contains the germ from which most of the motifs of the accompaniment and the interludes are developed, and finally winds up the ritornello in two-part canonic imitation on the violins, with a figure for the violas in counter-movement to an organ point on the bass. This two-part movement having been executed first by the alto and bass, then by the soprano and tenor, the four unite in free movement to bring the whole to an expressive close with the supplicating appeal, "Ne me perdas illa die!" In the first episode the parts are at first divided into short responding phrases, held together by the figured bass, and coming to a close together, whereupon the first movement, abbreviated, is repeated. Then there occurs a new motif of essentially harmonic character, the effect of which depends upon the thrice-heightened climax of the chords, intensified by the contrast of the high and low voices. Then the parts divide again and lead the way for the last entry of the first movement, which is repeated with a short parenthesis inserted; the final close is brought about in a very interesting and satisfying manner by the fine successive or parallel motion of the different parts. But we despair of reproducing in words anything but a mere skeleton of the beauty of this wonderful quartet—a beauty whose peculiar charm consists in the union of loveliest grace with chaste severity and earnest depth of thought. This charm it owes to the simplicity and truth of feeling which led the master to seek and to find the best expression DIES IRÆ. for what was in his mind; and never in any art, be it what it may, has the comforting feeling of pious trust in the mercy of God, arising from the consciousness of human weakness, been more truly and beautifully expressed than in this Recordare.
The verse which follows contrasts the torments of the damned with the hopes of believers, and could not therefore be suitably rendered with the same composure of tone. It had become customary to emphasise the contrast very strongly, depicting the torments of hell as graphically as the joys of Paradise. In this movement, therefore, the men's voices are opposed to the women's, and describe the torments in short, imitative phrases, emphasised when repeated by rapid changes from major to minor and sharp suspensions and rendered still more forcible by a frequent pregnant rhythmical figure borne by the stringed instruments in unison. The women's voices, supported only by a quiet violin passage, express a low and fervent appeal for redemption, intensified upon repetition by some suspensions. 52 All the emotions and reflections represented so far have tended to turn the thoughts inwards, with such feelings of remorse and repentance as alone can lead to the trust in divine mercy, and it is with the feeling of deep self-abasement that the supremest point of the hymn is approached. The voices unite soft and low in a succession of harmonies such as no mortal ear had ever heard:—[See Page Image]
Involuntarily we bow before the declaration of a mystery which no mouth may utter; irresistibly impelled by the stream of harmony, we feel our spirits loosed from the bondage which has held them, and born again to life and light; we feel a breath of the immortality which had already touched the brow of the master as he wrote. To the contrite and broken spirit the Day of Wrath becomes a day of mourning, and so the "Lacrimosa dies illa" begins with a gentle plaint hushed by the terrifying representation of the rising of the dead from their graves, which is grandly expressed in a powerful crescendo, brought about by the rising climax of the melody and the onward motion of the harmonies. With the anguished cry of "Homo reus!" the pen dropped from the hand of the master; the emotion which shook his whole being was too strong for expression: "Huic ergo parce Deus, pie Jesu Domine!"
How far Süssmayr's continuation has fulfilled Mozart's intentions cannot of course be absolutely decided; he has rightly taken up and carried out the suggestion of the first few bars, and his conclusion has an imposing solemnity. It is worthy of note that henceforward the trombones are much more frequently employed than heretofore. When we compare the scanty and peculiar use made of them in the Requiem and the Tuba mirum, with their characteristic occurrence in the "Zauberflote," it appears doubtful whether Mozart himself would so often have introduced them as supports to the voices; although this was no doubt the custom in contemporary church music.
The Offertorium belongs again to the service, and requires on that account another and a more conventional character in the music than the Dies iræ. It falls into two sections, of which the first (Domine Jesu Christe) prefers the petition that the soul of the departed may not go down into hell, but OFFERTORIUM. may be carried into light by the Archangel Michael. The earnest and affecting character of the music is tinged with a certain amount of harshness and unrest, arising from the constant recurrence of the mention of hell and its torments, which distinguishes the movement from the otherwise similar one of the Requiem. The vivid contrasts of the words are accentuated by the music, and the result is a succession of short phrases, combining into larger groups, which correspond with each other. The words "ne absorbeat eas Tartarus" are worked out into a short fugue, which has an unusually harsh effect owing to the characteristic sevenths of the theme and the powerful semiquaver passage carried out by the stringed instruments in unison. The gentle melody, supported by the solo voices in canonic imitation, "sed sanctus signifer Michael," has, on the contrary, a soothing effect, and is the only ray of light which is allowed to shine through the surrounding gloom. The whole movement closes with the words "Quam (lucem sanctam) olim Abrahæ promisisti" in an elaborate fugue, the effect of which is heightened by the accompaniment which carries out a motif of its own in close imitation. G. Weber found fault with this fugue, with its aimless elaboration of a subordinate idea and superfluous repetition of the same unimportant words; 53 and Seyfried defended it on the ground that a fugue was considered indispensable at this point, 54 and indeed was not unsuited to it. The idea is, in truth, not a subordinate one, it is the ground of the confidence with which the prayer is offered, and so becomes the basis of the whole movement. The fugue is the form best fitted for short, pithy sentences, and the one in question has the same singular mixture of trust in the divine mercy and tortured anxiety at the thought of death which was expressed in the first movement of the Requiem, although it there assumed a milder form. Separate passages are of great, though somewhat rugged beauty, as befitted the movement; more especially the closing passage, "de profundo lacu, in obscurum, et semini eius."
The second part (Hostias et preces) has a much more composed character, as becomes the offering by the spirit of its sacrifice to the Almighty. The idea, therefore, of still lingering disquiet is left to be expressed by the syncopated passage for the violins, the voices going together almost throughout the movement, and declaiming the words with strikingly appropriate expression. The very simplicity of this movement reveals the hand of the master, and gives it an individuality especially noticeable at the words "tu suscipe pro animabus illis, quarum hodie memoriam facimus." Thus far a reference to Mozart's own manuscript suffices to determine how much was left to Süssmayr's carrying out. Although sufficient indications were given even of the more elaborate and independent instrumental parts to serve as a guide to a well-educated musician, yet the example adduced above shows how much freedom in matters of detail was left for the further elaboration; and, not to mention various oversights, it is probable that had Mozart completed the composition many delicate touches would have been added to the accompanying parts which cannot now be even conjectured. Very few indications are given for the wind instruments, and even if Mozart gave verbal instructions concerning them, much must still remain in doubt. It must be allowed, however, that Süssmayr's share in the work has been on the whole successfully performed; it is quite in keeping with the rest, and he has plainly refrained from making any alterations or surreptitious interpolations. With the last three movements we enter the domain of conjecture, if we are to reject the positive testimony of Süssmayr, supported by Mozart's widow, as to the share of the former in the work. Rochlitz, reviewing Süssmayr's letter on the subject, remarks that "the works already known to be by Herr Süssmayr subject his claim to an important share in this great composition to considerable doubt"; 55 and he expressed his suspicions more decidedly at a later time. 56 G. Weber, who failed to recognise Mozart in many SÜSSMAYR'S SHARE IN THE WORK. parts of the first movements, has, on the contrary, assigned to him a distinct share in the last movements. 57 Marx emphatically expressed his conviction that the principal subjects throughout showed traces of Mozart's handiwork. 58 This view is founded on the assumption that the movements are worthy of Mozart, and are such as Süssmayr himself could not have produced; but the critic must be careful not to bring forward on aesthetic grounds alone accusations which involve so much of grave moral delinquency.
Seyfried's assertion that, 59 according to the generally accepted opinion in Vienna, Süssmayr found note-books containing sketches of these movements, and showing Mozart's intention of elaborating the Osanna fugue after the Benedictus, as well as the new theme for the concluding fugue, Cum sanctis, has scarcely been investigated with the care which it demands. One circumstance has, as far as I know, been left altogether out of account. If the last three movements had been altogether wanting at Mozart's death, it would have appeared, one would think, both easier and simpler to supply them from one of his manuscript Masses, which were entirely unknown, than to commission Süssmayr to write them afresh; and such a proceeding would doubtless have been far more capable of justification to the owner of the work. But the confusion and embarrassment in which Mozart's death threw his widow and her affairs may have occasioned many things to be done which would not otherwise have taken place.
Frz. Xav. Süssmayr, who, as a young man of twenty-seven, enjoyed the friendship of Salieri 60 and Mozart, became so intimate with the latter 61 that he was, as Seyfried THE REQUIEM. expresses it, "the inseparable companion of the immortal Amphion." He adopted Mozart's style of writing with such success that, although his ideas often fell far short of his master's, many of his works in the serious style might, Seyfred maintains, be taken for Mozart's, did we not know that they were Süssmayr's; 62 Hauptmann has informed me of instrumental works by him which show quite Mozart's manner of work, and might pass for lighter compositions by the latter.
Sievers, who warmly espoused Süssmayr's cause, speaks of his "Spiegel von Arkadien," which he ranks with the "Zauberflote,"
and of various pieces which may serve as models of the graceful and characteristic as well as of the tragico-serio styles of composition. 63 I have carefully examined his operas, "Der Spiegel von Arkadien" (1794) and "Soliman II." (1800), as well as some of his lighter church compositions, and find nothing in them beyond an easy but superficial inventive power, a smooth practised workmanship, and almost throughout an obvious imitation of Mozart's manner.
The Sanctus and Osanna are scarcely of a kind to admit of a decided opinion as to their authorship. The brevity and conciseness of the Sanctus do not by any means prove it not to have been by Mozart, for all the movements of the Requiem, when not lengthened by a fugal treatment, are similarly compressed. Nor must an unpleasing progression for the violins be taken as decisive against his authorship, for the working-out is in any case not his. On the other hand, it must not be concluded that because the movement has a general character of dignified grandeur, and the commencement of the Pleni sunt is truly majestic, that therefore Süssmayr could not have written it. It is not on the whole equal to the best of the preceding movements. The short fugue of the Osanna is animated, vigorous, and faultlessly concise; there is nothing against the supposition that Mozart might have written it; but, on the other hand, it would be difficult to prove with certainty that it might not have been SÜSSMAYR'S SHARE IN THE WORK. the work of a musician with the amount of talent and cultivation unquestionably possessed by Süssmayr.
The case is somewhat different with the Benedictus, where, according to custom, solo voices are introduced in a long and elaborate quartet of pleasing character. Zelter says of it: "The Benedictus is as excellent as it can be, but the school decides against it being by Mozart. Süssmayr knew Mozart's school of music, but had not been trained in it from early youth, and indications of this may be found here and there in the beautiful Benedictus." 64 He is doubtless right. The first motif for the alto, and the idea of making the several voices reply to each other, might very well be Mozart's; but certainly not the working-out. The motion is obviously interrupted when the soprano, after the alto, again enters in the tonic; and the passage into the dominant is very lame. Still lamer, after the conclusion of the first part, are the laborious continuance in F major, and (instead of the development naturally expected here) the immediate return by the chord of the seventh to the first part, which is then repeated in its entirety. Neither the design nor the execution is worthy of Mozart; nor is it credible that in the interlude he would have copied the "et lux perpetua" from the Requiem in such a strange fashion as it has here been done, without any reason for an allusion to that place.
The abnormally thick and full instrumentation must also be taken into consideration. The instrumentation has, it is true, not been worked out by Mozart in the other movements, but here it can scarcely be separated from the general design, and it is distinguished from that of all the other movements by the use of two trombones, which Mozart never employed elsewhere, and which here supply the place of horns. Finally, the character of the movement is in many passages soft and effeminate, contrasting in this respect with the earnestness of the other movements, even of the Tuba mirum. 65 The
Osanna is, according to custom, an exact repetition of the previous one, only that the voices are transposed on account of the altered key.
The Agnus Dei transports us to quite a different region. Here we find the depth and intensity of feeling, the noble beauty and the originality of invention, which we admire in the first movements of the Requiem. The fine expressive violin figure of the first period—[See Page Image] is full of vigour, and is admirably enhanced by its harmonic treatment, and the gentle counter-phrase in its peaceful motion brings about a soothing conclusion. The twofold repetition is effectively varied, and the close is emphasised by a novel and beautiful turn. The whole displays the perfect mastery of a musician. "If Mozart did not write this," says Marx, 66 "well, then he who wrote it is another Mozart!"
I have seen nothing in Süssmayr's works which can justify me in ascribing to him the conception of this movement; much, on the contrary, to convince me that the chief ideas at least are Mozart's, and that Süssmayr can hardly have had a more important share in this movement than in the earlier ones. His whole statement loses, no doubt, its full credibility if a well-grounded doubt can be thrown on any one point; but I should not like to assert with confidence that in the Sanctus and Benedictus Süssmayr must have availed himself of sketches by Mozart.
The repetition of the first movement at the conclusion of the Mass was not unusual at the time. Hasse in his Requiem intones the Lux æterna to the same chorale as the Te decet, and then repeats the Requiem; Zelenka does the same; Jomelli repeats the Requiem, but adds a fresh conclusion to it. Contemplating that portion of the Requiem which Mozart completed, or which he left in such a state that to the initiated it is easy to distinguish his handiwork, GENERAL REVIEW OF THE WORK. we have no hesitation in placing this work on the pinnacle of that artistic perfection to which the great works of Mozart's later years had attained. 67 We see revealed the depth of feeling, the nobility of beauty, the mastery of form, the complete spiritual and mental absorption in the task before him which have combined to produce this marvellous creation. A comparison of the Requiem with other similar compositions, both by Mozart himself and his contemporaries, serves to emphasise the vast superiority of the former; 68 for Mozart even here does not absolutely reject the forms hallowed by long tradition; he shows his individual genius all the more strongly by keeping within them. Still less does he run counter to the views which the Requiem, by virtue of its position in the Catholic ritual, is meant to express, by any endeavour of his own to go further or to introduce something peculiar to himself; that full, unfettered devotion which is the indispensable condition of genuine artistic production is never disturbed, but human emotion, religious belief, and artistic conception go hand in hand in fullest harmony. On this unity rests the significance of the Requiem, for on this ground alone could Mozart's individuality arrive at full expression, and—working freely and boldly, yet never without consciousness of the limits within which it moved—produce the masterpiece which reveals at every point the innermost spirit of its author. In this sense we may indorse his own expression, that he wrote the Requiem for himself; it is the truest and most genuine THE REQUIEM. expression of his nature as an artist; it is his imperishable monument. 69
The Requiem met with immediate recognition and approval. "If Mozart had written nothing except his violin quintets and his Requiem," Haydn used to say, "they would have rendered his name immortal." 70 It was more especially received with enthusiasm in North Germany, where church music, unmindful of J. S. Bach, had degenerated into all the triviality and insipidity which a slavish adherence to form could produce. It was with delight and astonishment that men recognised the union of classical severity of form with depth of poetic feeling—an oasis in the desert to those who had long wandered in a waste of sand. The old organist, Kittel, at Erfurt, a pupil of Sebastian Bach, received one day the organ part of a Requiem which he did not know; the further he proceeded in it, the more entranced he became, and on inquiring the composer's name, and hearing that it was Mozart, he could scarcely believe his ears, having been accustomed to regard Mozart only as the composer of popular operas which he knew nothing about. He procured the operas however, and was unprejudiced enough to recognise and admire in them the composer of the Requiem. So I was told by my music-master, Apel, Kittel's pupil.
Hiller, grown grey in reverence for Hasse and Graun, lifted his hands in amazement on first hearing the Requiem, and soon brought it to performance at Leipzig. 71 At Berlin the Singakademie produced the Requiem at their first public performance, October 8; 1800, 72 in memory of their founder, Fasch, who had lately died; it has ever since been chosen, both there 73 and elsewhere, when it is sought to honour the memory of great men, especially of musicians, 74 and Zelter SYMPATHY FOR THE FAMILY. expressed his opinion that the Requiem would never be brought into disfavour either by adverse criticism or mediocre performance. 75 Cherubini 76 produced the Requiem in Paris in the year 1804, 77 and it has comforted and sustained innumerable mourners, 78 not only throughout Europe, but in the New World. 79
MOZART'S early and unexpected death, removing him from the eyes of the world at the moment when he might seem to have attained the height of his artistic greatness, had the effect of silencing the detractions and the envy of the few who were blinded by jealousy to his merits, and of exalting his works in the minds of those who felt his loss to be an irreparable one. Public feeling took the form of sympathy for his bereaved family, who were left in pressing need; and they found generous support, not in Vienna and Prague alone, but in many other places to which the widow made professional visits. When she was in Berlin, in 1796, Frederick William II. allowed her the use of the opera-house and the royal musicians for a benefit concert, at which she AT THE GRAVE. appeared as a vocalist (February 28). The King, as was stated in the programme (Niemetschek, p. 63), "took great pleasure in thus proving to the widow how highly he esteemed the talent of her late husband, and how much he regretted the unfortunate circumstances which had prevented his reaping the due reward of his labours." But such efforts as these could not assure her a livelihood for any length of time; nor would the manuscripts left by Mozart realise, as matters then stood, anything like a sum sufficient for her future needs. His compositions might be spread abroad, either in MS. or in print, without her consent or authorisation. Indeed, when reference was made to her, she considered it as a favour, 1 and was well pleased when, in 1799, André purchased from her all the manuscripts in her possession for a sum of one thousand ducats.
Some of Mozart's manuscripts had been lost before his death, others have been made over to other people by André himself, and the remainder are included in the "Thematic Catalogue of Mozart's Original Manuscripts in the Possession of Hofrath André of Offenbach" (Offenbach, 1841). Unhappily, no public library has been able to obtain this most important collection, and its dispersion, owing to testamentary dispositions, must be a source of regret to all musicians.
Mozart's widow found a means of secure and untroubled existence in her second marriage. Georg Nic. Nissen (b. 1765) made her acquaintance, in 1797, at Vienna, where he was attached to the diplomatic service of Denmark, and rendered her great service in the arrangement of her affairs, as the numerous letters written by him in her name sufficiently show. He appears to have been a tiresome, but an upright and honourable man, and to have acted well towards Constanze and her children from the time of their marriage in 1809. After resigning his state service, in 1820, he lived with her in Salzburg, where also Mozart's sister resided (App. I.). He died in 1826, and was followed by his widow on COMMEMORATIONS. March 6, 1842, a few hours after the arrival of the model for Mozart's statue; after Nissen's death she had lived with her widowed sister, Sophie Haibl. 2
Karl, the elder of Mozart's two surviving sons, began life as a merchant, then tried music, 3 and finally embraced an official career. He was a good pianist, and conducted musical performances, first at the house of Colonel Casella, afterwards at his own; 4 he died in a subordinate official post at Milan in 1859. The younger son, Wolfgang, became a musician. He first appeared in public in 1805, 5 made repeated professional tours, and after 1814 lived as musical director, first at Lemberg, afterwards in Vienna; he died at Carlsbad in 1844. He was esteemed both as a pianist and composer, but the greatness of his name prevented his attaining to more. 6
Appreciation and honour had not been wanting to Mozart in his lifetime, but they had been far from unalloyed; after his death they were showered in fullest measure on his memory. 7 His loss was commemorated in many places by the performance of his own works or of specially composed funeral cantatas, 8 and the anniversaries of his birth and of his death are still kept, both in private musical circles 9 and publicly, by concerts. The hundredth anniversary of his birth, which in 1856 caused all Germany to ring with Mozart's name and Mozart's music, united every voice into a chorus of praise and honour, and gave a new impulse to the study of his works. 10
Mozart's personal appearance has become so familiar by means of well-known portraits that he may in this respect AT THE GRAVE. be compared to Frederick the Great or Luther; his music and his countenance have alike become common property (App. III.).
In the year 1799 the Duchess Amalie of Weimar placed a memorial of Mozart in the park of Siefurt; it is in terra cotta: a lyre on a pedestal, and leaning on it a tragic and a comic mask. 11 Bridi (Vol. II., p. 359), in the "Temple to Harmony" which he erected in his garden, has given to Mozart the first place among the seven musicians there represented, and has placed a monument dedicated to him in a melancholy grotto, with the inscription, "Herrscher der Seele durch melodische Denkkraft." 12 The same inscription is on the reverse of a medal by Guillemard together with a muse playing a lyre and a Cupid with a flute; the other side has a portrait of Mozart. A medallion by Bàrend has also a portrait in front, the reverse representing Orpheus and a captive lion, with the inscription, "Auditus saxis intellectusque ferarum sensibus." The design for a medallion by Böhm, which was never struck, was shown to me by my friend Karajan. It consists of a refined and intellectual representation of Mozart's profile.
In 1835 the idea took shape of erecting a statue to Mozart in Salzburg. An appeal for subscriptions was made in September, 1836, 13 and the cast of the statue was completed on May 22, 1841. The ceremony of unveiling the figure took place on the Michaelsplatz, September 4, 1842. 14 Unhappily it cannot be said that Schwanthaler has succeeded in investing the accepted idea of Mozart as an artist and a man with any ideal force and dignity. He is represented clothed in the traditional toga, standing with his head turned sidewards and upwards, and in his hand a scroll with the inscription, "Tuba mirum." In bas-relief on the pedestal are allegorical representations of church, concert, and dramatic music, and an eagle flying heavenwards with MEMORIALS OP MOZART. a lyre. The simple inscription is "Mozart." 15 In 1856 the city of Vienna determined upon erecting a monument to Mozart in the churchyard of St. Mark's. It was designed by Hans Gasser, and solemnly unveiled December 5, 1859. A mourning muse reposes on a granite pillar, holding in her right hand the score of the Requiem, and resting her left, with a laurel wreath, on a pile of Mozart's works. On the pedestal are Mozart's portrait and the Vienna arms, with a short inscription. 16
Mozart's name has been more worthily honoured by the foundation of various institutions. The Salzburg Mozarteum, founded in 1842, not only preserves the most important family documents and interesting relics which were in the possession of Mozart's sons; it has the further aim of fostering and advancing music, and more especially church music, in Mozart's native town. 17 The Mozart Institution at Frankfort, founded in 1838, encourages talent by means of prizes and scholarships; 18 and a Mozart Society, founded in 1855, undertakes to assist needy musicians. 19
But after all that may be accomplished in honour of Mozart by the most enthusiastic of his admirers, his true and imperishable fame rests upon his works. A history of modern music will be concerned to show how his influence has worked upon his successors, displaying itself sometimes in conscious or slavish imitation, sometimes in the freer impulse it has given to closely allied natures; and it may truly be said that of all the composers who have lived and worked since Mozart there is not one who has not felt his inspiration, not one who has not learnt from him, not one who at some time or another has not encroached upon his domain. Like all great and original geniuses, he belongs to two ages which it was his mission to bring together; while quickening and transforming all that his own age can offer him as the AT THE GRAVE. inheritance of the past, he leaves to posterity the offspring of his individual mind to serve as a germ for new and more perfect life.
It would be presumptuous to attempt to summarise in a few phrases the result of a life of ceaseless mental activity, and of strongly marked individuality. In view of this difficulty many biographers take refuge in a comparison of the subject of their work with other great men, and thus emphasise the points of resemblance or divergence which exist in their natures. No such parallel appears to me more justifiable than one between Mozart and Raphael. 20 The majestic beauty which appears to absorb all the other conditions of art production, and to blend them into purest harmony, is so overpoweringly present in the works of both masters that there is no need to enforce the comparison by dwelling on the many points of resemblance in their career both as men and artists, and in their moral and intellectual natures. Such a comparison, however, is not profitable unless it can be shown how and under what conditions this beauty, so varied in its manifestations, so similar in its effects, is produced. 21 Although it will readily be acknowledged that Mozart is closely related to Shakespeare 22 in fertility, force, and reality of dramatic invention and in breadth of humour, and to Goethe 23 in simplicity and naturalness of human sentiment and in plastic clearness of idea, yet here again we are confronted with the distinguishing qualities of great artists in different provinces of art, and Mozart's individuality in his own art is as far as ever from explanation. The frequently attempted parallels with great CONCLUSION. musicians, with Haydn 24 or Beethoven, 25 bring out still more clearly the characteristics which distinguish him from all others; and it is to be feared that the more ingeniously these comparisons are carried out in detail the more the images are distorted and the judgment biassed.
With whatever feelings, and from whatever point of view, we regard Mozart, we are invariably met by the genuine purity of an artist's nature, with its irrepressible impulses, its inexhaustible power of production, its overflowing love; it is a nature which rejoices in nothing but in the manifestation of beauty which is inspired by the spirit of truth; it infuses all that it approaches with the breath of its own life, and, while conscientious in serious work, it never ceases to rejoice in the freedom of genius. All human emotions took a musical form for him, and were by him embodied in music; his quick mind grasped at once all that could fittingly be expressed in music, and made it his own according to the laws of his art. This universality, which is rightly prized as Mozart's distinguishing quality, is not confined to the external phenomena which he has successfully portrayed in every region of his art—in vocal and instrumental, in chamber and orchestral, in sacred and secular music. His fertility and many-sidedness, even from this outward point of view, can scarcely indeed be too highly extolled; but there is something higher to be sought in Mozart: that which makes music to him not a conquered territory but a native home, that which renders every form of musical expression the necessary outcome of his inner experience, that by means of which he touches every one of his conceptions with the torch of genius whose undying flame is visible to all who approach his works with the eyes AT THE GRAVE. of their imagination unbound. His universality has its limits only in the limits of human nature, and consequently of his own individual nature. It cannot be considered apart from the harmony of his artistic nature, which never allowed his will and his power, his intentions and his resources, to come into conflict with each other; the centre of his being was the point from which his compositions proceeded as by natural necessity. All that his mind perceived, or that his spirit felt, every experience of his inner life, was turned by him into music; from his inner life proceeded those works of imperishable truth and beauty, clothed in the forms and obedient to the laws of his art, just as the works of the Divine Spirit are manifested in the forms and the laws of nature and history. 26
And, while our gaze is lifted in reverence and admiration to the great musician, it may rest with equal sympathy and love upon the pure-hearted man. We can trace in his career, lying clear and open before us, the dispensation which led him to the goal of his desires; and, hard as he was pressed by life's needs and sorrows, the highest joy which is granted to mortals, the joy of successful attainment, was his in fullest measure.
"And he was one of us!" his countrymen may exclaim with just pride. 27 For, wherever the highest and best names of every art and every age are called for, there, among the first, will be the name of Wolfgang Amade Mozart.
OLFGANG MOZART'S sister, Maria Anna Walburga Ignatia, known to her family and friends as Nannerl, was born July 30, 1751, and was thus five years older than her brother. She early showed a decided talent for music, and made extraordinary progress under her father's tuition. She made her appearance as a clavier-player during the early professional tours of the Mozart family in 1762, 1763-1766, and 1767, competing successfully with the first performers of the day, and overshadowed only by the accomplishments of her younger brother. Her father writes (London, June 8, 1764): "It suffices to say that my little lass at twelve years old is one of the most accomplished players in Europe"; and independent accounts which have come down to us coincide in this expression of opinion. During their stay at the Hague in October, 1765, she was seized with a serious illness and brought to the brink of the grave; her recovery, which had been despaired of by her parents, was hailed by them with delight. In November, 1767, she and Wolfgang were both struck down by smallpox at Olmütz; this also she happily recovered.
She did not accompany her father and brother in their subsequent journeys to Italy, but remained at home with her mother. Nevertheless she continued her studies as a clavier-player, and made good her claim to be considered a virtuoso; as such she was recognised by Burney's informant in 1772 (Burney, Reise, III., p. 262). She owed much, as she was the first to acknowledge, to the example and instruction of her brother, who threw himself eagerly into her studies whenever he was in Salzburg. Leopold writes to his son (January 26, 1778) that the violinist Janitsch and the violoncellist Reicha of the Wallerstein Capelle, who were giving a concert in Salzburg, "absolutely insisted upon hearing Nannerl play. They let out by their great anxiety to hear your compositions that their object was to judge from her gusto of your way of playing. She played your Mannheim sonata excellently well, with charming expression. They were delighted both with her playing and with the composition. They accompanied Nannerl in your trio in B flat (254 K.) exceedingly well." He goes on to tell Wolfgang of the high opinions formed by these musicians both of his compositions and of Nannerl's style of playing; and how she always repeated: "I am but the pupil of my brother." Wolfgang used in after years, when they were separated, to send her his pianoforte compositions, and set great store on her APPENDIX I. judgment, frequently also giving her his own opinions and criticisms on music and musicians—as, for instance, on Clementi.
Marianne made some few attempts at composition; a song which she sent to her brother in Rome excited Wolfgang's astonishment at its excellence, and she wrote exercises in thorough-bass which were quite free from mistakes, and gave him great satisfaction. Her father remarks at a later date (February 25, 1778) that she had learnt to play thoroughbass and to prelude exceedingly well, feeling that she would have to support herself and her mother after his death. Once (July 20, 1779) when Wolfgang sent her from Paris a prelude—"a sort of capriccio to try the piano with"—as a birthday greeting, she jokingly put her father to the test. She received it at four o'clock in the afternoon, and at once set to work to practise it till she knew it by heart. When her father came in at five she told him that she had an idea, and that if he liked she would write it down, and thereupon began the prelude. "I rubbed my eyes," says Leopold Mozart, "and said, 'Where the deuce did you get that idea?' She laughed and drew the letter from her pocket."
She early began to give lessons on the clavier, her father writing from Milan (December 12, 1772): "Tell Nannerl that I wish her to teach little Zezi carefully and patiently; it will be to her own advantage to instruct another person thoroughly and with patience; I know what I am saying." These lessons afterwards became a source of income which could hardly have been dispensed with in the needy circumstances of the Mozart family; they enabled her to support herself as long as she lived at home, and thus lightened her father's pecuniary anxieties. She was considered even by her own family as somewhat parsimonious, and her father was agreeably surprised at hearing her exclaim, when told of Wolfgang's difficulties on his Parisian journey: "Thank God that it is no worse!" although she well knew that her own interests would have to be sacrificed to help her brother out of his scrape. But there is in fact every reason to believe that her heart was a tender one, and easily touched; she felt the loss of her mother very deeply, and had the warmest sympathy for her brother; sometimes indeed this took a livelier form than he cared for, and we find him once writing with ill-humour (Mannheim, February 19, 1778): "My best love to my sister, and pray tell her not to cry over every trifle, or I shall take good care never to come back"—an expression which did not fail to call down a reproof from his father. The relation of the brother and sister to each other was from childhood of the tenderest and closest description. The severe discipline to which they were both subjected, the journeys they took together, and above all the concentration of all the thoughts and energies of both upon music, increased their natural affection, in which there was not a trace of envy or jealousy on either side. Wolfgang vented his love of joking and teasing upon his "Schwester Canaglie"; and the letters which he wrote to her while on his Italian tour give abundant proofs of their unrestrained and innocent intercourse. The joking tone of MARIANNE MOZART. Wolfgang's correspondence with his sister was not entirely dropped even when they had passed their childhood, but they also shared the more serious concerns of life together in fullest sympathy. We have seen how unendurable life at Salzburg became to Wolfgang as he grew up, and his sister's position was in no way a more enviable one. When her mother and brother left home for their journey to Paris, she remained to keep house for her father, who praised her for her attention, economy, and industry, and for her good management of the maid-servant, who was both dirty and untruthful. After her mother's death she continued her care of the household, which was occasionally increased by their receiving boarders. Pianoforte practice, generally with her father for some hours in the evening, and lessons to various young ladies, filled up her time. She was much liked as a teacher, and her pupils were distinguished for precision and accuracy of playing. When Wolfgang was at home, the house was full of life, her father was cheerful, and she had a companion with whom to share her joys and sorrows; but if he was away, the father, who could scarcely live without him, was often gloomy and preoccupied, and not even her tender ministrations could compensate him for the absence of his son. Marianne had but few distractions from her quiet domestic life in the form of gaiety or company; she took a lively interest in the persons and concerns of her few acquaintances, an interest which was shared by Wolfgang even when he had left Salzburg. "Write to me often—that is, of course, when you have nothing better to do," he writes from Vienna (July 4, 1781) "for a bit of news is a great treat to me, and you are the veritable Salzburg Intelligencer, for you write about everything that ever happens, and sometimes, no doubt to please me, you write the same thing twice over." Their father had impressed upon them the importance of keeping a regular diary, and this Wolfgang did in his earlier years; Marianne continued the habit much longer. Fragments of her diary still exist, and among her letters to her brother are two which contain very detailed accounts of the performances of Schikaneder's theatrical company at Salzburg.
Towards the end of 1780, while Wolfgang was at Munich busy with his "Idomeneo," Marianne was seized with an illness which for a time threatened to turn into consumption; it was long before she completely recovered. It appears probable that an attachment which did not turn out happily had something to do with this illness. Marianne, who had been a pretty and attractive child, became, as the family picture in the Mozarteum shows, a handsome woman, to whom suitors would not be wanting. Wolfgang's jokes about Herr von Mölk, an unfavoured admirer of Marianne's, as well as other mysterious allusions in his letters, prove that the brother and sister shared with each other their tenderest feelings. When Mozart was finally settled in Vienna, he lost no opportunity of being useful to his sister: "Ma très chère soeur," he writes (Vienna, July 4, 1781)—"I am very glad that you liked the ribbons, and will inquire as to the price of them; at APPENDIX I. present I do not know it, since Fr. von Auerhammer, who was so kind as to get them for me, would accept no payment, but begged me to say all that was nice to you from her as a stranger, and to assure you that it gives her very great pleasure to be of any service to you; I have already expressed your acknowledgments to her for her kindness. Dearest sister! I have already told our father that if you would like anything from Vienna, whatever it may be, I will get it for you with the utmost pleasure; this I now repeat to you, with the addition that I shall be extremely vexed if I hear that you have intrusted your commissions to any one else in Vienna." Constanze was always ready at a later time to perform the same sort of service for her sister-in-law. But Wolfgang's sympathy with his sister was displayed in more serious matters. On July 4, 1781, he writes: "And now I should like to know how it stands with you and our very good friend? Write and tell me about it. Or have I lost your confidence in this affair?" This good friend was Franz D'Yppold, captain in the imperial army, who came to Salzburg as Governor to the Pages, and was made Councillor of War in 1777. He conceived an attachment to Marianne, which she returned, but his circumstances did not allow him to marry. Mozart, seeing that his sister's health and happiness were at stake, represented to her that there was nothing to hope for in Salzburg, and begged her to induce D'Yppold to try his fortune in Vienna, where he, Wolfgang, would do his utmost to advance his prospects. She would be able to earn far more by giving lessons in Vienna than in Salzburg, and there could be no doubt they would soon be able to marry; then the father would be obliged to give up his service at Salzburg, and join his children in Vienna. Unfortunately these promising plans remained unfulfilled; and as there appeared to the lovers no prospect of a possible union, the connection between them ceased. D'Yppold never ceased to be on friendly terms with L. Mozart, and always testified great sympathy and esteem for Marianne herself. He was very fond of her little son, who lived with his grandfather; and, during an absence from home of L. Mozart, he came to the house every day to see how the child was getting on.
Marianne returned in kind her brother's interest and sympathy in her love affairs. To her he poured out his complaints of the hard fate of himself and his Constanze, and the latter began a correspondence with her long before her father had reconciled himself to the connection. Correspondence between the brother and sister naturally flagged somewhat when Wolfgang became engrossed in his life and occupation at Vienna. He justifies himself against her reproaches (February 13, 1782): "You must not think because I do not answer your letters that I do not like to have them. I shall always accept the favour of a letter from you, my dear sister, with the utmost pleasure; and if my necessary occupations (for my livelihood) allow of it, I will most certainly answer it. You do not mean that I never answer your letters? You cannot suppose that MARIANNE MOZART. I forget, or that I am careless—therefore they must be real hindrances, real impossibilities that come in the way. Bad enough, you will say! But, good heavens I do I write any oftener to my father? You both know Vienna t How can a man without a penny of income do anything here but work day and night to earn a living? My father, when his church service is over, and you, when you have given a couple of music lessons, can sit down and write letters all day if you choose; but not I.... Dearest sister, if you could imagine that I should ever forget my best and dearest father or yourself, then—but no! God knows, and that is enough for me—He will punish me if it should ever happen."
In 1784 Marianne married Johann Baptist, Baron von Berchthold, of Sonnenburg, councillor of Salzburg and steward of St. Gilgen. Wolfgang wrote on her marriage (August 18, 1784): "Ma très chère soeur,—Potz Sapperment! it is time that I write to you if my letter is to find you still a virgin! In a couple of days it will be all over! My wife and I wish you all manner of happiness and good fortune in your new life, and are full of regret that we cannot be present at your wedding; but we are in hopes of meeting you and your husband next spring at Salzburg, and perhaps also at St. Gilgen. We regret nothing now but the solitude in which our father will be left. True, you will be near him, and he can often walk over to see you, but he is so tied to that confounded Kapelle! If I were in my father's place, this is what I should do: I should ask the Archbishop in consideration of my long service to set me free—and I should take my pension and go and live quietly with my daughter at St. Gilgen; if the Archbishop refused, I should hand in my resignation and join my son in Vienna. And to this I wish you would try every means of persuading him. I have written the same thing in my letter to him to-day. And now I send you a thousand good wishes from Vienna to Salzburg, summed up in the hope that you two may live as happily together as we two. Your loving brother, W. A. Mozart."
A long list of letters from L. Mozart to his daughter testify to his care for her welfare. He is indefatigable in his attention to household matters, and occasionally receives from her presents of game or fish; he also keeps her constantly informed of what is going on in town. He is, as may be supposed, always ready with advice or remonstrance, both to his daughter and her husband, whom he considers "too absorbed in the spirit of economy"; he makes plenty of sarcastic remarks, but is, on the whole, under more restraint with them than with Wolfgang. His keen glance and shrewd sense never fail him. His son-in-law's hasty application for the stewardship of Neumark drew from him serious advice to weigh everything well beforehand, and then to be resigned to what should happen. "I write all this," he adds (November 20, 1786), "because I can easily imagine how many useless and vexatious ideas and remarks will be let fall upon the subject; whereas, if it is to be, the course of Providence cannot be withstood." Report said that Marianne APPENDIX I. had not always an easy time of it with her husband; and five stepchildren cannot have left her much leisure for repining. L. Mozart describes them as naughty, ill brought up, and ignorant; one of the boys, Wolfgang, was heard to boast that "he had got the better of his second mamma, and, when he was naughty, papa always laid the blame on her and the servants, and blew them up."
In June, 1785, she came to Salzburg to be confined in her father's house. As her health long remained delicate, L. Mozart kept his little grandson, bestowing upon it the tenderest care, and informing his daughter of the child's well-being in every letter. "I can never look at the child's right hand without emotion," he writes (November 11,1785); "the cleverest pianist could not place his hand upon the keys more charmingly than he holds his little hand; whenever he is not moving his fingers they are all in position for playing, and when he is asleep the tiny fingers are bent or stretched exactly in the right proportion, as if they were resting on the keys; in short, it is the most charming sight in the world. It often makes me sad to see it, and I wish he were three years old, so that he might begin to play at once." He could not persuade himself to part with the child, and although he often abused the father for never coming to see it, he declared himself: "I tell you I mean to keep little Leopold as long as I live."
After their father's death Wolfgang wrote to Marianne (June 16, 1787): "Dearest Sister,—I am not at all surprised at your not writing to me yourself the sad and totally unexpected news of our dear father's death; I can readily imagine the cause of your silence. May God receive him to Himself! Be assured, my darling, that if you are in need of a faithful, loving brother, you will find one in me. My dearest sister, if you were still unprovided for, there would be no need of all this. I would, as I have intended and said over and over again, have left all to you with the greatest pleasure; but as it is, one may almost say, useless to you, while to me, on the contrary, it would be of the greatest advantage, I think it my duty to consider my wife and child."
This letter affords no clue to the share of his father's inheritance claimed by Mozart, and it is not known how the matter was arranged. It was doubtless not without some reference to this that a letter written soon after by Mozart to his sister (August, 1787) treated of his pecuniary position. "In answer to your question as to my service," he says, "the Emperor has taken me into the household, and I am formally appointed, but have only 800 florins—this is more, however, than any other member of the household. The announcement of my Prague opera 'Don Giovanni' (which is to be given again to-day) ran: 'The music is by Herr Mozart, Kapellmeister in the actual service of his Imperial Majesty.'"
I do not know of any later letters. Marianne kept up no correspondence with her brother's widow; from a letter to Sonnleithner (July 2, 1819), we gather that she had not heard from her sister-in-law since 1801, that she knew nothing of the children, and had only heard of her second marriage by chance.
In 1801 the Baron von Sonnenburg died, and his widow retired with her children to Salzburg, where she lived in comfort, if not in wealth. She returned to her old occupation, and gave music lessons—for money certainly, but not from need, since her simple and frugal way of life enabled her even to lay by a portion of her income. She was always much respected and liked in Salzburg. In 1820 she became blind, a misfortune which she bore with equanimity, and even cheerfulness, as the following anecdote will show: Receiving a visit from a lady whom she disliked—people who were fond of her paid her frequent visits to afford her amusement in her misfortune—she exclaimed, when at last the visitor had departed, "What an infliction to be obliged to converse with that person! I am glad that I cannot see her!"
She died at an advanced age in her native town, October 29, 1829.