The Princess Amalia, a pupil of Kirnberger, was a great upholder of the rules of Thorough Bass, and a sharp critic. As Gluck did not care much about many of those dry rules, it is perhaps not surprising that the Princess Amalia did not care much about Gluck. What she thought of him she has expressed forcibly enough in the following extract from a letter to Kirnberger, who had sent her the opera 'Iphigenia in Tauris':—

"Mr. Gluck will, in my opinion, never pass for a clever man in musical composition. He has, firstly, not the least invention; secondly, a bad, miserable melody; and thirdly, no accent, no expression,—it is all alike. He is very different from Graun and Hasse, but very similar to.... The introductory piece ought to be a kind of overture; but the good man does not like Imitations, and he is right, for they require labour. However, he is more fond of Transposition. This is not altogether objectionable; for, if a bar is often repeated, the hearer will all the more easily remember it; but Gluck appears to transpose the same idea from want of a new one. Finally, regarded in its entirety, the opera is very miserable. Now, this is in the new taste which has a great many adherents. However, I thank you for having sent it me. Through the faults of others one learns to know one's own. Be so kind as to procure for me the words of the whole opera; but, as regards the musical notation, I am not yet wise enough to find it beautiful."

If the letters of musicians to princes are often sadly devoid of sincerity, those of princes to musicians possess generally at least the negative merit of not containing intentional misrepresentations, since a prince has seldom a motive for disguising his likes and dislikes in music. Whether the estimable Kapellmeister Schulz had committed the indiscretion of suggesting to Princess Amalia that she was still capable of some improvement as a musical composer is uncertain, but appears probable, to judge from the following letter which she wrote to him after he had sent her the manuscript of his choruses to 'Athalia,' with the humble request for permission to dedicate them to her,—or, as he expressed himself, "to preface the work with the adorable name of so illustrious a connoisseur."

The reply he received from her is here translated from the German as literally as possible.

The amiable and respected Kapellmeister Schulz, in mentioning to an old friend the contents of this letter, merely added: "All this may be true; but why tell it me so rudely?"[24]

No doubt the most praiseworthy royal musicians are those who make it less their object to be accomplished players, composers, or theorists, than to discover and to assist really talented professional musicians, and thus to promote the advancement of the art. Prince Louis Ferdinand of Prussia, who lost his life in the battle of Saalfeld in 1806, at the age of 34 years, may be noticed as a remarkable exception. He was a distinguished pianist; a fine composer,—perhaps the best of all the royal musicians whose compositions have been published or are otherwise known; and a true patron of the art,—which he showed by his cultivation of classical music as well as by his kindness to Beethoven, Dussek, Spohr, and other eminent composers. This is the prince of whom it is told that Beethoven, on hearing him play, exclaimed with surprise: "Your Royal Highness does not play like a Prince; you play like a musician!"

As a true patron of music, who in this capacity has been more useful to the art than if he had composed operas and symphonies, must be mentioned Rudolph, Archduke of Austria, the pupil of Beethoven. The subjoined letter by him, translated from the German, speaks for itself:—

No doubt, there have been in olden time kings who, as history records, possessed as much skill in music as their best bards or minstrels. If Alfred the Great could enter and explore the Danish camp under the disguise of a harper, his harp-playing must have been in the genuine professional manner of his time, otherwise it would have revealed to the Danish lovers of music that he was not what he pretended to be.

To become an eminent musician, one requires, besides an extraordinary talent, much time, freedom from disturbance, and perseverance,—conditions which are seldom at the command of royal personages. The middle classes are in this respect the most favoured,—as they are, in fact, in all intellectual pursuits. When King Solomon says: "Give me neither poverty nor riches," (Proverbs, Chap. XXX. v. 8), he speaks rather as a musician, or poet. A king requires riches as necessarily as a musician requires talent.

Decorative Rule
COMPOSERS AND PRACTICAL MEN.

Whatever the composer produces less as a labour of love than for gain, by command, according to a plan prescribed to him, and under similar circumstances, is generally not the best he is capable of accomplishing. An artist must be allowed to create unfettered the work with which he feels the greatest inclination to occupy himself. But, if he possesses no property, he may starve before his work is finished. There are some painful instances on record of starving musical composers, who, with their admirable talents, might have saved themselves and others much trouble, if only they had thought it worth their while to be a little more practical.

Composers generally receive their worst pay for their best works. Their best works are generally those which made them celebrated; and when they have become celebrated, they are often well paid for insignificant or mediocre productions.

Composers sometimes appear to be much more unpractical than they really are. This may, for instance, easily be the case with those who strike out a new path in the art, or who aim at a reform, the disirableness of which seems questionable to all but themselves. However, occasionally it happens that an innovation, which is at first unpopular, comes by some unexpected cause rather suddenly in vogue, or at least finds many advocates; and in this case the originator of the innovation, who was regarded as an unpractical man, may attain the reputation of being of a remarkably practical turn of mind. When Richard Wagner, about thirty years ago, as a poor and obscure musician in Paris, was arranging operatic melodies for the cornet-à-piston to save himself from starvation, his notions about the opera of the future appeared to those few musicians to whom he communicated them, as a dream which to realize would be as impossible as it would be undesirable. At the present day he has many estimable musicians among his ardent admirers; he is honoured by kings, leads the life of a prince, and probably there are but few persons who would deny that he deserves to be called a practical man.

Several of our classical composers have shown that they could be shrewd men of business at periods when the pressure of want, or the desire for independence, urgently incited them to acquire property. Beethoven on one or two occasions formed the resolution of making it his special object to accumulate a sum of money, the possession of which would enable him to compose without regard to publishers and mercantile speculations. But the endeavour to carry out this resolution seems to have been generally of but short duration. In the year 1821, the music-seller Tobias Haslinger, in Vienna, compiled a tariff in which he enumerated the different kinds of compositions with the prices he was willing to pay for them, if Beethoven by signing the tariff would bind himself to give all his new compositions to Haslinger for publication. This tariff is so interesting that it shall be inserted here, although Beethoven, who at first expected from it a golden future, was soon dissuaded by his friends from entering into any contract of the kind.

It must be borne in mind that these terms were offered to Beethoven at the period of his life when he had already published his first eight symphonies and almost all his famous pianoforte sonatas, and other works, up to Op. 109, and when he therefore was in the zenith of his reputation in the eyes of the daily increasing number of lovers of music who were able to understand his genius. In fact, he afterwards received higher prices; for instance, the publisher Schott, in Mayence, paid him, in 1825, for the second Mass (D major) 1000 florins; for the ninth Symphony, 600 florins; for the Quartett Op. 127, fifty ducats; and for the Quartett Op. 131, eighty ducats. He was still better remunerated, on a certain occasion, by the publisher Diabelli, in Vienna, who having composed a Waltz for the pianoforte, wished Beethoven to write six or seven variations upon it, for which he offered to give him eighty ducats. Well, Beethoven sat down to compose seven variations. But, the longer he wrote, the more new ideas occurred to him, and the seven variations soon increased to ten, then to twenty, then to twenty-five. When Diabelli learnt that Beethoven had written twenty-five variations and was still continuing to add to their number, he became rather alarmed lest the work should grow too voluminous for practical use. However, he did not succeed in stopping the composer until after the thirty-third variation. The entire set was published by Diabelli in 1823, under the title '33 Veränderungen über einen Walzer von A. Diabelli, von Ludwig van Beethoven, Op. 120.'

What must one think of Beethoven's knowledge of money matters when in a letter to a friend, in which he laments his reduced circumstances, he asks for advice how he can obtain "money for a bank-note;" while all he has to do is to cut off from his bond a coupon, and to have it cashed by the nearest money-changer.[27] Beethoven, owing to his unpractical habits, required much money, although he lived but frugally. For instance, it happened that he had to pay rent for three or four residences at a time, because he had neglected to give warning at the old residence when he hired a new one. Fortunately for him, some of his admirers among men of position and wealth interested themselves about his personal comfort. In an honourable and delicate way they ensured him an annual income in addition to the gains accruing to him by the sale of his works. The result was that he actually left some money at his death. He died (to use an English expression) worth one thousand pounds.

If the correspondence of some of our most celebrated composers with their publishers were made known, we should probably find therein unvarnished statements which would surprise us, inasmuch as they would reveal disappointments which it is now difficult to reconcile with the celebrity of those composers. The obstacles which some of our classical composers have encountered in getting their works printed are very remarkable. J. S. Bach himself engraved on copper-plates his esteemed work 'The Art of Fugue;' only thirty copies were struck off, as sufficient to supply the demand; and, after the death of the old master, his exceedingly practical son, Emanuel, offered the plates for sale at the value of the copper plates.[28] It is painful to reflect that some composers who lived in straitened circumstances obtained little or nothing for certain of their works which have enriched their publishers. Franz Schubert had to struggle for his daily bread. When the 'Erl-King' was sung by his friend Vogl for the first time in public, at a concert in Vienna in the year 1821, it produced sensation, while other compositions by Schubert which were performed on the same occasion, met with a cool reception. Schubert published the 'Erl-King' at his own expense, with the assistance of some friends. But, as his needy circumstances soon compelled him to sell the copyright of this song, which was then but little known, his gain was very small, even if compared with the profits which some arrangers have derived from transcribing the song for the pianoforte. Although the conditions which he proposed to the publishers were always modest, they were generally rejected as being exorbitant. How cautiously the publishers treated him, may be seen from a letter which Peters, in Leipzig, wrote to Hüttenbrenner, a friend of Schubert. As this letter is also interesting inasmuch as it affords a glance into the speculations of a practical man who makes the art his business, it deserves a place here, although it is rather long. The translation, which is from the German, is as literal as possible:—

During the years 1826-28, Schubert had still trouble in getting his compositions printed. This is evident from the tone of the replies to his solicitations as well as from the conditions demanded by the publishers. Probst, in Leipzig, in a letter to Schubert, dated August 26th, 1826, remarks:—"It was, no doubt, an honour to me, which I appreciate, to make your acquaintance through your letter of the 12th instant; and thanking you heartily for your confidence in me, I am quite willing to contribute, as far as lies in my power, to the spread of your reputation as an artist. I must, however, candidly confess that the peculiar direction of your intellectual productions, which often shows genius, but which is also sometimes rather strange, is not yet sufficiently and generally understood by our public. I, therefore, pray you to take this kindly into consideration when you send me manuscripts. A selection of songs, and pianoforte compositions for two or four hands, which are not difficult, and which are pleasant and easily comprehensible, would appear to me suitable for attaining your aim and my wish. When the way has been once opened, anything will do; but, in the beginning one must in some measure comply with the public taste," etc.

In another letter to Schubert, by the same publisher, written in 1827, he says: "However much pleasure it would give me to incorporate your name in my catalogue, I must for the present renounce it, as I am overwhelmed with work owing to the publication of Kalkbrenner's Œuvres complètes. I also confess that the honorarium of eighty florins[30] for each manuscript seems to me rather high terms. I keep the works at your disposal, and remain," etc.

A year later, in 1828, he writes more encouragingly: "I have been sincerely grieved that a difference in our opinions, before my journey to Vienna, frustrated your esteemed application for the publication of your compositions through my firm.... Have, therefore, the kindness when you have completed something which is a success, to send it here—especially songs, ballads, romances, which, without being devoid of originality, are easily comprehensible; also some pianoforte pieces for two performers, written in the same style.... As regards the honorarium, we shall readily come to an agreement, if you will only treat with me on a moderate scale; and you will find me always in these matters reasonable, provided the works are so that I can be pleased with them. The prices of the Vienna publishers might here fairly serve as a guide. Herr Lähne would pay you your honorarium in proper time punctually. Moreover, I must beg you to examine beforehand carefully the works which you intend me to have, and not to show them first to the Vienna publishers. Such business transactions must remain entirely between ourselves. I give you my solemn word that you shall never repent it if you favour me with your friendly confidence, and if, by selecting only such compositions for me in which you have been successful, you afford me the opportunity of exerting myself for the sake of your reputation."

Breitkopf and Härtel, the famous publishers in Leipzig, in a letter to Schubert, dated September 7th, 1826, cautiously suggest: "We reply with grateful thanks to your kind intention of sending us some compositions for publication, and we assure you that it would give us much pleasure to enter into a mutually advantageous business relation with you. But as we are yet quite unacquainted with the mercantile result of your compositions, and as we, therefore, cannot meet you by offering you a fixed pecuniary remuneration,—which the publisher can only fix and allow after the success of the work,—we must leave it to you whether you will make an attempt to form a connection with us which may perhaps be durable, and whether in order to facilitate this attempt you will be satisfied with a certain number of copies as remuneration for the first work, or works, which you may send us. We have no doubt that you will agree to the proposal, since with you as well as with us the object is less the publication of a single work, than the introduction to a continued connection. In this case we propose that you should send us first a few pianoforte pieces for one performer or for two. Should our hope of a good result be realized, so that we may be enabled to offer you for the subsequent works a proper remuneration in money, it will be a pleasure to us to render thereby your connection with us agreeable to you.

We remain, with the highest esteem, etc.,

Breitkopf and Härtel."[31]

Somewhat later, when Schubert had become a little better known, he received more favourable replies. Schott, in Mayence, offered to publish several of his works, and to pay for them. In a letter dated April 28th, 1828, Schott, however, declined to accept the trio in E-flat major, which Schubert had mentioned in his list of finished manuscripts: "The trio," Schott remarks, "is probably large; and as we have recently brought out several trios, we must postpone to a later period the publication of compositions of this kind to avoid disadvantages for our business; and the delay would be against your interest." This trio (Op. 100) was afterwards bought by Probst, in Leipzig, for about two pounds, paid with a grumble, and with the insulting remark: "In any case, I hope the Trio in question is not the 'Fantasia' which was performed on the 5th of February in Herr Slawick's concert at the Kärnthnerthor theatre; for that composition was unfavourably criticized in the Leipzig Musical Gazette, No. XIV., page 223."

Again, in a letter from Schott, dated October 30th, 1828, and received by Schubert about three weeks before his death, he is told among other business matters: "We shall soon print your Quintett;[32] but we must remark that the price put on this little work is too high. The pianoforte part takes up only six printed pages, and we surmise it to be by an oversight that we are asked to pay sixty florins[33] for it. We offer you thirty florins for it.... The pianoforte piece, Op. 101, certainly would not be too dear for us; but its unsuitableness for our sale in France is very vexatious. Should you compose occasionally something less difficult and yet brilliant, and also in an easy key, this you may send us, if you please, without further communication."[34]

Under these circumstances it is no wonder that after the death of Schubert there should have been some difficulty in defraying the expenses of his burial, which amounted to about seven pounds; while his effects, consisting of his dress, a bed, and some old music-books, were together valued at six pounds six shillings.

Mozart's pecuniary circumstances were scarcely more cheerful than Schubert's, considering how highly Mozart was appreciated by many during the last few years of his life. Having in his youth been guided by his prudent father to be careful in the management of his gains and expenses, he always wished to be careful, and sometimes troubled himself much about being practical, but evidently found it very difficult. When the publisher Hofmeister, in Leipzig, said to him: "Mozart, you must make concessions to the popular taste, or I cannot buy anything more from you for publication!" Mozart replied: "Well, I must write what I think good, though I should starve." Some music-sellers, in an inexplicable way, succeeded in procuring manuscripts of his, for which they did not pay him anything.[35] His famous opera, 'Die Zauberflöte,' he wrote with the object of benefiting his friend, the embarrassed theatrical manager Schikaneder; and the statement of some writers, that Mozart gained only fifty thalers (about £7 10s.) by this opera, may therefore be correct. The King of Prussia offered him an appointment as Kapellmeister in Berlin, with a salary of 3,000 thalers. Mozart solicited an audience of his master, the Emperor Joseph II. and asked for his dismission. "Dear Mozart, you will leave me?" said the emperor. "No, your Majesty!" replied Mozart, touched by the hearty tone in which the Emperor spoke to him: "No, your Majesty, I remain!"

A friend, to whom Mozart soon afterwards related this occurrence, said: "But why did you not seize this favourable opportunity to ask for a fixed income?"

Mozart replied: "How could I at that moment think of money matters!"

He subsequently received an annual pay of 800 florins, with the title of Kapellmeister in the service of the Emperor. At his death, he left a debt of 3,000 florins. The copyright of 'La Clemenza di Tito' was offered to Breitkopf, in Leipzig, for sixteen ducats. Breitkopf having declined the opera, it was bought by his apprentice, A. Böhme, who with it laid the foundation of his prosperous publishing-house in Hamburg.

It must be admitted that among our modern composers several very practical men could be pointed out. Some, who are the offspring of rich bankers, may have inherited business-like habits in a natural course; this appears all the more probable since they belong to a race which is known to possess extraordinary talent for money-making.

It has long been a favourite project with distinguished musicians on the continent to visit England, to be there extremely practical, in order to accumulate as much money as they could in the shortest time possible, and then to retire to the fatherland to be happy ever after. Possibly the rumour concerning Handel's property, and his bequests, to which also Mattheson alludes in his annotations to the 'Memoirs of the Life of Handel,'[36] may have contributed to entice other continental musicians to try to make their fortune in England; and many have shown common sense enough in this attempt. Handel in London generally received for the copyright of an oratorio twenty guineas. The wealthy publisher, Walsh, gained £1500 by the publication of the opera 'Rinaldo,' a fact which elicited from Handel the remark: "My dear sir, it is only right that we should be upon an equal footing; you shall compose the next opera, and I will sell it." At any rate, so the story goes. Handel, after having lost, by his enterprise as manager of the Haymarket Theatre, all the money he had gained during a residence in England of about twenty-four years, which amounted to about £10,000, commenced anew, exerting himself as a practical man in another and more successful way. Handel died "worth" upwards of twenty thousand pounds.

Music-printing in the eighteenth century was not in the flourishing state which it has now attained. The composers had other sources of profit besides the sale of their manuscripts,—such as public performances, dedications of works to wealthy patrons of the art, or by having an appointment, with a fixed salary, in the service of a sovereign. To judge correctly of the capacity for business of a distinguished musician, it is necessary to take into consideration the usages of his time.

Haydn, on his first visit to London, in 1791, was engaged by Salomon for £500, for which sum he had to compose six symphonies, and personally to direct the performance of them at the concerts; and to resign the copyright of those six symphonies. Furthermore, £200 were guaranteed to him by Salomon for a benefit concert.

That Rossini could be practical in England, is evident from the following conversation of this composer with F. Hiller. It is given here in translation from the German. By way of preface to it, may be mentioned that Rossini, in Italy, received for an opera from twenty to thirty pounds. However, for the 'Barber of Seville' he received about eighty pounds.

Hiller. "Considering, Maestro, that you have grown up among singers and actors, and that you possessed a fine voice, it seems almost singular that you did not think of becoming an operatic singer."

Rossini. "I had no other intention, dear sir; but I also wished to learn my art more thoroughly than most of the singers with whom I came into contact at that time had learnt it. This was easy enough; at an early period I already officiated as Maëstro al Cembalo; then there came the period when the mutation of my voice interfered with my singing; my attempts at composition found favourable reception; and thus I fell almost accidentally into the career of the composer. I adhered to it, although I had from the beginning the opportunity of observing how incomparably better the singers are rewarded than we are."

Hiller. "Heaven knows! Beethoven has hardly received for all his works as much as Cruvelli obtains annually at the Grand Opera."

Rossini. "It was not quite so bad at that time as it is now; but that makes no difference. When the composer received fifty ducats, the singer received a thousand. I confess that I never could help feeling vexed at this injustice, and often have I given vent to my dissatisfaction in the presence of the singers. You ignorant fellows, I said, you cannot sing even so well as I can, and you gain more in one evening than I am paid for a whole score! But, what was the use of talking thus. Neither do the German composers get rich."

Hiller. "Certainly not, Maestro! But they obtain appointments which, though they are not lucrative, ensure the most important necessities of life. No German composer has ever gained so much by his operas that he could live upon the proceeds. However, it appears to be now better in this respect than it formerly was."

Rossini. "Incomparably better. The former Italian opera composers could write Heaven knows how many operas, and had nevertheless to struggle to make both ends meet. I was scarcely better off until I obtained an appointment with Barbaja."[37]

Hiller. "Tancredi was the first of your operas which proved a decided hit; how much did you get for it, Maestro?"

Rossini. "Five hundred francs. And when I composed my last Italian opera, 'Semiramide,' and insisted upon having five thousand francs for it, not only the theatrical manager, but the whole public regarded me as a sort of highwayman."

Hiller. "You have the consolation of knowing that singers, managers, and publishers have become rich through you."

Rossini. "A fine consolation! Except during my stay in England, I have never gained by my art so much that I could lay anything by; and the money which I made in London, I did not make as a composer, but as an accompanist."

Hiller. "Yet it was because you were a celebrated composer."

Rossini. "That is what my friends said, to persuade me to take to the new occupation. It may have been a prejudice with me, but I had a dislike to being paid for accompanying on the pianoforte, and I have submitted to it nowhere but in London. However, they were determined to see my nose, and to hear my wife. I had fixed for our co-operation at musical evenings the rather high terms of £50. We attended at about sixty of such evenings, and the pecuniary result was certainly worth the trouble. Moreover, in London the musicians will do anything to make money. I have witnessed there, queer doings."

Hiller. "There one scarcely trusts one's eyes, still less one's ears."

Rossini. "Thus, for instance, when I accepted my first engagement as accompanist at such a Soirée, I was told that Puzzi, the celebrated virtuoso on the horn, and Dragonetti, the celebrated double-bass player, would also be present. I thought they would play solo, but this was far from being the case, they had only been engaged to assist me in accompanying. Have you then written parts for all these pieces? I asked—'Oh, dear, no!' they replied, 'but we get well paid, and so we accompany with whatever comes into our head.' These attempts at improvised instrumental performances appeared to me, however, too venturesome; I therefore begged Dragonetti to restrict himself to twanging occasionally some Pizzicatos, whenever I should wink my eyes to him; and I suggested to Puzzi to fall in with his horn whenever a cadence occurred, which he, as a good musician, easily accomplished. Thus we went through it without very serious accidents, and everyone was contented."

Hiller. "That is capital! But the English, it appears to me, have made great progress in regard to music. They have at present much good music well performed and attentively listened to; that is, in public concerts. In the drawing-room, music is still painfully maltreated. Many persons without the least musical talent parade themselves with an incredible boldness, and give instruction in things of which they know little or nothing."

Rossini. "I knew in London a certain X., who as teacher of the pianoforte had amassed a large property. All he knew of music, however, was that he blew the flute a little, and that quite miserably. Another, who was greatly in demand as a teacher of singing, did not know even the notes. He kept his own accompanist, whose business it was first to hammer those pieces into his master, and afterwards to accompany him when he taught the pieces to the pupils. This singer possessed however a nice voice."[38]

For the sake of truth some business letters written by distinguished German composers to English publishers must be noticed here, although they redound to the honour of the writers as little as do some of the letters of the German publishers just cited. Not that they reveal a deficiency in common sense as regards business transactions; they exhibit the writers as rather too practical. Among the letters which the music-seller W. Forster, in London, received from Haydn, with whom he kept up a correspondence about the purchase of manuscripts for publication in England, the following, which was originally written in German, is selected as a characteristic specimen. It dates from the year 1788, and was published by S. A. Forster, a son of the music-seller, in his account of the correspondence which his father had with Haydn.