Читать книгу The Life of Mozart - Otto Jahn - Страница 6

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Introduced by a prelude, consisting of a pleasing andante and a splendid allegro.

Then follows:

A prelude, with trumpets and drums.

After this:

The Sledge Drive, with the sledge-bells and all the other instruments.

After the Sledge Drive:

The horses are heard rattling their harness.

And then:

The trumpets and drums alternate agreeably with the oboes, French horns, and bassoons, the first representing the cavalcade, the second the march.

After this:

The trumpets and drums have another prelude, and

The Sledge Drive begins again, but stops suddenly, for all the party dismount, and enter the ball-room.

Then comes an adagio, representing the ladies trembling with cold. The ball is opened with a minuet and trio.

The company endeavour to warm themselves by country-dances.

Then follows the departure, and, finally:

During a flourish of trumpets and drums, the whole party mount their sledges and drive homewards.

In consequence of the performance of these occasional pieces in Augsburg, L. Mozart received the following anonymous letter:

"Monsieur et très cher ami!

"May it please you to compose no more absurdities, such as Chinese and Turkish music, sledge drives, and peasant weddings, for they reflect more shame and contempt on you than honour, which is regretted by the individual who herewith warns you and remains,

"Your sincere Friend.

"Datum in domo verae amicitice."

Leopold Mozart was not a little annoyed by this act of friendship, which he was inclined to ascribe to the Kapellmeister Schmidt or to the organist Seyffert. It need scarcely be said that this "programme-music" is innocent either of originality or of instrumental colouring. Short characteristic pieces, such as Couperin and Rameau wrote, were composed by L. Mozart, in common with Eberlin, for a kind of organ with a horn stop, which had been erected by Joh. Roch. Egedacher on the fortifications above the town. Once a month, morning and evening, a piece was played on this instrument; in February it was the Carnival, in September a hunting song, in December a cradle song.11

Besides all this, L. Mozart wrote many concertos, particularly for the flute, oboe, bassoon, French horn, or trumpet (one of these is in Munich), innumerable trios (he offered a flautist, named Zinner, in Augsburg, fourteen trios for flute, violin, and violoncello), and divertimenti for various instruments,12 marches, minuets, opera-dances, &c. Three clavier sonatas are printed,13 of which Faiszt remarks that they might well be the work of Leopold's great son, so strong is their similarity in form and spirit.14 is compositions were for the most part only in manuscript, as was almost all the music of that day.15 By way of practice in engraving, he engraved three trio sonatas himself in 1740, and revived the old accomplishment in 1778, when he engraved some variations for his son.

In later years he composed little or nothing; his position in Salzburg was so little to his mind that he did not feel himself called on to do more than his duty required; besides, the education of his children engrossed his whole time, and when his son had come forward as a composer, he would on no account have entered into competition with him.16 L. Mozart was proud of the estimation in which his works were held abroad, as the following extract from a letter to his friend Lotter shows:

November 24, 1755.

I may tell you in strict confidence that I have received a letter from a distant place inviting me to become a member———don't be alarmed—or—don't laugh—— a member of the Corresponding Society of Musical Science.17 Potz Plunder! say I. But do not tell tales out of school, for it may be only talk. I never dreamt of such a thing in my life; that I can honestly say.

But the elder Mozart acquired his chief reputation as a musician by the publication in 1756 of his "Attempt towards a Fundamental Method for the Violin."18 This work was spread abroad in numerous editions and translations, and was for many years the only published instruction on the art of violin-playing; proof enough that it rendered important service in its day, as far as technical knowledge was concerned. What makes the book still interesting to us is the earnest, intelligent spirit which speaks from it, and shows us the man as he was. He sought to impart to his pupils a sound, practical musical education; they were not only to practise their fingers, but were always clearly to, understand what they had to execute and why: "It is dispiriting to go on playing at random, without knowing what you are about" (p. 245); a good violinist should even be practised in rhetoric and poetry to be able to execute with intelligence (p. 107). He insists strongly that the pupil should not advance until he is quite able for what he has to learn: "In this consists the gravest error that either master or pupil can fall into. The former often lack patience to wait for the right time; or they let themselves be carried away by the pupil, who thinks he has done wonders when he can scrape out a minuet or two. Often, too, the parents or guardians of the beginner are anxious to hear him play some of these imperfect tunes, and think, with satisfaction how well their money has been spent on the lessons. How greatly they are mistaken!" (p.57, cf. 121.)

The study is not to be made too easy or simple; the learner must exert himself and work hard. Thus he writes at the beginning of the exercises (p. 90): "These are the passages for practice. The more distasteful they are, the better I shall be pleased; I have striven to make them so"; that is, to guard against their being played from memory.

The same ability is displayed in his principles of taste.

He exacts above all a "straightforward, manly tone"; "nothing can be more absurd than to seem afraid even to grasp the violin firmly; or just to touch the strings with the bow (held perhaps with two fingers), and to attempt such an artistic up-bow to the very nut of the violin that only a note here and there is heard in a whisper, without any idea what it means, it is all so like a dream" (p. 101). Simple, natural expression is the highest aim of the violinist, so that the instrument may imitate as far as possible the art of song (p. 50); "who does not grant that to sing their music has been the aim of all instrumentalists, because they have ever striven after nature?" (p. 107.)19 He is severe on performers who "tremble upon every long note, or cannot play a couple of bars simply without introducing their senseless and ridiculous tricks and fancies" (p. 50). They are blamed the more as they are for the most part wanting in the necessary knowledge where to bring in their ornamentation without involving errors in the composition (pp. 209, 195). Other faults of the virtuoso are equally severely dealt with, such as the tremolo of the player "who shakes away on every note as if he had the ague" (p. 238), or the constant introduction of the so-called "flageolet tones" (p. 107), or the alternate hurrying and dragging of the "virtuoso of imagination." "Many," says he (p. 262), "who have no conception of taste, disdain to keep uniform time in the accompaniment of a concerted part, and strive to follow the principal part. That is accompanying like a bungler, not like an artist. It is true that in accompanying some Italian singers, who learn everything by heart and never adhere to time or measure, one has often to pass over whole bars to save them from open shame. But in accompanying a true artist, worthy of the name, not a note must be delayed or anticipated, there must be neither hurry nor dragging, so that every note may have proper expression, otherwise the accompaniment would destroy the effect of the composition. A clever accompanist should also be able to judge of the performer. He must not spoil the tempo rubato of an experienced artist by waiting to follow him. It is not easy to describe this 'stolen time.' A 'virtuoso of imagination' often gives to a semiquaver in an adagio cantabile the time of half a bar, before recovering from his paroxysm of feeling; and he cares nothing at all for the time: he plays in recitative."

Technical instruction and skill are to him only the means to a higher end. The performer must be capable of expressing all the pathos of the piece before him, so as to penetrate to the souls and stir the passions of the audience (pp. 52, 253).20 As the most important requisite to the violinist for attaining this, he indicates the stroke of the bow (p. 122) as "the medium by the judicious use of which we are able to communicate the pathos of the music to the audience." "I consider," he adds "that a composer attains his highest aim when he finds a suitable melody for every sentiment, and knows how to give it its right expression." "Many a second-rate composer," he says (p. 252), "is full of delight, and thinks more than ever of himself when he hears his nonsensical music executed by good artists, by whose artistic expression even such miserable trash is made intelligible to the audience."

It is plain that he was a sworn enemy to smatterers and pretenders. Thorough technical study and an intellect trained to clear and rational thought he considered absolutely indispensable to a true artist. He grants, indeed, that genius may atone for the want of learning, and that a man highly gifted by nature may lack the opportunity of studying his art scientifically. But this does not detract from the main proposition nor make his demands less just.

The extracts given above illustrate the principles and the views with which L. Mozart undertook the musical education of his son, and these being united to a correct appreciation of the freedom and indulgence due to great natural powers, it must be acknowledged that no genius could have been trained under happier auspices.!

This work, so remarkable for the age, met with suitable recognition. Marpurg, to whose judgment L. Mozart had submitted it in his preface, speaks of it as follows: 21 "The want of a work of this kind has been long felt, but hitherto in vain. A thorough and skilled performer, a sensible and methodical teacher, a learned musician, a man possessing all those qualities which singly command our respect, are here to be found united in one individual—the author. What Geminiani did for the English nation, Mozart has accomplished for the German, and their works are worthy to live side by side in universal approbation."

After this it is not surprising that the first of the critical letters on music which were published under Marpurg's direction at Berlin in 1759 and 1760 should be addressed to L. Mozart, with the declaration that the society which proposed to address each letter to some person of distinction, could not make a fitter commencement than with him. Schubart says,22 "He gained great reputation through his 'Method,' which is written in good German, and with admirable judgment. The examples are well chosen, and the system of fingering not in the least pedantic; the author doubtless inclines to the school of Tartini, but he permits greater freedom in the management of the bow." Zelter expresses himself in the same spirit:23 "His 'Violin Method' is a work which will be of use as long as the violin is an instrument. It is well written, too."

The praise of the author's style of writing is characteristic and well deserved; it was then a far rarer distinction among artists than at present. L. Mozart's style is sharp and clear; his sarcastic turn of mind is so prominent that he apologises for it in the preface, although it is not unusual in the musical literature of the time. Both in this book and in his letters he proves himself a man who has not only acquired cultivation by intercourse with the world and by travel, but who is well acquainted with literature, has read with taste and discernment, and has well-defined and judicious opinions both on aesthetic and moral subjects. He addressed to the poet Gellert a letter so full of veneration that Gellert replied in the warmest terms, as the following extract will show:—

I should be insensible, indeed, if the extraordinary kindness with which you honoured me had left me unmoved, and I should be the most ungrateful of men if I could have received your letter without acknowledgment. I accept your love and friendship, my dear sir, with the same frankness with which they are offered. Do you, indeed, read my works and encourage your friends to do the same? Such approbation, I can truly say, was more than I could have dared to hope from such a quarter. Does my last poem, "Der Christ," meet with your approval? I venture to answer myself in the affirmative. To this I am encouraged by the subject of the poem, your own noble spirit, as unwittingly you display it in your letters, and by my consciousness of honest endeavour.

Baron von Bose presented "the little Orpheus of seven years old," when in Paris, with Gellert's songs, recommending him to borrow their irresistible harmonies, "so that the hardened atheist may read and mark them, may hear them and fall down and worship God." Perhaps this gift gave occasion to the letter. Wolfgang informs his sister at a later date, from Milan, of the death of Gellert, which took place there.

With this amount of cultivation, and the pretensions consequent on it, it is not surprising that Leopold Mozart felt himself isolated at Salzburg. He had his duties to perform at court, and the more contemptible their remuneration was, the more he and the other officials were made to feel their dependent position. He was employed as a teacher in most of the families of rank at Salzburg, for his instruction was justly considered as the best that could be had; but this did not imply any degree of friendly intimacy. He was too proud to ingratiate himself with them by flattery or obsequiousness, although, as a man of the world, he knew how to moderate his satirical humour, and was always affable and well-bred. He seems to have had little intercourse with his colleagues. This was partly owing to circumstances, but partly also to their want of musical proficiency or mental cultivation, joined to their looser, less earnest mode of life. The social relations of the Mozart family were, however, cheerful and unconstrained; their intercourse with their friends had more of innocent merriment than of intellectual enjoyment. "The Salzburg mind," says Schubart,24 "is tuned to low comedy. Their popular songs are so drolly burlesque that one cannot listen to them without dying of laughter. The clownish spirit25 shines through them all, though the melodies are often fine and beautiful." This tendency would scarcely please so serious and critical a man as L. Mozart, whose humour was caustic, but not broad, and who appears to have entered with constraint into the ordinary tone of conversation.

On November 21, 1747, Leopold Mozart married Anna Maria Pertlin (or Bertlin), daughter of the steward of the Convent of St. Gilgen. "To-day is the anniversary of our wedding," wrote L. Mozart (November 21, 1772); "it is, I believe, exactly twenty-five years since we were struck with the good idea of getting married, or rather it had occurred to us many years before. But good things take time."

They were reputed the handsomest pair of their time in Salzburg, and their existing portraits do not contradict this. Frau Mozart was, as far as she can be represented by letters and descriptions, a very good-tempered woman, full of love for her family, but in no way distinguished; and the often verified experience that great men owe their gifts and their culture principally to their mothers was not proved to be true in the case of Mozart. She submitted willingly to the superiority of her husband, and left to his care and management with absolute confidence all that lay outside the sphere of the actual housekeeping. The possession by each of those qualities necessary for the happiness of the other lay at the root of the heartfelt love and affection which bound them to each other and to their children, and the latter were provided with the surest foundation for their moral culture in the influence of a pure and harmonious family life. They were deeply attached to their cheerful, happy-tempered mother; but that she failed in authority was clear when she accompanied her son in his ill-considered visit to Paris. In spite of her better judgment she was unable either to control his impetuosity or to withstand his endearments.

Though far inferior to her husband in cultivation, she was not without understanding, and had a turn for the humorous, which characterised her as a native of Salzburg. In this respect Wolfgang was her true son.

Of seven children resulting from this union, only two survived: a daughter, Maria Anna (called Marianne or Nannerl in the family), born July 30, 1751, and a son Wolfgang, born January 27, 1756.26 His birth almost cost his mother her life, and her lingering recovery occasioned much anxiety to her friends.

The daughter showed so decided a talent for music, that her father early began to give, her lessons on the clavier. This made a great impression on her brother, then but three years old; he perched himself at the clavier, and amused himself by finding out thirds, which he struck with much demonstration of delight; he also retained the more prominent passages in the pieces which he heard. In his fourth year his father began, in play, to teach him minuets and other pieces on the clavier; in a very short time he could play them with perfect correctness and in exact time. The impulse to produce something next awoke in him, and in his fifth year he composed and played little pieces, which his father then wrote down.27 A music-book which was intended for Marianne's exercises, and preserved by her as a precious relic, was in 1864 presented by the Grand Duchess Helene to the Mozarteum in Salzburg.28 It contains minuets and other little pieces, and further on longer ones, such as an air with twelve variations, and is partly filled with passages by the composers Agrell, Fischer, Wagenseil, &c., of increasing difficulty, for the purpose of instruction, in the handwriting of the father and his musical friends. Wolfgang learned from this book. The following note is appended by his father to the eighth minuet: "Wolfgangerl learned this minuet in his fourth year." Similar remarks occur repeatedly; e.g., "This minuet and trio were learned by Wolfgangerl in half-an-hour, at half-past nine at night, on January 26, 1761, one day before his fifth year." They are simple, easy pieces in two parts, but requiring an independence of the hands, not possible without a degree of musicial comprehension which is surprising in so young a

The first of Wolfgang's compositions have his father's superscription: "Di Wolfgango Mozart, May 11, 1762, and July 16, 1762," little pieces modelled on those he had practised, in which of course originality of invention cannot be looked for; but the sense of simple melody and rounded form so peculiar to Mozart are there already, without any trace of childish nonsense.

The book went with them on their travels, and Mozart used the blank pages to write down pieces, which afterwards appeared in the first published sonatas (1763).

Most of the anecdotes of Mozart's childhood which testify to his wonderful genius, are contained in a letter from Schachtner, which is here given entire, as the direct testimony of a contemporary.

Joh. André Schachtner (died 1795) had been court trumpeter at Salzburg from 1754, for which post a higher degree of musical attainment was necessary then than at the present day. He was not only a skilled musician, but displayed considerable literary cultivation, which he had obtained at the Jesuit school of Ingolstadt. The translation of a religious drama, "The Conversion of St. Augustine" from the Latin of Father Franz Neumayer, gained him the somewhat ambiguous praise of Gottsched, who writes: "We may even say that he wrote good German, nay, almost that he wrote good German poetry."29 We shall find him later acting as librettist to Mozart.

He was intimate in Mozart's home, and his warm attachment is proved by the following interesting letter, written soon after Mozart's death to his sister.30

Dear and honoured Madam—

Your very welcome letter reached me, not at Salzburg, but at Hammerau, where I was visiting my son, who is coadjutor in the office of Oberwesamtmann there.

You may judge from my habitual desire to oblige every one, more especially those of the Mozart family, how much distressed I was at the delay in discharging your commission. To the point therefore!

Your first question is: "What were the favourite amusements of your late lamented brother in his childhood, apart from his passion for his music?" To this question no reply can be made, for as soon as he began to give himself up to music, his mind was as good as dead to all other concerns,31 and even his childish games and toys had to be accompanied by music. When we, that is, he and I, carried his toys from one room into another, the one of us who went empty-handed had always to sing a march and play the fiddle. But before he began to study music he was so keenly alive to any childish fun that contained a spice of mischief, that even his meals would be forgotten for it. He was so excessively fond of me—I, as you know, being devoted to him—that he used to ask me over and over again whether I loved him; and when in joke I sometimes said "No," great tears would come into his eyes, so tender and affectionate was his dear little heart.

Second question: "How did he behave to great people when they admired his talent and proficiency in music?" In truth he betrayed very little pride or veneration for rank,32 for, though he could best have shown both by playing before great people who understood little or nothing of music, he would never play unless there were musical connoisseurs among his audience, or unless he could be deceived into thinking that there were.

Third question: "What was his favourite study?" Answer: In this he submitted to the guidance of others. It was much the same to him what he had to learn; he only wanted to learn, and left the choice of a field for his labours to his beloved father.33 It appeared as if he understood that he could not in all the world find a guide and instructor like his ever memorable father.

Whatever he had to learn he applied himself so earnestly to, that he laid aside everything else, even his music. For instance, when he was learning arithmetic, tables, stools, walls, and even the floor were chalked over with figures.34

Fourth question: "What particular qualities, maxims, rules of life, singularities, good or evil propensities had he?" Answer: He was full of fire; his inclinations were easily swayed: I believe that had he been without the advantage of the good education which he received, he might have become a profligate scoundrel—he was so ready to yield to every attraction which offered.

Let me add some trustworthy and astonishing facts relating to his fourth and fifth years, for the accuracy of which I can vouch.

Once I went with your father after the Thursday service to your house, where we found Wolfgangerl, then four years old, busy with his pen. Father: What are you doing?

Wolfg.: Writing a concerto for the clavier; it will soon be done.

Father: Let me see it.

Wolfg.: It is not finished yet.

Father: Never mind; let me see it. It must be something very fine.

Your father took it from him and showed me a daub of notes, for the most part written over ink-blots. (The little fellow dipped his pen every time down to the very bottom of the ink-bottle, so that as soon as it reached the paper, down fell a blot; but that did not disturb him in the least, he rubbed the palm of his hand over it, wiped it off, and went on with his writing.) We laughed at first at this apparent nonsense, but then your father began to note the theme, the notes, the composition; his contemplation of the page became more earnest, and at last tears of wonder and delight fell from his eyes.

"Look, Herr Schachtner," said he, "how correct and how orderly it is; only it could never be of any use, for it is so extraordinarily difficult that no one in the world could play it."

Then Wolfgangerl struck in: "That is why it is a concerto; it must be practised till it is perfect; look! this is how it goes."

He began to play, but could only bring out enough to show us what he meant by it. He had at that time a firm conviction that playing concertos and working miracles were the same thing.

Once more, honoured madam! You will doubtless remember that I have a very good violin which Wolfgangerl used in old times to call "Butter-fiddle," on account of its soft, full tone. One day, soon after you came back from Vienna (early in 1763), he played on it, and could not praise my violin enough; a day or two after, I came to see him again, and found him amusing himself with his own little violin. He said directly: "What is your butter-fiddle about?" and went on playing according to his fancy; then he thought a little and said:

"Herr Schachtner, your violin is half a quarter of a tone lower than mine, that is, if it is tuned as it was, when I played on it last."

I laughed at this, but your father, who knew the wonderful ear and memory of the child, begged me to fetch the violin, and see if he was right. I did, and right he was, sure enough!

Some time before this, immediately after your return from Vienna, Wolfgang having brought home with him a little violin which some one in Vienna had given him, there came in one day our then excellent violinist the late Herr Wentzl, who was a dabbler in composition.

He brought six trios with him, composed during the absence of your father, whose opinion on them he came to ask. We played these trios, your father taking the bass part, Wentzl playing first violin, and I second.

Wolfgangerl begged to be allowed to play second violin, but your father reproved him for so silly a request, since he had never had any instruction on the violin, and your father thought he was not in the least able for it.

Wolfgang said, "One need not have learnt, in order to play second violin," whereupon his father told him to go away at once, and not interrupt us any longer.

Wolfgang began to cry bitterly, and slunk away with his little violin. I interceded for him to be allowed to play with me, and at last his father said: "Play with Herr Schachtner then, but not so as to be heard, or you must go away at once." So it was settled, and Wolfgang played with me. I soon remarked with astonishment that I was quite superfluous; I put my violin quietly down, and looked at your father, down whose cheeks tears of wonder and delight were running; and so he played all the six trios. When we had finished, Wolfgang grew so bold from our applause that he declared he could play first violin. We let him try for the sake of the joke, and almost died of laughter to hear him play, with incorrect and uncertain execution, certainly, but never sticking fast altogether.

In conclusion: Of the delicacy and refinement of his ear.

Until he was almost ten years old, he had an insurmountable horror of the horn, when it was sounded alone, without other instruments; merely holding a horn towards him terrified him as much as if it had been a loaded pistol. His father wished to overcome this childish alarm, and ordered me once, in spite of his entreaties, to blow towards him; but, O! that I had not been induced to do it. Wolfgang no sooner heard the clanging sound than he turned pale, and would have fallen into convulsions, had I not instantly desisted.

This is, I think, all I can say in answer to your questions. Forgive my scrawl, I am too much cast down to do better.

I am, honoured Madam,

With the greatest esteem and affection,

Your most obedient Servant,

Andreas Schachtner,

Court Trumpeter.

Salzburg,

24 April 1792