E. F. Ellet

“ If I did not think you have joked with us, I would have had the wine poisoned for me in which I pledge an enemy of Mozart.”
“Have I called myself his enemy?” said the chapel-master. “Who would deny the man genius? I charge him only with a wrong use of it—and of music, which should bring us joy and happiness, not gloom and melancholy. What should I do with wine that did not make me merry like your champagne?”
“So merry,” grumbled the merchant, “that, truly, you have made yourself merry with us. But, Louis, why so thoughtful?” ”

“ In 1837, Liszt felt the earnest desire of poetical spirits, to visit the great world. The swan also spreads her silver wings, and sails southward, towards the land of beauty and song; of art and antiquity—towards Italy. That is peculiarly the land of song; it is well known how the heart there opens to, and welcomes all that bears the name of music. From Milan to Venice, from Florence to Naples, a dazzling flame of enthusiasm surrounded the artist. In all these places Liszt gave concerts, which were attended by crowded audiences. He abode some time in Rome, to the delight of the people ”

“ It seemed as if every eye in the assembly was fixed on the calm, noble face of the venerated artist; as if every heart beat with love for him; as if all feared to break the spell of hushed and holy silence. Then came, like a succession of heavenly melodies, the music of the “Creation,” and the listeners felt as if transported back to the infancy of the world.
At the words, “Let there be light, and there was light,” when all the instruments were united in one full burst of gorgeous harmony, emotion seemed to shake the whole frame of the aged artist. ”

“ Receive my thanks, father; you have given me much to-day!”
“I know, Friedemann, you at least appreciate and honor my design; so that I receive much from you. Such appreciation is most gratifying to us from those we love, and is the highest reward earth can bestow.”
“And you, father, have understood me?”
“Yes—grieve not over the judgment of others; yet while you endeavor to deserve the appreciation, the regard of your equals, labor to instruct those who cannot repay you thus. Will man assume more than higher powers—and only show to the best, that he belongs to the best! ”

“ Oh, can I believe it!” cried Louis, looking bewildered around him.
“The same!” said Ricco. And Nina herself confirmed the truth.
No longer doubting, the artist seized her fair hand, and drew her gently to his breast. Long, long, he held her there in silence; amazement—love—unspeakable rapture—deprived him of the power of speech.
At last Ricco, who had been walking up and down the room in great emotion, broke the silence. “Young friend,” he cried, “thou hast nobly borne the trial. Art is a divinity—and for the true artist, no sacrifice is too great! ”

“ Alas! those years of enthusiasm are flown; the harmony is broken! The flowers that mark the coming of spring, have no longer a voice for me; the startling thunder, that once spoke of the sunshine and beauty about to succeed the short-lived storm—has no significance; even the tones of that magnificent music fail to lift my soul to the height of devotion, inspiring her to mingle her adoration with the world-wide hymn of praise! My heart is hard and cold; but seldom roused, and relapsing into deadness when the brief excitement is over. I am older even in feeling than in years. ”

“ Have I not brought you all up happily, to be brave men, and skilful musicians? It is singular, Friedemann, that from my great grandfather down, all the sons of the Bach family have had taste and talent for music. Look you—as I wrote down my last fugue, I thought of my sons, and of you, particularly, and confessed myself happy! I used often to think I might write something, like the old masters, which, centuries hence, could edify and delight men—that they would love my memory. May I be forgiven if there was aught of worldly arrogance in the thought. ”

“ The simple, quiet life of this great man, has always possessed deep interest for me; and it has often occurred to me to represent to the public, in the form of a Tale of Art, that important period in which he saved Music from the ban which hung over her. But I have relinquished the idea; for in Palestrina’s life, as in his works, there seems nothing made up. All lies before us so simple, so noble, so sun-like clear, that it would be quite impossible by aid of the most ingenious fiction, to paint it more lovely and elevated than is the plain reality. ”

“ You feel not where a work of art strikes the heart. When Leporello’s mask is fallen, and Elvira, who should sink back in despair, or rise in the invincible might of revenge, sings so passionately with the other five voices—as if nothing more had happened to her than Zerlina,—I feel my blood boil! Would our Rossini have done the like? In his polonaises you feel the dolor of love: could you only understand the heavenly melodies as the maestro himself conceived them! The notes are not—indeed—but he dreamed of a singer such as your wooden German never thought of ”

“ The history of all time has proved that a great mind can only be discerned and estimated at its full value by a kindred one. Liszt’s appreciation of Beethoven is an indication of his own superiority as an artist. It may truly be said, this admiration and love are without parallel. Where is to be found one like him, whose whole being, productive, creative, combining—forming—expansive—has so passed into that of his exemplar, and lives on, not in slavish imitation, but with free and kindred impulse—working with the same will? ”

“ The impression his magical performance left with me was deeper than I could express; by it I have modeled and improved my own. Yes, I am indebted to this strange appearance—this revelation, I might call it—for perhaps the greatest part of my fame!”
I heard this relation of the great artist with astonishment. Then I owned to him that I had found in his playing some resemblance to that of the unfortunate stranger. It seemed as if Rode had apprehended and followed the first flights of that wild spirit.
We parted. I have hope still so mighty a genius must one day sway the world. ”

“ I am an unhappy man, and deserve not your anger, but rather your sympathy. When a boy, I heard it daily repeated by my parents and family, that I had extraordinary talent for music; that I should become a great composer, and one day acquire both wealth and reputation. In this hope I applied myself zealously to art, hard as it was to me. My first work of importance was looked on as a miracle in the town where I lived; this strengthened me in the opinion of my abilities, and I thought I had only to go to a great city, to reap renown and gold without measure. I went to Vienna ”

“ But tell me, Master Händel, supposing it true, that the court and nobles often do you injustice; that our musicians and singers are inferior to those in your own country; that we cannot grasp all the high spirit that dwells in your works; are you not, nevertheless, the darling of the people of Britain? Lives not the name of Händel in the mouth of honest John Bull, honored as the names of his most renowned statesmen? ”

“ Louis looked at the speaker with open eyes.
“Your masters, also, despair of you. The court organist accuses you of conceit and obstinacy; your father reproaches you; and all your acquaintance pronounce you a boy of tolerable abilities, spoiled by an ill disposition.”
The lad sighed.
“The gloom of your condition increases your distaste to all studies not directly connected with music, for you feel the need of her consolations. Your compositions, wild, melancholy as they are, embody your own feelings, and are understood by none of the connoisseurs.”
“Who are you?” cried Louis—in deep emotion. ”

“ Shall I, whose spirit has flagged in the race, long ere the goal was won, pluck at inferior honors? Shall I cumber the arena to dishearten others, when I can obtain no prize? How am I to inspire the public with confidence when I have lost it in myself? How can I kindle passion in others, who am dead to its fires? No, Count Albert, I have become insensible to the deepest, the highest wonders of music. I will not insult her by a dragging, desperate mediocrity. ”

“ Our artist was fain to avail himself of this invitation, and became a frequent visitor. He was conscious of a strong partiality for Nina, which she did not, however, seem to return; at least she treated him with a degree of caprice which he could not help fearing proceeded from levity of mind. Painful was the struggle in his breast; her beauty, frankness, and goodness of heart charmed him, while her utter want of sympathy with all his tastes and pursuits, was a perpetual vexation to him. She seemed to regard music only as a science of sounds, and to be insensible to its life and power ”

“ His great symphonies, which carried the fame of the composer to its highest point, displayed the same triumph of religious principle.
Once more we find Beethoven, in the extreme decline of life. In one of the most obscure and narrow streets of Vienna, on the third floor of a gloomy-looking house, was now the abode of the gifted artist. For many weary and wasting years he had been the prey of a cruel malady, that defied the power of medicine for its cure, and had reduced him to a state of utter helplessness. His ears had been long closed to the music that owed its birth to his genius ”

“ If he drink much to-night, ’tis all in honor of his fair Faustina. Well—” he lifted his glass, to drink with Friedemann.
“I am sorry for him,” replied Bach; “but why not separate himself from the wife no longer worthy his esteem and love? they say it is out of gratitude for her having taken care of him when an unknown youth; but this gratitude is weakness, and will be the destruction not only of the man, but of the artist. All his works show too well what is wanting in him—namely: strength. In everything he writes there is a softness, the offspring of deep, hidden sorrow. ”

“ His, like the angels, is ever fresh and young.”
“I agree,” replied his friend, “in your judgment of the mind of Haydn. All the harmony and grace of nature, in her magnificent and beautiful forms, in her varied life, breathe in his music. But I like something deeper, even if it be gloomy. There is a hidden life, which the outward only represents; a deep voice, the echo of that which we hear. The poet, the musician, should interpret and reveal what the ordinary mind does not receive.”
“Beethoven’s symphonies, then, will please you better?” ”

“ In the same arbor, opposite the tavern, sat merry Jobst fiddling as before, and beside him pretty Elschen, playing the harp and singing; and between them, on the ground, sat a little chubby-faced boy about three years old, who had a small board, shaped like a violin, hung about his neck, on which he played with a willow twig as with a genuine fiddle-bow. The most comical and surprising thing of all was, that the little man kept perfect time, pausing when his father paused and his mother had solo, then falling in with him again, and demeaning himself exactly like his father. ”

“ She is so young, so sensitive, so ill able to sustain herself against the many trials of an artiste——”
“And is it you who talk thus?” asked the Marchese, surprised. “You, who sacrificed opulence, rank, friends, for the love of art—to share the fortunes of a votary of music!”
“I am the better able,” said the lady, smiling, “to judge of its consolations. Of its triumphs I say nothing; for I would not have Marietta influenced by the least whisper of vanity in her choice for life!”
“You are then undetermined as to your daughter’s embracing the profession of music?” cried Ronza, astonished. ”

“ His clear spirit could discover the folly and worthlessness of popular idolatry, and scorn to win it by means he felt to be unworthy his genius.
Three years passed, in which the name of Liszt was but seldom, and at intervals, heard. The lives of gifted men seem to need such pauses to prepare for a full development of what is within them. The electric fluid must be gathered in secret, before the lightning of genius can break on the dazzled eyes of men, and its thunder amaze the world.
What he did during this interval, says Fétis, few know, notwithstanding the enthusiasm he everywhere excited. ”

“ Bellini is dead!” she cried, and began to weep bitterly.
I was amazed. “Bellini dead!” the great master, whose noble creations had enchanted me but a few hours before! Sad news, indeed! and grievous it was to think how early he had been called from us; he, so admirable as an artist—so honored and beloved as a man! I felt even disposed to murmur at the painful dispensation.
After a few moments’ indulgence of emotion, Francilla endeavored to compose herself. She pressed her handkerchief to her eyes, rose and went for her album, to show me the drawing I had sent her for the volume. ”