the pianist that moved and thrilled the audiences of his time. We must take the word of his hearers. Clementi declared that he never heard any one play so intellectually and gracefully as Mozart. Rochlitz waxed enthusiastic over the brilliancy and "the heart-melting tenderness of his execution;" Dittersdorf praised the union of art and taste; and Haydn, with tears in his eyes, could not forget his playing, because it came from the heart. Unfortunately we can not estimate his virtues as a player from his works, for all that heard him agree that his improvising was the crowning glory of his art. Variations on a well-known theme were in fashion, and the variations were often improvised. The published variations of Mozart are light and pleasing; he did not care for them, and they were written, no doubt, for the entertainment of his pupils or his friends. Of the three rondos, the one in A minor (1787) is very original and of exquisite beauty, and is a favorite to-day in concert-halls. The fantasia in C minor (1785) is an important work. Five movements, in various keys and tempos are bound together, and though each is in a measure independent, the sections seem to follow each other inevitably. The harmonies are daring, when the date of its composition is considered, and the mood, the _Stimmung_, is modern in its melancholy and doubt. In treating the sonata form Mozart was the successor of Ph. Em. Bach and Haydn.

Whether his sonatas of the Vienna period are solo or accompanied by other instruments, they have only three movements. He first sought beauty of melody, for song was to him the foundation, the highest expression of music. Therefore the themes were carefully sung, and the second subject was made of more importance by him than by his predecessors. Often the chief effect in his sonata movements as in his concertos is gained by the delivery of a sustained melody, and these melodies written for his own hands show the influence of the peculiar characteristics of his own performance. Frequently in the elaboration of the themes he introduced new melodies, so that we find Dittersdorf complaining of the prodigality of the composer, who "gives his hearers no time to breathe." When he used polyphony, it was not to display pedantry but to accentuate the beauty of the themes.