Louis Spohr's Autobiography Translated from the German (part 3 of 4)

Louis Spohr's Autobiography Translated from the German (part 3 of 4)

By the most beautiful weather we to-day enjoyed the singularly splendid view from the tower of St. Mark, which is ascended very conveniently by a spiral ascent without steps. The view is truly enchanting! On one side one sees over the extensive mass of houses to the mainland, in the distance the snow-covered mountains of the Friaul; on the other side the harbour with its varied and busy life, the Islands covered with handsome churches and buildings; and in the back-ground the open sea. I do not remember having ever seen so beautiful a view from any tower, not even from that of St. Michael’s at Hamburg.

At 4 o’clock we visited the church of the Foundling, where a mass was being performed by the female foundlings. The orchestra and choir were composed entirely of young girls; an old instructress of music gave the time, another accompanied on the organ. There was more to be seen than to be heard, for the composition and execution were execrable. The girls playing the violin, flute, and horns, looked strange enough; the contra-bassist was unfortunately not to be seen, being hidden behind the trellis. There were some good voices among them, and one quite remarkable, which sang up to g on the fourth leger line (g^3); but the style of singing of all was horrid.

We have made the acquaintance of several lovers of music, the two Counts Tomasini, and Signors Contin, Filigran, and several others whose names I do not know. The two former are assisting me greatly in making arrangements for my Concert, and if at the present bad time of the year for business, when every body of note is in the country, I should have a tolerable Concert, I shall have them to thank for it.

To-day we had a visit from a German musician, Herr Aiblinger, from Munich, and a pupil of Winter, who has been residing in Venice for the last sixteen years. He is a pianist and composer, and seems to possess much real taste for his art. At least he complained to us, with a most piteous face, that in this country it was impossible for him to keep pace with his German brothers in art, because he had scarcely ever the good fortune to hear a German work of any note, and that with his enthusiasm for music, his heart was fit to break; that his circumstances bound him to a city where, for sixteen years, he had heard every year the same things over again, while the Germans, in the meantime, had witnessed the production of so many classic works. I afterwards saw some of his productions, and it is much to be regretted that he has been confined in this Siberia of art. In order to give me an idea how little art and artists were esteemed, even by gentlemen who wished to pass for Mæcenas’s, he related to me an anecdote of what occurred to Bärmann of Munich, who was here last winter with Demoiselle Harles. Count Herizo, a very rich nobleman, who, during the winter, gives a concert at his house every week, to which he frequently invites as many as two hundred persons, besought Bärmann, through a third party, to play at one of them. The latter had himself already announced a public concert, and presuming that it would be greatly to his disadvantage if he played elsewhere before, he declined the invitation, but promised to play after his own concert. On the same day, however, Count Herizo gave one of his customary grand concerts in which “the Creation” was performed, I believe for the first time in Venice; and Bärmann had so thin an attendance, that to cover the expenses of the concert he was obliged to add forty francs from his own pocket. Nevertheless a week afterwards, Count Herizo repeated his invitation to Bärmann, who now, however, demanded a gratification of twelve Louisd’or. After much debate this was at length agreed to. But Bärmann shortly after was apprised that it was intended to play off a hoax upon him. To avoid this he wrote anew to decline the invitation, and went on a pleasure excursion with Harles to the mainland. Upon his return, a friend of Count Herizo’s came to inquire of him the reason why he would not play, and on being told, he assured him upon his honour that nothing of the kind was intended, and that Bärmann had not the least to fear; upon which the latter gave his promise to appear at the next concert. He was very politely received by Count Herizo, and the music began. After the space of an hour, when six pieces had been performed, Bärmann was curious to know when his turn would come; he therefore asked the loan of a programme from his neighbour, and found at the end of the whole of the pieces of music, which at least would last two hours more, the following words: “If time will permit, Herr Bärmann will also perform a concerto on the clarinet.” His rage may be imagined. Count Herizo is reported then to have said to him at the end of the concert, in a loud tone of voice: “We have no time to hear you this evening, but we shall perhaps another time!” and in this manner he was cheated of his pecuniary gratification. Bärmann immediately slunk out, but in so doing was so unfortunate as to mistake the way, and instead of taking the passage leading out upon the street, plumped right into the canal. Fortunately the gondoliers plying near the spot came to his assistance, and soon pulled him out. Half-perished with cold, and highly exasperated, he returned home. Next morning he was summoned before the police by Count Herizo. The director of police, after the matter had been explained to him by Bärmann, had nevertheless courage sufficient to justify Bärmann, and to point out to Count Herizo the rudeness of his conduct. Under such circumstances, however, Bärmann thought it advisable to hasten his departure, especially as a suspicious-looking fellow had been making inquiries about the hours of his going out of evenings. Fräulein Harles, also, came badly off. In the first opera she gave tolerable satisfaction, and fault was found only with her bad accent; but on the first representation of the second opera, she was so disconcerted, in her very first scene, by the loud talking, coughing, and laughing of the audience, that she ran off the stage in the middle of her aria, and fell down behind the scenes like one dead. She was seized with an inflammation of the throat, and, during the whole winter, was unable to sing any thing else but the speaking recitatives. All pièces d’ensemble and both finales were sung without her, and yet, as she could find no substitute, she was obliged to appear before the public every evening. The managers deserve praise, for they played her no underhand tricks, but paid her according to the agreement made.

October 15.

There are two kinds of dilettanti-concerts given here. One takes place every fortnight at the Fenice theatre, under the direction of Count Tomasini. At the one at which I was present Teresa Sessi, who was formerly engaged at Vienna, sang two airs, a duet, and a quartet, with much applause, in her old style, which is neither better nor worse. Besides her, a dilettante attracted the attention of the auditory by singing several buffo things in the genuine Italian caricature style. All the rest, particularly the composition and execution of the ouvertures, was, as is usual in Italy, exceedingly bad.

The other is a sort of practice concerts, and takes place once a week, under the direction of Signor Contin. With the exception of some of the wind instruments and of the bass-viols, the orchestra is wholly composed of dilettanti, and the pieces performed consist mostly of symphonies and overtures by German masters. But a proper study of these works is quite out of the question, and it is considered matter of gratulation if they are got through without coming to a stillstand. On the day I was present, a very old symphony of Krommer’s was performed first, which was followed by the one in E flat major by Andrew Romberg.

For the finale I was solicited to direct Beethoven’s second symphony in D major, which I could not refuse. But I had a rare job with the orchestra, for they were accustomed to quite other tempi than I took, and seemed not at all to understand that there are shades of forte and piano in music, for all worked with bow and breath as hard and incessantly as they could, and my ears rang the whole night with the infernal noise. But these practice concerts are nevertheless so far good that they afford the lovers of music in Venice the opportunity of hearing several of our classical instrumental compositions, such as the overtures to “Don Juan” and the “Zauberflöte,” which they had not hitherto been acquainted with; and, though but imperfectly, they learn to feel that the Germans are immensely superior to them in that kind of composition. Indeed they say so themselves, but they do not thoroughly believe it, and only acknowledge it, in order to be enabled to boast with more freedom of their superiority in song and vocal compositions (!!). The self-satisfaction of the Italians, despite their poverty of fancy is in fact unbearable; whenever I executed in their presence any of my things, they thought they could pay me no higher compliment than when they assured me they were quite Italian in taste and style.

October 16.

To-day in the forenoon, in company with three Silesians, we went to the ancient palace of the Doges. The so-called golden stair case was the first thing that attracted our attention. It is outside the building as far as the first floor, is of the finest marble, and ornamented with colossal statues of beautiful proportions. Up to the second and third stories it is in the interior of the building, and there is richly decorated on the sides with marble bas-reliefs, on the ceiling with gilt mouldings and small fresco-paintings, and with very fine statues in the niches. We then saw an extensive suite of salons and apartments, which were truly grand in decoration, the walls and the ceilings are painted in oil by the best masters, and here and there at intervals are the richest and most beautiful sculptured ornaments I ever beheld. The subjects of these pictures are almost exclusively incidents in the history of Venice; Doges returning thanks to the Holy Virgin for victories achieved, or the surrender of the keys of some one of the fortresses besieged by the Venetians, etc. etc. Despite the want of good taste in the bringing together, in these paintings, of heavenly and earthly personages, the execution and grouping of each, particularly in those by Paul Veronese, is exceedingly fine. Altogether in my opinion, there is no kind of decoration so befitting and worthy of a princely palace as this, in which the deeds of the nation are immortalized at the same time with the name of the most skilful national artist. In the present day how little feeling exists for this kind of patriotism! Where up to the present day is there to be seen any painting illustrating the modern deeds of heroism of the Germans, executed by the order of a Sovereign? And yet how greatly the artists of the present day are in want of such encouragement and support! And I am here speaking of painters and sculptors only; poets and musicians ought also to have been invited to immortalize the deeds of the German people.

We came at last to the great library, which contains also a perfect treasure of paintings and antique statues. From the gallery of this hall one has a charming view of the harbour.--In order to be enabled to make a comparison between the style of decorating palaces in former time with the modern method, we visited the apartments in the government building fitted up by order of the former Viceroy. We found them pretty and convenient, it is true; but what a difference between the earnest splendour of that ancient palace and the tasteless ornamentation of the new! Instead of the marble bas-reliefs and the rich gilt mouldings and ornaments of the latter, here we found slovenly painted arabesques by the hands of unknown daubers, and the walls hung with silk tapestry or figured paper instead of the pictures of famous masters.

October 17.

Yesterday Paganini returned here again from Trieste, and therefore, as it would appear, has at once abandoned his project of going to Vienna. He called on me this morning, and so I have at length made the personal acquaintance of this wonderful man, of whom since I have been in Italy I have heard some story or other every day. No instrumentalist ever charmed the Italians so much as he, and although they are not very fond of instrumental concerts, yet he gave more than a dozen concerts in Milan and five here. On making nearer enquiry, what it is that he in reality fascinates his auditory with, one hears from the non-musical portion the most exaggerated encomiums--that he is a complete wizard, and brings tones from his violin which were never heard before from that instrument. Connoisseurs, on the other hand, say that it cannot be denied he certainly possesses a great dexterity with the left hand, in double-chords and in passages of every kind, but that the very thing by which he fascinates the crowd debases him to a mere charlatan, and does not compensate for that in which he is utterly wanting--a grand tone, a long bow-stroke, and a tasteful execution. But that by which he captivates the Italian public and which has acquired for him the name of the “Inimitable,” which is even placed under his portraits, consists, on a nearer enquiry, in a succession of feats which, in the dark times of good taste, the once so famous Scheller performed in the small towns and some capitals of Germany, and which at that time equally excited the admiration of our countrymen, viz, in the flageolet tones; in variations upon one string, in which for the purpose of imposing more upon the audience, he takes off the other three strings of the violin; in a peculiar kind of pizzicato, produced with the left hand without the help of the right or of the bow; and in many tones quite unnatural to the violin, such as the bassoon tone, the voice of an old woman, etc. etc.--As I never heard the wonderful Scheller, whose saying was: “One God! one Scheller!” I should much like to hear Paganini play in his peculiar manner, and the more so, because I presume that so admired an artist must possess some more real merits than those adverted to.

The origin of his present skill as a virtuoso is said to have been a four years incarceration, to which he was condemned, for strangling his wife in a fit of violent rage. Such, at least, is the public report in Milan and here also. As from a wholly neglected education he could amuse himself neither with writing nor reading, he cheered the ennui of the tedious hours of his existence in the invention and practise of all the tricks of art with which he now astonishes all Italy. By his disobliging and rude behaviour he has made enemies of several of the lovers of music here, and they, after I have played any thing before them at my lodgings, extol me upon every opportunity at Paganini’s expense, in order to annoy him, which is not only very unjust, since between two artists of such entirely different style no parallel can be drawn; but is also disadvantageous to me, because it makes all Paganini’s admirers and partizans my enemies. His opponents have inserted a letter in the journals, in which they say that my play recalls to them the style of their veteran violinists, Pugnani and Tartini, whose grand and dignified manner of handling the violin has become wholly lost in Italy, and had been compelled to make room for the petty and childish manner of their virtuosi of the present day; while the Germans and French had understood how to adapt that noble and simple method of play to the taste of modern times. This letter, which appeared in to-day’s paper without my knowledge, will certainly do me rather harm than good with the public, for the Venetians are firmly persuaded that it is impossible to come up to Paganini, much less to surpass him.

October 19.

Our concert took place yesterday, and was better attended than I had expected, since all who have the means to go into the country, or who are not tied to the city by very urgent business, are away, and of all my letters of recommendation the only one I have been yet able to deliver is the one to the governor Count Goes. Neither is it worth the trouble, to bring letters of introduction to Italians, for they are of no manner of use. A cold offer of their services, which they do not intend to give, is all that one gets from them. But I must return to the concert. It took place in the St. Luca theatre, which, next to the Fenice, is the largest and handsomest in Venice. The proprietor, Signor Vendremi, let me have it on the condition that I should relinquish to him two-thirds of the sale of the boxes which were not private property. There exists, namely, a curious custom in Italy, which is, that certain boxes are sold to private individuals for as long as the house stands, whereby the proprietor of the house abandons all right to them. But these proprietors of boxes must pay the price for admission at the entrance the same as everybody else. This is the same for every part of the house, and always a very low one; with the boxes which remain in the hands of the proprietor of the theatre rare bargains are sometimes driven, and on the performance of very attractive pieces they are frequently paid as high as several carolini. Yesterday very little was taken for the boxes, so that signor Vendremi did not profit much. From the coldness of the public at the commencement of my play, I immediately observed that there was a prejudice against me; but by degrees it subsided, and towards the close of the concert the applause was so unanimous, that I was twice called for. All that I afterwards played now found a much more ready reception, and the clapping of hands was as boisterous as in Milan.

To-day there has also appeared in the paper a very favorable report upon yesterday’s concert, in which it says, in reference to the letter adverted to, that it is unjust and partial to endeavour to praise one style at the expense of another, and that there should be no monopoly of any one genre in art: in which report, however, it also says of me, among other things, “that I unite the Italian sweetness with all the depth of study peculiar to our nation, and that I must be acknowledged to take rank among the first of living violinists--encomiums therefore, such as might content the vainest artist.”

October 20.

Paganini called upon me early this morning to compliment me upon the concert. I very urgently solicited him to play something, and several musical friends who were at my place united their entreaties to mine. But he very bluntly refused, and excused himself on account of a fall, the effects of which he still felt in the arms. Afterwards, when we were alone, and I again besought him, he said, his style of play was calculated for the great public only, and with them never failed in its effect; and that if he was to play anything to me, he must play in a different manner, and for that he was at the moment by no means in the humour; but that we should probably meet in Rome or Naples, and then he would not put me off with a refusal. I shall therefore leave this place in all probability without hearing the wonderful man.

This morning, on going out, we had the wholly unexpected pleasure of meeting Meyerbeer and all his family. He is now returned from a tour through Sicily to meet his parents here, who have not seen him for five years: he will then turn back through Florence and Rome to Naples, to be present at the opening of the new theatre of St. Carlo. It was a real enjoyment to me to be able once more to converse with a well-educated German artist on subjects of art. His brother gave me the gratifying information that my opera “Faust” had been performed in Prague. On their journey through they were present at a rehearsal of it. I now look forward with hope to more detailed information respecting its representation.

At the theatre St. Moise we were present at the first performance of the old opera “Don Papirio,” which had been studied with great attention by the vocalists and the orchestra. The prima donna, Madame Marchesini, already somewhat passée, distinguished herself greatly on that evening by good execution and clever acting. The buffo singer, whose name I do not remember, was also very excellent.

Bologna, October 25.

Late on Monday evening we left Venice by the “mail boat.” As the wind was very favorable, we performed the first part of the journey by water, as far as where the canal falls into the Lagunes, very quickly. Twice, for a short distance, we crossed a part of the open sea, that is the great and lesser harbour of Chiozza, where the motion of our bark was so violent from the roughness of the sea, that Dorette and the children were regularly sea-sick. I only escaped this affliction by seating myself on the deck in the fresh air. When we had run into the canal, and afterwards into the Po, where the boat was towed by horses, it went slowly and quietly enough, so that I soon went to fetch up the patients. As I am told here, that the rich people of the town are still in the country, and that even at the most favorable season of the year concerts scarcely cover their expenses, we shall abandon the idea of giving one here, and continue our journey to Florence to-morrow morning by vetturino.

Florence, October 28.

The journey here over the Apennines, with very fine weather, was exceedingly pleasant. The mountains, though of a considerable height, are wooded almost to their summits, and the trees and bushes, were now rich with the most beautiful colours of their autumnal garb. The valley in which Florence lies presents a highly charming prospect. When one looks down upon the beautiful gardens and country seats, one seems to be entering a very Paradise.

November 2.

Florence does not quite come up to the expectations one forms of it from the description of over-enthusiastic travellers. Dresden is called the German Florence, but is not much honoured by the parallel. The situation of Dresden, as well as the city itself, are incomparably finer. The Arno is a dirty, mean-looking river, and is not in the least to be compared with the majestic Elbe. The four bridges which lead over it and connect the two parts of the town are certainly good and substantial, but not so long or so elegant as that of Dresden. Neither has Florence such fine buildings nor such handsome squares as Dresden, and excels it alone in its treasures of art of every kind. Of these there are so many here, that one can scarcely find time to see them all. On the square in front of the ancient palace stand several groups of colossal statues in marble and bronze of the most celebrated of the old masters, which make of this square, otherwise so irregular and unattractive, one of the most interesting in the world for connoisseurs in art. A group in marble, representing the rape of a Sabine, especially charmed us. From this square it is not far to the cathedral, a gigantic building with a cupola, which in circumference and height is said to be little inferior to St. Peter’s at Rome. The exterior is somewhat too party-coloured and not very tasteful; the walls are inlaid with tables of marble of different colours, which present a variety of patterns. Near the church stands a very lofty square clock-tower, which is ornamented in the same manner. Belonging thereto, although isolated from it, is also a christening chapel built in the same style, and also with a tolerably high dome. Here are the celebrated gates of bronze, of which Michael Angelo said they were worthy to stand at the entrance to the abode of the blessed, as they were too beautiful for any earthly building. There are three of them, two of which are executed and ornamented in the same style. But the single one is by far the handsomest and has far larger bas-reliefs than the other two. In the whole world is not to be seen any thing more beautiful in the grouping, drawing, perspective, softness and purity of the work than these bas-reliefs.

In another church we saw a succession of tombs, among which those of Michael Angelo, Nardini, and Alfieri interested us greatly. On the tomb of the former is his bust, executed with his own hand, and three female figures (by one of his pupils) personifying the three arts in which he excelled: architecture, painting, and sculpture, mourning for his loss. What however does it not confer upon the artists who merited such memorials of their worth, and upon their contemporaries also who raised them to them! Where can one find anything of the kind in Germany? Where have Mozart and Haydn the memorials to their honour? In Vienna no one even knows where they are buried.

November 5.

On the day we arrived, and almost every evening since, we have been to the theatre in the Via della Pergola. They are now giving an opera of Rossini’s, “L’Italiana in Algeri,” and a grand ballet. Rossini is now the favorite composer of the Italians, and several of his operas, “Tancredi,” “Il Turco in Italia,” and the above-named, are performed with great applause in almost every town in Italy. I was therefore glad, after having heard his compositions so frequently and highly praised in Milan and Venice, to hear something of his myself. This opera has, however, not wholly satisfied my expectations; in the first place it is wanting, like all Italian music, in purity of style, characteristic proprieties in the personages, and judicious calculation of the length or shortness of the music for the scene. These indispensable qualities of an opera to which we would give the appellation classic, I had however not expected, as we do not at all miss them in an Italian opera. One is accustomed to have the same person sing alternately in the tragic and comic style, and to hear from a peasant girl the same pompous vocal ornamentation as from a queen or a heroine, and to hear one of the persons performing sing alone, for a quarter of an hour at a time, in situations of the most impassioned kind, while the others walk about in the back-ground, or partly behind the scenes, and chat and laugh with their acquaintances. But I did indeed expect qualities which should distinguish Rossini’s work above that of his colleagues--novelty of ideas, for instance; purity of harmony, etc.; but of all these I found but little. What the Italians consider new in Rossini’s operas is not new to us; for they consist of ideas and modulations for the most part long since known in Germany; for instance the appoggiatura in the bass at the beginning of the much-admired duett in the first act:

[Music]

which the musicians in Florence boasted of to me as something quite new, and discovered by Rossini. In Milan, where I heard the same duet at a concert, it was probably found too hard, and the fifth and sixth measures were thus changed:

[Music]

Or the following modulation, also, at the finale of the first act:

[Music]

Purity of harmony is not to be found in him any more than in any other modern Italian composer; and I have heard many sequences of quints like the following:

[Music]

But in attention to the rhythm and in the complete use he makes of the orchestra, he distinguishes himself above his countrymen.

The instrumentation, however, as compared with ours, first introduced by Mozart, is still very meagre, and the Italians in that still cling too much to the old. The viols and bassoons almost always go through the whole opera col Basso, and the clarinets and hautboys in Unisono. As in most Italian operas with from six to eight contra-basses there is only one violincello, and usually not even a good one, they as yet know nothing here of the (since Mozart’s day) frequent use of the violincello for middle voices, which, skilfully brought in, has such a splendid effect; and they are far behind the Germans in the knowledge of how to get the best effect from the wind instruments. But what surprised me most, was to hear sometimes in these operas a very uneven cantabile, while a flowing and for the voice grateful and well arranged cantabile is the only praise-worthy quality of the modern Italian operatic music, and must compensate for all the deficiencies and faults. The two following passages struck me most; the first in an aria of the prima donna, the second, in the first finale, where it frequently recurs:

[Music]

[Music]

Both these passages are not only unsingable but exceedingly insipid, and the second especially, from the somewhat slow movement and its frequent recurrence, is wholly unbearable.

Among the singers in this opera, Madame Georgi, the prima donna, is the only remarkable one. She has a full, powerful voice of rare compass, from

[Music]

to

[Music]

Her part is written for a contralto, and she can therefore exhibit her high notes in the fiorituri only; if she possesses equal power in the low notes a deep soprano part would suit her much better. Like almost every singer we have yet heard in Italy she has the vice of ornamenting too much, and does not know how to derive all the advantage she might from her splendid voice. One hears very plainly, moreover, that she does not draw in the least upon her own spontaneous feeling and taste, but everything has been studied; so that her fiorituri, which are repeated every evening, note for note, become so wearisome that one cannot hear her again without repugnance. She was formerly a dillettante, and only now sings in the third theatre; but nevertheless she is already an excellent actress.

The ballet, which is given every evening between the two acts of the opera, is the most splendid of any I have ever yet seen. I think it is called “The Destruction of the Western Empire,” and is especially remarkable for the constant introduction of great masses of persons on the stage in full activity who form the boldest and most surprising groups. It has been studied with extraordinary correctness, and is performed every evening with the same precision. At the end a cavalry engagement was represented, which however always looks somewhat stiff and awkward.

November, 8.

Last evening our concert took place in the theatre della Pergola. The Grand-duke, to whom I brought a letter from his brother Rudolph, and who has received me several times very graciously at his residence, honoured it with his presence, accompanied by his whole family. The small though select auditory was very animated, and after having greeted the Grand-duke with the usual recognitions, were not restrained from a loud expression of applause of my performances. The music had a very good effect in the spacious and sonorous theatre; but the accompaniment was not of the best.--To-day I have received a great number of invitations to give a second concert next week, from which I am promised a better result. I shall make the venture, although the Grand-duke, who goes to-morrow to Pisa to meet his brother Rainer, will not be here. Yesterday’s concert, exclusive of the Archduke’s present to me, did not bring in more than the evening’s expenses, which were, as they always are, very considerable; the price of admission being only three paoli, and all disposition over the sale of a single box being again denied me. A very favorable notice of my concert appeared this afternoon in the newspaper.

November, 12.

As we have now been several times to the picture-gallery, and attentively observed all that it contains, I will commit to paper a few words, not upon the truly splendid works of art which it contains, for they have already been frequently and well described, but also the expression of the impression which they made upon me. I must first of all give due praise to the admirable custom, one by no means usual in Italy, of admitting the public to the gallery free. At the entrance one finds a notice in four or five languages, that the guardians of the gallery are forbidden under the penalty of the loss of their situation, to take the smallest present. Though perhaps they may not altogether adhere too strictly to this injunction, one is at least fully secured from the importunate begging, with which one is everywhere pursued in Italy, and in this place, made sacred by art, gives oneself peacefully up to the enjoyment.

To assist my memory hereafter I have sketched a plan of the gallery and marked the position where the works of art stand which made the greatest impression upon me. As I never make use either of a guide or a book to find the objects worthy of observation in a city (I am averse to all dictation as what I should admire, and never permit myself to be deprived of the pleasure of finding for myself the works of art in a gallery which are known to me by reputation), therefore it is very possible that I have erred in many instances. On the first day I looked for a long time and with attention at the works of art which are in the gallery proper, before the apartments were opened in which the most choice are situated. I am even now glad I did so, as afterwards, when I had seen the most perfect specimens of art, I could never again remain for any length of time with the works exhibited in the gallery. One exception to this was the group of the Laocoon, which I always contemplated with renewed admiration. When the sanctuary of art was thrown open we first beheld the celebrated Medicean Venus, whose perfect and surpassingly beautiful form is yet more thrown out by the large curtain of red-velvet suspended behind her. In the same rotunda with her are the greatest master-pieces ever produced by the chisel and by the brush: the Apollo del Belvedere[23] and Raphael’s St. John. To contemplate and admire in these three works of art the highest ideal of human beauty is an enjoyment quite peculiar in its kind. After reiterated contemplation and long hesitation I gave the palm for beauty to the St. John. Any thing more charming and at the same time more noble than the whole form of this Youth cannot be imagined by the most lively fancy. What may have contributed somewhat to this decision on my part is the circumstance that the Apollo as well as the Venus are of a three-quarter-life size, a proportion which seems to be not quite happily chosen, as the figures being so nearly the real size of life, always appear to be wanting in something, which, if they were smaller, would not be the case. The Apollo has nevertheless a rather too feminine beauty, which not I alone, but my wife also and several other persons present remarked. In this apartment are numerous other master-pieces, among which a head by Raphael, the Venus of Titian; and a group of gladiators in marble, excited most our admiration. Of the pictures arranged according to the schools in the side apartments, the head of a female, by Carlo Dolce, pleased me most; but one soon returns again to the gems of the whole collection. On the other side of the building, in two apartments, is the collection of Bronzes, among which the celebrated flying Mercury excites the most admiration. In another saloon is a collection of Niobes, among which are some beautiful works of art. Besides these we saw innumerable portraits of celebrated masters, for the most part painted by themselves.

[23] This is the Apollino. Spohr himself corrects this error at a subsequent part of his narrative.

November 13.

Behind the residence of the Grand-duke is a large garden called, I know not why, Boboli. It is open to all on Sundays and Fridays. Last Sunday we went there for the second time, and afterwards heard mass in the Court-chapel. The Grand-duke, who has a collection of between three and four-hundred masses of celebrated masters of every period, had given out upon this occasion one of Michael Haydn’s for performance; it was executed with tolerable precision, but it was found necessary to play a very simple solo for the tenor-trumpet upon the viol. The musicians asked me afterwards whether we had players on the trumpet in Germany who could execute such soli as that!

Upon our way back our hired lacquey pointed out to us the covered passage leading from the Grand-ducal residence to the water side, which passes through several streets at a considerable height, and after being carried across the river Arno over one of the bridges, and through a few more streets, abuts at the government buildings in which the gallery is also situated. This gallery, which is at least a quarter of an hour’s walk in length, is used by the Grand-duke when in wet weather he attends the sittings of the privy council.

November 15.

Our concert yesterday was not better attended than the first and therefore brought in nothing. I am now convinced that an instrumental-musician, even under the most favourable circumstances, can earn nothing in Florence; for in the first place the Italians esteem and like instrumental music too little, and in the second the price of admission is much too low in proportion to the considerable expenses. I must here observe, as somewhat worthy of note, that one part of the orchestra, namely, all the violinists, took no payment, which for people who must live from their daily earnings, and for Italians who, wherever possible, extort three times the price of every thing, is certainly very astonishing. For the rest, my play was received with still greater applause yesterday than the first time. Madame Georgi sang exceedingly well the admired cavatina (sung everywhere in Italy) in Rossini’s “Tancredi,” with the following theme:

[Music]

It was again to be deplored, that upon the return to the theme she overwhelmed it with so much ornamentation that one could recognise nothing of the original song. Signor Sbigoli, first tenor at the Pergolo theatre, who had also given his assistance at the first concert, again sang two airs in a good style, and with much exertion, but with little voice. He, like the singers in Venice and Milan who sang at my concerts, required payment, but was satisfied with the very moderate sum of a carolin for each concert.

This afternoon we, for a last excursion, strolled out to the Porta Romana, to see the fresco-painting, so celebrated from the circumstance which gave rise to it, and which adorns a small mean-looking house there. The following is related concerning it: The Medici had sent to Rome for the most famed masters of that time, to paint, I believe, the chapel al fresco. The Florentine painters first became informed of this upon the day previous to the arrival of the strangers, and jealous of the preference which they had attained, they resolved at least to shew them, that they were quite as well able to execute the work, which they were sent for to perform. They combined their abilities therefore, and in one night, by the light of torches, painted this large fresco-picture, of which it is true but few traces now remain, but which sufficiently attest the excellence of the work. As the house on which this painting is executed, is so situated that it must attract the immediate attention of all persons entering at this gate, the foreign artists immediately observed the work, which had been completed but a few hours before, and as modesty was not then so rare among artists as it is in the present day, they immediately turned back, and sent word to the Medici, that they could not understand why they had been written for, since Florence produced artists who could execute so admirable a work of art in the space of a single night, as they had beheld. As a matter of course the work was then given to the Florentines for execution.

We have fixed our departure for to-morrow. Some things of note, such for example as the tomb of the Medici, which we have not yet been able to see, we must defer until our return journey.

Rome, November 22.

We arrived at length last night, after a long and tedious journey, in the former capital of the world. The journey was rendered tedious, first by the slowness of our vetturino, the driver of which had taken up, besides ourselves, who had hired the interior of his vehicle for twelve Louisd’or (inclusive of night lodgings and supper), three other travellers in the so-called cabriolet, and therefore could only drive at a walking pace, secondly, by reason of the raw weather and the cold, which for Italy was very great, and against which so little shelter is found at the inns where we stopped for the night, where the windows and doors are always open a good hand’s breadth, the floors of stone, and the generally very lofty rooms not to be warmed by a chimney fire; thirdly, from the uninteresting and barren country through which the road passes. One has the choice of two roads. The one longer, but more interesting, by way of Perugia, a journey of seven days; the other through Sienna of six days. We took the latter. As far as Sienna it is not without interest, and it is a clean and a pretty town, which has moreover the reputation that the purest Italian is spoken there. But from there the road runs through numerous barren stretches of country. Neither houses nor trees are to be seen, and now and then only the melancholy testimonials of Roman justice, that is, high posts from which are suspended the arms and legs of bandits and murderers. How in a country whose soil yields without manure two harvests, one of corn and the other of maize, men should be compelled by hunger to subsist by robberies, is to me incomprehensible: but so it is. So long as corn is in abundance, all the roads are safe, but when hunger pinches, the sternest severity is unavailing. During the rule of the French knives were forbidden to be carried on the person on pain of the galleys; if any one drew a knife upon an opponent he was treated as a murderer and hung without mercy. By such measures the public security was soon re-established and for a long time one heard of no more assassinations. Now, though certainly those regulations still exist, they are not rigorously carried out: the previous insecurity prevails anew, and it is not safe to venture alone into the more lonely streets of the city.

Before we could drive to an inn, we were obliged to proceed to the custom-house, where our trunks and other luggage were inspected in the closest manner. For my violon, although it is an old one and for my own use, I was obliged to pay a duty of seven Paoli.

December 5.

[Music]

[Music]

This is the first music we heard in Rome, and since then have heard it so frequently, that I have been enabled to write it down easily. During the time of Advent, when all public music is forbidden, the theatres closed, and a real deathlike stillness prevails, whole troops of virtuosi on the bagpipe come from the Neapolitan territory, who play first before the pictures of the Virgin and Saints, and then collect in the houses and in the streets a viaticum, or travelling penny. They generally go in pairs, one playing the bagpipe and the other the shepherds-pipe. The music of all, with a few unimportant deviations, is the same, and is said to have its origin in a very ancient sacred melody; but from the way in which these people now play it, it sounds profane enough. Heard at a certain distance it nevertheless does not sound badly; the one who plays the bagpipe produces an effect somewhat as though three clarinets were blown, he of the shepherds-pipe a sound like that of a coarse powerful hautboy. The purity of the notes of the bag-pipe and shepherds-pipe is very striking. Wherever one now goes, be the part of the city which it may, one hears the above music.

Last Sunday Prince Frederick of Gotha took me to the famous Sestine Chapel, where I for the first time saw the Pope, surrounded by all the Cardinals in their fullest ecclesiastical splendour, and heard his celebrated singers of the choir. Whether it is that I am differently organized from other travellers, or that my expectations are always too exalted from the perusal of books of travel, neither the music, the place, nor the ecclesiastical ceremony pleased me, or impressed me with awe. The singers of the choir were about thirty in number, who comported themselves in a somewhat off-hand and uncouth manner. The soprani, for the most part old men, frequently sang false, and altogether the intonation was anything but pure. They commenced with melodies for two voices of very ancient date, which were declaimed by the singers rather than sung. Then followed some things for four voices, written in a condensed style, and arranged for the voices to fall in like in a catch. The composition of these seemed to me very dignified, in the genuine old ecclesiastical style, and well calculated for the place. The execution was correct, it is true, but, as we have said, too coarse, and not better than most of our German choristers could have sung the same kind of thing. Three and four-voiced soli interchanged alternately with the choir; sometimes one heard also the crescendo effected by the gradual and successive entry of the voices, and the diminuendo produced by the inverse process, which in the celebrated Miserere on Good Fridays is said to have so charming an effect. It had also a good effect to-day, but this can be equally obtained from any well-practised choir. The place is indeed extremely favorable to simple slow church music, as it is very sonorous and the voices blend well with one another; but I know several churches in Germany--for instance the castle chapel at Würzburg and the catholic church at Dresden--where music sounds even better. I became also, convinced anew, that vocal and instrumental music combined have a much finer effect than vocal music alone, which, after all is always somewhat monotonous, and, on account of its restricted limits, becomes tedious. But in the papal chapel there is never any instrumental music, being contrary to ecclesiastical etiquette. Lastly, as far as regards the ceremonies, which, according to the accounts of travellers, are on Good Friday of so elevating a character, and increase immensely the effects of the music, this was by no means the case on Sunday; on the contrary, many things took place which could not but appear ridiculous to an unprejudiced spectator; for instance, the frequently repeated removal, as though at the word of command, of the little red caps of the cardinals, the clumsy awkwardness of several of their attendants when carrying after them their long violet-coloured trains, and on handing to them and again taking off their caps, etc. I also felt indignant when I saw that the priests who read the mass, and the preacher, before he ascended the pulpit, threw themselves upon their knees before the Pope and kissed his red slipper; and how every time previous thereto two assistants fell upon one knee, spread out his capacious mantel and lifted his sacerdotal frock to enable him to raise his foot for them to kiss. Neither did any of his assistants hand any thing to him, not even his pocket handkerchief, without previously kneeling before him. What is this but a degradation of humanity?

The celebrated “Last Judgement” of Michael Angelo, and all the other fresco-paintings which decorate the chapel, have greatly suffered and are much blackened with smoke. But one can still see sufficient of the former, which covers the whole wall behind the altar, to admire the grandeur of the composition and the masterly touch of the artist in the execution.

After the mass the sacrament was presented to the Pope and all the Cardinals in the Pauline Chapel, which, illuminated by innumerable tapers, presented when first seen an imposing spectacle. As we got there first, we heard the chaunt of the choristers who walked at the head of the procession, approach by degrees nearer and nearer, which produced a fine crescendo. A silent prayer, during which all present remained kneeling, here closed the ceremony.

In Rome there are two private musical réunions: one, a kind of singing academy, takes place every Thursday at the house of its institutor, Sirletti, a teacher of singing and of the piano-forte. From thirty to five-and-thirty singers, mostly dilettanti, meet here, some of whom have very fine voices, as, for example, Madame Vera (née Häser) and the tenor, Signor Moncade. Up till now we have been there twice. The first day, in compliment to us Germans, they gave Mozart’s Requiem, and that very powerfully and purely; all the soli and the quartet were especially well sung. Madame Vera with her splendid sonorous organ, her firm intonation, and her fine management of the voice, sang her part in an irreproachable manner. The grand and very difficult fugue was in particular sung purely and well. The only disturbing influence upon the execution, which otherwise would have afforded us great enjoyment, was signor Sirletti’s pianoforte accompaniment from the score. It is true we ought not to have expected better; for where should an Italian teacher of singing and pianoforte get a knowledge of harmony sufficient to read and play correctly a score of Mozart’s? But as his deep (!) knowledge of harmony had been greatly extolled to me previously, I had certainly expected something better. He struck some such barbarous harmonies at times, that, could Mozart have heard him, he would have turned round in his grave. After the Requiem they sang a piece of Händel’s hitherto unknown to me, and, for the finale, the Halleluja; the latter in particular was powerfully and purely sung.

On the previous Thursday they had sung some of Marcello’s Psalms, for two and three voices. These Psalms, which the Italians consider classic master-pieces, and of which some years since a fine edition was published with long commentaries on the particular beauties of each Psalm, pleased me very well, but I did not find anything so very particular in them; on the contrary, I am persuaded, although I am not very familiar with the German works in this style, that we have compositions of the kind by Bach and others which are greatly superior to them. They appear to me, particularly in the form, to have been carelessly constructed, they deviate frequently for a length of time from the chief key, and then close immediately after the return to the tonic in a very unsatisfactory manner. Those for three voices begin generally with soprano and tenor, and the bass first enters with the repeat; but this third voice was never essential, and always sounded like an orchestral fundamental bass; there were however some among them in which the voices took up their parts as in a canon, and these were very remarkable. Nevertheless, on the whole, the part-writing and modulation were very monotonous, and the same intrate and appoggiaturas recurred in all. Signor Sirletti’s accompaniment was again also very disturbing in these Psalms, and particularly unpleasant to me was an impurity of some of the full chords, which in these simple three-voiced things was still more out of place. With that, like all Italians whom I have yet heard accompany, he has the execrable fashion practice of doubling the bass notes with the right hand, which with some accords, for instance 6/5 accords, sounds quite unbearable with the leading tone. That moreover, by this method octaves must arise in the solution, does not appear to trouble the Signori, nor are their ears offended by it. To me it was also exceedingly displeasing that some Germans who were present seemed so much delighted. What is the meaning of these grimaces? The Italians really might be induced to believe that we have never heard any thing so good in Germany. When will Germans cease to be the blind admirers and the apes of foreigners!

The other private musical réunion takes place every Monday, at the home of Signor Ruffini, the proprietor of the great manufactory of strings for instruments. Here operas are executed also by dilettanti as concert music, before an auditory of from 200 to 250 persons. The singers stand upon a slightly raised platform, and the orchestra, consisting of four violins, viol, violincello, double bass, two clarinets, two horns, and a bassoon, is disposed round them in a semi-circle on the level floor. Last Monday, when Prince Frederick took us there, an old opera buffo of Paisiello was given. The selection was certainly not the best concert music. The music of a comic opera can alone be produced with the desired effect upon the stage, combined with the proper action which belongs to it; but apart from that, this one appeared to me somewhat insipid. The execution both on the part of the singers and the orchestra, was equally bad; Signor Moncade, with his splendid tenor voice, was the only one worthy of remark. Between the two acts a dilettante executed the first Allegro of a clarinet concerto with much ability and a tolerably good tone, but without the least taste. He was another illustration of a remark I have already made, that Italian virtuosi and dilettanti direct their whole attention to the acquirement of mechanical skill, but as far as regards a tasteful style of execution, they form themselves very little after the good models which their best singers might be to them; while our German instrumentalists generally possess a very cultivated style and much feeling, which, without taking pattern of any one, they must find in themselves.

December 7.

As Rome, like other Italian cities, offers us no great musical treats (and even less than usual, at the present moment, as all the theatres are closed), we must, like all other travellers, content ourselves with the creations of architecture, painting, and sculpture of the former flourishing period of Italian art. Of these certainly there is a wealth such as is not to be found in any other city in the world. Wherever one goes--in the streets, in the squares, palaces, churches, and gardens--one sees everywhere columns, obelisks, statues, bas-reliefs and paintings. We first strolled through all the streets, in order to familiarise ourselves with the remains of ancient Roman architecture. The venerable Pantheon, the Forum Romanum with its triumphal arches and columns, and particularly the Colosseum, filled us with wonder and admiration. We then ascended the Capitol, saw the Tarpeian rock and a thousand other places and objects made interesting by Roman history.

On the following day we visited the immortal Michael Angelo’s master-piece, the church of St. Peter. Several travellers whose expectations of this gigantic structure from their point of view had not been satisfied, had much depressed mine, and from that circumstance perhaps it made a powerful impression upon me. The open space before the church, with the semi-circular colonnades, the obelisk and the two stupendous fountains are of themselves of imposing grandeur. But on entering the interior of the church, one is seized with wonder and admiration at the magnificence of the decorations. Without being overloaded, it contains such wealth in mosaic pictures, statues, and bas-reliefs, that it would occupy weeks to examine all the separate works of art. As all these things are in the most harmonious relation and proportion to each other, and are as colossal as the whole structure itself, one is greatly deceived at first in regard to the size of the church. But upon contemplating more nearly the separate objects, one finds, for instance, that the little angels which hold the basins for holy-water, when seen closer, are taller than the tallest Prussian grenadier; and one finds the assertions of the architects who have taken all the dimensions of the building, more creditable, that, for instance, the cathedral of Strasburg could conveniently stand under the dome without the top of the tower reaching higher than into the lantern. But it is necessary to ascend into the interior of the lantern itself to convince oneself of the correctness of the other calculations, viz., that the pen of St. Peter is eight feet long, that four men abreast can conveniently walk round upon the cornice, etc. etc.

From the church we went to the museum of the Vatican. The riches it contains in treasures of art and antiquities, and the size and splendour of the place, surpass even the most exalted expectations. One first enters a long gallery on both sides of which the walls are encrusted with ancient Roman inscriptions and sepulchral stones, which had but little interest for us. We then came into a second gallery, in which are statues, busts, and fragments of sculpture innumerable. We then entered the famed Belvedere, where all round a circular open court, in the centre of which is a fountain, a number of niches, apartments, and saloons contain the most precious works of ancient and modern art. We first saw in one of the niches the celebrated Apollo of Belvedere, whose form is still considered the beau ideal of manly vigour and beauty. By a mistake for which I may be readily pardoned, since as I have said I never make use either of a guide or book, I had taken the somewhat feminine figure in the gallery at Florence for the universally admired Apollo of Belvedere. That statue, which is also of extreme artistic beauty, is, as I am now informed called the Apollino. In a second niche we saw the celebrated group of Laokoon and his sons; in a third, three master-pieces of Canova, a Perseus and two Roman gladiators. The Perseus is a wonderfully beautiful figure, but evidently imitated from the Apollo; for the head as well as the position of the body and of the mantle are strikingly similar. One of the gladiators is said to resemble more an English prize-fighter than a Roman gladiator; at least such is the opinion of the pupils and partisans of Thorwaldsen, who cannot forgive Canova his certainly very blamable vanity, that he should have placed his work, the only one of a modern in a museum of antiques. Nevertheless, if one judges without reference to persons, it must be admitted that in Perseus he has produced a splendid work of art, and that there are hundreds of antiquities in the museum which are not equal to it in artistic beauty.

In one apartment there is a great number of animals, single and in groups, in marble and other yet more costly and rare varieties of stone, of the most perfect execution. I could not give the preference to any one of them without disparaging the others. In other apartments are vases of immense size, of Egyptian granite and porphyry, cups, fountains and sarcophages with bas-reliefs, arabesques and other ornaments, as well as statues of all sizes. A two-wheeled Roman chariot, such as were used in chariot races, with two incomparably beautiful horses, greatly pleased us. The magnificence of the saloons, rotundi, apartments, and staircases exceeds anything we have ever seen. The floor consists almost wholly of ancient mosaics, and the ceilings are decorated with the most splendid fresco-paintings.

From the Belvedere two handsome staircases then lead one story higher up to a long gallery. One then enters an apartment in which the tapestries are hung which were worked after the drawings of Raphael. As is natural to suppose, not only the colours are said to be bad, as is usual with all tapestries, but the drawing is also defective, so that connoisseurs in art esteem them but little. In the composition and throughout the grouping, nevertheless, the spirit of Raphael is visible.

Now come the celebrated “Stanzi” of Raphael, which are considered by painters and connoisseurs in art as the most costly and beautiful, not only in Rome, but in the whole world. One of these apartments he finished entirely himself; in the others only some of the figures are of his execution; the rest were painted by his pupils and friends after his drawings and under his eye. The paintings are in much better preservation than those in the Sixtine chapel and, with the care which is now taken of them, they may for centuries to come attract the admiration of connoisseurs. It is nevertheless a sad reflection that some of the most precious things produced by the genius and pencil of Raphael are here adherent to the walls, and must perish with them. It is therefore fortunate that these paintings have been and are so frequently copied and engraved, that something of them will yet remain when the originals shall be no more. But this must not be permitted to be done in the way resorted to by the young Parisian academicians, who stick their tracing paper upon the paintings with wax or even fasten it on with nails, in order to copy the contours, by which proceeding a quantity of the lime cement has already crumbled away from one of the walls. An iron rail is now put up round the apartments, so that one can no longer approach close to the walls. The passages from these apartments lead to the “Logge” of Raphael, by which is understood the arched galleries outside the buildings. Those decorated by that master himself are now enclosed by glazed windows to shield them from the destructive effects of the weather, the rest are open. In these “logge” there are but four small paintings from his own hand; all the rest are painted by others after his drawings. In a niche at the end of the gallery stands a bust of Raphael, which is said, however, to be but an indifferent likeness of him.

December 9.

On a second visit which we made yesterday to the museum, we saw the room containing the celebrated oil paintings of Raphael. The finest of them is without a doubt the Transfiguration, respecting which so much has been written, and disputed. Connoisseurs of art are not agreed as to whether the composition is correct or defective. Some maintain that it consists of two separate groups which do not harmonise with each other in the least; others, on the contrary, say that every part is in the most perfect and beautiful accord. Without troubling ourself with the contentions of the æsthetics, which was renewed by two persons in our presence, we gave ourselves up to the enjoyment of its contemplation. It is extremely interesting to see here three paintings of Raphael of different periods of his life in close proximity to each other. The eldest, or that of his youthful days, hangs by the side of one by his master Perugino, and is painted wholly in his style, with the same hardness of outline and the same formal, almost symmetrical grouping. The one of the middle period (a Madonna with the child, and some others figures, resembling very much the painting at Dresden in the grouping) evinces his own genius enfranchised from the form of his teacher. In the third, the “Transfiguration,” his last important work, we see the fully developed artist.

December 12.

As we live in a couple of rooms which cannot be heated, we have suffered somewhat from cold the last eight days, on account of the Tramontana, or north wind, which has not ceased to blow all that time; but although we have had hoar-frost a few times in Rome, we have had no ice yet, neither has it snowed. When we rose this morning, we found that the outside of our window was dim with moisture, and on opening it a warm moist air blew in; while the weathercocks informed us that the Sirocco (south wind) was blowing. It now soon became overcast, and this afternoon it is raining. Generally, however, the Tramontana brings bright settled weather. As Rome is very damp and dirty, one soon longs for the return of that wind, and is better content with a little cold than with the unwholesome moisture. In the spring of the year especially, when it begins to grow warm, this moisture is said to be quite unbearable, and to engender dangerous fevers, particularly on the other side of the Tiber, in the neighbourhood of the Vatican, where many a stranger, who has taken up his residence there on account of the cheaper rate of the lodging, has found a grave. In the summer months especially Rome must be very unhealthy, the air being charged with the exhalations from the dead bodies, which, according to ancient custom, are here all deposited in the vaults of the churches. Every time one of these vaults is opened, which takes place almost every day, a stench rushes out which penetrates into the interior of the very palaces of the living. At the time of the domination of the French the dead were buried outside the city, but no sooner was the papal rule restored, than that wholesome regulation was discontinued. No corpse is permitted to remain unburied longer than twenty-four hours, and accordingly the body of any one deceased is laid upon a bier, some eight or ten hours only after the breath is out of it, and carried with uncovered head, breast, and feet, in broad daylight, through the street to the church, and set down before the altar, when if the estate is sufficient to pay the expenses, a mass for the dead is read, and the body is thrown uncoffined through one of the openings of the vaults. That many only apparently dead are in this manner buried with the rest, may be readily imagined; and a few years ago such a case actually occured. A poor man, who a few hours after his apparent death had been thrown into the vault, was aroused by the fall and passed two fearful days among the half-decomposed bodies, when fortunately the chief entrance to the vault was opened in order to clear it out, and the poor fellow was rescued and is still living.

In no city in the world, I think, is the contrast so striking between the most luxurious splendour and the most abject misery as here. On the marble steps of the palaces, among the statues for which thousands have been paid, near the altars of the churches which are laden with golden ornaments and utensils--everywhere, in fact, one sees half-starved mendicants lying, who moan for bread, and gnaw the stumps of cabbages or the peel of lemons, which they have picked out of the gutter. At first I thought this a trick merely to excite the compassion of strangers; but I became convinced afterwards that many of the poor must for days subsist on such horrid food, or perish with hunger. The Romans are accustomed to see this misery from their youth, and seldom give alms (except they drop it into the begging-box of some well-fed monk collecting for his monastery), and strangers soon become hardened to pity, when they find that as soon as they have given something to one beggar, they are immediately surrounded by twenty others. It is true there are many among them who beg from sheer idleness, but there are many also who are quite unable to work for a livelihood. In this respect also I admire my native country, where every pauper has at least potatoes and bread, and a case of one dying of starvation in the midst of his richer fellowmen is wholly unheard of.

December 19.

Last evening our concert took place. As I had been refused permission to give a public concert in the theatre during Advent, I was obliged to make arrangements to give it at a private house, without any public announcement. Prince Piombino granted me an apartment for the purpose in the Ruspoli palace, and Count Apponyi, the Austrian ambassador, procured for me a considerable number of subscribers; so that this was the first concert in Italy that brought me a somewhat considerable profit. The price of admission was one Piaster (nearly a Laubthaler). The orchestra, composed of the best musicians of Rome, was nevertheless the worst of all that had yet accompanied me in Italy. The ignorance, want of taste, and stupid arrogance of these people beggars all description. Of nuances in piano and forte they know absolutely nothing. One might let that pass, but each individual makes just what ornamentation comes into his head and double strokes with almost every tone, so that the ensemble resembles more the noise of an orchestra tuning up than harmonious music. I certainly forbade several times every note which did not stand in the score; but ornamentation has become so much a second nature to them, that they cannot desist from it. The first hornist, for instance, blew once in the Tutti, instead of the simple cadence,

[Music]

the following

[Music]

The Clarinets blew perhaps at the same time

[Music]

instead of

[Music]

and now if one imagines the figured passages for the violins, which the composer has prescribed, some conception may be formed of the bewildering noise which such an orchestra gives you for music. With that, the musicians have so little musical taste, and are so unskilled in note-reading, that we nearly broke down twice. Here also, my concerto in the form of a vocal-scene pleased most, and I gained far more applause for the way in which I played the song parts, than for the mastery of very great difficulties. A tenor belonging to the papal orchestra, the permission for whose co-operation I had obtained with great difficulty, sang a duet with Mademoiselle Funk of Dresden, and a very beautiful air of Rossini, the best of that composer which I had yet heard.

December 20.

Last evening I was present at a small private musical performance at the house of Count Apponyi. There was much good vocal music with piano accompaniment. The best were a duet from a “Passione” by Paisiello, most charmingly sung by Madame Häser and the Countess Apponyi; an aria by Zingarelli with chorus, written for Madame Häser and executed by her in the most finished manner; a duett of Rossini’s, sung by Countess and Signor Moncade. Madame Häser sang with a feeling and a purity such as I never heard her display before. Her magnificent sonorous voice, which in a room with much reverberation sounds almost too sharp, particularly in the higher tones, had a fine effect yesterday in an apartment where the tapestry and carpeting deadened the sound. She has at command every nuance of tone, from the most tender breathings to the greatest fullness of power, and she knows how to avail herself of it in a masterly manner. She has lost, it is true, the brilliant fluency of voice which was formerly so much admired in Dresden, but she retains still enough of it to enable her to give every vocal ornamentation with ease and elegance. The only thing I miss in her singing is the shake, which in the present day is so much neglected. Moncade is a singer with a fine chest voice, and a tasteful though not a very feeling execution. Besides them, Prince Frederick of Gotha sang an air, and a bass singer a couple of Buffi.

I have again been twice to Sirletti’s music parties. A week ago some parts of the Requiem were repeated and the Halleluja; but the rest of the evening was wholly devoted to Marcello’s Psalms. With regard to the latter, I find my former opinion still more confirmed. In the fine edition of these Psalms, there is also a biography of Marcello, in which the reason is given for his relinquishing theatrical compositions, to which alone he had previously devoted himself, and taking all at once to sacred music. On visiting a church in a retired part of Venice, he had the misfortune to fall through a badly covered opening into one of the subterranean dead-vaults, and remained there a long time before his cries for assistance were heard. This accident induced so serious a tone of mind, that ever after he would write nothing but sacred music.

I have again been to Ruffini’s music parties also, and heard a tragic opera by a young and early deceased composer, who had much native talent but evinced also a complete deficiency of study. The singer showed to more advantage in this opera than in the one they gave previously; but the orchestra was just as unbearable. I sat next to the formerly so celebrated singer Crescentini (but, who is said to have now wholly lost his voice, although he is scarcely fifty years of age), and I had the satisfaction to find that his opinion upon the present state of music in Italy agreed in every respect with mine. His conversation evinced the highly cultivated artiste, free from the trammels of prejudice. He deplored that at the present day the good school of vocal music, the only one in which Italians had distinguished themselves, had become more and more rare every day, and upon his last return to Italy (I think he had been in Paris) he had found so frivolous and bad a taste, that it no longer bore the least trace of the former simple yet noble style of his time. To him, also, who had heard much good music in Germany and France, the insipidity and incorrectness of modern Italian music are abominations.

December 23.

Now that the festival of Christmas is approaching, begging, with which one is plagued here at all times, will be carried on on a large scale. Wherever you go, you are greeted with the cry of “Pleasant holidays!” and you are then expected to pull out your purse. This system of begging occurs, it is true, in Germany at New Year, but is by no means so general as here. For instance, the servants of all the nobility and gentry at whose houses have shewn yourself, if but once, come to beg of you; and indeed at other times as well, foreigners are laid under contribution by them. If you have paid the master a visit, the servant comes the next day and asks you for a present. As one cannot give less than three Paoli, it becomes a dear amusement to deliver many letters of introduction here. The poor devils are certainly very badly paid, and must resort to such a system of begging if they would not starve.

Yesterday Meyerbeer and his mother arrived here. He received a letter in Florence from Carl M. von Weber, and read to me from it the gratifying intelligence that my Opera “Faust” had already been twice performed at Prague with marked approbation.

December 25.

Last evening we were present at a service in the Sixtine chapel preparatory to the approaching high festival. I had anticipated something very effective but I found myself very much mistaken. The illumination was by no means effective, for the chapel was soon so filled with the smoke of the tapers that you could not see distinctly ten paces before you. Instead of the four-voice Psalmody which I had hoped for, the singers of the choir recited merely a rather long Litany of prayers in unison, without any melody, something as the following:

[Music]

To listen to this for almost half an hour without interruption was the greatest musical penitence that I ever endured. At length, in the midst of a silent prayer, we were refreshed by a four-voiced solo, in which the splendid soprano-voice before alluded to was again remarkable. But immediately after this, the monotonous chaunt was again resumed, and now we thought it preferable to work our way through the compact crowd at the expense of great exertion rather than to endure it any longer.

This morning early we at length saw the head of the catholic church in the highest ecclesiastical pomp perform mass in the church of St. Peter. The high altar under the dome, divested of its habitual covering, was radiant with gold and precious stones; the clergy and cardinals, habited in their richest gold-embroidered stuffs, the body-guard in their splendid uniform, the Swiss guard in their bright polished old German armour, in a word all converted with the pope contributed to render this service the most splendid spectacle ever performed in a church. For more than a theatrical spectacle it was not to the surrounding crowd: not a sign of emotion or spiritual elevation was to be seen among the many thousand spectators! The appearance of a spectacle got up for amusement was more especially given to it by the circumstance that for the accommodation of the high personages who were present--the king of Spain, the queen of Etruria, the princes of Prussia, Gotha and others--a sumptuously decorated box had been erected, and, that upon the amphitheatre the fashionable world of Rome was present in full dress. A singular contrast with this splendour was presented by the rags and dirt of the riff-raff of the Roman populace who had pressed to the very step of the high altar. As the “service” became tediously long, and what the singers sang was neither very interesting, nor could be heard distinctly for the noise in the church, we preferred to take a walk, as the weather was so mild and bright, but returned in sufficient time to the church to see the procession, which forms the close to the whole performance.

In front moved a detachment of the body-guard, behind these the Cardinal’s hat was carried upon a sword; then came the Cardinals, and lastly the Pope seated upon a richly decorated sedan or throne borne by eight priests; on either side of him two large fans of white ostrich feathers; then all the clergy, and lastly the remainder of the body-guard and Swiss guards. During the procession, the Pope, a venerable old man of 75, on whose pale and interesting face the exhausting influence of frequent fast and of the long fatiguing service were very distinctly visible, bestowed with a feeble motion of the hand his blessing upon the people. But the latter shewed during this no sign of devotion; not a knee was bent; there was laughing and loud talking during the whole service. The procession passed out through a side chapel into the Vatican. The immense size of the church could be first rightly seen to-day, from the mass of human beings which it held. It was full half an hour before they could make their exit through three large doors.

December 27.

Yesterday, at last the theatres were once more opened, after being closed six months. At the Argentino theatre, the largest and handsomest, Rossini’s “Tancredi” was performed, at the theatre Valle, a new Opera buffa by Signor Pietro Romano, called “Il Quiproquo.” As “Tancredi” is an old opera, the first night of which is not more interesting than the succeeding ones, Meyerbeer easily persuaded me to go with him to the Valle theatre, while my wife and the children, with Madame Beer, went to the Argentino theatre. Before the opera a farce in prose was given, imitated from our German “Proberollen.” Then came the first act of the opera, the text of which we soon recognised as an adaptation of the “Nouveau Seigneur de Village.” The subject, though spun out somewhat too much, was neither so stupid nor so wearisome as those of most Italian operas. But so much the more insipid and common-place is the music. Signor Romano has taken the now so much admired Rossini as his model, and so closely imitated him, or rather copied him outright, that the pit called out every moment “Bravo Rossini!” With that his music is so incorrect, that an ear accustomed to a pure harmony cannot hear it without disgust. Nevertheless that was no injury to it here, but much more so its want of fire and noise, the last of which the Italians are as fond of as the French and Germans. Once only, after a duet, the pit called out the encouraging and joyful “Bravo Maestro!” for which he immediately made a most profound bow. All the rest was listened to with coldness, and at the conclusion of the opera neither approval nor displeasure was expressed. The singers were by no means sure of their parts, and were continually making mistakes. Madame Georgi, the prima donna, who in the previous carnival had been the favorite of the public, did not please much yesterday, and had the annoyance of seeing the seconda donna, who certainly did not sing badly, called forward after her aria in the second act, an honour which had not fallen to her lot all the evening. She shewed her displeasure at this by singing the rest of her part with the utmost indifference and with half-voice only, by which however she injured the last finale very much, and was perhaps the cause of the opera’s going off so coldly, and of the report which prevails in the town to-day, that she had not given satisfaction. The orchestra, composed for the most part of the professors (!) who had played at my concert, played crudely, incorrectly and without any sort of difference between piano and forte.

This morning there was another private music party at Count Apponyi’s. Nothing else scarcely was sung but things from Rossini’s operas, of which a terzette, from “Elisabetha,” if I am not mistaken, pleased me most, on account of the excellent treatment of the voices. The more I hear of Rossini’s compositions, the more I am disposed to join in part with the general opinion, which pronounces him the most distinguished of modern Italian composers, and as a reformer of the taste in operatic style. Mayer may nevertheless with propriety be excepted, who has, if not so much imagination as Rossini, yet, certainly, more knowledge and æsthetic feeling. That the latter is wanting in knowledge of harmony, delineation of character, sense of the difference between the serious and comic style, and of propriety, I observed already in Florence, after hearing the “Italiana in Algeria.” Rossini, however, has devised some quite new things, although they are not necessarily good because they are new: for instance his “flowery song,” as Meyerbeer very characteristically calls it, which in reality is nothing more than that the passages hitherto sung on one vowel are sung with a series of syllables, as in an aria in the “Italiana”:

[Music]

or in a duet between a tenor and a bass in the same opera, where the part for the second voice is very unsingable and more like an orchestral bass than a singing bass:[24]

[24] As I do not know the text, I have appended dots for the syllables.

[Music]

Every time such little tricky passages occur, and are well executed by the singers, as to-day by Moncade especially, the auditory breaks out into an ecstasy of applause which causes Italian music to degenerate more and more into a mere tickling of the ears and both singers and composer; become every day less capable in use of working upon the feelings; so that I may say without exaggeration, that of all the compositions we have yet heard in Italy, I have not experienced the least emotion, with the exception of one or two passages in the “Testa di bronzo”; and of all the singers we have yet heard, Madame Häser alone, in a duet from the old “Passione” of Paisiello moved me for a few seconds.

Likewise new, and first introduced by Rossini, is the way in which the speaking passages in the Opera buffa, hitherto usually written in one tone, or at least at very close intervals only, and formerly always given legato, are provided with syllables, as for instance in the beginning of the above duet:

[Music]

Well known as this commencement is (it resembles the beginning of a finale in a quartett of Haydn in E flat-major):

[Music]

yet his method of giving it with the different syllables of the text in this manner is quite new; but whether good or not, is still the question; to me it always sounded as though travestied, as if, for instance, a song which admits of a feeling execution were executed upon a singing instrument and for fun’s sake so caricatured that it excited laughter instead of emotion. At any rate no instrumentalist of taste would play the above song staccato.

The following and similar crescendo passages are also peculiar to Rossini, they appear in almost all his musical pieces, and the Italian public are thrown into ecstasies by them; for instance, in the overture to the “Italiana.”

[Music]

In this manner it continues for a while, until at length at the strongest forte, the public break out into a furious clapping of hands and shouts of “Bravo!” In fact it can so little resist such a crescendo, that even the luckless imitators of Rossini, like Signor Romano in the opera last night, understood how to draw down a storm of applause by it. That such passages are frequently very incorrect and offensive from the passing notes occurring in them, it is not necessary for me to remark; even in the celebrated cavatina from “Tancredi,” so enthusisiastically admired throughout Italy, and which was also sung to-day, there are in the very first bars the most hideous-sounding octaves, between the bass and the second hautboy, that I ever heard.

[Music]

The first result of my judgment of Rossini is, therefore, that he is by no means wanting in invention and genius and with those qualifications had he been scientifically educated, and led to the only right way by Mozart’s classical masterpieces, he might readily have become one of the most distinguished composers of vocal-music of our day, but, as he now writes, he will not raise Italian music, but much rather lower it. In order to be new, Rossini departs more and more from the simple and grand style of song of former days, and does not reflect that in so doing he wholly robs the voice of its charm and advantages, and actually debases it, when he forces it to execute passages and fioritures, which every petty instrumentalist can produce much purer, and especially much more connected, because he has no need to express a syllable every time on the third or fourth note. With his “flowery song,” however much it may please, he is therefore in a fair way to make a clearance of all real song which is already now very scarce in Italy, and in which the despicable horde of Imitators, who here as well as in Germany pursue their pitiful calling, are doing their best to assist him.

December 29.

Last evening I went with Meyerbeer to hear “Tancredi” at the Argentino theatre. I never witnessed a more wretched performance. The singers, with the exception of Paris the elder, are very mediocre; the prima donna, the younger Paris, is yet quite a beginner, the basso was frightful, the orchestra worse than in the smallest provincial town in Germany, and in a word, it is an assemblage of folks such as had all Italy been ransacked for the purpose, it would have been difficult to find worse. God help the composer whose work falls into such hands! They disfigured it in such a manner that one can no longer recognise it. The only one person who distinguished herself, was the elder Paris, who, in the part of “Tancredi,” displayed a powerful, healthy contralto voice and a cultivated execution. It would be unjust after such a representation to pass judgment upon the opera, and the more so, as several passages were omitted and others substituted. The ballet which was given between the acts, was quite of a piece with the rest: a serious ballet executed by a number of grotesque dancers! But among these were some men, who made themselves remarkable by the power, and agility and by springs of all kinds.

During the last week we have again seen many interesting things; the museum of the Capitol, in which the dying gladiator and several Egyptian statues pleased me most--the latter less remarkable for artistic beauty than for singularity; the picture gallery in the Doria palace, which contains among many other remarkable pictures, four beautiful landscapes by Claude Lorrain; another gallery in the Colonna palace, in which hangs an extremely beautiful head of Raphael; the handsome and richly decorated churches of Santa Maria Maggiore and St. Giovanni in Laterano, &c. From the portal of the latter one has an extensive view in the direction of Albano, which with the ancient aqueducts, which the eye can follow for miles, and other remains of ancient Roman architecture, possesses much romantic interest.

On Sunday evening, the weather being very clear, we ascended the dome of St. Peter’s church. The ascent is at first by a footway of a spiral form without steps as far as the roof of the church. Arrived there once fancies one’sself again in the streets of a town, for the ground is paved, and a number of houses, some of which are inhabited, together with numerous small and large cupolas, prevent a view into the distance. But if you walk up to the gigantic statues over the portal of the church, you then see at how great a height you are standing. The pavement of the square in front of the church looks like a minute mosaic, and the people little puppets creeping about upon it. On looking up to the dome from here, it looks like an enormous isolated building; from the first interior gallery one has also to mount to a considerable height before one arrives at the second, where the first swell of the dome begins. The view from these galleries, particularly from the second, down into the church is quite sui generis, and makes one positively shudder. The hundred lamps which burn right under the dome at the entrance of the subterranean chapel, seem to mingle as in one flame, and the human beings below appear like moving black spots. From the second gallery one then ascends between the inner and exterior dome by wooden steps up to the lantern, from which one has again a view down into the church that makes the head turn. From here a flight of winding stone steps once more leads up into a tolerably large chamber situated in the top of the lantern, and thence at length ascending an iron ladder, one passes through the shaft to the ball, which is large enough to contain from twelve to sixteen persons.

The foolhardy can ascend yet higher, by a ladder outside the ball, up into the cross, but we were quite satisfied with having been as high as the ball. The view from the external galleries is magnificent and varied beyond description. Below, proud Rome with its inummerable palaces, ruins, columns and obelisks; around it the villas.

In the distance the mountain near Tivoli and Albano, above which are seen the peaks of snow-covered mountains, and far away on the west the Mediterranean, which at the time of the day we ascended the dome looked like a fiery stripe in the distant sky. After we had long enjoyed this entrancing view, we descended and found that two hours had passed very rapidly in the ascent of the dome.

We also went up the high column on the Piazza Colonna, and from its summit, which rises high above all the houses, enjoyed one of the finest views of Rome and its immediate environs.

December 30.

I have acquired the conviction that the Italians, even in modern times, are not wanting in natural abilities for the study of the fine arts, and indeed, that on the whole they surpass therein the northern nations. Almost all their singers have a happy ear for intonation, and the faculty of immediately seizing and repeating a melody once heard; although but very few of them, even among the theatrical singers possess what we call music, and most of them scarcely even know their notes. At the last musical party at Apponyi’s there was a Canon of Cherubini’s to be sung, in which Moncade who, as I had been told, is one of the singers who cannot read music, although formerly a theatrical singer, was solicited to take a part. As he willingly assented to sing something that he did not know, I immediately thought that in his case at least what I had heard was untrue. The Countess first sang the slow melody consisting of eight bars and Moncade repeated it note for note with all the little ornaments which she had added. But when his part began, he could get no farther: nevertheless, he did not permit himself to be disconcerted, but sang away by ear, which certainly sometimes did not sound much like music by Cherubini. When, however, the third singer, who also had no music before him, began, after his first simple entry in the second part, also to compose, such confusion and discord arose that they were obliged to leave off. Both singers declared very ingenuously that they had hoped, they would have accomplished it; like the Englishman who, when he was asked if he played the violin, replied: “It is possible, but I have never yet tried.”

Among the lower uneducated classes of the people, a remarkable genius for painting is by no means rare here, which is awakened by the early contemplation of the public works of art. In this manner the attention of the painters here has been attracted for the last year and more by the extraordinary artistic talent of a lad in the streets. This boy, without ever having had the least instruction, draws large historical sketches in charcoal upon the white walls of the houses, and there is scarcely a street in which some of his artistic work is not to be seen.

Sometimes he chooses for his subject a Madonna, or some legend, at others a Roman triumph. But in no one instance has he ever copied from any existing subject, or even repeated himself; his fancy constantly creates something new. Some of these sketches excite the greatest astonishment by the richness of the composition, comprising frequently more than thirty or forty figures, and by the correctness of the drawing. The most remarkable to me is the certainty with which he throws off and depicts his ideas. You see no double stroke in the contours--nothing wiped out--everything stands there at once clear and prominent. When he draws he is always surrounded by a crowd of people, who look on with gratification at the skill he displays; but he is so deeply engrossed with his work, that he heeds neither the surrounding spectators nor their remarks. I have been told that Canova took this lad, with the view of developing his talent; but that regular kind of life did not all please him, and he soon ran away.

January 1. 1817.

The new year has begun very unpleasantly for us. This morning Emily was taken suddenly ill. The doctor thinks she will have the scarlet fever; should that be the case, we shall be obliged to postpone our departure for Naples, which we had fixed for the 7th, for at least a fortnight. Added to the annoyance of remaining here yet longer without any object and in anxiety, is that of being compelled to see our fellow-countrymen with whom we had contemplated making the journey together depart alone, and that also of missing the opening of the St. Carlo theatre at Naples, which is to take place on the 12th. To console ourselves for the latter we shall meanwhile hear the new opera of Rossini, which he is writing for the Valle theatre, and the début of Madame Schönberger at the Argentino.

January 3.

Not only Emily, but Ida also has caught the scarlet fever, and now for a certainty we shall not be able to leave before the 20th. Both children were very ill for some days, and my good Dorette has been extremely alarmed and anxious. I have kept up my spirits and amused myself in inventing some puzzle-canons and have now began to write a new solo-quartett.

I should so much have liked to make Rossini’s acquaintance; but before he has finished his opera this is quite out of the question. The impressario, in whose house he lives, neither permits him to go out nor to receive visits, so that he may not neglect his work. Should his opera not be brought out before our departure, I shall probably not be able to see him.

January 18.

The children have recovered sooner than we had anticipated, and we have fixed to leave for Naples the day after to-morrow.

Last Thursday I went again to Sirletti’s, and yesterday to the morning concert at Count Apponyi’s; at neither place, however, was any thing played worth particular notice, with the exception of a fine quartett by Mayer and a duet from a comic opera of Fioravanti. Mayer is remarkable for scrupulously correct harmony, regularity of rhythm and a good treatment of the voices in part compositions, and surpasses therein all modern Italians. The duet out of Fioravanti more particularly interested me from the circumstance that it is also adorned with the modern so-called “flowery song,” from which I find that Rossini is neither the first nor only one who makes use of it. I begin moreover to judge him more favourably, as long as he does not venture beyond the limits of comic opera, and when his music is as gracefully executed as by the Countess Apponyi and Moncade.

* * * * *

On the 20th January we left Rome. The Campagna di Roma is as little cultivated on this side as on the other; the road as far as Albano derives nevertheless much interest from the many antiquities seen on the way. The numerous remains of three or four old Roman acqueducts give a particularly romantic aspect to the country round. One of the acqueducts, which was less injured, has been repared in later times, and still serves to supply Rome with water upon this side.

While our vetturino was baiting his horses at Albano, I ascended the mountain upon which the lake of Albano is situated. The view across it towards Rome is exceedingly beautiful. Below at one’s feet is seen the lake with its high precipitous banks thickly covered with trees and underwood; upon the right a long building, the use of which I do not know; to the left, upon the high steep bank, Castel Gandolfo, and in the extreme distance the mass of houses of Rome. The form of the lake and of its high precipitous banks indicates plainly that it has been formed by the falling in of a burnt-out crater.

The road from Albano to the little dirty town of Velletri, where we took up our first night-quarters, presents a great variety of scenery.

On the second day we crossed the Pontine marshes, which extend from Velletri to Terracina, a distance of four and twenty Italian miles. We did not find them so desolate and barren as we expected, for one has always a sight of the mountains on the left, and here and there of even a few patches of cultivated land. The numerous herds of oxen, buffaloes, swine, and in the dry parts, of sheep also, give some life to the uniformity of the level. But houses are of rare occurrence, and the inhabitants have always a pale unhealthy appearance. In the heat of summer the exhalations from the marshes are very dangerous, even to travellers who do but cross them, particularly if they abandon themselves to sleep, to which one is greatly induced by the uniformity of the road. Only last summer a young lady who could not resist the disposition to sleep inhaled death here, and was carried off by a malignant fever three days after her arrival in Naples. Such cases are not unfrequent in summer.

At Torre a tri ponti, a solitary hostelry, all the inmates of which looked as if they had just risen from their graves, we dined, and had very excellent meat, and roast ducks and geese, of which there are swarms in the uncultivated parts of the marshes.

Terracina, where we arrived at night-fall is most charmingly situated. The town stands upon a wild rocky eminence, but we stopped below at a very excellent inn close to the sea. From our windows we had a view of the sea, and on the following morning enjoyed the magnificent sight of the rising sun. Close below our windows, the waves broke with considerable noise, although during the previous day the wind had not been high. The air was as mild as after a warm summer’s day in Germany, and in the evening late we saw the fishermen launch their barks through the surf by moonlight, to cast their nets.

On the next morning we had to pass through the most dangerous part of the whole journey, from being the most infested with banditti. This part is between Terracina and Fondi, where the road lies through a thinly inhabited country and almost always between masses of low bushes in which the scoundrels easily conceal themselves, and can shoot down travellers and their escort from an ambuscade without being perceived. It is here where the most robberies are perpetrated, and but recently only some travellers were again attacked. But the government has at length taken earnest measures to suppress this. We found several hundred peasants employed in cutting down all the bushes on both sides of the road and burning them; and we met several strong detachments of soldiers, sent out to hunt up the banditti in their fastnesses. From twenty to thirty have already been brought in and hung up with little ceremony. On this side of the Neapolitan frontiers we met a picquet of soldiers at intervals of every quarter of an hour, which bivouacked on the side of the road and sent out patrols during the night.

At Fondi, a poor dirty looking hole, where we were almost torn to pieces by beggars, we saw the first gardens of lemons, pomegranates and oranges. We took a walk through the town and were delighted with the sight of the splendid trees, which were loaded with the finest fruit. In the gardens and in the market we saw fine fresh vegetables, such as cauliflowers, savoy-cabbages, carrots, &c. But at noon the heat was so great, that we were obliged to seek the shade.

We passed the night at Molo di Gaëta, also a small town situate close to the sea. From the windows of our inn in the evening we saw the fishermen put out to sea by torchlight to fish. Between Molo and Santa Agata we saw a great number of evergreen shrubs and plants, which do not grow even in the north of Italy, and upon the rocks several kinds of aloes, such as we grow in greenhouses. Several other shrubs which are also indigenous with us were already in their first leaf. On the road-side the air was perfumed by the violets, and the fields with the blossoms of the beans.

Capua, where we passed the last night of our journey, is a handsome town with fine buildings. We supped in the evening with two Austrian officers, who told us among other things, that they did not bury people in Capua, but threw them down a hole about a mile from the town, which was unfathomly deep, but was believed to have a communication with the sea, as after some lapse of time one could hear the bodies of those who were thrown down fall into the water.

The road from Capua to Naples is the most uninteresting of the whole journey. Nothing else is to be seen on either side of the road but high mulberry trees and pendant vines, both now without leaves. At two o’clock in the afternoon we at length arrived at the long-wished for Naples, and found a lodging which had been already engaged and prepared for us by one of our fellow-countrymen.

END OF THE FIRST VOLUME.

Naples, January 1.

Naples, although not remarkable for beautiful architecture, is, from its situation and many peculiarities, one of the most beautiful cities of the world. On coming from Rome, one certainly misses the grander taste in architecture and other works of decorative art formed upon and refined by the study of the antique, which for ages has rendered that city the most interesting of all others to the architect, the sculptor and the painter; but one is compensated for that in Naples by other advantages that Rome has not. To an inhabitant of northern lands, the city presents from its amphitheatrical position a most imposing spectacle, and with its flat roofs covered with party-coloured and lacquered tiles, its cupolas and towers, it has a very novel and oriental appearance. It is moreover one of the most lively cities of the world, at least one of the most noisy; for although Vienna and Hamburg, the two most populous cities that I have yet seen, may have proportionately as many inhabitants as Naples, yet the latter, partly from its southern liveliness, and partly from the circumstance that here all classes idle away more time in the streets than they work at home, is much more animated than those cities. The noise in the streets is positively great beyond description, and until one has become somewhat accustomed to it, one is completely deafened by it. All the mechanics pursue their calling in the streets: blacksmiths, locksmiths, copper-smiths, carpenters, tailors and shoemakers--all alike sit in front of their houses variously intermingled, and work. Added to that the rattling of the carts and vehicles, which in the principal streets almost always move on two lines, the wild cries of itinerant vendors, always endeavouring to undersell each other, and lastly the animated language and gestures of those who meet, or converse in the streets, who to a German seem as though they were in violent dispute, although they are perhaps merely talking of the weather or some unimportant piece of news or town gossip. But more striking than in any other city of the world is the contrast between the luxury in the equipages and dress of the higher classes, and the dirt and nakedness of the lower ones, particularly of the so-called Lazzaroni. Of these whole families are to be seen lying in the streets in the midst of the beau monde, looking for vermin upon their half-naked bodies. A more disgusting sight I never beheld! And yet before Murat’s time, who made soldiers of all the able-bodied Lazzaroni, these vagabonds were far more numerous.

February 3.

Yesterday we made our first excursion. In company with our Silesian fellow-countrymen, Herren von Raumer, von Lattorf, Hagen and Kruse, we first drove out to Portici to see the museum. Here, in a suite of apartments, are preserved the paintings and interior-decorations found in Herculaneum and Pompeii, from whence they have been taken from the walls with the plaster, and are here hung up in frames with glass doors. Of the greater part of them the colours are in excellent preservation, especially a very fine red. The room or interior decorations, consisting of arabesques, small landscapes, and the figures of animals, are almost all well painted. The larger historical paintings taken from temples and public buildings have great artistic merit, and are remarkable both for drawing and colour. Some of these are in a wonderful state of preservation, and appear as though they had been painted but recently. Besides these paintings, there is in another room a collection of a variety of metal utensils, a helmet, and some vases in pottery, with different kinds of grain, partly burnt by the glowing ashes, such as wheat, barley, Indian corn, beans, &c. &c. These different kinds of grain are readily recognised, and we found them quite similar to our own in size and form. All the other antiquities which were formerly preserved here have been transferred to Naples, and it is intended to transfer the paintings there also.

As the weather was extremely fine, we felt a great disposition to make the ascent of mount Vesuvius without loss of time. But as it was almost impossible for women and children to climb the last steep ascent, Dorette and the children returned to Naples, accompanied by Herr Kruse. We others hired some asses for the journey and return, at the extremely low charge of four Carlini (about 15-1/2d.), and set out at 12 o’clock at noon. At first the road lies through vineyards for about the distance of an hour and a half’s journey, and with but a gentle ascent only; but the road begins already to be difficult, being very uneven and stony. We saw several vineyards enclosed with large bush-aloes instead of hedges. After the lapse of an hour and a half we came to a plain which spread away before us like a desolate waste, as far as the proper base of the volcano. Not a vestige of vegetation met the eye; on every side nothing but masses of lava piled upon each other! Our path now turned leftward across the plain towards a mountain ridge, which rises like an island out of the midst of this fearful wilderness. On this stands the so-called hermitage, a building of two stories high, where we refreshed ourselves with bread, wine, cheese and fruits, and enjoyed the fine and now tolerably extensive view. After a short rest, in company with ten Englishmen whom we met here, we resumed the road, which still continues to run over the summit of the ridge as far as the crater. This part of the way is the least difficult, leading for some distance through bushes of sweet chesnuts, the plain covered with black lava stretching away before the eye. After half an hour’s progress we reached the steepest part of the ridge, at the foot of which we were obliged to leave the asses. Now began the difficult part of our work. Treading upon deep ashes without solid bottom, at every footstep one slips back so far, that one has often scarcely advanced an inch; and the mountain is here so steep, that one is obliged to use the hands as well for progression. Fortunately a ridge of solid lava extends downwards almost from the whole height, and rises like a ridge of rock from out of the ashes. When one has reached this, the toil is less, as the ground beneath has again become firm. But were one obliged, as at first, to wade always through the ashes, it would require a whole day to make the ascent of this height alone. Nevertheless it took a good hour to accomplish it, although we set out from our resting place with recruited strength, and with the hope of soon reaching the summit. On reaching the top, we saw again a small plain before us, from which in several places between the lava-rocks a white sulphurous steam ascended. The ground here was more or less hot and our footsteps produced a hollow sound. After we had passed rapidly over this we had to climb another though a lower height, and then beheld at a moderate distance before us the two craters, which were now vomiting fire. We sat down upon the ground between the lava-rocks and found ourselves as though sitting in a heated stove, for a great heat rose from the earth, which was nevertheless very agreeable to us. After we had rested here some time, some one of the company asked whether one could not ascend between the two cones close to the brink of the crater? All the guides replied in the negative, and assured us it was very dangerous to approach it nearer. We saw sufficiently well ourselves that it would be impossible to ascend direct from the place where we stood, as we should have run the risk of being stifled with the smoke of the crater upon our left. But it seemed to us that a way might possibly be found round the left side of one crater, from which we could ascend on the windward side of the other; so we immediately proceeded to make the trial together; after some objections our guides followed also. We had scarcely proceeded a distance of two hundred paces, when one of the craters with a fearful report threw out a quantity of red-hot stones, some of which fell at no great distance from us. This soon brought the whole party to a standstill; but after some little hesitation the foremost proceeded onward and the rest of us followed. In this manner, after a toilsome passage, we reached the rear of the left-hand crater, and then began to ascend the cone. But this was the most laborious task of the whole day, for we had now to climb a very steep incline up to our knees in ashes. Nevertheless, after great exertion we reached the summit and stood on the narrow edge of the crater, which, in the form of a funnel, is about two hundred feet in diameter at the upper part of the opening. After we had taken breath here awhile, and contemplated the eruptions of the other crater, which lay before us to leeward, the one close to which we were standing, became suddenly quite clear of smoke, and we could look down into the awful abyss. We there saw large cavernous fissures between the masses of rock forming the neck of the funnel, out of which flames burst at intervals; but as these were immediately followed by smoke, this sight was of short continuance only. One of the Englishmen of our party took it into his head, at a moment when the smoke of the crater upon the brink of which we were standing was somewhat less, to run across even to the other, in order to look down into it. But scarcely had he reached the brink, when an eruption, though fortunately not a very strong one, took place, from which he had barely time to save himself, and rush back again to us. At the same moment a third crater behind us began to make a noise, and it was now indeed high time that we should make our retreat. Though it was ashes merely that it threw up, yet by the timely fear with which it filled us, it was our saviour from utter destruction; for scarcely had we reached our old halting-place than the hitherto very quiet crater on the brink of which we had stood, threw out such a mass of red hot stones, exactly in the direction of the place where we had stood, that we should all have been struck down and overwhelmed by them had we stopped there five minutes longer. After our daring party had recovered from the terror which had seized upon all, we were compelled to avow our extreme rashness in having ventured to ascend so high despite the warnings of our guides.

We now once more bivouaked upon our warm place, and recruited our spirits with the provisions we had brought with us. But with night drawing on, far away from every living creature, and surrounded on all sides by desolation, it was a fearful reflexion to think that we sat here suspended as it were over a sea of fire, upon a perhaps not very thick crust, which sooner or later might give way beneath us. Several of our party made the observation, that it was indeed a mad piece of folly to have risked life upon chances so eminently possible, for the mere gratification of an idle curiosity. But these reflexions nevertheless did not prevent us from enjoying with much relish the eggs our guides had brought with them and cooked in the hot ashes, and which we washed down with a draught of delicious Lacrymæ Christi.

We here awaited the approach of night; saw the sun sink below the sea, and the full moon rise behind the craters, her yellow light forming a beautiful contrast with the red flames that issued from them. On our right we saw at the same time the reflexion from the burning lava which poured from an opening in the side of the mountain, which however it was impossible to approach without the greatest danger.

About seven o’clock we set out upon our return, which at first, from our being obliged to descend on the shaded side of the mountain was on account of the darkness both very difficult and dangerous. But when we arrived at the precipitous places, our guides led back us by another way, where we slid down with giant steps over deep ashes. Below we found our asses, upon which we rode to Portici by a magnificent moonlight. At ten o’clock at night we arrived once more at Naples, highly gratified with the extremely interesting day’s adventures.

February 7.

During the constant fine spring weather we daily take a walk to see the immediate environs of the city. The favorite walk of the children is to the quay, on which is the light-house, partly because the busy life in the port itself, as well as the sight of the different kinds of vessels, from the ship of war mounting a hundred guns down to the fisherman’s boat, affords them immense pleasure, and partly because the way leading to it presents the most lively picture of the habits and occupations of the lower classes. From the St. Carlo theatre to the harbour there is, next to the Toledo-street, always the greatest crowd; at a short distance from which are all the small hole-and-corner theatres, where performances take place all the day long and where, upon a platform outside, a couple of fiddlers and a merry-Andrew constantly invite the passers-by to enter. Between these are the booths of the itinerant vendors, who, perched upon a table, recommend their medicaments to their numerous listeners and purchasers. Upon the quay, where there is no noise from the carts and carriages, the puppet-show players pitch their portative theatres, and the Improvisatori entertain the Neapolitans with the heroic feats of their ancestors. Sometimes one of these reads aloud to his auditory and then explains what he has been reading. But here also swarm the most impudent and disgusting beggars, and the most expert pick-pockets; so that one cannot be too careful how one gets mixed up with them. On my first walks into that quarter I lost my pocket handkerchief each time. If one waits here till the evening the Vesuvius, with its red fire, presents a singular and magnificent contrast with the white lights of the Pharos.

The Royal garden on the Chiaja is also another very interesting walk. It extends for a considerable length close to the sea, and consists of three very broad alleys with small flower-beds laid out in the English style. It is ornamented with several fine statues and groups in marble; in the centre stands the celebrated Farnesian Bull, a splendid antique by a Greek master; on both sides are several fine copies of ancient works of art, such as that of the Apollo of Belvedere, the rape of the Sabines, &c. &c. From eleven in the forenoon on fine days, the beau monde assembles here to look and to be looked at. If one proceeds still farther along the Chiaja, one soon comes to the road that leads through the Grotto of Pausilippo to Puzzuoli. This long gallery, extending at least for a thousand paces right through a mountain of considerable height, is very remarkable of its kind, for the galleries cut through the rocks in the road over the Simplon are but child’s play compared to this work. The entrance on this side between towering rocks is exceedingly romantic; at a great distance off the noise of the carriages driving through resembles thunder, and it is said that at night, when all is quiet here, the sound of the vehicles in the streets of Naples, is echoed through this rocky gallery like that of distant thunder. The interior is lighted day and night with numerous lamps. At the entrance and in the middle are little chapels, at which the passengers are solicited for alms. Above the entrance high up on the rocks, a small grotto is pointed out, where the immortal poet Virgil lies buried.

A few days ago we visited also Fort St. Elmo, from which one has an extensive view over the whole city and of the expansive bay.

February 12.

Last evening we returned from a delightful excursion to the islands. On Sunday at noon, in company with our three Silesian countryman, we went across to Ischia in a hired boat. We were at first obliged to sail round the promontary of Pausilippo: Nisida and Procida lay quite close to us, Cape Micen somewhat in the background, and Ischia at a greater distance, in a direct line before us. These islands and promontories with their steep, and towering rocks close to the sea, and the rich fertility of their interior, present every moment and on every side on which they are beheld new aspects of varying interest, now of a beautiful and now of a bolder and grander character. Procida, in particular, one of the most populated spots of the whole world, presents a magnificent view from the sea, the whole island having the appearance of a large city. As the wind blew tolerably fresh and against us, night came on before we could reach Ischia. But the beauty of the evening would not permit us to regret our having been delayed. The stars shone with a brightness such as in Germany at least they are never seen to shine with; and Venus in particular was resplendent with so clear a light that its beams were reflected in the sea like those of the moon, and one could plainly discern a shadow from any intervening object. The sea, also, at every stroke of the oar shone as with the light of myriads of glowworms. About eight o’clock we at length landed at the north shore of the island and found a comfortable night-lodging in the handsome house of a clergyman.

On the next morning we soon set out upon our way to see the interior of the island and to ascend the Epomeo. As at Ischia there are neither vehicles nor roads to travel on, we all mounted upon asses, which carried us more conveniently and safely over the rocky and uneven ground. After passing through several level tracts in the highest cultivation we came to the small but lively town of Ischia, on the sea-shore, and onward to the foot of the Epomeo between vineyards to the opposite side of the mountain, where it is more convenient to climb. After we had ascended about half-way by very bad roads, we halted for an hour to rest and refresh the animals, and then completed the other still more toilsome part of the ascent. Meanwhile the sky had unfortunately become overcast with clouds, and upon reaching the summit of the mountain we were enveloped in a thick mist. We then entered a hermitage of some size, consisting of several rooms and passages, and of a chapel. It resembles that at Freiburg in Switzerland, and like that also is hewn out of the solid rock, by two industrians recluses. We waited here some time in the hope that the weather would clear up, and several times also we had a glimpse between the clouds over the level parts of the island, which lay like a map outspread in the distance before us; but Naples, Capri, and Sorrento were veiled from our sight. We were at length obliged to set out on our way once more, without having had the pleasure of enjoying the fine view from here, which is perhaps one of the finest in the world, and had already considered our toilsome journey as a labour in vain, when on a sudden, after we had descended somewhat lower and stood under the stratum of clouds, the magnificent view of the whole of the islands, promontories and bay, with Vesuvius smoking in the background, displayed itself to our enraptured eyes. Long we stood lost in admiration of the singular beauty of the scene, and at length, when the setting sun gave token of departure, we returned by the shortest but steepest road, where we could make no use of the asses, to our quarter of the previous night. The Epomeo, which 450 years ago was a volcano, exhibits on this side, which is much more wild and barren than the other, numerous traces of former eruptions. The road led now almost continually over weather-worn lava. Upon the rocks we saw at very frequent intervals the stock-gilliflower in bloom, which here and in the neighbourhood of Naples grows wild. On the way-side violets and other plants, several of which are not indigenous with us, were in full flower, and in the gardens, the almond tree. At length we came to a place where there are warm baths, which in summer are much frequented by the Neapolitans. At the house of our host we found a plentifully spread table awaiting us, which after all the fatigue of the day was exceedingly acceptable. A fiery white Ischian wine of the year 1811 we found especially agreeable to the palate.

We re-embarked the next morning at eight o’clock and landed first at Cape Micenus, where we visited the large subterranean reservoirs of soft water from which the Roman fleets were supplied, and the cento camere of Nero, which were probably prisons for the detention of prisoners of war. We then sailed right across the bay to Puzzuoli, and there made another pilgrimage to some antiquities. On running into the harbour we sailed past the still standing piers and arches of the bridge of Caligula, which that Emperor designed throwing across the bay. Although built of bricks merely, such is the excellence of the cement used in their construction, that their remains, after the lapse of so many centuries, still bid defiance to the unceasing action of the waves.

Our cicerone led us first to the Solfatara, a round level field-like space enclosed on all sides with rocks, apparently a crater which at some remote period had fallen in. The subterranean fire still burns beneath, nevertheless, for in many places smoke issues out of the earth, and as on Mount Vesuvius, deposits sulphur. At those places the ground is burning hot, and the foot-tread sounds hollow. Our guide flung a large stone upon the ground, which made it vibrate for a considerable distance round us, and produced a very loud, hollow sound. Thence we proceeded to another subterranean reservoir of water similar to that at Cape Micenus; inspected the ruins of an amphitheatre and several temples, and at last reached the most interesting antiquity in the whole neighbourhood--the ruins of the temple of Serapis, close to the sea-shore. So much has been written respecting all these antiquities, that it would be superfluous to dwell upon them here, but the remains of the temple of Serapis are so remarkable, and afford such evidence of its former size and grandeur that to see them alone amply repays a journey here. Towards the evening we drove back to Naples through the grotto of Pausilippo.

February 15.

As I have now been several times to the St. Carlo theatre, I can with confidence put my judgment to paper respecting it. On the first visit I experienced the same feeling as in the church of St. Peter: it did not appear to me so large as it really is, and it was not until I had been frequently told that it is four feet wider and I know not how many longer than the theatre at Milan, that I could believe it. But when the curtain drew up and I could compare the size of the human beings with the painted objects of the decorations, I readily observed that here also I had been deceived by the correct proportions of each gigantic object. Here for the first time the horses introduced on the stage did not appear out of proportion with the rest, and the people one saw at the extreme depth of the theatre, were still in just proportion with objects which surrounded them. For ballet and pantomine I know of no better adapted locality, and military evolutions of infantry and cavalry, battles, storms at sea, and such things can be produced without falling into the ridiculous and the paltry; but for operas the house is too large. Although the singers, Madame Colbran and Signori Nozzari, Benedetti, and others, have very powerful voices, yet one hears only the highest notes given out with the full strain of the voice; but all tender pathos in song is wholly lost. This is said not to have been the case before the fire, and the theatre was then quite as sonorous as Della Scala at Milan. This prejudicial change is ascribed to three causes first, the proscenium has been widened by several feet; secondly, the ceiling is not so concave as formerly; and thirdly, the high projecting decorations in stucco obstruct the sound and do not send it back. If the house was in reality so sonorous formerly, then they have greatly deadened that faculty in the new building, and they would do very wisely to eject (the sooner the better) all the unnecessary trumpery of ornament and gildings, which besides is exceedingly heavy and not in the best taste, and so regain the former advantages.

The first opera I saw was “Gabriele de Vergi,” by Count Caraffa, who formerly was a dilettant merely, but now as a younger son without means, is become an artiste, and as such strives to earn a subsistence. The opera pleased me very much, but without being altogether particularly attractive for me. The style is even and dignified, but the orchestra is too much overladen, and the voice parts are too much obscured. The execution was very precise, both on the part of the singers and of the orchestra. The latter, under the correct and spirited but somewhat too loud direction of Signor Festa, had studied it well, but were somewhat wanting in nuances of piano and forte; the wind instruments in particular are always too loud in the piano. Of the singers nothing further can be said than that they have good and powerful voices. Whether they have a good execution cannot be ascertained in this theatre; for one hears them either singing at the top of their voices, or one cannot hear them at all. After the opera Duport’s ballet of “Cinderella” was given, the decorations, costumes, &c., of which were of a very expensive character. Besides Duport and his wife, the dancer Vestris attracted much notice. The music was nearly the same as that we heard in Vienna in that ballet; a polonaise newly introduced by Count Gallenberg, the ballet-composer here, pleased greatly from its originality and sweetness.

Another opera, also by a dilettant, Signor Carlo Saccenti, was given a week ago, after a three months’ study and rehearsal. The king, who is a great patron of the composer, had fixed on it for the opening of the San Carlo theatre, and Mayer, who had been sent for here by the impresario, to write a new opera for the occasion, was obliged to keep his back. But as it was afterwards found that it would be impossible to be perfect in it by the day appointed for the opening, Mayer was permitted to write a Cantata in all haste, with which on the 12th January the theatre was at length opened. This cantata, though written with great despatch, is said nevertheless, according to the opinion of connoisseurs to contain a good deal of fine music; but as the text or subject was the burning of the theatre, one little calculated for composition, it could not well have been other than a somewhat tame production. Nor could it be expected, with the little attention given to it by the public, more occupied with the brilliant illumination of the house and the splendour and Spanish etiquette which the court displayed at the opening of the theatre, that the reception given by the public to the cantata should have been other than a very cold one. Nevertheless, it was not properly speaking a failure. After this had been brought out, the study of Saccenti’s opera was again resumed. All that reached the public concerning these rehearsals was very unfavourable. His friends said he had composed a work which from its originality and excellence would produce a complete reform in operatic compositions: the singers and musicians, on the other hand, said that in all their lives they had never sung or played anything more villanous, tedious and incorrect than that unfortunate opera. The impartial conjectured that, as is usual with such conflicting opinions, the truth would lie in the mean; but I soon satisfied myself, after a few rehearsals which I attended, that the musicians were perfectly right in the judgment they had formed of it. It would indeed be scarcely possible to put together a more outrageous piece of music, even if one strove expressly, and with the greatest industry to act contrary to all the most approved rules of rhythm, structure of the periods, harmony and instrumentation. There was no trace of song or sensible carrying out of an idea; every third bar was something else, with the most incorrect modulations. In the very beginning of the introduction three ugly quints follow each other in quick succession. One of the musicians from recollection said that the composer justified it very ingeniously with the example of the English sailor who was brought before a magistrate for having married three wives, but whom the law could not reach as it forbade bigamy only, and made no mention of trigamy; in the same manner, said the composer, it is forbidden to have two quints in succession, but by having three the penalty contemplated by the law was evaded.

After rehearsals innumerable, the representation took place in the presence of the court and with a crowded house. Notwithstanding the here prevailing formal Spanish etiquette, which commands that the curtain shall be drawn up immediately the king enters the box and which constrains the poor singers to exhibit themselves on the stage during the whole duration of the overture, without being able to move in the spirit of the characters they impersonate; and which moreover forbids every demonstration of applause or of disapprobation; despite this constraint, which impedes free judgment, the opera was hissed in optima forma. On the following night it had the same fate, without a single friend of the composer’s daring to clap a hand. With this second representation, at which I was present, the opera was for ever consigned to the tomb. It is called “Aganadeca;” its author is Signor Vincenzio de Ritis. The subject, from Ossian, is said not to be without merit, and it is regretted that it did not fall into the hands of a better composer. The latter, however is not sensible of his own deficiency; he ascribes its failure to the little musical judgment of the Neapolitan public, and intends sending his work to Germany. May Apollo and the muses bestow their blessings upon it!

February 20.

The Carneval came to a close yesterday, and the fasts have begun. After the noise of the last day of the carneval, the quiet which has now succeeded does one really good, although the evenings are somewhat dull, as all the theatres are closed for four days. At the St. Carlo theatre instead of the customary oratorios this year operas will be given as usual, but without ballets, which are wholly forbidden at this season. At the Fiorentino theatre we saw an opera of Guglielmi (son), “Paolo e Virgina,” which met with some success. But the music of the third act is quite Italian for insipidity, in which Paul, during a storm at sea, sings an air in the usual form, and with the usual insipid intermediate acting, exhausting himself in shakes and passages, when he would act much more sensibly if he hastened to the assistance of his loved one. This sea-storm without an appropriate music was therefore the most ridiculous thing I ever saw at a theatre, and solicited no sympathy for the whole affair from the spectators. It is true the machinery also at this theatre was most mean and childish. Among the singers Mesdames Chabran and Canonici distinguished themselves greatly. The former has a fine soprano voice, great ease of execution and a good school; the latter the same qualifications with a powerful contralto voice. They had particularly well studied their duets. In this theatre we found for the first time in Italy, with a full house and a frequently repeated performance, a quiet and sympathetic audience. The house is roomy and prettily decorated, but the stage very small and narrow.

I had expected the end of the carneval to have been far more gay than I found it. The whole amusement consisted in the crowding together of half Naples, masked and unmasked, in vehicles and on foot in the street of Toledo, where they moved up and down and pelted each other with little balls of gypsum. The masks of the carriages were provided for the purpose with whole baskets full of these little bullets, and with shovels, so as to enable them to throw them up to the balconies. They carried tin shields on the left arm, with which to ward off the missiles of other maskers. As these were frequently of a tolerable size and were thrown with full force, the fun frequently proved somewhat rough for those persons who were not masked, and many a lady must doubtless have taken home with her a few blue marks on her neck and arm. Nevertheless all was borne with good humour and without dispute, as the liberty conferred by the mask serves to excuse all impoliteness. The masqued balls at the San Carlo theatre are said to have been somewhat wearisome affairs; although there was no want of masks in character, yet there was very little wit and ability to personate the characters in accordance with the costume and manners of the period.

February 26.

I have been twice to the conservatory of music. The first time I was present at a practice concert of the pupils, in which several overtures, or first themes of symphony composed by one of them, who at the same is first violin also, were tried. They were not devoid of fancy, but in form and instrumentation complete imitations of the overtures of Rossini, which certainly are not calculated to serve as models. The execution was but tolerable; the young folks, particularly the violinists, have no school at all; they know neither how they should hold the violin nor the bow, and play neither purely nor distinctly. Nor can it be otherwise with the bad instruction they receive. Festa, the only violinist here of a good school, is not employed in the conservatory of music. It is highly reprehensible that the young people are permitted to give their practise-concerts without the superintendence and guidance of their instructors; their first violin and director, who is himself still a pupil, is wholly wanting in self possession and judgment. He bungles the allegro tempi in such a manner that all distinctness is out of the question. Among the wind instruments, a hornist, a lad of eleven years of age, is very remarkable. On the occasion of the second concert at which I was present, two singers made their appearance, who had neither good voices nor a good method. All that I have yet heard, is far inferior to what the Milan musical students can perform. Signor Zingarelli, director of the conservatory here, and teacher of the theory of music and singing may possess many qualifications as a composer of operas; but it is generally said that since his appointment the conservatory has very much declined. That he at least does not know how an orchestra should be conducted or a symphony executed, he proves by allowing so quietly these things to take place in his presence. Of the merits of our German composers he has some very erroneous notions. One day, when I paid him a visit, he spoke for a long time of Haydn and other of our composers with great respect, but without even once mentioning Mozart; I therefore turned the conversation upon the latter, upon which he said: “Yes, he also was not deficient in talent, but he lived too short a time to cultivate it in a proper manner; if he could only have continued to study ten years longer, he would then have been able to write something good.”!

March 3.

An opera has been again put on the stage written by Mayer several years ago. It is called “Cora” and is founded on the same subject as Kotzebue’s “Sonnenjungfrau” (Virgin of the Sun). There are certainly some fine passages in the music, but taken as a whole it has not satisfied my expectations of Mayer’s music. He is after all deeply tinctured with the Italian manner and almost wholly an apostate from the German. His method of carrying out the vocalisation and his instrumentation are thoroughly Italian. This certainly is not to be wondered at, for since the age of fourteen he has lived in Italy, and never wrote for any other than Italian audiences. I think, that apart from his natural talent, he has raised himself above the others alone by having always endeavoured to procure all the best German works, which he studied, and made use of, the latter indeed sometimes a little too much. Throughout Italy, and here in particular, he is very much admired and liked: he merits it also in every respect, and as a man is ever the upright, smooth-spoken unassuming German. He is much attached to his fatherland, and seems only to regret that it was not his fate to pursue his career as a composer in Germany. In Bergamo, where he is director of the orchestra, he now only desires to live in retirement, and write solely for his church. He assured me that nothing but the honour of writing for the reopening of the San Carlo theatre could have induced him to leave his retreat once more, but that the opera “La vendetta di Junone,” which he had now completed, should certainly be his last work for the theatre. In “Cora” the favorite piece with the public is the finale, consisting of a theme in three variations in the old style of Pleyel; one of the singers sings the theme, Davide the first variation in quavers, then Nozzari the second in triplets, and in conclusion la Colbran the third in semiquavers. As it is well sung, it greatly pleases the public, and critics therefore must be silent.

March 6.

Last evening Signor Pio Chianchettino gave a concert in the Fondo theatre. He is a nephew and pupil of Dussek, and played two concertos of that master in his manner. Although his play was pure, distinct and even full of expression, yet here again, as every-where else, the piano-forte as concert-instrument proved itself insufficient to awaken the enthusiasm of an audience; and the more so is this the greater the size of the place. For that reason also upon this occasion, the song-pieces pleased far more than the concertos, although no one could find fault with his play. I myself felt this also; for although I am very fond of the piano, when a composer rich in ideas improvises upon it, yet as concert-instrument I am wholly unmoved by it; and a piano-forte-concerto in my opinion is only effective when written like those of Mozart, in which the piano is not much more thought of than any other orchestral instrument. The singers, Madame Chabran and the Signori Davide, Nozzari and Benedetti, all distinguished themselves, and were loudly applauded. One becomes more sensible of their merits when one hears them in a smaller place than the San Carlo theatre. Davide and Nozzari may be called almost perfect singers, they both have very fine voices; the former a very high tenor, the latter a high baritone, remarkable fluency of execution and much true expression. Benedetti has a very fine bass voice, but sings rather coldly.

March 7.

We have again taken some rather more distant and highly interesting walks. The object of one was the Camaldula convent, which is situated upon a hill above two hours’ drive from the centre of the city. We rode as far as the foot of the mountain, where as the carriage road terminated, we were obliged to make the ascent on foot. The view from the convent garden is perhaps one of the most extensive and beautiful in the world. On one side are seen Ischia, Capri, Procida, Nisida and the promontories which we had visited in our previous excursion, accompanied by the blue mirror of the sea; on the opposite side Capua, Caserta, and in the back-ground the snow-covered mountains; on the side of Naples a part of the city itself, the whole bay with the opposite coast, and on the left the smoke-emitting Vesuvius; lastly, on the fourth side, the shores and salient promontories near Gaëta, as far as Terracina. As the weather was very propitious for us, this was one of the most magnificent days we ever passed in the enjoyment of the beauties of nature. The monks, some of whom we caught sight of, did not appear in the same humour as we were; for they all wore a gloomy aspect.

We took a shorter but not less interesting walk on the new road to Rome, which was begun under Murat, but has remained unfinished since his dethronement. It leads over a mountain from which one has the most admirable view of the city, and it is much to be regretted that it is not complete; for then the traveller would be able to form a more worthy conception of the city before his entry into Naples, while now by the old road, which winds through a narrow mountain ravine, he sees nothing of Naples until he has entered the most dirty and least attractive part of the city; which leaves him long in doubt whether he actually is in the world-famed Naples.

We passed a very pleasant day at the villa of the banker Heigelin, which is situated also upon a mountain near the Strada Nuova, whence one has a beautiful view. Old Heigelin, an amiable, open-hearted German, has ornamented this place of his own creation with so many fine things, such as grottoes, ruins, temples, fountains, &c. &c., that it would be actually impossible to crowd any thing more together in so small a space. Although perhaps the whole is somewhat frivolous as regards the manner in which it is laid out, it has nevertheless many individual things worthy of attention. For us Northerns, for instance, the vast number of exotic plants, which were for the most part in full bloom, were objects of great interest.

March 11.

Last evening our concert took place. As the impressario of the court theatres, Barbaja, an extremely selfish man, asked me too much money for the hire of the theatres, for the Fondo for instance 100 Neapolitan ducats and for the San Carlo 200 even, I adopted his proposal rather to give my concert in the assembly-room of the San Carlo theatre, which he offered me lit up for nothing. This apparently disinterested offer was nevertheless calculated also for his advantage, for the assembly-room and the adjoining rooms were the places for the hazard-tables, which he had rented, and to which by means of my concert he hoped to attract the most fashionable and wealthiest company of the city. This use of my concert, which could in no way prejudice me, I could readily allow him. As the saloon is not very spacious, I fixed the price of admission, as at Rome, at one piaster, and although I had not a more numerous, yet I had a more susceptible public than there. Encouraged by this and supported most efficiently by the very accurate accompaniment under Festa’s direction, as well as by the room itself, which was so advantageous for my instrument, I played better than I had done in many other towns in Italy. Besides my compositions a duet by Mayer and a terzet of Cherubini were sung by Signore Davide, Nozzari and Benedetti. Even during the evening I was solicited on all sides to give a second concert in the theatre.

March 18.

This morning early we visited the “Studii,” i. e. the building in which the treasures of art from Pompeii and Herculaneum are preserved, together with the collections previously made of statues and paintings. The library is situated also in the same building. As it is impossible to see all in one day, we chose for to-day the statues and the library. Among the former are some very celebrated statues from the Farnese collection, of which numerous excellent casts have been made, and two equestrian statues found in Pompeii, of great artistic worth. In one room are two glazed cases, full of antique bronzes, also from Pompeii and Herculaneum, consisting of lamps, small penates and all kinds of domestic utensils. These things, as well as the statues in marble are in the most perfect preservation, and appear scarcely so many days old as they are years; but every thing of iron is much eaten by rust, as for instance the handles and rings of various vessels of bronze.

The library is contained in a fine handsome and spacious apartment and several adjoining rooms. On the floor of the grand room the line of the meridian is drawn, on which, through a small hole pierced in the wall for that purpose, the sun’s rays fall at noon. When a person claps his hands at a particular spot in this apartment, an echo repeats it more than thirty times in rapid succession. This arises probably from the position of the window-recesses, which are high up, near the ceiling.

Lastly we visited the room where the rolls of papyrus are preserved and unrolled. They have all the appearance of charcoal, and one might mistake them for that, were it not that one can easily distinguish the edges of the leaves. A manuscript fully unrolled, mounted upon linen, framed and glazed, hangs against the wall. As the paper is burnt quite black the letters are scarcely to be distinguished, and one cannot but admire the patience, the penetration, and the knowledge of languages of those who have known how to unravel its sense. It is a treatise on music: each side is divided into three columns. In the first is seen an engraved, accurate copy of the unrolled papyrus, with all its defects, and rents; in the second, the contents in modern Greek characters, in which the letters and words that are wanting in the original are filled in with red letters, and in the third, a Latin translation. They are now unrolling another manuscript, but do not appear to be hurrying themselves much, for we found one person only thus occupied. The method pursued is a very simple one. Small strips of fine parchment are stuck with gum close to each other or rather somewhat lapping over each other, upon the charred rolls, after which the paper is gradually and carefully released and removed. The process is of a necessity a slow one, but considerably more might have been unrolled by this time. If these precious remains of ancient learning were in the possession of a German sovereign, they would all have been deciphered long since.

March 22.

As I did not like the trouble of making the arrangement for a second concert, I readily accepted the proposal of the impressario to play twice at the San Carlo theatre between the acts of the opera for the sum of 300 ducats. This I did the evening before last for the first time. I was very much afraid that the violin would not fill the immense house, but I was soon set at rest on that point on being told at the rehearsal that every note was distinctly heard in the most distant parts of the house. But of a necessity nevertheless I was obliged to forego every finer nuance in my play. Although the house was very full, yet the greatest silence prevailed whilst I was playing, and after the second piece of music I was called forward.

Last evening I played at the Casino mobile, in a very fine saloon, my concerto in the form of a scena, and a pot-pourri with pianoforte accompaniment. As the room is very favourable for music, both of these had a very sensible effect upon the audience. The remainder of the concert, consisting of symphonies and pièces d’harmonie, was not of importance.

I forgot to mention a concert given by Signora Paravicini at which we were present, at the Teatro nuovo, on Wednesday last. She played, between the acts of a comedy, the first violin-concerto of Rode in D minor, a pot-pourri by Kreutzer, and at the end an Adagio and Rondo of the same composer. I have been accustomed to hear my instrument ill used by women, but I never saw it used so badly as by Signora Paravicini. I was the more surprised at this, as she has acquired some fame, and has a vast deal of pretension; as an instance of this, she told people here that she had heard Rode in Vienna, but that he had excited no other sentiment in her than pity. Her turn had now come to excite pity if one can feel it at all for arrogance and unskilfulness. She has a very excellent violin, a Stradivari, and in the cantabile draws from it a tolerable tone; but that is her only merit. In other respects she plays in bad taste, with a profusion of meaningless ornamentations, and the passages indistinctly: her intonation is not pure and her bow stroke extremely bungling. The applause was very lukewarm and was elicited only when Prince Leopold her patron began to clap his hands. Much more interesting than Paravicini’s play, was the comedy, which was capitally performed. Signor de Marini played remarkably well, and he is altogether one of the best actors of the day. The theatre, certainly, is smaller than the Fiorentino and Fondo, but quite as pretty.

At private-parties I have played my quartetts and quintetts a few times, which were exceedingly well accompanied by Messieurs Dauner and son, the young and talented violinist Onario, whom I have practised in some of my things, and by the accomplished violoncellist Fenzi, who lived formerly in Cassel. They afforded great pleasure, and Mayer assured me he had never enjoyed a greater musical treat. On the second occasion we played them at the house of Lady Douglas, who herself plays the piano very well and is said to have sung exceedingly well some years ago. She and her husband are the first English in whom I have found a real taste for music.

March 23.

On looking through this diary I observe that I have forgotten to mention the performance of two masses given at the expense of Prince Esterhazy of Vienna. The first by old Umlauf of Vienna, was remarkable for nothing in particular; but the second by Haydn, in D minor, which was performed with great solemnity and military pomp on the emperor’s birthday, afforded much gratification. Mesdames Chabran and Canonici, and Signori Nozzari and Benedetti sang the solo parts very beautifully; the chorus and orchestra were also admirable. Unfortunately, at the express desire of the Prince, almost all the tempi were taken too quick, and thereby much spoiled.

Milan, April 22.

Prevented from writing by the great press of business in the last days of our residence in Naples, and the hurry of our return journey, which was almost unbroken by a day of rest, I have got greatly in arrears, and have therefore much to fetch up, even respecting Naples.

Mayer’s new opera was at length brought out a fortnight before Easter, after it had been once more re-christened, but it was a total failure, so that it lived through two and a half representations only, and probably is for ever at rest. On the third evening, in fact, the first act alone was given, with one act of Paer’s “Sargino.” Both the subject and the music of Mayer’s opera are equally uninteresting and tedious. The latter especially is wanting in life and spirit; it is so common-place and so spun out, that one can hardly hear it without falling asleep. This actually occurred to me, to Count Gallenberg, and to several others, at the grand rehearsal. Mayer seems to have exhausted himself, which is no wonder with the enormous quantity of operas which he has written. It is certainly high time for him to retire as a composer of operas, that he may not entirely forfeit the repute he had acquired, and he would have done well if he had not accepted the last invitation to Naples. The evening after the first representation of his opera he set out on his return to Bergamo.

About this time the arrival of Madame Catalani set all the lovers of music in Naples in great commotion. She immediately took advantage of this enthusiasm and announced a few days afterwards a concert in the Fiorentino theatre, the prices of admission being seven-fold the usual ones. On the day before the concert, it was with difficulty that I got two pit tickets, and that because I had previously bespoken them, at 22 Carlini each. Never perhaps were the expectations of an audience at a higher pitch of tension, than were those of the Neapolitan public on that evening. My wife and I, who for years had longed to hear this celebrated singer, could scarcely repress our impatience for the moment of her appearance. At length she did appear, and a deathlike silence pervaded the whole house. She came forward with a cold and pretentious air, and saluted neither the Court nor the public, which created an obvious unpleasant sensation. Perhaps she had expected to have been received with a burst of applause, which however is not the custom in Naples, and this perhaps put her out of humour. But when after her first song she was greeted with a storm of applause, she became more friendly, and remained so for the rest of the evening. She sang four times, two airs by Pucitta, Ombra adorata of Zingarelli (or, as the Neapolitans insist, of Crescentini, whose name also was down on the bills) and variations on the thousand times varied “Nel cor non più mi sento.” The airs by Pucitta were extremely poor; the famed Ombra adorata can only be considered fine, when all thoughts of the text are banished from the mind; the variations were common place, but become piquante from her manner of execution. She pleased us greatly, by the constantly pure intonation and the perfect finish with which she executes every kind of vocal ornamentation and of passages, and by her quite peculiar and characteristic style of singing; but she does not come up to that ideal of a perfectly accomplished singer, which we had expected to find her. Her voice which has the extensive range of

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to

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is both full and powerful in the low and middle notes, but the transition to the voce di testa at

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very observable, and from three to four notes in that region are much weaker, than the deeper and highest; for which reason she gives all passages which occur in those notes, with half-voice, only in order to conceal the inequality. Her voice is wanting also in the youthful freshness, which, however, in a female singer of forty years of age, is not to be wondered at. Her shake is wonderfully beautiful; and equally pure whether in the half or whole notes. A peculiar style of run through the half notes, properly speaking the enharmonic scales, since every note was produced twice, is greatly admired as something quite her own. To me, nevertheless, it was more remarkable than beautiful; for it sounded to me like the howling of the storm in the chimney. Another kind of vocal ornamentation, which in itself is common enough, she gives, however, in a manner that imparts great charm to it. It would be expressed in notes somewhat in this manner:

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but at the same time it must be observed, that she took breath at every sixteenth-pause, which gave to this part a very impassioned character. Among the variations was one with syncopated notes, which from her peculiar style of execution derives also a very characteristic and interesting charm; and another in triplets legato she gives in perfection. But what I most missed in her singing, was soul. She sings recitative without expression--I might say with carelessness, and in Adagio she remains cold. Neither were we even once deeply moved, but experienced merely that sense of pleasure one always feels when one sees and hears mechanical difficulties overcome with ease. This, also, was the sentiment of all those who sat in our immediate neighbourhood. Some unpleasant and prejudicial habits, which she is not likely now to correct, I must yet advert to. To these belong firstly, that in certain passages, particularly those which she gives with force, every note is delivered with a sort of see-saw movement of the lower jaw, as in mastication, so that a dumb person, if he saw her sing, would have no great difficulty in distinguishing crochets from quavers and up and down running passages from one another. In the shake, more especially, the movement of the lower jaw by which every note might be counted, is very striking and disfiguring. Secondly, in impassioned passages her whole body partakes of a southern but highly unbecoming mobility, from which a deaf man would likewise of a certainty easily guess the subject.

A few days afterwards we heard her again in the rehearsal to her second concert, in which she sang five times, and exhibited the same qualifications, but also impressed no one at any time by a show of feeling in her execution. She seemed to me much less pretentious here and more amiable; and she was very polite to the orchestra and the persons who had gathered to hear her, so that I can readily believe what I was told--that her pretentious air when appearing in public, arose more from embarrassement than pride, and was assumed by her to conceal her fears. A young man who stood behind the side-scenes during her concert assured me, that upon first stepping forward on the stage she trembled in every limb, and could scarcely breathe for nervousness. It is said that here in Milan she did not give general satisfaction; and her last concerts were much less numerously attended than the first. One part of the public was in favour of Grassini, whom we have now heard here also, but of whom I shall speak later. The admirers of the latter had played Catalani a malicious trick by distributing for sale at the entrance of the theatre at her first concert an Italian translation of the unfavourable opinions respecting her that had appeared in the Hamburg and Leipsic musical journals. Catalani, herself, expecting to find in it a sonnet or something of the kind in her praise, purchased a copy.

The day after Catalani’s first concert in Naples took place, Rossini’s “Elisabetta” was given at the San Carlo theatre, in which Colbran played the first part. As every body knew that it was her intention to compete with Catalani, the house was more than usually crowded, both by partizans and antagonists of Colbran. The latter on the previous evening called Catalani’s concert the exequies of Colbran, and people were therefore extremely curious to learn what would be the result of the evening. Immediately upon her appearance she was received with a concert of hisses, but simultaneously also with vehement applause. As, however, this time she really sang and played exceedingly well, the applauders increased in number and the hissers grew less, so that at last she was called forward almost unanimously by the audience. She is far behind Catalani in voice and every mechanical point of excellence, but she sings with true feeling and plays with considerable passion. The composition of this opera is one of Rossini’s best, but with all the merits, it has also all the weak points of the others.--In the theatre, a ridiculous trait of pretentious magnanimity on the part of Catalani furnished subject of amusement. A few evenings before, when she first went to the theatre, she sent her secretary behind the scenes to express to Colbran and the other singers that “she was perfectly satisfied with their performances.”

Freiburg in Breisgau, June 20. 1817.

Previous to our leaving Naples, we devoted one whole day more to a visit to Pompeii. We were so fortunate as to have a clear and tolerably warm day, a real wonder throughout the whole of the month of March! While from the middle of January to the end of February the weather was almost without interruption the most beautiful spring weather, with the beginning of March winter suddenly returned. A cold and stormy rain fell in the vallies, and snow in the mountains to such a depth, that they were no longer accessible. On Vesuvius it was said to be from three to four feet deep. But March is generally very cold and the real winter month of the Neapolitans.

The ruins of Pompeii, which from having lain covered for nearly 2000 years with a light crust of dry ashes, are in far better preservation than all the remains of that period which have been exposed to the air, made a deep and really solemn impression upon us. The ruins of the Colosseum and other ancient buildings in Rome, impress one with an idea of the artistic taste, the wealth, and love of grandeur of the ancients; but here the sight of simple small private dwelling-houses, which are as entire as on the day of the fearful catastrophe, makes one acquainted with the habits and ways of their civic life, and, by ocular evidence, with many customs unknown to our mode of living, and described to us by ancient writers.

On entering one of these houses, which may have belonged to a well-to-do individual in the middle class of society, one finds a row of small, neat rooms all painted al fresco, like the paintings cut out of the walls from Herculaneum, which are preserved at Portici. These chambers have rarely any window, and but one door to admit light and air, which opens upon a court yard, round which runs a covered gallery. In the centre of the court is a fountain, near this a circular marble table round which stand marble benches to recline upon at meal time, furnished with a somewhat higher projection to support the elbows; and on one side of the court is one or more tastefully decorated baths. All these houses had but one floor or story and were much smaller than our dwelling houses. It is greatly to be regretted that the domestic utensils which were found there could not be left in their place! One would then have had a perfect conception of the habits and mode of life of the former inhabitants of this remarkable city. The pavement of the streets is still in the same condition as it then was, and the impression of the wheels of the vehicles as also of the feet of the foot-passengers are still to be seen in the streets. Over the shops one still sees expressed in Greek characters painted on walls, the wares which were sold in each, and at the corner of a street an advertisement of that period. In the shops where oil was sold huge earthen-ware jars, let into the masonry of the front wall, are still to be seen, from which that article was dipped out for sale. In many cellars in good preservation, similar tall jars, but with very narrow necks are to be seen, in which wine was kept. In one of these cellars the skeleton of a woman was found, and so completely imbedded in the ashes, that the form of her body could be distinguished as in a mould. A part of this form in which the impress of her breast is left, is preserved at Portici. In her hand was found a large leathern bag with coins in it.

The street which is in the best preservation is the street of the tombs, in which on both sides scarcely any thing is to be seen but tombs, some of which are built in the Egyptian pyramidal-form, and others in the Roman style. In these tombs, urns have been found in which the ashes and bones of the burned dead were preserved. The inscriptions upon these tombs are sometimes Greek, sometimes Latin, and begin very frequently with the exclamation: “Siste viator!” “Stop passer-by!” &c., which mode of arresting the attention of the way farer here in a frequented and busy street was much more in place than it is in our generally very retired churchyards, in which it has been imitated in a somewhat inappropriate manner.

The public buildings, theatres, temples, &c., which attract attention in Pompeii, are certainly neither so vast nor so grand and beautiful as those of Rome, Puzzuoli and other places; but they nevertheless exceed in importance everything that a modern provincial town can offer to the visitor. Where, for instance, would one find in any of these, a vast circus for public games, and two large theatres! Of the latter, one was roofed over, and served probably for the performance of comedies; the other, with a stage, an orchestra, and a circular, very lofty amphitheatre gives us an idea of the sort of place in which the Roman actors, provided with a mask to increase the volume of sound, performed their tragedies before an audience of from 10,000 to 15,000 spectators. But the temples also, the finest of which is now being dug out of the ashes, afford ocular demonstration of the love of grandeur and of the good taste of the ancients in architecture.

The vineyards and cultivated land which lie above the yet unexcavated part of the city, have been already long purchased by the former king of Naples; hence if the work had been carried on with energy, which, however, is not to be expected from the present government, which prosecutes all such things very indolently, the whole of this highly interesting city would be laid bare in a few years, and from the high ground which surrounds it might all be surveyed at one glance. At present the different parts which have been excavated are still separated from each other by long strips of land under cultivation, which one is obliged to ascend like so many hills; and one is greatly surprised after having traversed one of this sort of fields to see beneath one another part of the city, which contrasts so strangely with the vines, trees, fields and peasant’s huts upon the high ground.

The day before our departure from Naples we once more paid a visit to the Studii, and inspected the large collection of Etrurian vases of every imaginable form. We were greatly pleased also, with the fine collection of paintings, among which the pictures by Raphael recently brought back from Sicily were special objects of our admiration.

On the 29th March we set out on our return journey to Rome. The morning of our leaving was very stormy and unpleasant for me; for in the first place I had a dispute with the vetturino, who wanted to thrust a fifth person into the interior of the vehicle, in the shape of a dirty and ill-smelling Capucin friar, till at length after much desultory disputation we consented to his being accommodated in the cabriolet, and as a further incident of annoyance, my family was at first not permitted to pass out of the gate, because they had not been mentioned in the new Neapolitan passports which it is requisite to take upon leaving the country. It was in vain that I shewed my old passport, in which my wife and children were mentioned; and it was not until I had pledged my word to go back and procure another passport that I was allowed to move from the spot. I therefore went back to the minister, while my wife and children proceeded without further hindrance on their way. Arrived at the minister’s, I there found all still buried in sleep; but with fair words and that which with Italians is far more effectual, money, I at length succeeded in procuring a new passport. Furnished with this I jumped into a hired carriage, and drove with all speed to overtake my family, which I did about half-way to Capua and thus relieved them of a great anxiety respecting me. Among the annoyances with which travellers in Italy are almost worried to death, is the excessive strictness in regard to passports, which is frequently carried to a ridiculous extreme. We subsequently saw an instance in which a traveller who had already got beyond Parma on the Lombard frontier was sent all the way back to Leghorn because his passport had not been signed by the Austrian consul at that place.

In a second vehicle which accompanied us travelled an Englishman, who was possessed of an extraordinary skill in taking the fine views in a few minutes. For this purpose he made use of a machine which transmitted the landscape on a reduced scale to the paper. Between Velletri and Albano, where we went part of the way on foot in order better to enjoy the magnificent landscape and the mild air, we saw the whole method of his proceeding, which afforded infinite pleasure to the children. He shewed us afterwards his collection of views, of which he had upwards of two hundred of Naples and its neighbourhood alone. He gave me his address: Major Cockburn, Woolwich, nine miles from London.

Our re-entry into Rome filled us anew with wonder and admiration of the remains of the old Roman architecture, which we had not seen for three months. We were much amused also with the simple remarks of the Capucin friar, whose first visit this was to the mainland, and who was totally inexperienced in every thing. Apart from his dirt, he was really a good-tempered, simple sort of man, and quite endurable. He was full of restless impatience to see the pope officiate. How various are the wishes and inclinations of men! He perhaps felt as we did the day before the concert given by the celebrated Catalani! I wish with all my heart that he may return to his convent, better satisfied then we returned home from that concert.

With great difficulty we procured a miserable apartment in a private house, for which nevertheless we were obliged to pay half a piaster per diem. Strangers from every part of Italy had poured into Rome to be present during the Holy Week, in addition to whom also, pilgrims, and the devout gathered together from all parts of the world, were now here to receive remission of their sins. The streets were thronged to that degree that we were frequently obliged to pull up as we drove through.

Our apartments had a look-out upon the Tiber from a wooden balcony; from here we could follow the course of the Tiber from the Porta Romana to the bridge in front of the castle of St. Angelo. The stillness of the quarter of the city beyond the Tiber, lit up by the ruddy evening sky and the moonlight, contrasted in a remarkable manner with the dense throng which poured to and fro across the bridge and then disappeared in the streets leading from the castle of St. Angelo to the church of St. Peter. High above all the houses and palaces which lay between us and the church of St. Peter, rose the latter, proudly and majestically, filling us with wonder and admiration of its gigantic proportions. Tired as we were, it was long before we could tear ourselves away from this magnificent sight, and we remained till a late hour in the mild evening air upon our balcony. When we at length lay down to rest, we called to each other once more: “To-morrow, to-morrow, then we shall hear the famous Miserere!”

Aix la Chapelle, Aug. 10. 1817.

Here at length, I find once more a few moments leisure to continue my narrative of our return journey from Italy.

On the 3rd April we at last heard the-long-wished-for Miserere in the Sixtine chapel. We had been told that females were admitted by tickets, and that men were required to appear in shoes. But a ticket for Dorette was now not to be had, and I was therefore obliged to make up my mind to go alone. But when I recognised among the Swiss guard at the entrance of the church one whom I knew and whose good will I had won upon a former occasion by a present for accompanying us up to the dome of St. Peter’s church; I enquired of him whether he could not assist to procure me an admission into the chapel for my wife without a ticket; and upon his assurance that he would do his best, I hastened home to fetch her. After some discussion with the other Swiss guards we were so fortunate as to be admitted, although several English ladies of rank who came unprovided with tickets were refused admittance and turned back. The Swiss cannot bear the English nor the French, and favour the Germans upon such occasions much more, particularly if one can talk to them in a few words of “Schwizerdütsch.”

We yet arrived in good time, and only regretted that we were not allowed to remain together, so as to interchange at the moment the impression which the music would make upon us.

Before the commencement of the singing, nineteen psalms were chaunted alternately by high and low voices, in the same manner unisono, and in the form of prayer, as we had already found so tedious at Christmas; and we had to bear with the last eight or nine of these: after every one, which lasted for five long minutes, one of the tapers is extinguished that burns upon a gigantic pyramidal-shaped candelabra in front of the high altar. How one wishes that the last of them also was extinguished! At length the wished-for moment comes, and by degrees a silence ensues which not a little increases the expectation of that which now follows. To this sentiment of expectation, the solemn twilight which now prevails in the church faintly illumined with the last gleam of the rosy tints of evening, and the repose felt at length by the ear after the hoarse bellowing of the psalms may be ascribed the delicious impression that I experienced from the first long-drawn chord of C flat, and which seemed to me like music from another world. But one was too soon reminded that it was an earthly music that fell upon the ear, and one indeed sung by Italians; for immediately after the second bar, the ear was rent by a horrid succession of quints! The theme was doubtless after this manner:

[Music]

but was given by the singers in the following barbarous manner:

[Music]

I could not have believed even my own ears, much more those of others, that they sing in such wise in the Sixtine chapel, had I not heard it subsequently repeated. Is this perhaps the mysterious method of executing these old compositions, of which it is related that it is known alone to this choir, and has been handed down traditionally? Impossible! Modern Italians only can sing in so barbarous a style, who may perhaps possess a feeling for melody, but who in all that is called harmony are grossly ignorant.

When however this first Miserere had been endured, I was soon attracted by something else. These simple sequences of harmony, consisting almost wholly of triads, this mixing and sustaining of the voices, at one time increasing to the most tumultuous forte, at another dying away into the softest pianissimo; the continual and lengthened sustaining of single tones to a degree attainable only by the lungs of a castrated person, and then especially the soft introduction of a chord, while that of other voices is still faintly sustained, give to this music, in spite of all its deficiencies, something so peculiar, that one feels irresistibly attracted by it. I can now therefore readily understand that in former times, when the choir was much better, this must have made an immense impression upon foreigners who had never heard pure vocal music and the voices of castrated persons. It might even now be made most charmingly effective, if the singers of the choir had only a director of more extensive knowledge. But as it is, they do not generally sing even with purity.

On this first day, two compositions of Allegri and Baini were given, and each of them repeated once. Between each of these ten not very long divisions a prayer was recited in a low tone by the cardinals, bishops, and other clergy, which from its resemblance to the roll of distant thunder had a good effect. At the conclusion of the ceremony however, the servants, scraping and treading upon the foot-boards, made a very unpleasant noise for musical ears, which greatly disturbed and then obliterated the impression made by the music, to which one would willingly have abandoned oneself a little longer. This noise they tell me is to represent an earthquake!

On the second evening I managed things in such a manner as to arrive at the chapel just at the commencement of the real singing, and on the extinguishing of the last taper. The crowd was so great, that I was obliged to remain standing some time at the entrance surrounded by Englishmen, who during the whole time of the music spoke to each other in a very loud tone of voice, and would not even allow themselves to be restrained from it by any signs to keep silence. Besides this, the singers sang much more carelessly than the day before, and frequently very false, so that I was very glad when the earthquake came to put an end to the ceremony. Three new compositions were added to the two of yesterday, for which reason each required to be sung but once. In other respects everything was exactly the same as the first time.

At a later period I had an opportunity of seeing the Miserere collection published by Kühnel of Leipsic, but did not find a single one of those which we heard in Rome. The library of the Sixtine chapel must however be so rich in such compositions, that they are enabled to select different ones for many years in succession.

Both evenings after the Miserere we saw the illumination of the cross in the church of St. Peter. Upon entering by the grand entrance, whence one sees the illuminated cross at the farthest distance, it makes an imposing impression, but so soon as one approaches nearer, it loses greatly. The effect would be far greater if all the other lights in the church were extinguished. But as it is, not only hundreds of lamps burn round the entrance to the subterranean chapel, but innumerable other lights besides in every part of the church. The brilliant illumination in the cross casts therefore no prominent shadow. The Pantheon was also illuminated this evening, which must have had a magnificent effect. Unfortunately we arrived just as the lights were being extinguished.

On the previous evening prince Frederick took me to a party, at which the fiftieth psalm, or the Miserere of Marcello, was exceedingly well sung by dilettanti. But as the orchestral accompaniment was, as is usual in Rome, very bad, and the composition throughout monotonous, I soon got tired of it and was glad when it came to an end.

On Saturday forenoon we took a long walk to St. Paul to see the magnificent ancient pillars in that otherwise very ugly church. On our way back, we saw the pyramid of Cestius and the so-called mount of pot-sherds. At noon we met at the eating-house at the sign of “The Ermine” a German drawer, Herr Rösel, who easily persuaded us to take another walk in his company. He first pointed out to us an arched, old Roman subterranean canal, the Cloaca maxima, I think; we then went to a small, insignificant church, but which contains many fine antiquities, in order to see the divine service of the Greek church, which is celebrated on this day only; but the crowd was so great, that we could not obtain an entrance. Upon this we went to see the temple of Vesta, and lastly ascended the mount Aventino, where our companion led us before the door of a garden and shewed us through the key-hole one of the most startling sights imaginable. Through a long arched gallery overgrown with wild shrubs and verdure the dome of the church of St. Peters is seen magnificently lit up and gilded by the rays of the setting sun. We had then the door of the garden opened for us, in order to admire closely, a very large and beautiful palm tree which was just then in full bloom.

On the following morning the ringing of bells and salves of artillery from the castle of St. Angelo reminded us that it was Easter Sunday, and of the necessity of a speedy toilet if we would not lose the sight of the great ceremony in the church of St. Peter’s. But the fearful crush of the crowd upon the bridge almost compelled us to turn back. Completely carried along by the throng, we at length arrived on the other side of the Tiber, and then hastened to get into a less crowded side street, which also led to the grand square in front of the church. We there found many thousand persons assembled, and among them many pilgrims, with their hats ornamented with shells collected from every quarter of the world, who were impatiently awaiting the moment when the Holy father should give his benediction from the balcony. But some time was to elapse before that would take place, and we therefore first took a turn through the church, where we found every part decorated just the same as at Christmas, and as we could hope to see very little of the ceremony, we preferred taking a walk in the open air as the weather was so fine. We got back again about 12 o’clock, and found the populace still in a state of acute suspense. The balcony over the grand entrance to the church was decorated with crimson velvet, and to shield it from the rays of the sun a gigantic tent was stretched over it. In the gallery above the pillars on the left-hand side a box had been erected for the accommodation of the most distinguished foreign visitors. A number of pages bearing tapers first made their appearance on the balcony, then followed the cardinals, and lastly the Pope, borne upon a sedan, and having on each side of him the white fans of ostrich feathers. As soon as he appeared, all the people fell upon their knees and a solemn stillness took the place of the wild tumult which had previously prevailed. There was something exceedingly imposing in the reverential awe impressed by this moment upon the feelings. The pale old man then arose, and with a slow and dignified movement of the hands, blessed the assembled multitude. In the mean-time, two folded papers were thrown down from the balcony, one of which, as I was told, contained the damnation of all heretics, and the other the papal indulgence for all good believers then present. The damnatory-bull did not however reach the ground, but flew driven by the wind into a window that stood open, while the bull of indulgence was caught by the people who struggled for its possession.

On our way to the eating-house, we were joined by Herr Kelle of Stuttgard, whose acquaintance we had previously made in Dresden. He asked us among other things whether we were satisfied with our tour in Italy and with what we had seen. Upon which I complained that we had found many things which did not realise the expectation that had been raised in our minds by previous travellers. He found that very natural, and considered that it arose from the circumstance that not one of the travellers upon his return would confess, that he also had been made an April-fool of by his predecessors. It reminds me, he continued, of the well-known anecdote of a man who advertised that he had a horse in his stable which had its head where other horses had their tails. But the curious who went to see it found nothing more than a horse fastened to the crib by the tail, yet took good care to conceal it from the others who were waiting outside the door--because they were ashamed. The application of the story is easy!

After dinner we took another walk in the villa Borghese, and then made our preparations for our departure, which was fixed for the next morning.

In company of two persons from Stuttgard and one from Munich, with whom we had collectively hired a vetturino, we this time performed the far more interesting return-journey by the way of Perugia to Florence, in six days. On the evening of the second day we arrived at Terni, and hastened before the sun had set, to visit the celebrated waterfall, about two hours’ walk from that place. We proceeded as far as the foot of the mountain and then hired some asses already saddled for the purpose in the very romantically situated village, to which half Terni attracted by the mildness of the Sunday evening had repaired as a pleasant promenade. These soon and safely carried us up the ascent to the waterfall. The view from the mountain, before one turns into the valley into which the waterfall precipitates itself, is very varied and charming. The scene then, as one approaches nearer to it, becomes more and more wild and romantic. As the sun was now about to set, we did not tarry long but made all possible haste to reach the waterfall before nightfall, in part to see the imposing spectacle in a proper light, and partly for security’s sake, as the country hereabouts has not a very good reputation. With the last declining rays of the sun we reached the rock which rises out of the dark foaming abyss opposite the fall, and where for the convenience of visitors a pavillon furnished with benches has been erected. The view of the majestic spectacle from this point of sight is beyond the power of language to describe. We were all riveted as it were to the spot with admiration and wonder. Certainly at no former period of my life did any of the beauties of nature, not even the first sight of the Alps, make so deep an impression upon me. After we had stood here for full ten minutes and fully feasted our eyes with the magnificent sight, we returned to Terni without accident, on one of the mildest and finest evenings of spring, exceedingly delighted with our charming excursion.

On the fourth day of the journey it became suddenly very cold, so much so that towards evening snow even began to fall, and lay upon the ground till the morning. But when we entered the deep valley in which Florence lies, we found everything in bloom.

We remained one day only in Florence, which we nevertheless turned to good account. In the forenoon we visited the cathedral, the baptistery and the Boboli gardens. Unfortunately, as it was a holiday, we could not get admittance to see the tomb of the Medici and the Pitti Palace. In the afternoon we took a walk to the Cascini.

Next morning, the 14th April, we resumed our journey, to Bologna without our previous companions, who remained some time longer in Florence. We found a great deal of snow in the Apennines, and once more got into complete winter. In dismal Bologna we stopped one day only. The host of the “Pellegrino” had made out a somewhat shamefully long bill against us, in abatement of which I resorted to a means I had frequently put in practice; that is, I deducted a third from the account, which after some discursive wrangling, he was obliged to submit to. Subsequently I always resorted to this expedient, and found it answer better than the previous plan of pre-arrangement, which I had hitherto followed, but in which after all I always found that I was cheated.

We now proceeded by way of Modena, Reggio, Parma and Piacenza, to Milan. As we did not stop long any where, I can say nothing more of those cities than that we everywhere found similar crowds of ragged beggars, the same system of cheating among the hotel keepers, and the same dirt. On the market place of Piacenza, we saw the two gigantic bronze statues. Whether they have any artistic merit, I cannot take upon me to say, as we saw them only in the evening twilight.

In Milan we put up at the Pension Suisse, which I recommend to all travellers for cleanliness and cheapness. We were again struck on our first going out by the magnificence and beauty of the exterior of the cathedral. It is without doubt the finest building that we ever saw, more noble and richer than the façade of the church of St. Peter’s.

The celebrated Grassini, to the imitation of whose singing Rode is said to be indebted for his peculiar method of play, which differs from the school of Viotti, had announced six representations in the theatre della Scala. As they were however but thinly attended, three only took place, at the last of which we were present. It consisted of unconnected scenas from “the Horatii and Curatii” of Cimarosa, and some other airs, among which also Ombra adorata. Grassini, who in the flower of her age was without doubt a distinguished vocalist, is now somewhat passée. In that however which time could not steal from her she still stands alone; that is, she has a good style, and plays and sings with much intensity of feeling--in truth with far more feeling and expression than Catalani, but she is nevertheless greatly behind the latter in brilliancy of execution and as regards voice.--Hence whenever the production of a brilliant effect alone, was the desideratum, she did not altogether give satisfaction, but in impassioned recitative she charmed the audience by her truthful force of expression.

I found this time also, the della Scala theatre admirably adapted to give effect to music. I know of no place in which the voices as well as the orchestra sound so grandly, and so distinctly at the same time; it is therefore immeasurably preferable in an acoustic point of view to the San Carlo theatre.

As upon our first appearance at the theatre our speculation had been so unprofitable, we tried this time the music hall of the conservatorium, fixed the price of entrance at three francs, and on account of the theatre gave our concert in the forenoon. Whether attributable to the unusual hour or to the already too advanced season of the year--suffice to say, it was again very thinly attended, and did not return much more than the expenses.

In the company of two Englishmen, the younger of whom was tolerably amiable, we set out from Milan on the 2nd of May, slept in Arona, and on the following morning were anew enraptured by the heavenly scenery round the Lago maggiore, which we now again found in the garb of spring, and arrived towards evening at the village of Simplon, at the foot of the Simplon pass. Here, upon taking leave of Italy, we were again cheated in real Italian style, being compelled, for instance, to pay two francs for each cup of coffee.

The next morning we commenced the at this season of the year somewhat difficult journey over the mountain pass, and reached the snow region one hour after leaving Simplon. Here it was necessary to take the carriage to pieces; the body was placed upon one sledge, the wheels upon another, and our luggage upon a third; and in this manner the caravan proceeded with several additional horses at a slow rate. In the higher regions of the pass, where the snow remained hard, there were not many stoppages, but further down, where the warmth was already considerable, and the snow not very deep, we came every moment to a standstill. Sometimes the horses sank in up to their bellies, at others the carriage would get jammed fast between walls of snow as high as a house, when it became necessary to clear a passage for it; and then again the road had to be cleared of the fallen avalanches that encumbered it and obstructed our progress. We therefore went on before, and arrived two hours earlier at the fourth refuge station, wet through up to the knees, it is true. At this place the snow had disappeared, and here we refreshed ourselves with a simple breakfast, and rested from the fatigues of our toilsome promenade. We heard many avalanches come thundering down, and were in constant fear that it might fare with us as with some travellers who had passed the day before. These, arrived near to one of the galleries pierced through the rock, saw a fearful avalanche sweeping down upon them, and had but just time sufficient to take refuge in the gallery. To their horror, however, they found both exits had been blocked up by the snow, so that for three fearfully anxious hours they were shut in, until the inspector of the road had worked his way through to them.

When at length the carriage arrived, we drove on to Brieg, where we passed the third night, and for the first time again heard our mother-tongue spoken, which sounded right welcome to our ears. Our fourth day’s journey brought us to Sion, where French is spoken. In the Valais we found the spring much less forward than on the other side. Here, the cherry-trees were scarcely in bloom, while in Lombardy and on the Lago maggiore they had long passed their bloom. We thus once more found ourselves in spring, in which we had constantly been since the beginning of February.

On our fifth day’s journey we came to the celebrated Pissevache, which is close to the road. But our expectations were not altogether satisfied; for in comparison with the waterfall at Terni, this looked very insignificant in our eyes. We slept at Bex, a charmingly situated little village, which the inhabitants call not without reason un paradis terrestre. The inn here may compete with the largest hotels of many capitals.

On the sixth day we travelled continuously along the lake of Geneva through Vevay to Lausanne. This place, so much lauded, and also much resorted to in summer by the English, is not so beautiful as I expected. The views on the lake of Thun, and still more on the lake of Zurich, are far more varied; but all the Swiss lakes are in my opinion far behind the Lago maggiore. On the seventh day we arrived at length at Geneva.

* * * * *

In consequence of a severe cold I was confined for some days to my bed. During this time Herr Dupont and the Rev. Pastor Gerlach, with some other musical friends, took some pains to make arrangements for a concert. But it was easy to see beforehand that it would not be a very brilliant affair, for in part the prevailing distress and dearness of provision were still too great; and partly because several concerts had taken place shortly before for the benefit of the poor. The season was also too far advanced, and the majority of the wealthy families had already retired to their country-seats. In fact it did not much more than cover the expenses. We also permitted ourselves to be persuaded to play at Herr Piclet Rochemont’s and Herr Dupont’s private parties; and the very numerous company assembled at both their tea-parties then thought it no longer worth while coming to our concert. The brothers Bohrer, who had been there a month before we came, did not meet with better success. Taken as a whole the Genevese have very little taste for art, and are always speculating how they can best squeeze the numerous foreigners who reside there summer and winter. At any rate they know very little of German art and German artists, and do not know our classical composers even by name. The foreign language, and the long French rule to which they were subjected, explains all this sufficiently.

Of all towns of Switzerland Geneva may boast the greatest number of distinguished artists, but who here, as almost everywhere else, are split into two or more parties, and live a regular cat-and-dog life among themselves. Of these the brothers Hensel and Wolf and Herr Berger (properly Münzberger) are the most prominent. I was so fortunate as to bring these gentlemen together at my concert, who otherwise never played together, and had thus for a Swiss town a really good orchestra. The Rev. Pastor Gerlach received us in the most friendly manner, and rendered us even many obliging services; he even gave up to us the Lutheran church for our concert, in which music has a very good effect. Without that we should been compelled to give it in the dark and cheerless theatre, which would have occasioned considerable expense (300 Francs).

In Geneva I had the unexpected pleasure of meeting once more my old teacher Kunisch of Brunswick. This worthy man had experienced every possible caprice of fortune. When a young man he was a first-rate hornist, but from its inducing at last a spitting of blood, he was obliged to abandon that instrument to save his life. By the most untiring application he then in three years attained to a considerable skill on the violin, and subsequently procured an appointment as first violin at the national theatre in Berlin. When after the battle of Jena the Prussian court was obliged to fly from Berlin and the royal orchestra was dispersed, he was driven from Berlin by the intrigues of Herr Schick, who much wanted to obtain his place. He then first went to Switzerland, when already advanced in years he learned the French language, and, afterwards went to Lyons, where he again procured an appointment as first violin at the theatre. Well pleased with his situation here, he had just begun to feel comfortably settled down, when by an unluckly fall he dislocated his left hand, which soon became perfectly rigid, so that he could no longer play the violin, and consequently was obliged to give up his situation. He was now for a third time compelled to learn another instrument, and thenceforth earned a scanty subsistence as a teacher of the piano-forte. He was exceedingly pleased to meet me again, and seemed very proud to be able to call me his pupil.

* * * * *

Upon perusing the here intercalated diary of the Italian journey I miss some incidents which even now (in 1847) are so vividly impressed on my memory that I cannot forbear appending them here in continuation.

Mention has already been made of the circumstance that I had alone to thank the exertions of the Austrian ambassador Count Apponyi for being enabled to give a concert in Rome during Advent, at which time all public music is forbidden. Count Apponyi undertook to represent my request for permission to the governor of Rome, but advised me nevertheless not to wait for the reply, but to make arrangements as quickly as possible for the concert, while he would procure for me the necessary subscribers. I went to work immediately, but found my efforts impeded by very considerable difficulties. The salon in the Ruspoli Palace, which Count Apponyi had procured for me, was like every other part of that fine uninhabited building, in a very ruinous condition. It was necessary to re-glaze the windows in many places, to fill up the holes in the marble pavement with bricks, and to hire the necessary furniture, chandeliers, seats, music desks, &c. &c. But it was first of all especially necessary to cleanse the palace, from the entrance to the saloon, from the filth with which the esplanade and the handsome flight of marble steps ornamented with statues were filled in such a manner, that whole cart-loads of it required to be carried away. I was also first obliged to find one by one singers and musicians in the immense city, and to engage them for my concert, all of which occupied a great deal of time. Until the day of the concert, and even on that itself till the evening, I was in continual anxiety lest a refusal of my request should arrive and overthrow every thing I had done. But the police were so humane, that they did not forward this to me till the day after the concert when I had already in hand a satisfactory return in the shape of receipts. I was hereby relieved of great uneasiness and one which until then had greatly embittered my stay in Rome. My travelling funds had come to so low an ebb, from the hitherto scanty receipts from my concerts in Italy, that I saw with alarm they would in no manner suffice for an extension of our journey to Naples, and scarcely even for a direct return to Germany. To be so near to Naples, the most desired object of the whole journey, and now to turn back--that was a reflexion too fearful for me to bear with calmness! I therefore conceived the idea of applying to the Beer family, which had meanwhile arrived from Venice, for a loan. Intimate as was my friendship with the son Meyer Beer (afterwards Meyerbeer) I could nevertheless not overcome my reluctance to express my wish on the subject, and applied therefore in preference to a rich friend of mine in Alsace, who however, as it frequently happens with such applications, paid no attention to it. But now, thanks to the handsome receipts which my concert had brought in, all prospect of pecuniary want was dissipated, and I could venture upon the further journey to Naples without anxiety. This was nevertheless delayed by the illness of my children till the latter end of January; and as Dorette, wholly occupied with attending to them, could now no longer accompany me in my excursions, I kept frequent company with the Beer family, and they having arrived later, I could now serve them as Cicerone. Of an evening, when the light no longer permitted anything more to be seen (for the theatres were still closed during Advent), the three sons accompanied me sometimes to my lodgings, and we then shortened the long evenings with a game at whist. As it was at that time, however, very cold in Rome, and there was no means of heating my room, we used to set ourselves down in my enormous bed with our backs turned to the four cardinal points, with the leaf of a table between us, and in that manner played our rubber in comfortable warmth and in the best humour.

Of my stay in Naples, the following incident is to be added.

On the day of my first concert, I received in the green-room of the San Carlo theatre, a visit from the celebrated singer Crescentini, whom I had already become acquainted with in Rome. After he had said many very complimentary things relative to my play and my compositions, he made the following proposition to me. The present director, Zingarelli, who, with his religious turn of mind, was very unremitting in praying with his pupils, but who practised them in music very little, was to be pensioned off, and he, Crescentini was applying for the appointment. But as he understood nothing of instrumental music, the Neapolitan minister contemplated appointing a second director for that, and had thought of me, as my play and my compositions had quite enchanted him at my concert on the previous day. If therefore I felt disposed to make an application for the place, I was to accompany him immediately to the minister, where further proposals would be made to me. This took place. I returned to Dorette highly satisfied with the propositions of the minister, and we were not a little pleased at the thoughts of taking up our home in such a paradise as Naples. But week after week passed away, without any further communication from the minister, and we learned from Crescentini that the whole project had been abandoned by reason of the expense it would entail. We dared not therefore delay any longer the period of our departure, for I again found that my treasury was so decreased by our numerous excursions in the environs of Naples, which we had made in the company of our Silesian friends, and of which I was always obliged to bear half the expenses, that my means would scarcely suffice for the return journey to Switzerland.

This calculation proved indeed but too correct; for on our arrival at Geneva, my funds were completely exhausted. As my concert there also brought in but very little, and I knew beforehand that with the then (in the spring of 1817) prevailing famine in Switzerland, but very little was to be earned in the other Swiss towns, I for the first time in my life experienced the bitter anxiety arising from a want of the means of subsistence. It is true we possessed some valuables which had been presented to us at several courts; but the bare thought of being obliged to sell or to pledge these, was still much too painful to our feelings. Necessity, however, compelled us to do so. I was just on the point of looking for a place where money was advanced upon pledges, when Dorette suggested that it would be preferable to reveal our position to the most friendly of all our acquaintances there, the Pastor Gerlach, and offered to go to him herself, as I had not the courage to do so. She took with her her handsomest ornament, a diadem of brilliants, a present from the Queen of Bavaria, and proceeded to the reverend gentleman’s house. Never in all my life did I pass such painful moments as those which elapsed during her absence. At length, after a seemingly never-ending half hour, she returned, and brought back the pledge--but with it the sum necessary for the prosecution of our further journey. She was still in a state of excitement from a fright she had experienced there. While, with the greatest embarrassment and with faltering lips, she disclosed to the Pastor our momentary necessities, and made a request for a loan upon the pledge she proferred, he had suddenly burst into a loud fit of laughter and vanished into an adjoining room. But before she had time to reflect upon the meaning of this outburst of hilarity, which seemed to her so greatly out of place, he returned bringing the required sum, and said to her in the kindest manner: “I am delighted that the worthy pair of artists have afforded me so great a pleasure as to render them a service; but how could you think that a clergyman would lend upon pledges like a jew?”

Thus, then, our immediate wants were relieved and we could resume our journey. We now first went to Thierachern to fetch our carriage and the harp, which we had left there the previous autumn. As Dorette required a little time to get her hand again into play upon her instrument, and we did not moreover require to hurry, as the favorable period for concert-giving was passed, we stayed there a fortnight, practised again each forenoon our duets for harp and violin, and in the afternoons, favoured by the most beautiful spring weather, visited once more all our former favorite spots. At length, however, we were obliged to make up our minds to leave the paradise of Thierachern and proceed further upon our artistic tour. In Switzerland we met with very little success, for the permission to give public concerts was everywhere refused on account of the prevailing famine, and it was permitted in Zurich only because we there offered to hand over a part of the proceeds to the poor. I there played for the first time since my return to Germany my vocal scena and a solo-quartet (Op. 43) that I had begun in Italy and finished in Thierachern; both compositions were received with very great applause. But with that I was obliged to content myself; for the receipts from this concert were far below those of the previous year. I could not therefore keep my promise as to time, in the repayment of the sum borrowed in Geneva, which gave me much uneasiness. But the Pastor Gerlach, upon my communicating to him the reason, in excuse for my failure, returned the most satisfactory reply, and I could thus proceed on my journey with a mind more at ease.

But even in Germany also, where we gave concerts in Freiburg, Carlsruhe, Wiesbaden, Ems, and Aix-la-Chapelle, the receipts were but middling, on account of the generally prevailing distress, so that they scarcely covered our travelling expenses; and not until we reached the last-named town, where our play produced a great sensation and enabled us to give three very numerously attended concerts, did sufficient remain to enable us to liquidate my debt to Gerlach.

From Naples to Aix-la-chapelle we had now travelled for four months continually in the direction from south to north, without stopping very long anywhere. We had therefore found everywhere beyond and on this side of the Alps, the trees in bloom, and thus enjoyed an extension of the spring season in a degree such as it has never since been our lot to know. At Aix-la-Chapelle we arrived in the height of summer, and in the middle of the bathing season. For our farther journey to Holland this was the most unfavourable time for concert-giving, and I therefore resolved to stop some weeks in Aix-la-Chapelle. We had there become acquainted with several zealous musical amateurs, at whose houses music parties were frequently given. I had also found some good quartet-accompaniers with whom I practised my Vienna quartets and quintets; and as they were greatly admired by all who heard them, I gave them frequently.

We thus passed the time of our stay in Aix-la-Chapelle in a very pleasant manner, equally divided between work and pleasure. The instruction of the children, which indeed had never entirely ceased during the whole journey, for we used to give them instruction even in the carriage as we travelled along, was now resumed with more earnestness and regularity. I also began to compose again, and wrote there the first number of my four-voice songs for men’s voices (Op. 44) of which Gœthe’s “Dem Schnee, dem Regen” became afterwards a favorite table song.

Towards autumn we continued our journey to Holland, and on our way thither first gave some concerts at Cologne and Dusseldorf which were very well attended. Thence we proceeded to Cleves, where we made the acquaintance of the notary, Mr. Thomae, a zealous friend of art and a distinguished dilettante, who played several instruments. In his house we had music very frequently, and the two families, inclusive of the children, soon became so attached that they formed a life-enduring friendship. Through this circumstance our stay in Cleves became so attractive that we took leave of the friendly little town and its charming environs with much reluctance.

The fame of the Spohr artist-couple had however not yet reached Holland, and we were therefore first obliged to break ground there. In this however we soon succeeded. In that wealthy land, favourably disposed towards German art and German artists, we made a great sensation, and consequent thereon also a flourishing business. We had already played at Rotterdam and the Hague, and had just arrived at Amsterdam, where we had also already made our appearance in Felix meritis and had afterwards given a concert upon our own account, when I received a letter from Mr. Ihlée, director of the theatre at Frankfort on the Main, in which, on the part of the shareholders of that theatre, he offered me the appointment of director of the opera and music, and in case of my acceptance thereof, added the request that I would enter upon it with all possible despatch. The terms, it is true, were not so brilliant as those of my Vienna appointment, but sufficient nevertheless to maintain a family. Certainly I should have liked to have continued my artistic tour, in which I took great pleasure, at least till the spring; but they were very pressing in Frankfort, and Dorette longed once more for domestic repose. I therefore consented without further hesitation and set out immediately upon the return journey. At Cleves, where we alighted at the friendly house of the Thomae family, we were forced, despite the pressing urgency to accelerate our journey, to stop a few days. Although it was now mid-winter, every thing was again done to make our stay agreeable. Music parties, sledge excursions and other amusements succeeded each other alternately. On the evening before our departure, as we sat at the supper-table, cracking nuts and thinking regretfully of the approaching parting, my friend Thomae made the proposal that the Spohr family, as a memorial of their presence there, should plant one of the nuts in the garden. This proposition was received with general acclamation. Upon a spade being brought, both families, wrapped in warm cloaks, repaired in procession to the garden, in the very centre of which, after I had cleared away the snow, I dug a hole, in which the children planted the nut. In the following spring the appearance of the germ above ground was announced to us at Frankfort. This, carefully protected by a circular fence, grew by degrees to a fine tree, and even now (1852) the Thomae family, as one of the sons not long since informed me, thinks with pleasurable feelings of that evening and the absent friends.

In Frankfort I was received by the shareholders of the theatre and by the whole company of the theatre and orchestra in the most friendly manner. A dinner was given in my honour in the saloon of the “Weidenbusch,” at which the usual toasts were given and speeches made in due form. The orchestra, which, under the able direction of its previous leader Mr. Schmitt, had acquired the reputation of being one of the best in Germany, I found somewhat deteriorated, from his long illness. But as a ready disposition was shewn by all to meet my wishes and arrangements, and as they soon accustomed themselves to my method of directing, the former ensemble was soon re-established. My predecessor had led with the violin, and by the wish of the singers I began also in the same manner, indicating the time with the bow, and keeping the violin ready at hand, in order to assist with that when necessary. But I soon accustomed them to so precise a practise of their parts that such assistance as that was soon no longer necessary. I now laid the violin aside and directed in the French style, with the bâton.

The routine of business on the Frankfort stage was at that time as follows: the managers chosen by the shareholders, met every week the technical directors (Mr. Ihlée for the drama and I for the opera) at a sitting at which the programme for the week was agreed upon and everything concerning the management arranged. The præses, or senior of this directory, was a merchant of the name of Leers, who liked the office and therefore always managed to be re-elected. In the course of time he had acquired a certain tact in the routine of managing the theatre, and spoke usually therefore in a very decided tone. His whole endeavour was directed to economy, in order to diminish the yearly recurring deficit of from 14 to 17,000 florins, which the shareholders were obliged to cover. He liked best the singers, performers and musicians, who engaged at the lowest salaries, and in the choice of the operas and plays which were to be given he always decided upon those which would entail the least expense. Ihlée and I had also an especial interest in getting rid of the deficit, as we had a share in any overplus secured to us by agreement: but we thought this would be much more surely attained if an endeavour was made to raise the character of the theatre by engaging distinguished talent and the representation of classical works. We were therefore frequently in opposition to Mr. Leers and his colleagues, and one of them only, Mr. Clement Brentano, entertained the same opinion as ourselves. But he seldom succeeded in obtaining the victory for it, as it was always his custom to defend it merely with light sallies of wit and sarcasm. The animosity which sprung out of this difference of opinion between Mr. Leers and myself was not perceptible, however, till a later period, for at first we agreed very well. It was therefore not very difficult for me to obtain the consent of the managers to bring out my opera “Faust.” I was very desirous of at length hearing this work, which I had written five years before at Vienna, and I hastened all the preparations as much as possible. As there was no baritone among the singers of the theatre who could satisfactorily take the part of Faust, I was obliged to give it to the tenor, Mr. Schelble, afterwards the founder and director of the society of St. Cecilia, who possessed in his mezzo-tenore, the necessary compass as also the requisite skill in execution. After the rehearsals had commenced, Schelble expressed the wish that I would write another air for him which would shew his voice off to more advantage than those which were in the opera. As I found a suitable place for its introduction immediately after the duet at the commencement, and Mr. George Döring (hautboy of the orchestra and subsequently a much admired romance writer) furnished me with appropriate words for it, I was very pleased to be enabled to satisfy Schelble’s wish. This air: “Liebe ist die zarte Blüthe” (Love is the tender blossom), which was afterwards so frequently sung at concerts, and innumerable times in London by Pischek, is therefore the first thing I composed in Frankfort. Meanwhile the study of the opera had proceeded so well that it could be announced and performed for the first time in March (1818). At first, it is true, it pleased the great majority less than the connoisseurs, but with each representation gained more admirers; so that from that time it has remained almost constantly in the repertorium of the Frankfort stage, and has been studied anew after short intervals.

This success encouraged me to new dramatic compositions. I therefore looked about me for the materials for a work of the kind, and found one that suited me in Appel’s book of ghost stories, in the tale called “Der schwarze Jäger” (the black huntsman). Döring, with whom I spoke upon the subject, offered to work it out as an opera. We devised together a plot which differed chiefly from Kind’s text-book (which was at that time as yet unknown to us) in this, that we retained the tragical conclusion of the story. As soon as Döring had written the first scenes, I immediately set about the composition. The introduction was already for the most part sketched out, when the celebrated tragedian Madame Schröder, and her daughter, the afterwards more celebrated Schröder-Devrient, came to Frankfort, and during her visit saw the work I was engaged upon on the piano. They then informed that C. M. von Weber was composing music for the same subject as an opera, and had already finished the first act. This induced me to lay my work aside, as I had reason to fear Weber would come forward with his opera much earlier than I. As it afterwards proved, however, such was not the case; for the “Freischütz” appeared first in 1820, and my opera “Zelmira and Azor,” which I began almost a year later, was already given on the 4th April 1819. Nevertheless I have not regretted that I abandoned the materials of Appel’s story, for with my music, which is not adapted to please the multitude and excite the popular enthusiasm, I should never have met with the unexampled success that the “Freischütz” met with.

As I was now again obliged to look about me for a libretto, I began meanwhile to write quartets. The chief reason for this was the solicitation of some lovers of that kind of music to institute public-quartet performances, which had not hitherto been given in Frankfort. At these I wished also to be enabled to bring forward some new compositions, and for that purpose I wrote in the course of the summer the three quartets (Op. 45). When I played the first of these at a musical soirée at Schelble’s, Jean Paul was one of the audience. He appeared to interest himself very much for this new composition and ascribed to it a highly poetical signification, of which while composing it I certainly never thought, but which recurred in a very striking manner to my mind at every subsequent performance of the quartet.

On the 29th July 1818 my family was again increased by the birth of a little daughter, who was christened by the name of Theresa after her godmother Mrs. Thomae of Cleves, and was held over the font by my friend Speyer. Dorette now felt very happy at having a permanent-dwelling place, so as to be able to devote herself wholly to the care of the new visitor.

In the autumn began the first set of the public quartets in the little saloon of the “Rothes Haus.” The assistants were: second violin the concertmaster Mr. Hofmann, viol Mr. Bayer, violoncello Mr. Hasemann, at that time bass-trumpet of the orchestra, and afterwards first violincellist of the Cassel orchestra. I brought forward some quartets of Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven, and some of my own, which we had practised in the most careful manner in two rehearsals. They made therefore a great sensation by the precision of their execution, and were so well received that in the course of the winter another set could be given.

In September 1818 I began also the composition of the new opera. Mr. Ihlée had proposed as subject the text of the formerly very much admired opera “La Belle et la Bête,” by Gretry. As this at that time had wholly disappeared from the German repertory, and was wholly unknown to the younger generation, I readily assented to the proposition; for from my earliest youth I had a predeliction for this tale, and even remembered an air of Gretry’s opera, that namely of Zelmira with the echo, which as a boy I had frequently heard my mother sing, and also sung myself. Herr Ihlée offered to alter the text to the style of the modern opera, which, as he well understood stage business, he did greatly to my satisfaction.--At that time Rossini’s music became then first known in Germany, and “Tancred” in particular brought down a very storm of applause in Frankfort. Almost at every sitting of the theatre I was obliged to hear from Mr. Leers the words: “That is an opera that pleases and attracts the public, you must bring out more of that kind!”--Little as I was an admirer of Rossini’s music, as the severe criticism thereof in the diary of the Italian journey shews, yet the applause which “Tancred” had met with in Frankfort was not wholly without influence on the style of my new opera. I was furthermore induced to this by the considerable power of execution possessed by four singers (Miss Friedel, the sisters Campagnoli, and Mr. Schelble) who were at my command. This explains why the music to “Zelmira and Azor” has so much colouring and vocal ornamentation in the parts sustained by the three sisters, and that of Azor. The opera was studied most attentively by the singers and the orchestra, and met with great success at the very first representation, indeed a more general one than “Faust,” which however, at a later period, both in Frankfort and the rest of Germany, reassumed the place in public estimation which its real merits as an opera more properly justified.

During the course of the winter I gave another concert with my wife, for which I had written a new sonata for harp and violin. As, since I had once more a fixed residence, pupils again presented themselves, both native and foreign, I was overburdened with work the whole winter. When spring at length came I was therefore very desirous of a little rest and I was well pleased when four of my earlier musical friends of Rudolstadt, Messrs. von Holleben, Müller, Sommer and Methfessel, came to Frankfort and urged me to accompany them to Mannheim, where a musical festival was to take place. I managed to get leave of absence for eight days, and joined the party. From Darmstadt, where the charming mountain-road begins, we went on foot to Heidelberg, and carried our necessary luggage in knapsacks, on our backs. Three of the Rudolstädter, Müller, Sommer and von Holleben, who were first-rate harmonists, had strapped their horns upon their knapsacks, and Methfessel, who accompanied our four-part songs with the guitar, carried his instrument slung by a band over his shoulders. In this manner our travelling-party, notwithstanding their respectable exterior, had completely the appearance of an itinerant music-band, and as, in high and jocund spirits, we always entered all the villages and small towns either playing or singing, we had always a long train of jovial listeners, and numerous applications to “strike up,” which, to the great regret of the applicants, were of course not complied with. We made short stages, and ascended the ruins of several castles which lay near our road. There we partook of the meal brought with us from the neighbouring inn and seasoned it with horn-music, song and mirthful jest. On the third day we arrived at Heidelberg, where we visited the castle. A flourish of horns soon brought a number of hearers around us, who were highly delighted with our four-part songs and Methfessel’s comic lyrics. As we had inscribed our names in the visitors’ book, it soon became known in the town that I and some musical friends were on our way to the festival at Mannheim, and in the evening a deputation from the Heidelberg musical society made its appearance at our inn with an invitation to make the passage to Mannheim the next morning on board the society’s vessel. We consented with very great pleasure.

This voyage was the most brilliant episode in the whole journey. When I and my companions set foot on board the vessel, which was dressed out with festoons of flowers up to the top of the mast, we were welcomed in the most friendly manner by the already assembled male and female singers, with a choral-song. While the boat was passing directly afterwards between high rocky banks on either side, which threw back the echo, the Rudolstädter first returned the compliment with their horns, which had a fine effect there. Then followed our songs, and Methfessel again distinguished himself in particular by the execution of his humorous songs, which he accompanied in a masterly manner on the guitar. These put the whole company in the merriest mood. As we drew near the end of our journey we were met and welcomed by the Mannheim musical society on board several boats decorated with flags and flowers. My presence on board the Heidelberg boat was already known. The committee of the festival therefore saluted me and my companions, and presented us with tickets of admission to the rehearsals and performances. To me even apartments were offered in a private house, which I was however obliged to decline, as it would separate me from my companions. As soon as we had landed, therefore, we sought for an inn. Unfortunately, however, we found it already so full of visitors that we were obliged all five to accommodate ourselves in one room, and the next day the crowd of applicants for lodging was so great that we had great difficulty in protecting our room from the invasion of yet more guests. In the evening, since, as may be readily supposed, beds were not to be had, we lay down contented beside each other on some clean straw, nor was our good humour in the least disturbed thereby.

As regards the musical performances, I now only recollect that I and my companions, who, together with me, had assisted at the festival at Frankenhausen, were not so satisfied with the effect of the music here as there, which can alone be accounted for by the circumstance that the performance at Frankenhausen took place in the church, a place sonorous and well adapted on account of its excellent acoustic qualities, while at Mannheim they were given in the theatre.

On the third day we set out upon our return journey. As the road from Mannheim to Mayence would have been too uninteresting to travel on foot, we hired a boat with two vigorous rowers, and went by water. But in this way also the journey was rather tedious. We had, moreover, passed the previous night at a ball, and felt very tired; it was therefore no wonder that we sought to make up for the lost night’s rest, and passed the greater part of the time in sleep. On our arrival at Mayence we nevertheless met with a little adventure which put us in the merriest mood during the last hours of our being together. Evening was drawing in when, after our landing, we proceeded to look for the best inn in the town. Just as we were about to enter it, in the already described dress of travelling musicians, the host, who was looking out of the window, called out to us in an angry tone of voice: “Be off with you! we don’t take in such people as you!” This style of address amused me amazingly, as I had frequently joked my companions upon their dress, and laughing, I called out to Mr. von Holleben: “High warden of forests, did you hear that? they will not take us in here; we must look for another inn!” But the host, startled at hearing my friend addressed by such a grand title, darted down-stairs in a minute and made his appearance immediately in the street, and with bows innumerable entreated the gentlemen to walk in and graciously pardon his silly mistake! As we followed him into the house and were all ushered by him into the well-lighted dining room, his embarrassment was ludicrous in the extreme: our highly respectable appearance seemed now to allay all his fears, when the unlucky horns strapped upon the knapsacks, and Methfessel’s guitar suspended from his neck, excited new doubts as to whether we were guests worthy of entertainement in his house. But when we ordered three rooms with wax lights (which latter I purposely mentioned), five beds and a good supper, all uttered in the curt imperative tone of persons of importance, his last lingering scruples vanished, and his whole demeanour became thenceforth cringingly servile. This specimen of the mean vulgarity of innkeeper-nature amused us long, and was subject of mirth up to the last moment of our being together. The next morning, as my leave of absence was expired, I returned to Frankfort and the Rudolstädter continued their journey down the Rhine, as they had proposed.

As I entered my house, the children ran joyfully to meet me, but my wife, who had been in very low spirits at our parting the week before, was now suffering extremely from the shock sustained from a fright. In order that the reader may understand the cause of this, I must advert to some previous incidents that had occurred while in Frankfort.

In the latter part of the autumn of 1818 Turner, a player on the hautboy, came to Frankfort. I had previously known him in Brunswick, where we were both members of the orchestra. Already at that time Turner distinguished himself greatly by his skill upon that instrument, as also by his talent for composition. Upon his subsequent travels, particularly while in Vienna, where he lived some time, he had acquired the reputation of being the first of living hautboyists. At the same time, however, many strange stories were current of his residence there; of a liaison with a lady of rank, whom he afterwards accused of having given him poison in a cup of coffee. A criminal inquiry was instituted, whereat it was elicited that he had periodical fits of insanity, at which times he was possessed with the fixed idea of being poisoned. These relations concerning him, which passed from mouth to mouth, imparted to him a certain interest, and his concerts were on that account most numerously attended. I found him on his arrival in Frankfort--for he immediately paid me a visit--more earnest and reserved, it is true, than when I was previously acquainted with him in Brunswick, but otherwise remarked nothing whatever peculiar in him. As his play pleased very much, and as I knew moreover that his orchestral skill was very great, and as from George Döring’s retirement from the orchestra (he had now thought of devoting himself entirely to authorship), a vacancy had occurred for a hautboy player--I proposed at the next sitting of the theatrical committee that Turner should be engaged as first hautboy. The salary he asked was not unusually high, and therefore the proposition met with no opposition, even Mr. Leers himself making no objection. Turner took his place therefore in the orchestra, and proved a real acquisition by the tasteful execution of his soli and by his fine tone. After some time, however, a remarkable melancholy was observed in him, which gradually increased so much, that at length not a word above a whisper was to be got from him. Nevertheless he always performed his orchestral duties with punctuality, so that I hoped these periods of sadness would pass off without further results. Soon however they assumed the character of complete aberration of mind, in which the fixed idea of the Vienna poisoning again evinced itself. It was now full time to remove him from the orchestra, to prevent the possibility of some unpleasant occurrence. Döring, a near relation of Turner’s, undertook to provide for him and get him cured, and engaged also to temporarily fill his place. The malady now soon increased with such violence, that it was necessary to have him constantly watched by keepers. One evening, nevertheless, he succeeded in escaping from them scarcely half-clothed. During a violent snow-storm he wandered about in the open fields half the night, nor did he return home till towards morning, covered with a thick crust of snow and ice. As he had immediately gone to bed in this condition, the doctor found him in the morning bathed in perspiration and in a violent fever. This perhaps, however, brought about a crisis, for from that day he got better, and he was soon enabled to resume his duties in the orchestra with fully restored sanity of mind. I remarked, nevertheless, that for about eight days in every month, and always with the moon’s increase, he was visited by a slight return of his melancholy madness, which announced itself beforehand by a fixed look and a certain feverish restlessness. I then, with Döring’s assistance, managed to keep him away from the orchestra for a few days, until his more cheerful look bespoke anew his recovery. In this manner Turner performed his duties up to the summer and it was hoped that by degrees he would also be cured of these slighter attacks also. In the latter part of this time he again, as formerly, called upon me now and then, and even spent the evening with me, and demeaned himself in a friendly manner towards my wife, and shewed much interest in the children. When therefore I went to Mannheim with my Rudolstädt friends, it did not at first appear at all strange to Dorette to see him walk one morning into the room; but as, without any salutation or uttering a word, he sat down opposite to her and gazed upon her with his eyes fixed, she began to feel uneasy, and was at length seized with fear. As she was quite alone with him (the children being at school) she was about to call in a needlewoman, who was sewing in the adjoining room; but scarcely had she risen than he also sprang up and clasped her in his arms. With a shriek of terror she tore herself from his grasp, rushed into the adjoining room, the door of which the sempstress had then just opened, and she succeeded in closing and bolting the door before Turner could follow her. There was, however, unfortunately no further issue from this room, and the two terrified women found themselves besieged by the madman. His endeavours to force the lock they met by pressing against the door with their whole weight, and all the strength which terror imparted to them; and succeeded, for after a few vain efforts he abandoned his purpose, ran down the stairs and out of the house. Dorette now felt about to faint, was obliged to send for the doctor, and kept her bed for some days. After my return, her pleasure thereat and the assurance of again being under my protection, soon restored her, and thus this circumstance was fortunately attended by no worse results. For the unfortunate young man this last violent outbreak of his malady entailed his discharge by the directors of the theatre. After again recovering, he went to Holland, and at first gave there several concerts in which he was greatly applauded, and which were also very remunerative; but upon a fresh attack was put into a mad house, where he soon afterwards died. The world lost in him a very great musical genius, the full development of which was barred by the sad affliction that befel him.

Meanwhile the acrimony of feeling that existed between Mr. Leers and myself became constantly more apparent, and a sitting of the directors seldom passed over without a regular dispute. He asserted that I required too much time for the study and production of new pieces because I was too fastidious in the matter. He expressed the opinion, that a new opera ought to be studied every fortnight, or at least an old one completed in those parts that required to be newly filled up. In vain I represented to him, that it was impossible for an opera that was carelessly studied to go off well, and therefore that it never could give satisfaction; that once brought into discredit, it would draw no audience, and then the time and money expended upon it would be sheer waste. With this self-willed, obstinate man, who, moreover, before my appointment had never met with any opposition in the management, every sensible representation was ineffectual; and as I would not allow any opera to be brought out until it had been studied thoroughly as far as the means and strength of the company allowed, our contest never ceased. This, together with an intimation made by Mr. Leers at a general meeting of the shareholders, “that for their theatre they did not require a musical artist of eminence, but merely a good indefatigable workman, who would devote his whole time and energies to the theatre,” induced me to give in my resignation at the next meeting of the committee, to date from the end of September (1819). The news of this soon spread through the town, and excited general regret among the lovers of music. Börne, in his journal “The Balance” gave expression to his sentiments on the subject, and indeed in a by no means gentle manner towards the theatrical-committee of management. I left Frankfort with a light heart, for my summons to that town had only been an interruption to the gratification of my love of travelling; but my good wife was very grieved at it--she who looked forward to the consequent separation from the children, as these, from requiring now a regular school education, could no longer be taken with us on our artistic tours. But I consoled her nevertheless with the promise that she should always pass the summer months with her children, and only travel with me during a period of from four to five months in the winter. Before my departure from Frankfort I had accepted an engagement from the Philharmonic Society of London for the next season of the sitting of Parliament, which engagement was offered me by Ferdinand Ries, the celebrated pianist and composer, in the name of the society. This had been instituted but a few years before by from twelve to sixteen of the most eminent musical artists in London: Clementi, the two Cramers, Moscheles, Ries, Potter, Smart, and others, with the object of giving every year eight grand concerts during the season. Notwithstanding the very high price of admission, the number of subscribers was so great, that many hundreds of those who had inscribed their names could not obtain seats at the commencement of the season, and could obtain them only by degrees in the course of the summer. The funds of the society were therefore so great, that they could not only engage the first artists and singers in London for the soli in their concerts, but the most reputed musicians on the Continent.--In this manner I was also engaged for the season of 1820, and for a considerable remuneration, which secured to me the expenses of the journey thither and return, and the expenses of a four months’ residence in London, I undertook the performance of a fourfold duty. I was required, namely, to direct some of the eight concerts, to play soli in some, to assist in all of them as orchestra violinist, and lastly to leave in the hands of the society as their own property one of my orchestral compositions. At the same time a benefit concert was also insured to me in the rooms of the society, with the joint assistance of the orchestra. Although my wife was not included in this engagement, yet I could not make up my mind to leave her behind me for four long months. It was therefore resolved, on consulting with my family, that my wife should accompany me and make her appearance as artiste in London at least in my own concerts. As the season commenced in the middle of February, and therefore the sea-passage would be made at the roughest time of the year, we resolved, in order to shorten it as much as possible, to go by way of Calais; and in order to be enabled to give concerts on the journey in the Belgian and French towns, to set out six or eight weeks earlier. We first proceeded to Gandersheim to my parents, who had undertaken the care and education of the children during the winter, and then set out upon an artistic tour to Hamburg, where we gave two concerts with very great success. I played there, before highly respectable audiences, my new quartets, which had been previously published there: they were exceedingly well accompanied, and as violinist upon those occasions I made the most sensation with my two solo-quartets. I played likewise a few times the two quintets, and I found the passion for this kind of music to be greater here than anywhere else, except perhaps in Vienna. In the catalogue of my compositions, Goethe’s ballad “Wenn die Reben blühen” is enumerated as composed by me in Hamburg, but I do not now recollect the reason of its being so designated.

We then proceeded to Berlin, Dresden, Leipsic, Cassel, and other places, in all of which we gave concerts, but respecting all of them I now no longer remember anything particular. Of our performances in Berlin one of the newspapers gave a most favourable notice.

In Brussels we found another travelling artist-couple who, like ourselves, gave performances on the harp and violin. They were Monsieur Alexandre Boucher and wife from Paris. I had already heard a good deal about him and was therefore very desirous of making his personal acquaintance. Boucher had the reputation of being a distinguished violinist, but a great charlatan also. He bore a striking resemblance to Napoleon, both in the features of his face and in his figure, and did his best to turn this resemblance to account. He had acquired by study the deportment of the exiled emperor, his way of wearing his hat, and of taking a pinch of snuff with the greatest possible exactitude. When on his artistic tours he arrived in a town where he was unknown, he immediately presented himself with these acquired arts on the public promenade or in the theatre, in order to attract the notice of the public and to be talked about; he even endeavoured to spread the report that he was persecuted by the present sovereign and driven from France on account of his resemblance to Napoleon, because it brought back the recollection of the beloved exile to the mind of the people. In Lille, at least, as I there afterwards learned, he had announced his concert in the following manner: “Une malheureuse ressemblance me force de m’expatrier; je donnerai donc, avant de quitter ma belle patrie, un concert d’adieux,” etc. That announcement had contained also some similar charlatanerie, as follows: “Je jouerai ce fameux concerto de Viotti en mi-mineur, dont l’éxécution à Paris m’a gagné le surnom: l’Alexandre des violons.”

I was just on the point of calling upon Monsieur Boucher, when he anticipated me by paying me a visit. He offered in a most friendly manner to assist me in the arrangements for my concert, and shewed himself in every respect, deduction made of his self-glorification, a very amiable man. He introduced us to several families who were lovers of music, who then by inviting us to their musical parties, procured for us the opportunity of hearing the Boucher-couple. Both shewed in their joint performances great skill; but all the compositions they played were poor and barren, and of those of Monsieur Boucher himself I no longer recollect anything. At first Monsieur Boucher played a quartet of Haydn, but introduced so many irrelevant and tasteless ornaments, that it was impossible for me to feel any pleasure in it. The manner in which Boucher allowed himself to be waited upon by his wife on these occasions was remarkable. When he had taken his seat at the quartet desk, she would ask him for the key of the violin-case, open it, bring him his violin, then the bow, which she had previously resined; she then laid the music before him and lastly seated herself near him, to turn over the pages. When we were then invited to play, the whole of this process was inverted; for I not only fetched my own instrument, but took my wife’s harp out of the case also, led her to the seat where she was to play and then tuned up, all of which in the previous performance had been the business of Madame Boucher. But I took upon me the tuning of the harp upon every appearance in public, not only to save my wife the trouble, but also to bring the instrument to a perfectly pure and tempered pitch, which, as is well known, is not so easy a matter. We played one of our brillant duets, and met with great applause. Boucher in particular seemed charmed with my play, and he may perhaps have meant it with some sincerity; for in a letter of recommendation which he gave me to Baron d’Assignies in Lille, and which the latter shewed to me as a curiosity, after describing the characteristics of my play; he said: “Enfin, si je suis, comme on le prétend, le Napoléon des violons, Mr. Spohr est bien le Moreau!”

My concert took place in the new large theatre and met with marked approbation; but the receipts, after deduction of the very considerable expenses, were but small, for our fame had not yet reached Brussels. It is true we were invited by lovers of music and the public journals to give a second concert; but as a favourable day did not immediately offer, and our stay at the chief hotel where we had stopped was very expensive, we preferred setting out immediately on our journey to Lille.

Arrived there, my first visit was to Monsieur Vogel, who had been mentioned to me as the best violinist in the town and as director of the dilettanti-concerts. I did not find him at home, but Madame Vogel, who received me in a very cordial manner. When I told her my name, her face became animated, and she anxiously inquired whether I was the composer of the nonette, the theme of which she sang to me. As I smiling replied yes, with an outburst of French vivacity she threw her arms round my neck, and exclaimed: “Oh how delighted my husband well be, car il est fou de votre Nonetto!” I had scarcely returned to the inn, when Monsieur Vogel appeared with a countenance lit up with pleasure, and welcomed me with the warmth of an old friend. In the house of this amiable couple we passed some very happy hours, and gave a concert in the saloon of the dilettanti society, the arrangements for which were made by Monsieur Vogel, the whole of the members of the society being desirous to hear the composer of the so frequently performed nonette play in person. The joint play of my wife and self was especially received with such enthusiastic acclamation, that the day was immediately fixed for a second concert. Some lovers of music from the neighbouring town of Douay, who had come over to the concert, invited us in the name of the musical society of that place to give a concert in Douay also, and insured to us the sale of 400 tickets at five francs each. I had therefore the finest prospect of carrying from Lille plenty of money, when an unexpected occurrence quashed all my hopes. The carriage was already packed and we were on the point of starting for Douay, when the report was spread in the town that the telegraph had just announced from Paris the assassination of the Duke de Berri. It was not long before placards were posted at the corners of the streets by order of the mayoralty, announcing officially this mournful intelligence to the inhabitants of Lille. As all concert-giving was now necessarily suspended throughout France, but the period of my engagement in London not yet arrived, I was easily induced by Messrs. Vogel, d’Assignies, and other lovers of music, to remain yet longer in Lille. Private musical parties now took place almost daily, and I had thus an opportunity of performing all my quartets, quintets, and compositions for the harp to this circle of enthusiastic lovers of music. I found on these occasions a very sympathetic and graceful auditory, and therefore still recall with infinite pleasure the remembrance of those musical soirées. At these many other interesting things were related to me concerning Boucher. Among others, upon one occasion, in the midst of his play, when according to his idea something had gone wrong, he suddenly ceased playing, and without paying any regard to those who accompanied him, he again repeated the unlucky passage, addressing himself aloud with the words: “Cela n’a pas réussi; allons, Boucher, encore une fois!” The termination of his second and last concert was also of a highly comic character. As his concluding subject he played a rondo of his own composition which had at the end an impromptu cadence. At the rehearsal he had begged the gentlemen dilettanti to fall in right vigorously with their final tutti immediately after the shake of his cadence, and added that he would give them the signal by stamping with his foot. In the evening, when this concluding piece began, it was already very late, and the dilettanti were growing impatient to get home to supper. But when the cadence in which Boucher as usual exhibited all his artistic tours de force seemed never likely to end, some of the gentlemen put their instruments into their cases and slipped out. This was so infectious, that in a few minutes the whole orchestra had disappeared. Boucher, who in the enthusiasm of his play had observed nothing of this, lifted his foot already at the commencement of his concluding shake, in order to draw the attention of the orchestra beforehand to the agreed signal. When he had now concluded the shake he was fully satisfied of what would follow, namely the most vigorous entry of the orchestra and the burst of applause it was to bring down from the enraptured audience. His astonishment may therefore be imagined when all that fell upon his ear was the loud stamp of his own foot. Horrified he stared aghast around him, and beheld all the music desks abandoned. But the public, who had already prepared themselves to see this moment arrive, burst out into an uproarious laughter, in which Boucher, with the best stomach he could, was obliged to join.

The time for our departure for London had now arrived. As I was desirous of purchasing in London a new Erard harp with the improved double movement for my wife, we left the old instrument in the care of Monsieur Vogel. The family were very pleased at this, as they now reckoned with certainty upon seeing us again on our return journey.

Arrived in Calais, I immediately went to the packet-boat office to take our berth for the passage. Thence I took a walk to the port, to look at the vessel in which we were to sail in the afternoon. As I now, however, remarked that the sea, even in the inside of the harbour, was very rough, and ran so high outside that the waves broke high over the pier head, I lost all inclination to cross with the sea so stormy, and hastened back to the office, to have the berths taken transferred for the following day. In the afternoon while taking a walk in the town I took good care not to take my wife near the sea, so that, dreading the passage as she already did, she might not observe how rough it was. The thoughts of being obliged to cross at so stormy a season of the year with my delicate and nervous wife disturbed my rest throughout the night; as soon as day broke I hastened therefore again down to the harbour to see whether the storm had not abated. It appeared to me to have done so, and I therefore fetched Dorette, brought her on board, and advised her to lie down in the cabin. A good-natured German who served as seaman on board this English packet-boat, promised me to take every care of her and bring her all she might require. This enabled me to go upon deck, where in the open air I hoped to be somewhat enabled to resist sea-sickness. Meanwhile the preparations were made for departure, and the vessel was towed out with long ropes close along the left-hand side jetty of the harbour by from sixty to eighty men. Scarcely, however, had she reached this, when a gigantic wave seized her and in a moment hurled her to the opposite side of the harbour, so that she was almost thrown against the extreme point of the right-hand pier. Immediately upon this the waves broke over the deck, and the hatches and cabin doors were obliged to be closed. Of all the passengers I was the only one who remained on deck, and had seated myself on a bench near the mast, round the foot of which was piled a high coil of cable. Here I hoped to be protected from the water that poured in torrents over the deck; but the waves soon broke in over the bows to such a height, that to prevent being completely drenched by them I was compelled to stand up upon the bench. I had not done this many times, before I found my strength fail me to repeat it; and in a short time therefore in spite of my thick cloak I found myself wet through to the skin, which made my already wretched condition but more distressing. In addition to this I was then seized with such violent cramp in the stomach from the straining which follows when the stomach has nothing more to yield, that I thought I should expire under it. Fortunately, however, favoured by the storm, the passage was an unusually quick one. Nevertheless, the three hours of its duration seemed to me an eternity;--at length we arrived at Dover, but another misfortune awaited us here; for on account of the tide being at ebb, we could not enter the harbour, and were constrained to disembark the passengers in open boats in the offing. For this purpose as soon as we had cast anchor, the boats were lowered, and we were called to get into them to be put on shore in the harbour. I now saw my suffering fellow-passengers come from below, pale and trembling like ghosts from the grave, and it was very evident that they had not fared better in the cabin than I upon deck. At length, supported by the kind sailor, my poor wife appeared also, in a most suffering condition. I was just about to hasten to her, when a young and beautiful girl, whom I had already remarked, it is true, when we came on board, but who then did not think me worthy of a look, suddenly threw her arms round my neck, and without uttering a word, clung close to me. I readily guessed the motive of this extraordinary conduct. The poor, terrified creature had been a joint spectator of the manner in which the first passengers had been put on board the boat, and how when it had been lifted by the still surging waves as high as the deck of the vessel, it then sank as it were into an abyss, and was again lifted up, which was the moment seized by the sailors to thrust another passenger or pitch another object of luggage into it. This rough method of proceeding had so terrified her, that she left the arm of the female who accompanied her, and clung to me, whom she may have considered the strongest of the passengers. There was no time for explanation; I bore her therefore in my arms into the boat, and then hastened back to my wife, to put her also into it. Scarcely had I effected this without accident, when the still terrified fair one clung close to me anew, and indeed so as to excite Dorette’s extreme surprise. But the danger of the passage was too absorbing to permit of any remark on the subject, and upon landing the young girl had scarcely felt the firm ground under her feet than she left hold of me without a word of thanks, and taking the arm of her companion walked away. That she was some young lady of rank accompanied by her governess, may be readily imagined from this truly English behaviour.

Arrived at the inn, I exchanged my thoroughly wet clothes for dry ones, and having satisfied our re-awakened appetite at the table d’hôte, and gained strength for the further journey, we immediately took places in the coach, which was to leave in the afternoon for London. The greater part of this journey was made at night, and when on the following morning we were set down in the yard of the coach-office with our luggage, I found myself in very great difficulty. In spite of every endeavour, I could not succeed in finding any one either there or in the office to whom I could explain myself, for I knew not a word of English, and none of all whom I addressed, understood either German or French. Nothing therefore remained for me but to hunt up some interpreter in the public street while my wife watched the luggage. But it was yet early in the morning, and I saw therefore none but people of the lower class, from whom I could hope nothing. At length a better dressed man approached, whom I first addressed in German, then, as he shook his head, expressed to him my wants in French; but the man shrugged his shoulders and went on his way. A second person, however, who had witnessed this scene, approached me, and asked me in good French what it was I wanted? He was one who hired himself out as day-interpreter, and out-door servant at hotels, and at my request immediately fetched a hackney-coach for me, to drive to Mr. Ries, whose address I fortunately remembered. We were now soon taken to the lodgings that had been engaged for us, where we could at length repose from the fatigues of our voyage and night journey.

The next morning, on which a meeting of the directors of the Philharmonic society was to assemble, I was to be introduced to them by Mr. Ries. I therefore made a careful toilette, and expressly for the occasion put on a bright red Turkish shawl-pattern waistcoat forming part of my ward-robe, and which was considered on the Continent as a most elegant article and of the newest fashion. Scarcely had I appeared in it in the street than I attracted the general attention of all who passed. The grown-up people contented themselves with gazing at me with looks of surprise, and then passed on their way; but the young urchins of the street, were loud in their remarks, which unfortunately I did not understand, and therefore could not imagine what it was in me that so much displeased them. By degrees, however, they formed a regular tail behind me, which grew constantly louder in speech and more and more unruly. A passer-by addressed me and probably gave me some explanation of its meaning; but as it was in English, I could derive no benefit from it. Fortunately Mr. Ries’ house was not very distant, and I reached it shortly after. His wife, a young amiable English woman, and who spoke French fluently, now soon solved for me the problem of my adventure. The death of George III. had but recently taken place and a general mourning had been officially ordered, and according to English custom no person durst appear in public otherwise than in a black suit. In all other respects it is true my dress was black, and therefore in accordance with the requisition, but the unfortunate red waistcoat contrasted with it but the more prominently. Mrs. Ries observed to me that I had doubtless to thank my imposing height and my earnest expression of countenance for having escaped from the rude licence of the boys in the street, and from their resort to its more open exhibition of pelting me with mud. In order to avoid all further offence, Ries then first drove with me to my lodgings, in order to exchange my red waistcoat for a black one.

After I had been welcomed in a friendly manner by the directors of the Philharmonic Society, some of whom spoke German and others French, a council was held respecting the programme of the first concert. At this I was required to play solo twice and to lead as first violin. To this I replied that I was quite ready to perform the first, but must beg that I might be permitted to lead in one of the subsequent concerts, as my solo play would appear to less advantage if both were required of me on one and the same evening. Clear as this was acknowledged to be by some of the gentlemen who were themselves solo-players, yet it gave rise at first to a long and earnest discussion, as it was contrary to the custom of the society, but at length it was complied with. Still greater subject of offence, however, was my request to be permitted on this my first appearance to play my own compositions only. The Philharmonic Society, in order to exclude from their programmes all shallow and worthless virtuosi-concerti, had laid down the law, that with the exception of the pianoforte concerti of Mozart and Beethoven no similar musical pieces should be played, and that solo players had only to perform that which they should select. Nevertheless, after Ries had continued the discussion in English, and therefore unintelligibly to me, and represented to the gentlemen that my violin-concerts in Germany would therefore become excluded by their bann, they at length yielded in this also. I therefore at the first Philharmonic concert, came forward with my cantabile scena, and in the second part with a solo quartet in E major, and met with great and general applause. As a composer it afforded me an especial gratification that the whole of the directors now shared the opinion of Mr. Ries, and as a violinist the greatest pleasure, that old Viotti, who had always been my pattern, and was to have been my instructor in my youth, was among the auditory and spoke to me in great praise of my play. As I had thus so successfully passed through the ordeal of my first appearance in London, I devoted the next day to the delivery of my letters of recommendation. Not knowing a word of English this was for me by no means a pleasant business, and brought me into frequent perplexity. Not having been told that in London people announced themselves by knocking at the street doors, and gentlemen always by giving a succession of loud rapid knocks; I, in German fashion, rang very gently at the bell, which is done in London only by those who have business with the kitchen, and I could not imagine why the servants who opened the door always looked at me with an expression of astonishment, and could not at all imagine that I wished my name to be announced to their masters. As those also for whom my visit was intended frequently understood as little as their servants either German or French, the most perplexing scenes were of frequent occurrence. I was however exceedingly amused by one at Rothschild’s, to whom I brought a letter of recommendation from his brother at Frankfort, and a letter of credit from Speyer. After Rothschild had taken both letters from me and glanced hastily over them, he said to me in a more subdued tone of voice: “I have just read (pointing to the “Times”) that you managed your business very efficiently. But I understand nothing of music; this is my music (slapping his purse), they understand that on the exchange!” Upon which, with a nod of the head, he terminated the audience.--But just as I had reached the door, he called after me: “You can come and dine with me, too, out at my country-house!” A few days afterwards also Madame Rothschild invited me to dinner; but I did not go, although she repeated the invitation. Nevertheless, the letter of recommendation to Rothschild was not wholly useless, for he took a whole box at my benefit concert.

As immediately on our arrival in London I was obliged to prepare for my appearance in public; and my wife was engrossed with our domestic arrangements, we had unfortunately delayed writing to apprise my parents at Gandersheim of our safe arrival, by which the old folks were thrown into a state of alarm from which they did not recover for a long time. The vessel in which we had designed to cross the channel on the day of our arrival in Calais, and for which I had at first paid the passage money, and had the tickets transferred for the next day’s packet, on account of the roughness of the weather, had been driven completely down channel and was given up for lost, until it at length turned up again somewhere on the coast of Spain. A French newspaper had cited our names among the passengers on board. What therefore could be natural, than that the French papers should collectively announce: “The artist-couple Spohr and wife have perished on the passage to England.” This was soon copied into German papers, and to wit into the country paper taken in by my parents. Unfortunately, this first fell into the hands of my mother, who was already in a state of anxiety from the long delay of letters from England. A shriek of anguish and an immediate fainting of it were the result of this. The whole family was thrown into confusion, and when at length my mother recovered her senses, there began a general outburst of tears and mourning. My sister first recovered some calmness of mind, and urged as subject of hope and consideration how frequently newspaper reports were wholly false. She also entreated that no one should speak on the subject in the presence of my children, who were now seen returning from school, which request was faithfully promised. But my mother could not refrain from embracing those she believed to be now orphans with more than usual tenderness. This circumstance, together with the yet swollen eyes of the mourners, excited no small astonishment in the children, and when no reply was made to the inquiries they made respecting these incidents, and no one would sit down to supper, they also began to weep, without knowing wherefore.

At length the arrival of the postman put an end to this painful scene. All sprang up delighted, with the expectation of a letter from England. But the joy was but of short duration, for when they recognised the “Frankfort” post-mark and Speyer’s hand writing on the address, they now indeed believed that they were about to read nothing else than the corroboration of the sad newspaper report. No one, therefore, had the courage to open the letter, until at length my sister summoned the resolution. Scarcely had she glanced her eyes over a few words than she exclaimed with joy: “They have arrived safe,” and then handed the letter to my father, who read it aloud to them with great emotion. Speyer informed them that he had just received the announcement from the house of Rothschild in London, that they had there made me a payment of money, and that therefore the newspaper report of the loss of Herr Spohr and his wife was unfounded, which he had therewith immediately communicated to allay all their alarm. A general exclamation of joy was now uttered by all, and the previously neglected evening meal was turned into a very feast of delight. Immediately after supper my father seated himself at his writing table, to thank Mr. Speyer for his kind attention, and to give the editor of the country paper a sound rating for having thrown a family into such grief by the heedless insertion of an unauthenticated report in his columns.

The following day my letter arrived also from London, and increased yet more by its good intelligence the joy of my family.

At the house of Mr. Ries I had made the acquaintance of Mr. Erard, the head of the London firm Erard Brothers, and accompanied by my wife had already visited his show rooms of finished harps. We could not however immediately make up our minds in the choice of one, as Dorette wished first to try which size would suit her best, and in particular whether she could be able to accustom herself to the new mechanism. Mr. Erard removed all hesitation from her mind in that respect, by kindly offering to lend her a harp for trial and choice, during our stay in London, which if it did not suit her, she could change for another or wholly return. This offer she thankfully accepted, and began immediately to practise on the new instrument; but at first she could not well succeed upon it. The new harp, though of the smallest pattern, was nevertheless considerably larger, as well as much more strongly strung, than her own, and therefore required a greater exertion of strength, and it was very difficult for her to acquire a mastery of the new mechanism à double movement, from being accustomed from her childhood to the single movement. She therefore soon felt convinced that it would require several months’ practice on this harp before she could play upon it in public, and I accordingly resolved to allow her to appear once only, at my benefit-concert, in order that she might give an additional attraction to it. Meanwhile my turn had come to direct one of the Philharmonic concerts, and I had created no less sensation than with my solo play. It was at that time still the custom there that when symphonies and overtures were performed, the pianist had the score before him, not exactly to conduct from it, but only to read after and to play in with the orchestra at pleasure, which when it was heard, had a very bad effect. The real conductor was the first violin, who gave the tempi, and now and then when the orchestra began to falter gave the beat with the bow of his violin. So numerous an orchestra, standing so far apart from each other as that of the Philharmonic, could not possibly go exactly together, and in spite of the excellence of the individual members, the ensemble was much worse than we are accustomed to in Germany. I had therefore resolved when my turn came to direct, to make an attempt to remedy this defective system. Fortunately at the morning rehearsal on the day when I was to conduct the concert, Mr. Ries took the place at the Piano, and he readily assented to give up the score to me and to remain wholly excluded from all participation in the performance. I then took my stand with the score at a separate music desk in front of the orchestra, drew my directing baton from my coat pocket and gave the signal to begin. Quite alarmed at such a novel procedure, some of the directors would have protested against it; but when I besought them to grant me at least one trial, they became pacified. The symphonies and overtures that were to be rehearsed were well known to me, and in Germany I had already directed at their performance. I therefore could not only give the tempi in a very decisive manner, but indicated also to the wind instruments and horns all their entries, which ensured to them a confidence such as hitherto they had not known there. I also took the liberty, when the execution did not satisfy me, to stop, and in a very polite but earnest manner to remark upon the manner of execution, which remarks Mr. Ries at my request interpreted to the orchestra. Incited thereby to more than usual attention, and conducted with certainty by the visible manner of giving the time, they played with a spirit and a correctness such as till then they had never been heard to play with. Surprised and inspired by this result the orchestra immediately after the first part of the symphony, expressed aloud its collective assent to the new mode of conducting, and thereby overruled all further opposition on the part of the directors. In the vocal pieces also, the conducting of which I assumed at the request of Mr. Ries, particularly in the recitative, the leading with the baton, after I had explained the meaning of my movements, was completely successful, and the singers repeatedly expressed to me their satisfaction for the precision with which the orchestra now followed them.

The result in the evening was still more brillant than I could have hoped for. It is true, the audience were at first startled by the novelty, and were seen whispering together; but when the music began and the orchestra executed the well-known symphony with unusual power and precision, the general approbation was shewn immediately on the conclusion of the first part by a long-sustained clapping of hands. The triumph of the baton as a time-giver was decisive, and no one was seen any more seated at the piano during the performance of symphonies and overtures. On this evening also the concert overture which I had composed before I left Frankfort was given for the first time. As it pleased very much the Philharmonic society accepted it as the composition which according to my contract I was to leave in their hands. I kept no copy of it and soon forgot it entirely, so that a few years afterwards when preparing a thematic catalogue of my compositions I could not recal to mind the beginning of it, for which reason the theme of it is wholly wanting in the text.

During the delivery of my letters of introduction in London, as also upon many other occasions, I had so much felt the want of some one to serve me as interpreter that I was continually making inquiries for a person to accompany me who could speak German and English. At length Mr. Ries bethought him of an old servant of the deceased Salomon[25] of the name of Johanning, who would be competent to fill that office. It is true, that he had retired from service, and as heir to his late master had bought a small country-house in the neighbourhood of London. Mr. Ries hoped nevertheless that the yet vigorous old man would consent to take the situation, for which purpose he sent for him to town, and the offer on my part was made to him. When he learned that it was to enter the service of a German and a musician, and furthermore of a violinist, as his deceased master had been, he immediately expressed his readiness, and even left it to my option what remuneration I should give him at the close of the season. Thenceforth he came every morning into town, and having first interpreted the wishes of my wife to the landlady respecting the dinner, he then accompanied me on my rounds of business. From his long residence in London, however, he had forgotten a great deal of his German, and his English doubtless was not very classic; for in his interpreting frequent misunderstandings would take place. When I had thus presented the remainder of my letters of introduction with less difficulty than before, I again found time and leisure for new compositions. I first wrote a symphony (the second D flat, Op. 49) and played it for the first time at one of the Philharmonic concerts, which I had to conduct, April 10. 1820. At its rehearsal, it met with very great approbation both from the orchestra and the numerous persons who were present; but in the evening it was received with real enthusiasm. I had in part to thank the numerous and particularly excellent stringed instruments of the orchestra for this brillant success, and in this composition I had given them a special opportunity of exhibiting their skill in playing with purity and precision of ensemble. In fact, as regards the stringed instruments, I have never since heard that symphony given with so much effect as on that evening. The next morning all the London newspapers contained reports respecting the new symphony that had been composed in their town, and vied with each other in their praise of it. Similar favourable notices of my play upon every occasion of my appearance soon spread my fame throughout the town, and pupils readily presented themselves to receive instruction from me on the violin, as well as ladies who were desirous of being accompanied on the piano. As all expressed their willingness to pay a guinea for each hour’s instruction, I readily accepted their offers, as I considered that I owed it to my family to turn the good fortune I had met with in London as a musician to my pecuniary advantage. In this manner, after having first devoted a few hours to composition at home or to music with my wife, I was running or driving about all day in huge London, and frequently right weary of it; for the greater part of my pupils had neither talent nor application, and took lessons of me merely to be enabled to say that they were pupils of Spohr. I nevertheless call to mind with some pleasure several originals who amused me with their singularities, and therewith somewhat relieved the bitter trouble I had with them. One was an old general on half-pay, but who always made his appearance in full uniform, decorated with all his orders, and with the extreme of high military bearing. He, as an exception, came always to my house, but, nevertheless, required to play for three quarters of an hour only, as according to the custom there deduction was made of the quarter of an hour for the drive. He came every morning, Sundays excepted, in his old state carriage, precisely at 12 o’clock, ordered one of his belaced and powdered footmen to bring up his violin-case, and after a dumb greeting sat himself down immediately to his music desk. But previous to that he took out his watch to see at what o’clock the lesson would commence, and then set it down close to him. He would bring easy duets with him, chiefly of Pleyel, in which I played second violin. Although there were many things in his play that indicated the unpractised pupil, I soon saw that it would not be wise to point them out to him; I contented myself therefore with accommodating my tones as much as possible to those of the old gentleman, and so we played one duet after the other in the best concord. As soon, however, as we had played the three quarters of an hour, the general would stop, though in the middle of the piece, take from his waistcoat pocket a one-pound note in which a shilling was wrapped up, and put it upon the table. He would then take up his watch, and take leave in the same taciturn manner as he had entered.

[25] It was this Salomon, who, as concert-giver, induced his friend Haydn to visit London and compose symphonies for his concerts; and to him therefore the musical world owes the twelve most beautiful symphonies Haydn wrote.

The other original was an old lady whom I accompanied on the piano. She was a passionate admirer of Beethoven, against which I had nothing to say, but she had the whim, moreover, never to play any other music than that of her favorite. She had all Beethoven’s pianoforte-compositions, as also his orchestral works arranged for the piano. Her apartment was also hung with every portrait of him that she had been able to procure. As many of these differed greatly in resemblance to each other, she urged me to inform her which most resembled him of the whole. She possessed also some relics of him which had been brought to her from Vienna by English travellers, among others a button of his dressing-gown and a piece of music paper with some note marks and ink-blots from his hand. When I apprized her that I had lived for some time on terms of great intimacy with him, I rose greatly in her estimation, and she had then so much to ask that on some days we never played at all. She spoke French with tolerably fluency, and could even bring out a few words of German. Her pianoforte play was not at all bad, so that I was rather pleased to play the sonatas for piano and violin. But when she subsequently produced the trios also, and played with me without violoncello, and then even the piano concertos, in which, with the exception of first orchestral-violin, which I played, all else was wanting, it became very clear to me that her enthusiasm for Beethoven was nothing but affectation, and that she had not the least perception of the excellence of his compositions.

I became acquainted with a third singular character in the following manner. One morning a servant in livery brought a letter to me, which my old Johanning translated in the following manner: “Mr. Spohr is requested to call at the house of the undersigned, at 4 o’clock precisely.” As I did not know the name appended to the note, nor could ascertain from the servant the purpose for which my attendance was requested, I replied thereto in an equally laconic manner: “At the hour indicated I am engaged and cannot come.” The next morning the servant reappeared with a second much more polite note: “Mr. Spohr is requested to honour the undersigned with a visit, and to appoint the time himself.” At the same time the servant had been ordered to offer his master’s carriage, and as I had been meanwhile informed that the writer was a celebrated physician, who frequently attended concerts, and interested himself especially in violin music, I no longer hesitated to go, but indicated the appointed hour to the servant and was duly fetched in the doctor’s carriage. An amiable old gentlemen with snow white hair received me at the foot of the stairs, but we now discovered to our mutual regret that we could not make ourselves intelligible to each other, for he spoke neither German nor French. We stood opposite to each other in great embarassment, until he took me by the arm and led me into a spacious room on the walls of which a number of violins were hung. Others had been taken from their cases and placed upon tables. The doctor handed a bow to me and pointed to the instruments. I now comprehended that I was to give my opinion of the respective merits of the violins, and immediately began to try them and to arrange them in order according to their worth. This was no easy work to do; for there were a great number of them, and the old gentleman brought them all in succession, without omitting one. When at length, after the lapse of about an hour, I had found the best six of them, and still played on these alternately to discover the very best of them, I observed that the doctor eyed one of them with looks of particular fondness, and his face lit up with pleasure every time I struck the strings. I therefore readily gave the kind old gentleman the satisfaction of indicating that instrument as the matador of the whole collection. Quite delighted with this announcement, he now brought a viola d’amour, and began to play a fantasia on this long-unused instrument. I listened to him with pleasure, as I had not heard the instrument before and the doctor played by no means ill. Thus terminated the interview to the satisfaction of both, and I had taken up my hat, to take my leave of him when the old gentleman, with a kindly expression of countenance and several low bows, handed to me a five-pound note. Astonished at this, I looked at the note and the donor, and at first knew not what he meant; when it struck me that he intended it as a remuneration for my testing his violins, and shaking my head with a smile, I laid the note on the table, pressed the doctor’s hand with warmth, and hastened down stairs. He followed me out into the street, assisted me into the carriage and then spoke some words with evident emotion to his coachman. This had made so much impression on the coachman, that he immediately told it to old Johanning, who had come with the carriage, to open the door. He had said to him: “You are driving there a German who is a perfect gentleman; and I expect you will take him home to his house with the greatest care.”--A few months afterwards, when I gave my benefit concert, the doctor sent for a ticket and forwarded to me at the same time a ten-pound note.

Meanwhile my wife had by unflagging industry acquired great proficiency on the new harp, but in doing so--on account of the greater stretch of arm it required and the stronger tension of the strings--she had exerted herself over much and now suffered greatly from the exhaustion it had induced. From former experience I had learned that nothing so quickly imparted fresh strength to her nerves as the frequent enjoyment of fresh air. I therefore availed myself of every moment of sunshine in the first days of spring to take gentle walks into Regent’s Park, which was very near to our dwelling in Charlotte Street. On Sundays, when all music ceases in London, and when even without fear of giving offence we could not play in our own apartments, we used to make more distant excursions to Hampstead, and to the other parks. Our companion and guide was alternately the younger Ries and an old amiable man of the name of Stumpf, an instrument maker. I soon had the gratification of seeing my wife regain fresh strength and spirits from the mild influence of the English spring, but I adhered strictly to my previous resolution that she should appear once only at my own concert, and declined with firmness several offers that were made to her. But as for myself, I played at all concerts where they were willing to pay the price I asked, and as this according to English notions was not excessively high, I was in frequent requisition, and saw my name announced on almost all the concert-programmes of the season. But I never could make up my mind to play for remuneration at private parties, for the manner in which musicians were then treated there, was to me most unbecoming and degrading. They were not admitted to join the company, but were shewn into an adjoining room, where they had to wait until the moment arrived when they were summoned to the apartments where the company was assembled before whom they were to play; their performance over, they had to leave the room again immediately. My wife and I were ourselves once eyewitnesses of this contemptuous treatment of the first and most eminent artists in London. We had received letters of introduction to the king’s brothers the Dukes of Sussex and Clarence, and as the latter was married to a German, a Princess of Meiningen, I paid them a visit accompanied by my wife. The Ducal couple received us in a very kind manner and invited us to a musical party they were to give in a few days and at which we were also asked to assist. I then thought in what way I could best extricate myself from this disgusting exclusion from the company, and resolved if I could not succeed to return home immediately. When therefore we entered the palace, and a lacquey was on the point of opening the door of the room where the other musicians were assembled, I told Johanning to deliver my violin case to him, and with my wife on my arm, immediately ascended the staircase before the lacquey had time to recover from his astonishment. Arrived at the door of the apartments where the company were assembled, I announced my name to the footman in waiting, and as he hesitated to open the door I evinced an intention of opening it myself. Upon this the lacquey instantly threw open the door and called out the names of the new-comers. The Duchess, alive to German usages, rose immediately from her seat, advanced a few steps to meet my wife, and led her into the circle of ladies. The Duke welcomed me also with a few friendly words and introduced me to the gentlemen around him. I now thought I had successfully achieved all; but I soon observed that the servants notwithstanding not did consider me as properly belonging to the company, for they always passed me by with the tea-tray and other refreshments, without offering me any. At length the Duke may also have remarked this; for I saw him whisper a few words in the ear of the steward of the household. After this the refreshments were also presented to me. When the concert was to commence the steward of the household sent a servant to summon the invited artists in the order in which their names appeared on the programme. They hereupon entered the apartment with their sheet of music or instrument in hand, saluted the company with a profound bow, and began their performances. They were the élite of the most distinguished singers and musicians in London, and the execution of their respective pieces was almost without exception charmingly beautiful. This, however, did not appear to be felt by the noble and fashionable auditory; for they did not cease their conversation one moment. Once only when a very favorite female singer entered the room they became somewhat more silent, and a few subdued bravas were heard, for which she immediately returned thanks with profound curtsies. I was exceedingly annoyed by this derogation of art and still more so with the artists who submitted to be so treated, and I had a great mind not to play at all. When the turn came to me, therefore, I purposely hesitated so long till the Duke, probably at a sign made to him by his wife, invited me himself to play. I then requested one of the servants to bring up my violin case, and I then began to play the piece I had proposed to myself without making the customary bows to the company. All these circumstances excited no doubt the attention of the company, for during the whole time of my performance the greatest stillness pervaded the apartment. When I had concluded the ducal pair and their guests applauded. Now also I first expressed my thanks by making a bow. Shortly afterwards the concert terminated, and the musicians retired. If our having constituted ourselves part of the company had furnished matter of surprise, this was still more increased when they saw that we stopped there also to supper, and during the supper were treated with great attention by the ducal hosts. The circumstance to which we doubtless owed this distinction--one so unheard-of and repugnant to all English notions of that day--was the fact that the Duchess had known us while yet living in her paternal house, and had there witnessed the friendly reception which, at the time when we lived at Gotha, we had frequently met with at the court of Meiningen. The Duke of Sussex, to whom I had brought a letter of recommendation from the Duke of Cambridge, then regent of Hanover, received me also with great distinction and conversed with me a good deal. During a conversation we had upon the subject of English national songs, the Duke even sent for his guitar and sang to me some English and Irish national songs, which afterwards suggested to me the idea of working up some of the most popular of these as a pot-pourri for my instrument, and of introducing the same at my concert.[26] When the company broke up, which was not till long after midnight, we returned home greatly pleased with the result of our daring and with the victory we had gained over the prejudices of London society.

[26] This is the Op. 59, the second of my works written in London.

Among those who solicited me to play solo at their concerts was Sir George Smart, one of the directors of the Philharmonic Society. During the season he gave a succession of subscription concerts which he called “sacred concerts,” in which nevertheless a great deal of the music was “worldly” also. I played at two of them, in return for which Sir George undertook the arrangements for my benefit-concert--a by no means light task even for a native well versed in the matter, and which if I had undertaken in person would perhaps have occupied six weeks of my time, which I could employ in a much more advantageous manner. My concert took place on the 18th. June, and was one of the most brillant and well attended of the whole season. Almost every person to whom we had brought letters of recommendation--and among them also the Dukes of Sussex and Clarence--had taken either boxes or reserved seats, and several of those wealthy personages had forwarded considerable sums for them.

A great number of the subscribers to the Philharmonic Society also retained their seats, and as the lowest price for a ticket was half a guinea, and the room held nearly a thousand people, the receipts were very considerable. I derived a great additional advantage from the circumstance, that the expenses which otherwise in London are enormously high, were greatly reduced on this occasion by the refusal of several of the members of the orchestra to receive any gratuity, from a friendly feeling towards me, and from the agreement previously entered into by me with the Philharmonic Society, that the use of the rooms should cost me nothing. On the other hand, however, I had to pay all the singers, and I yet well remember that I was obliged to pay Mrs. Salmon, the then most popular female vocalist in London, and without whose presence my concert would have been considered not sufficiently attractive, the sum of thirty pounds sterling for a single song; and she made it a further condition of agreement, that she should not sing until towards the end of the concert, as she had first to sing at a concert in the city, six miles off. I must here mention also a singular custom which prevailed at all concerts in London at that time, which now, however, like many other strange practices of that period, has been discontinued. Namely, it was required that the party giving the concert should provide the auditory with refreshments during the pause between the first and second parts of the concert. These were accordingly supplied at a buffet in an adjoining room, and one was obliged to agree beforehand with the confectioner upon the sum for their purveyance, which at my concert was undertaken for ten pounds sterling. If the company consisted for the most part of persons of rank and fashion, with whom it was not usual to take any refreshments, the confectioner used to make a good thing of it, but if it was a very numerous and mixed company, and the heat very great, he might frequently be a loser. But he never did a better stroke of business than at my concert.

This took place on the very day that Queen Charlotte of England made her entry into London on her return from Italy, to make her defence before Parliament against the charge of infidelity brought against her by her husband. All London was divided into two parties, the larger of which, composed of the middle and lower classes, was on the side of the Queen. The town was in the greatest commotion, and it was a very fortunate thing for me that I had already disposed of the whole of the tickets for my concert, as otherwise by this unfavourable circumstance I might have incurred a very great loss. The bills announcing my concert, posted at the corners of the streets, were quickly pasted over and covered with large placards in which in the name of the people a general illumination of the town was called for to celebrate the day; and Johanning brought me word that the populace threatened to smash the windows in every house, where this call was not complied with. As at that time the police force as well as the few military were not sufficiently numerous to protect the royal palaces from the threatened excesses of the populace, the partisans of the king, who were wholly unable to repress the tumult, were compelled to abide the worst, and contented themselves with making the best use of the short notice given by having their windows nailed up with boards, in order to save their costly mirrors and furniture. In this manner during the whole of the day the sound of the carpenter’s hammer was everywhere heard, particularly in Portland Place, close adjoining where many of the nobility resided, and these preparations of defence were subjects of great derision and amusement to the young vagabonds of the street. While we were rehearsing at home the pieces to be performed in the evening, the people poured in crowds through the streets to meet the Queen upon her entry. As this took place in the direction of the city, it became perfectly quiet towards evening at the West-end. We found therefore, as we drove at half-past eight o’clock to the concert-rooms, the streets almost less thronged than usual, and met with no obstacle on our way. But we remarked everywhere active preparations for the illumination, in order that the sovereign will of the people might be immediately complied with. My wife, who was somewhat nervous respecting her first public appearance with the new harp, was in great trepidation as to what might occur from this excitement of the populace, and I was greatly afraid that the agitation in which I saw her would be prejudicial both to her play and to her health. I therefore endeavoured to soothe her by argument and persuasion, in which I happily succeeded. The concert-room filled by degrees with a numerous auditory and the concert began. I am able to give here the entire programme, as Sir G. Smart upon my last visit to London (in the year 1852) made me a present of a copy of that which was handed at the time to the audience upon their entry into the rooms. It runs as follows:

NEW ARGYLL ROOMS.

M^R. SPOHR’S CONCERT.

Thursday, June 18th. 1820.

* * * * *

~PART I.~

Grand Sinfonia (M. S.) ~Spohr~.

Air, Mr. T. ~Welch~, “Revenge, revenge, Timotheus cries” ~Haendel~.

Grand Duetto (M. S.), Harp and Violin, Mad. ~Spohr~ and Mr. ~Spohr~ ~Spohr~.

Aria, Miss ~Goodall~, “Una voce al cor mi parla.” Clarinet obligato, Mr. ~Willman~ ~Pær~.

Sestetto for Pianoforte, two Violins, Viola, Violincello and Contrabasso, Messrs.: ~Ries~, ~Watts~, ~Wagstaff~, R. ~Ashley~, ~Lindley~ and ~Dragonetti~ ~Ries~.

Irish Melodies (M. S.), with Variations for the Violin, Mr. ~Spohr~ (composed expressly for this occasion) ~Spohr~.

~PART II.~

Nonotto for Violin, Viola, Violincello, Contrabasso, Flute, Oboe, Clarinet, Horn and Bassoon, Messrs. ~Spohr~, ~Lindley~, ~Dragonetti~, ~Ireland~, ~Griesbach~, ~Willman~, ~Arnull~ and ~Holmes~ ~Spohr~.

Scena, Mrs. ~Salmon~ “Fellon, la pena avrai” ~Rossini~.

Rondo for the Violin, Mr. ~Spohr~ ~Spohr~.

Aria, Mr. Vaughan “Rendi’l sereno” ~Haendel~.

Overture ~Spohr~.

* * * * *

Leader of the Band Mr. ~Spohr~.

At the Pianoforte Sir George ~Smart~.

The new symphony, though already known to the orchestra, was again carefully rehearsed through with them, and was executed in a masterly manner, and it met with a more lively applause, if possible, than on its first performance. While the air that followed was being sung I tuned my wife’s harp for her in the adjoining room and spoke some words of encouragement to her. I then led her into the concert-room and we took our places to begin the duet. Silent expectation pervaded the whole auditory, and our first tones were eagerly awaited, when suddenly a fearful noise was heard in the street, which was immediately followed by a volley of paving stones against the unilluminated windows of the adjoining room. Terrified at the noise of the breaking glass of the windows and chandeliers, the ladies sprang up from their seats, and a scene of indescribable confusion and alarm ensued. In order to prevent a second, volly of missiles, the gas lights in the adjoining apartment were speedily lighted, and we were not a little gratified to find that the mob after giving another uproarious cheer at the success of their demonstration went on their way, and thus by degrees the previous quiet was restored. But it was some time before the public resumed their places in the room and became so far tranquillized that we could at length begin. I was not a little fearful that the fright and the long pause would make my wife still more nervous and I listened therefore to her first accords in the greatest anxiety; but when I heard these resound with their usual power I became immediately tranquillized, and gave my attention wholly to the unity and ensemble of our play. This, which in Germany had always pleased so much, did not fail to make its effect upon an English audience also; the applause, indeed, increased with every theme of the duet, and at its conclusion seemed as though it never would cease. As we retired highly gratified with this success, we neither of us thought that it was the last time, that Dorette would play on the harp. But of that hereafter!

As regards the other items of the programme in which I took part, I was particularly pleased with the good reception which the nonette met with. I had already played it with the same artists at one of the Philharmonic concerts, and was invited on many sides to repeat it at my concert. The accuracy of our ensemble was this time more complete, and therefore it could not fail in its effect. The Irish melodies were generally well received. Thus, in spite of the disturbing intermezzo, the concert terminated to the general satisfaction of all. The interval after the first part and the promenade in the adjoining saloon were this time entirely prevented by the damage which it had sustained; the confectioner told me that, having had no demand for his refreshments, he was the ten pound in pocket, although he had had some things smashed on the buffet by the volley of stones. When at length, exceedingly fatigued, we got into our carriage, we were not able to drive straight home, as the mob in the neighbourhood of Portland Place still had it all their own way. The coachman was therefore obliged to take all manner of circuitous turnings, and it was past one in the morning when we at length drove up to our own door. With the exception of our floor we found the whole house lit up, and the landlady was awaiting our return in the greatest anxiety, in order to light up our windows also. And indeed it was high time; for the mob were heard approaching. But as in obedience to their sovereign will they found the whole of Charlotte-street brilliantly illuminated, they passed on without committing any excesses. But it was not safe to extinguish the lights, and not until the lapse of several hours, when the town had become quite quiet, did we at length get the rest we so much needed.

* * * * *

Now comes a sorrowful period in my life, on which I now still think with grief. My wife felt so ill from the effects of the great exertions she had made in acquiring the mastery of the new harp and the alternate impressions upon her nervous system on the evening of the concert, that I was greatly afraid she was about to have a third attack of nervous fever. It was therefore high time to come to some firm resolve as regarded her future well-being. Already after her second attack in Darmstadt, when she had become fully restored to health, I had endeavoured to persuade her to abandon her nerve-destroying instrument, but when I saw how much this proposition distressed her, I again immediately relinquished it. She was too much heart and soul the artiste, and had acquired too great a love for the instrument to which she owed so many triumphs, to be able to give it up readily; and it had always been a source of happiness to her to think that she could assist with her talent towards the maintenance of our family. But now, that she was but too convinced that her physical powers were not sufficient to conquer the new instrument, and a return to the old one would not satisfy her after having made herself intimately acquainted with the advantages of the new one in tone and mechanism, it became much easier for me to win her over to my way of thinking, particularly when I represented to her that as the artiste she could still be known, and in future appear at my concerts as pianiste, for which she had all the necessary qualifications. This tranquillized her very much, although she was obliged to admit to herself, that she would never be able to achieve upon the pianoforte the same success as on the harp, upon which in Germany at least she had not her equal. I moreover promised her, that in order to give her performances the charm of novelty, I would write some brilliant concert themes, and as it was very important for me to try my hand also at pianoforte compositions, I immediately set to work and finished before leaving London the first subject of the piano-quintet Op. 52. In order to remove the harp wholly from her sight, I sent it to Mr. Erard. When I informed him that my wife was compelled to abandon the harp entirely on account of the weak state of her health, he took it back very willingly, and refused a compensation for the use made of it up to that time. In a most gallant manner he said, the instrument had now acquired a real value, from having been played upon by so celebrated an artiste, and that too at her last public performance.

I now again took daily walks into the country with my wife and had soon the pleasure of seeing that she was gradually recovering her strength. The thought that she would soon see her children again contributed no doubt in a very great measure towards this improvement. I also longed to be home again with my family, and immediately the last Philharmonic concert was over, I made preparations for leaving.

I must here by way of appendix speak of the musical institution of Mr. Logier, which I visited several times with great interest, and respecting which I sent the following report to the Leipsic Musical Journal of August 1820: “Mr. Logier, a German by birth, but resident for the last fifteen years in England, gives instruction in pianoforte-play and in harmony upon a method of his own invention, in which he permits all the children, frequently as many as thirty or forty, to play at the same time. For this purpose he has written three volumes of studies, which are all grounded upon perfectly simple themes, and progress by degrees to the most difficult ones. While beginners play the theme, the more advanced pupils practise themselves at the same time in more or less difficult variations: one might imagine that from this manner of proceeding great confusion must ensue, out of which the teacher would be able to distinguish very little; but as the children who play these studies, sit near each other, one hears, according to whichever part of the room one may be in, either one or the other of the studies very distinctly. The teacher also frequently makes half of the pupils, at times all but one, cease playing, in order to ascertain their progress individually. In the last lessons he makes use of his chiroplast, a machine by means of which the children get accustomed to a good position of the arms and hands, and which so soon as they have progressed so far as to know the notes and keys, is removed first from one hand and then from the other, and then for the first time they put their fingers to the keys and learn to play scales; but all this, in the respective studies, with all the children at once, and always in the strictest time. When they have then progressed to a new lesson they do not of course succeed in bringing out more than a few notes of each bar, in the quick movement which they hear being played near or around them; but they soon overcome more and more of them, and in a shorter time than might well be believed, the new lesson is played as well as the previous one. But what is most remarkable in Mr. Logier’s method of teaching is, that, with the very first lessons in pianoforte playing he teaches his pupils harmony at the same time. How he does this, I do not know; and that is his secret, for which each of the teachers in England who give instruction on his system pay him one hundred guineas. The results of this method with his pupils are nevertheless wonderful; for children between the ages of seven and ten years solve the most difficult problems. I wrote down on the board a triad, and denoted the key in which they were to modulate it: one of the littlest girls immediately ran to the board, and after very little reflection wrote first the bass, and then the upper notes. I frequently repeated this test, and indeed with the addition of all manners of difficulties: I extended it to the most divergent keys in which enharmonic changes were required, yet they never became embarrassed. If one could not succeed, another immediately came forward, whose bass perhaps was corrected by a third; and for everything they did they were obliged to assign the reason to the teacher. At length I wrote upon the table a simple treble--the first that came into my head--and told each of them to put the other three voices to it, each upon her own slate. At the same time I said to them that the solution of the theme which the teacher and I should consider the best, I would inscribe in my musical album as a souvenir of their performance. All were now full of life and activity, and in a few minutes one of the littlest of the girls, who had already distinguished herself by her play and in working out the first problems, brought me her slate to inspect, but in her haste she had omitted an octave in the third bar between the bass and one of the middle voices. No sooner had I pointed it out to her, than blushing and with tears in her eyes she took back the slate and rapidly corrected her error. As in her performance the bass was indisputably the best of all, the teacher wrote it in my album, and I subjoin it here with diplomatic accuracy.

[Music]

The resolutions of the other children were more or less good, but all of them correct, and mostly written out in four different keys. Each also played her own immediately without any embarrassment on the pianoforte and without “fault,” &c.”

Upon my announcing our approaching departure to my old Johanning, tears came into the eyes of the kind and affectionate old man. He had become so fond of us that he would have even refused all remuneration for the services he had rendered us, and positively objected to take the sum I had reserved for him. But upon my insisting on his taking it he complied, on the condition that I would not refuse him a favour he wished to ask of me. I asked him what it was, and he did not keep me long in suspense, but stammered out in an embarrassed manner the request that I and my wife would do him the honour to take our dinner, the day before our departure, at his house. When we consented thereto without hesitation, his whole countenance immediately brightened up, and he could not find words to express sufficiently his gratitude. On the appointed day he made his appearance dressed as I had never yet seen him, in a full-dress suit of his deceased master’s, with hair powdered, and in white silk stockings, and at our door stood a hackney carriage for four persons, which was to take us to his country house, and in which a musician whom he had also invited, and whose acquaintance we had already made, and who was the most intimate friend of his late master, was already seated. When we had got in, Johanning refused to take the fourth seat, saying that it would be unbecoming of him to do so, although I pointed out to him that he was now no longer my servant, but for this day my host and entertainer. But he was not to be persuaded, and took his usual place by the side of the coachman. On the way there our companion related to us many particulars highly creditable to Johanning--how he had shewn the most ardent attachment and fidelity to his master, and after his death had applied the greater part of the money he had left him, to the erection of a memorial to his master in Westminster Abbey, so that we felt penetrated with the highest respect for our recent servant. Upon our arrival he opened the carriage door and led us into his house. The property consisted of a small house with a small garden attached, and everywhere the greatest neatness and cleanliness. He led the way up one flight of stairs to his reception room, and did not fail to show us immediately the bell-pull near the mantle-piece, to which he forthwith gave a tug, although he kept no servant whom he could summon with it, since he and his wife were their own servants. We then took a turn through the little garden and then entered the parlour, where the table was laid for three persons. Johanning again refused to take a seat near us at table, and this time for the cogent reason that we should then have had no one to wait upon us. Upon this he brought up the dinner and as master of the house waited upon his guests, during which occupation his whole countenance wore an expression of the greatest pleasure. The dinner was exceedingly well dressed and served up on an elegant china dinner-service which had belonged to his master, and the excellent Rhenish wine which he placed before us was no doubt derived also from the same source. The dessert, strawberries and cherries, was the produce of his little garden, and this he did not fail to announce to his guests.--When dinner was over he led the way once more to his drawing-room, where we found Mrs. Johanning, who till then had been engaged in the kitchen in dressing and sending up the dinner, in full Sunday attire. There at length, though only after repeated pressing, the worthy old couple allowed themselves to be persuaded to take seats at the table, on which coffee had already been placed. Johanning was now in the height of happiness, and interpreted with no little satisfaction to his wife the praises which we had expressed and still reiterated of the admirable manner in which we had been entertained. Towards evening the coach again drove up to the door to take us back to town. But Johanning could not be deterred from resuming his old place by the side of the coachman, to accompany us home, and open the carriage door. In fact, even on the next morning he presented himself again, in order to be of assistance at our departure. At the coach-office we found also several friends and acquaintance waiting to bid us farewell.

* * * * *

We returned again by way of Dover and Calais, in order to take our own carriage which we had left at Lille. Our passage across this time was a very calm one and the weather fine, so that not any of the passengers were sea-sick. Between Calais and Lille the diligence stopped at a so charming place to dine that even now, after so long a time, I recollect it with a feeling of pleasure. It was at the small town of Cassel, which is situated upon a high isolated conical hill that rises in the midst of an extensive plain. The weather being fine, dinner had been laid for the travellers in the garden of the inn under a bower of vines, and during the repast, from this pleasant, cool situation we enjoyed an extensive view over the beautiful country round. In Lille we again spent some pleasant days in the society of the Vogel family and other of our friends there, and then without longer stay set out in our own carriage upon our further journey.

As a natural consequence of the painful ordeal of grief through which my parents had passed on our account, and after the first long separation from our children, our reception this time in Gandersheim was beyond measure one of heartfelt joy, and after our protracted exertions and fatigue we now indeed felt once more happy and freed from care in the calm repose of the country. This was just the time for me to set myself to new labours, and I there first completed the quintet for pianoforte, flute, clarinet, horn and double-bass which I had begun in London, and in which I proposed that my wife should make her appearance in the world of art as a pianiste on our projected winter tour. Indeed, it was high time to occupy her in its artistic study; for as she now felt quite re-established in health, she had the greatest desire to resume her harp. With the assistance of the new quintet, however, and supported by the medical counsel of my father, I soon succeeded in dissuading her from it. She therefore devoted her attention to the pianoforte with the greatest zeal, and in a short time had the gratification of finding she had reacquired her former technical skill upon that instrument. After the lapse of a few weeks she succeeded therefore in executing the new and difficult concert-piece to her and my satisfaction.

About this time we had a visit from two musical Hamburg friends, Messrs. Fritz Schwenke and Wilhelm Grund, the latter of whom brought his younger brother Edward with him, who was already a good violinist, to become my pupil. With the assistance of these three I now gave our musical friends of Gandersheim a quartet-party such as they had never heard before nor have since. In order to have my new quintet heard upon this occasion also, I quickly rewrote the accompaniment of the four wind-instruments, for a stringed-quartet, and in this shape was highly pleased with its effect, as also with the brilliant play of my wife. From the great success this had met with, she felt much encouraged in her new studies and consoled in some measure for her relinquishment of the harp. To provide her still with new materials for practice, I rewrote also two former harp-compositions for the piano, a pot-pourri and a rondo with violin, which appeared later as Op. 50 and 51. We practised these together also with the greatest care, and they were destined for performance at private parties on our next winter tour. After the departure of the Hamburg visitors I commenced the instruction of my new pupil. By his talent and amiability he soon won the esteem of the whole Spohr family, from the old grandfather down to little Theresa, whom he always called in pure Hamburg dialect: “Du säute Deren.” As he played well on the piano, he undertook the musical instruction of Emilia and Ida, and young as he was, he knew how to keep them assiduous to their studies. Himself as violinist he soon made so much progress, that I practised him in and played with him the three extremely difficult violin-duets which I wrote in Switzerland (Op. 39) and for which I had never yet been able to meet with a fellow-player. By the accurate, pure and spirited execution of this almost always four-voiced duets we made a great sensation, and musical amateurs from the whole country round came to hear us play them. We played one of them also with great success at a concert in Hildesheim, given there by the director of music Bischoff, the same who undertook the Frankenhaus musical festivals. Towards autumn, just as I had begun to compose a new violin concerto (the 9th. D-minor. Op. 55, published by André of Offenbach) for the winter journey, I received an invitation from music-director Rose in Quedlinburg to conduct a musical festival which he was about to hold there. I very gladly accepted it, and made all haste to complete my concerto so as to be able to perform it there for the first time. While practising it I received great assistance from Edward Grund, who was able to accompany through the score on the piano, an assistance, which I had never before experienced.

The musical festival took place on the 13th. and 14th. October 1820, and went off to the full satisfaction of the originator and the numerous auditory. Upon my proposition, Schneider’s “Last Judgement” was given on the first day, at which the composer himself was present. On the second day, among other things my London symphony was performed, and, as well as my new violin concerto, was received with great approbation. I met in Quedlinburg many of my former friends and acquaintances from Sondershausen, Gotha, Leipzig, Magdeburg, Halberstadt and Brunswick, and passed several delightful days with them. After our return from this pleasant excursion, upon which my parents and Edward Grund, as well as my wife, had accompained me, it became full time to set out upon our winter tour, the terminus of which was to be Paris. A new parting from the children, my parents, and the pleasant society of Gandersheim, was therefore necessary; and Edward Grund returned to Hamburg with the intention of coming again in the spring to prosecute his studies under my guidance.

We took Frankfort, Heidelberg, Carlsruhe and Strasburg on our way to Paris, and gave concerts in all those towns. In Frankfort, where we lived in the house of my friend Speyer, we still found a lively remembrance of our artistic talents; our concert in the salon of the “Weidenbusch” was crowded to overflowing, although the room could easily accommodate eight hundred persons. My new violin concerto, excellently accompanied, made a great sensation; Councillor André himself, who previously had always some fault to find with my compositions, seemed quite satisfied with my new work; for he repeatedly requested me, after the rehearsal even, to let him have the publishing of it. Although I declined this most positively, as I was bound by a promise to my then publisher Peters of Leipsic, to let him have all my new manuscripts, yet in the evening at the concert André again pressed me, and so pertinaciously, that to get rid of him, and to prepare quietly for my solo-play, I at last called out to him “Yes.” This precipitancy however cost me dear, for although I immediately informed Peters of all the circumstances, in order to exculpate myself with him, I was compelled to endure many bitter reproaches for my excessive pliancy towards Mr. André. The new piano quintet with wind-instrument accompaniment, which was now also performed, made likewise a great sensation, and Dorette’s purity of piano-forte play, of which until then the friends of music in Frankfort had known nothing, was greeted with the loudest applause. I was more particularly pleased with this result, as of all others it was calculated to console my wife for the abandonment of her harp.

Of the other towns between Frankfort and Paris, and of the concerts given there I have forgotten everything; I must however advert to the acquaintance I made of Councillor Thibaut at Heidelberg on this occasion. That celebrated jurist conducted a choral society that he had instituted; but excluding all modern church music, he permitted ancient Italian music only to be sung, of which he had made a rich and rare collection. Until then I knew nothing more of this music than what I had heard in the Sixtine chapel at Rome, and was therefore very thankful to the Councillor for the permission he gave me to be present at the rehearsals of his society, at which I became better acquainted with several of those old works, which were carefully practised by them. Thibaut’s opinion that this music alone represented the true ecclesiastical style, and surpassed all that had ever been written since, I cannot coincide with, for to me Mozart’s requiem, incomplete as it passed from the hands of that master, who died during its composition, is alone worth more than all I ever heard of earlier church music; nevertheless, the simple-grandiose style of those works made then a great impression on me, and I begged permission to study their scores through. After some hesitation my wish was granted in such wise that I was permitted to visit Thibaut’s music-room at particular hours, and to go through the works on the piano, but was not permitted to take any home with me. I took daily advantage of this favour, and by that means made myself intimately acquainted with the vocal method and harmonic sequence of the old masters. While so engaged I was seized with the desire of trying for once an ecclesiastic piece alla Capella for several voices, and in the following summer I carried out my idea at Gandersheim with the composition of the mass for ten voices, Op. 54. I certainly did not strive to imitate the simple treble movements of the old masters; but on the contrary I did a good deal towards carrying out the rich modulation of the later Mozart method.

Respecting our stay in Paris I published at the time “Four letters to a Friend” in the Leipsic Musical Journal of 1821, which I here append.

FIRST LETTER.

Paris, December 15. 1820.

I trust, my dear friend, that you will give me credit for writing to you so soon on the eighth day after our arrival, at a time when so many novelties crowd upon my notice, that I find it difficult to collect my thoughts. But for my own sake I must not permit the materials to grow upon me too much, otherwise I shall be wholly unable to deal with them in their due order.

With a beating heart I drove through the Barrière of Paris. The thought, that I should at length have the pleasure of making the personal acquaintance of the artists whose works had inspired me in my early childhood, excited the emotion which I then felt. In fancy I reverted to the days of my boyhood, in which Cherubini was my idol, whose works I had had an earlier opportunity of becoming acquainted with in Brunswick, at the then permanent French theatre there, than even the works of Mozart; I vividly recollected the evening when the “Deux Journées” was performed for the first time--how, intoxicated with delight and the powerful impression that work had made upon me, I asked on that very evening to have the score given to me, and sat over it the whole night; and that it was that opera chiefly that gave me the first impulse to composition. The author, and many other men whose works had had the most decided influence on my development as a composer and violinist, I was now soon to behold.

We had therefore scarcely got under cover, when I made it my first business to pay a visit to those artists. I was received by all in a friendly manner, and relations of friendship soon sprang up between me and several of them.

I was told of Cherubini, that he was at first very reserved toward strangers, repulsive even; I did not find him so. He received me, without any letter of introduction, in the most friendly manner, and invited me to repeat my visit as often as I pleased.

On the evening of our arrival Kreutzer took us to the grand opera, where a ballet of his, with pretty characteristic music: “Le carnaval de Venise,” was performed. It is observable in the singers and dancers of the grand opera, that they have been accustomed to move in a more spacious place; in this one, where the space is much more confined as compared with the opera house that has been abandoned, they appear in a much too sharp relief. Several grand operas, those of Gluck’s for instance, can no longer be represented at all, there being not even the necessary room for the whole orchestra. For this reason every one looks forward with hope for the early completion of the new opera house; but actively as they are working upon it, that will not be ready before the middle of next summer. Before the ballet the opera: “Le Devin du village,” the words and music by Rousseau, was given. Is it a subject for praise or blame, that the French, notwithstanding the many excellent things with which their operatic repertoire has been enriched during the last twenty years, still give the oldest things of all? And is it indeed a proof of an advanced cultivated taste for art, when one sees them give as enthusiastic a reception (if not more so) to the oldest operas of Grétry with their poverty of harmony and incorrectness, as to the master pieces of Cherubini and Méhul? I think not! How long have not the operas of Hiller and Dittersdorf and others of those days, disappeared from our repertoire, although these are far to be preferred for their real musical worth to the greater part of Grétry’s. But on the other hand it is certainly very discouraging, that with us the new only, however poor and defective, finds a ready reception, and many excellent things of older date are set aside for them and forgotten. Nevertheless it must be said to the honour of the taste for art of the Germans, that Mozart’s operas at least are the exception, and for the last thirty years have constantly been produced in all the theatres of Germany, which is a proof that the German people are at length impressed with the inimitable perfection of those master-pieces, and are not to be deceived on this head, however extensively the sweet musical poison may spread which flows in upon us so profusely from beyond the Alps.

The orchestra of the grand opera, as compared with the other orchestras, reckons among its members the most celebrated and distinguished artistes, but in ensemble is said to be behind the Italian opera. I cannot yet judge how far that may be correct, as I have only heard the latter as yet. In Kreutzer’s ballet, which was played by the orchestra with the greatest precision, I was greatly pleased with a hautboy solo, which was executed in a masterly manner by Mr. Voigt. This artist has succeeded in giving to his instrument a perfect uniformity of tone and intonation throughout the whole range from C to the high F, an accomplishment which almost all hautboy players have failed in attaining. His execution is moreover full of grace and good taste.

For some days past I have been less edified at the grand opera than I was the first time. “Les mystères d’Isis” was performed. Too well indeed are justified the complaints of the admirers of Mozart of the disfigurement of the beautiful “Zauberflöte” in this piece of workmanship, which the French themselves re-christened on its appearance “Les Misères d’ici”! One must blush that it should have been Germans, who so sinned against the immortal master. Everything but the overture has been meddled with; all else has been thrown into confusion, been changed and mutilated. The opera begins with the concluding chorus of the Zauberflöte; then comes the march in Titus, and then in succession some fragmentary piece from other operas of Mozart, and even a little bit of a symphony of Haydn; then between these recitatives of Mr. Lachnitz’ own manufacture. But worse than all this is, that the transposers have applied a serious text to many cheerful and even comic passages of the Zauberflöte, by which the music of those passages becomes a parody of the text and of the situation. In this manner, for instance, Papagena sings the characteristic air of the Moor: “Alles fühlt der Liebe Freuden,” &c.; and the pretty terzet of the three boys: “Seid uns zum zweitenmal willkommen,” &c., is sung by the three ladies. Of the duet: “Bei Männern, welche Liebe fühlen,” &c., a terzet has been made, and so on. Worse than all, however, they have taken the liberty of making alterations in the score: for example, in the air: “In diesen heil’gen Hallen,” at the words: “So wandelt er an Freundes Hand,” the imitating bass

[Music]

is entirely left out, which is here indispensably necessary, not alone to the harmony, but because it expresses the act of wandering in so characteristic a manner, and the bass sound the B only a few times instead. You may therefore readily imagine how insipid and meagre this passage now sounds, which in Germany is so frequently admired. Moreover, in the terzet of the three females, where Mozart strengthens and supports the third voice with the violins only, the transposers have added both violoncello and double-bass; so that at these tender passages, which are for three voices only, the bass lies in three different octaves, which to a cultivated ear is unbearable. Similar offences are of frequent occurrence. We must nevertheless do the French the justice to say, that they have always highly disapproved of this vandalic mutilation of a great master-piece (the extent of which from their ignorance of the original is yet not known to them); but how is it, that the “Mystères” have nevertheless kept their place undisturbed in the repertoire for the last eighteen or twenty years?--and here where the public moreover, as I see every day, rule so despotically in the theatre, and manage to have everything their own way!--

To me, as a German, the performance was not satisfactory. Even the overture was not executed so well as it should have been by so excellent a union of first-rate musicians. It was taken too quick, and still more hurried at the close, so that the violins instead of playing semiquavers could only play quavers. The singers of the grand opera, whose great merits may perhaps lie in declamatory song, are little qualified to render the soft airs of the Zauberflöte in a satisfactory manner. They sing them with a blunt roughness that deprives them of all tenderness. The getting-up in scenery, dresses and dancing is respectable, but not so handsome as I had expected.--Yesterday we went for the first time to the grand opera, and saw “Clari,” a grand ballet in three acts, the music by Kreutzer. Little as I like ballets, and little, in my opinion as pantomime merits the aid of the resources of art, as these are lavished on it here, I nevertheless do not deny that the Parisian ballet may sometimes afford agreeable amusement, until one becomes wearied with the monotony of the mimic movements, and of the yet greater sameness of the dances. But with all the perfection with which it is given here, pantomime, from the poverty of its signs, which always require a printed explanation of their meaning, is, as compared to recitative drama, a mere outline by the side of a finished drawing. However it may be embellished with golden ornament and decorated surroundings, as is the ballet here by magnificence of costume and decorations, it gives the outline only, and the life is wanting. In the same manner I may compare the drama to the opera--as a drawing by the side of the painting. From song, the poem receives its first colouring, and by it only, and the powerful aid of harmony, does it succeed in giving expression to the indefinable and merely imagined emotions of the soul which language must be content alone to hint at. The music to “Clari” is a great success, and in the second and third act especially the effect is most captivating. It facilitates greatly the comprehension of the subject by a correct delineation of the passions, and contains a treasury of pretty melodies which one regrets do not form part of an opera. Mademoiselle Bigottini played the chief character, and evinced a deep study of mime and action in her play. That in very impassioned situations she carried the expression of her features to the borders of grimace, may perhaps be imputed to the circumstance that hitherto she has always appeared in a spacious place, where on account of the distance it was requisite to give strong play to the features. Perhaps as a German this is my fancy only, for the applause was never more tumultuous than when (to my feeling) she overstepped the bounds of the beautiful and graceful.

Before the ballet, the one-act opera “Le rossignol” was given; from which Weigl took the subject of his German opera of “Nachtigall und Rabe.” The music of the French opera is of no account, and interested me only through the masterly execution of a flauto-solo by Mr. Tulou. It is impossible to hear a finer tone than that Mr. Tulou draws from his instrument. Since I heard him, it appears to me no longer so inappropriate, when our poets compare the pleasing sound of a fine voice to the tones of a flute.

SECOND LETTER.

Paris, December 31. 1820.

Since the despatch of my first letter, a fortnight has elapsed, replete with enjoyment, and since then we have both seen and heard much that is beautiful; but for the present I must content myself with writing to you upon that which most nearly concerns my art. I have now made my appearance before musicians and dilettanti, connoisseurs and a lay public, as violinist and composer, first at Mr. Baudiot’s, primo violoncellist of the royal orchestra, on the day after at Kreutzer’s, and since then at three private parties. At the soirées of the two first the company consisted almost wholly of musicians; at Kreutzer’s, in particular, almost all the first composers and violinists of Paris were present. I gave several of my quartets and quintets, and on the second day my nonet. The composers present expressed themselves to me in very laudatory terms upon the composition, and the violinists upon my play. Of the latter, Viotti, both the Kreutzers, Baillot, Lafont, Habeneck, Fontaine, Guerin, and several others whose names are not so well known in Germany, were present; and you may imagine that it was then highly necessary that I should collect my faculties, to do credit to my countrymen. The wind-instrument parts in my nonet were played by the five artists of whose masterly execution of Reicha’s quintets you will have so frequently read in accounts from Paris. I had the pleasure of hearing them play two of those quintets, but shall reserve to myself all detailed observations thereon till I shall have heard some more of them. At the request of all the musicians present my nonet was played again the same evening; and if the readiness with which the assistant players read à prima vista that difficult piece of music had surprised me, I was still more gratified, upon its repetition, by the manner in which they now entered into the spirit of the composition and re-executed it.

The young pianist Herz, of whom you have also doubtless read in the Parisian musical miscellanies, played twice on that evening, at first his own variations on the theme from the “Schweizerfamilie,” and then Moscheles’ well-known variations on Alexander’s march. The extraordinary execution of this young man is the astonishment of everybody; but with him, as with all the young artists here whom I have yet heard, it seems to me that his technical cultivation is in advance of that of his mind; otherwise, in a company composed of artists only, he would surely have given something different and more intellectual than the break-neck tricks of art he exhibited. But it is very singular, how all here, young and old, strive only to shine by mechanical execution, and individuals in whom perhaps the germ of something better lies, devote whole years and every energy to the study and practice of one single piece of music, frequently of the most worthless kind, in order to create a sensation with it before the public. That the mind remains torpid under such circumstances and that such people never become much better than musical automatons may be readily imagined.

Hence one seldom or never hears in the musical réunions here an earnest, well-digested piece of music, such as a quartet or quintet of our great masters; every one produces his show-piece; you hear nothing but airs variés, rondos favoris, nocturnes, and the like trifles, and from the singers romances and little duets; and however incorrect and insipid all this may be, it never fails to produce an effect, if it is executed right smoothly and sweetly. Poor in such pretty trifles, with my earnest German music I am ill at ease in such musical parties, and feel frequently like a man who speaks to people who do not understand his language; for when the praise of any such auditors extends even sometimes from my play to the composition itself, I cannot feel gratified by it, since immediately afterwards he bestows the same admiration upon the most trifling things. One blushes to be praised by such connoisseurs. It is just the same at the theatres: the masses, the leaders of the fashion here, know not positively how to distinguish the worst from the best; they hear “Le Jugement de Midas” with the same rapture that they hear “Les deux Journées” or “Joseph.” It requires no long residence here, to adopt the frequently expressed opinion, that the French are not a musical nation.

The artists themselves here are of this opinion, and frequently reply, when I speak of Germany in this respect: “Yes, music is loved and understood there, but not here.” In this manner may be explained how good music wedded to a wretched theatrical piece, falls to the ground, and wretched music united to a good pièce de théâtre, may be highly successful.

This has deprived me of all desire to write for any of the theatres here, as I had previously much wished to do; for apart from the fact that I should have to begin de novo, like a young composer--since, with the exception of some of my violin pieces, they know little or nothing of my compositions--and further that I should have to work my way through a thousand cabals, which would rise up against me as a foreigner with fearful violence before I could get my work performed, so that at the end I should find, although I might have written good music, its success would be uncertain, as that depends, as I have said, almost wholly on the theatrical piece. This may be seen from the notices in the journals here upon recent operas, in which whole columns are devoted to a critique of the text, and the music is dismissed with a passing notice of a few words only.

Were it not so lucrative to write for the theatres in Paris, there would have been long since no good composer willing to do so. But from the considerable gain which a successful opera brings in during one’s whole life-time, new works are produced almost every day; authors and composers turn their mind constantly to the creation of new effects, but do not neglect at the same time, to ply the public for months together in the journals, and provide the necessary number of paid claqueurs in the pit on the evening of the performance, in order to ensure a brilliant reception for their work and thereby an ultimate rich harvest from its frequent repetition. If only half as much were to be gained by an opera in Germany, we should soon be equally rich in good composers for the theatre as we now are in instrumental composers, and we should have no further need to introduce foreign pieces upon our stage, for the most part unworthy of the artistic culture of Germans.

After a residence of now three weeks it may be well imagined that we have repeatedly visited all the theatres. I am the more pleased at this as the circle of my acquaintance has become larger, and my engagements both for the morning and evening have so much increased that for the next fortnight we shall be able to devote but few evenings to the theatre.

Of the Théâtre français, the Odéon, and the four lesser theatres, I shall say nothing; as in a musical point of view they offer nothing worthy of notice. In the two first they give nothing but entr’actes, and in the four others almost nothing else but vaudevilles. That this last kind of theatrical pieces, which, thanks to Apollo and the muses, has hitherto been transplanted into no other country, is so much liked here that four theatres give almost nothing else, is the most striking proof that the French are not musical; for the sacred art cannot be more abused anywhere than in these kind of songs, which are neither sung nor spoken, but rattled out in intervals, and which are in most striking anomaly with the melodies, and the accompanying harmony. All Frenchmen of taste are agreed that the vaudeville, which formerly was given in one theatre only, has by its increase deteriorated more and more the taste for true music, and therefore had a prejudicial effect upon art here. We have been to each of these theatres once, to hear the celebrated comedians Brunet, Pothier and Perlet, but are not likely to go a second time, for the enjoyment one derives from the wit and inexhaustible humour of those performers is too dearly purchased by hearing such wretched music. I was particularly struck by the skill with which the orchestra in those theatres follow the singers, who do not in the least adhere to the time, or the notes. But this is, also, their chief merit, for in other respects they are but middling musicians.

We have been frequently to the Italian opera, and much enjoyed ourselves there. Last evening we saw “Don Juan” there, at last, after it had been frequently announced. The house was again, as upon the previous performances, filled to overflowing, and hundreds of people could find no room, even half an hour before the curtain drew up. I was disposed to believe that the Parisians had at length understood the classical beauty of this work, and that they flocked always in greater numbers to enjoy it; but I soon relinquished that opinion when I saw that the finest parts of the opera--the first duet, the quartet, the grand septet, and several other things--passed off without making any impression upon them, and two subjects only received a storm of applause, which was given rather to the singers than to the composer.

These two subjects, which were each respectively encored, were the duet between Don Juan and Zerline: “Reich mir die Hand mein Leben” etc., and the air of Don Juan: “Treibt der Champagner” etc.; the first, because Signor Garcia, not having depth of voice sufficient, transposes it to B flat, and the last even a whole tone higher, to C. Madame Fodor-Mainville, who well knew that the song-pieces of Zerlina would please the Parisians more than all the rest of the opera, chose very wisely that part, and the result shewed that she had calculated rightly. What would she care, were the characters of the opera wholly transposed, so long as she meets with a storm of applause. The real connoisseur can only consent to this when he dismisses from his mind that she personates the role of a peasant girl, and when he wholly sets aside the true intention of the subject represented; for she decorates the simple songs of her part with a number of high-flown embellishments which, splendidly though she may execute them, are here wholly out of place; first because they do not at all belong to Mozart’s music, and secondly, because they are wholly incompatible with the character. With deduction of this, it certainly affords an unusual enjoyment to hear this part, which in Germany is usually played by a third-rate singer, impersonated by a first-rate one, and so distinguished a vocalist. Signor Garcia, as Don Juan, uses also too much ornamentation. Where this is only moderately admissable, he comes out with a fioritura a yard long; and these are most out of place in the serenade, where the supposed mandoline accompaniment forbids the most simple ornament. Nevertheless he gives full latitude in it to his fancy, and in order to do this more conveniently, he takes the tempo very slow. On the other hand, however, he sings his song incomparably “Treibt der Champagner” etc., and I acknowledge that I never heard that air so well sung. The pliability of the Italian tongue is of great use to him in this, and instead of losing his breath in it, as is usual with our German singers, his vocal power increases to the end.

The other parts are sung more or less well, but none of them badly, and one must gratefully acknowledge that each does his best to do honour to the work. One may also be very satisfied with the performance, when one loses sight of the claims one is justified in making upon so celebrated a combination of artists. But to a German it soon becomes very evident that these singers, who execute Italian music only, and that of Rossini especially, in the highest perfection, cannot give the music of Mozart with the same excellence; the difference of style is far too great. The effeminate, sweet execution which accords so well with the former, obliterates too much the energetic character which distinguishes Don Juan above all other of Mozart’s operas.

The orchestra, which the Parisians always pronounce the first in the world, made some mistakes. Twice for instance the wind instruments were very obviously at fault, and they wavered several times so much, that the conductor was obliged to beat the time for them. I became confirmed but the more strongly in my opinion, that a theatrical orchestra, however excellent it may be, on account of the great distance of the extreme ends, should not be conducted otherwise than by a continual beating of the time, and, that to mark the time constantly by motions of the body, and the violin, like Mr. Grasset does, is of no use. In other respects this orchestra is justly famed for the discretion with which it accompanies the singer, and in that might serve as a model for the other Parisian as well as many German orchestras.

The choruses are also excellent, and the effect particularly powerful and grand at the concluding allegro of the first finale. But why here, as well as almost everywhere else, is this allegro taken so unreasonably quick? Do then the conductors wholly forget, that by so doing they decrease instead of increasing the power, and that the triplet movement of the violins which must first give life and motion to the whole, cannot be brought out clearly and forcibly in a movement of such exaggerated rapidity, and instead of hearing the living whole, it becomes a mere skeleton sketch without fillings in?!

When one hears so beautiful a piece of music lose its effect by incorrectness of time, one wishes again that the marking of the tempi was finally and universally established either on Mälzel’s or Weber’s method, or still better upon both at the same time. But then of course orchestral conductors must follow them conscientiously, and not as now, follow their own fancy merely.

THIRD LETTER.

Paris, January 12. 1821.

With a mind greatly relieved, I write to announce to you, my dear friend, that I have made my public début and with success. It is always a hazardous undertaking for a foreign violinist to make a public appearance in Paris, as the Parisians are possessed with the notion that they have the finest violinists in the world, and consider it almost in the light of arrogant presumption when a foreign considers he has talent sufficient to challenge a comparison with them.

I may therefore well be a little proud of the brilliant reception I met with the day before yesterday, and the more so that, with the exception of a dozen persons, the auditory was personally unknown to me, and there were none among them who had been admitted with free tickets in purchase of their service as claqueurs. But I had prepared myself very carefully for the occasion, and was properly supported by the careful accompaniment of Mr. Habeneck. I was, however, not in the least nervous, which is sometimes the case with me when I appear for the first time in a strange country, and which occurred to me the year before in London. The reason why I did not feel so in this instance, was doubtless, that here I had already played before all the most distinguished musicians, previous to my appearing in public; but in London eight days only after our arrival, without having been previously heard by any person, I was constrained to appear at the philharmonic concert.

Before I enter into any details of the concert, I must first relate how I came to give it. It is at all times a tedious business to make arrangements for a concert in any town, but in Paris, which is so extensive, where so many theatres are daily open, where there is so much competition and so many obstacles to overcome, it is indeed a Herculean task. I think also that this is the reason why so many artists who come to Paris, decline giving a public concert, which, besides being attended with the enormous expense of nearly 3000 francs, is always an undertaking of great risk. If these matters have been extremely unpleasant to me in other places, you may readily imagine how I feared to attempt them here. In order to get over the difficulty, I bethought myself of making a proposition to the directors of the grand opera, to divide with me the expenses and the receipts of an evening entertainment of which the first half should consist of a concert and the second of a ballet. Contrary to the expectation of all those to whom I had spoken on the subject, this proposition was acceded to.

The consent of the minister was however so long delayed, that the concert could not be announced till three days before it took place, and although the house was well filled, yet I ascribe to this delay that it was not so crowded as I had expected so novel and, from its novelty, so attractive an arrangement would have been for the Parisians. The half which came to my share, after deduction of the expenses, was therefore, as you may imagine, not very considerable: but as I had not calculated upon making much pecuniary gain in Paris, I do not regret this arrangement at all, as it saved me an immense deal of trouble, and yet gave me an opportunity of making my appearance in public. Of my own compositions I gave: the overture to “Alruna,” the newest violin concerto, and the potpourri on the duet from “Don Juan.” Between these a cavatine of Rossini’s was sung by Mademoiselle Cinte, and a duet, also of the same master, by Messrs. Bordogni and Levasseur. At the rehearsal the overture was repeated three times, and in the evening therefore, although it did not go off quite so well as the last time at the rehearsal, the public nevertheless could not refuse their applause of its execution. In the concerto, as well as in the potpourri, some of the wind instruments failed twice, from a negligence in observing the pauses, which seems somewhat usual with the French, but fortunately it was not much disparaged by it. The satisfaction of the audience was unmistakably expressed by loud applause and cries of Bravo! To-day, however, the criticism of the majority of the journals is not so favourable. I must solve this riddle for you. Previous to every first appearance in public, whether of a foreigner or a native, these gentlemen of the press are accustomed to receive a visit from him, to solicit a favourable judgment, and to present them most obsequiously with a few free admission tickets. Foreign artists, to escape these unpleasant visits, sometimes forward their solicitations in writing only, and the free admissions at the same time; or, as is of frequent occurrence, induce some family to whom they have brought letters of introduction, to invite the gentlemen of the press to dinner, when a more convenient opportunity is offered to give them to understand what is desirable to have said of them both before and after the concert. This may perhaps occur now and then in Germany; but I do not think, that newspaper critics can be anywhere so venal as here. I have been told that the first artists of the Théatre français, Mlle. Mars, and even Talma, pay annually considerable sums to the journals, in order to keep those gentlemen constantly in good humour, and that the latter, whenever they wish to extricate themselves from any pecuniary embarrassment, find no method so sure as to attack some esteemed artist until he submits to a tribute of money. How the opinions of a press that are so purchasable, are at all respected, I cannot understand. Suffice however to say, I did not pay any of these supplicatory visits, for I considered them unworthy of a German artist, and thought that the worst that could happen would be, that the journalists would not take any notice at all of my concert. But as these have each a free pass to every performance at the grand opera, I found I was mistaken. They all speak of it; some with unqualified praise, but the majority with a But, by which the praise is more than sufficiently diminished. In all these notices, however, French vanity speaks with the utmost self-assurance. They all begin by extolling their own artists, and their artistic culture, above all other nations; they think that the country that produced Messrs. Baillot, Lafont and Habeneck, need envy no other its violinists; and whenever the play of a foreigner has been received here with enthusiasm, it is nothing more than a proof of the great hospitality which the French in particular shew towards foreigners. Apart from this vanity the notices are very contradictory: The “Quotidienne” says, for instance: “Mr. Spohr aborde, avec une incroyable audace, les plus grandes difficultés, et l’on ne sait ce qui étonne le plus, ou son audace ou la sureté avec laquelle il exécute ces difficultés.” In the “Journal des Débats,” on the other hand: “Le concert exécuté par Mr. Spohr n’est point surchargé de difficultés,” etc. These gentlemen differ also in opinion respecting the merits or demerits of my compositions. The majority think them good, but without saying why; but “Le Courier des Spectacles,” which altogether speaks most disparagingly of me, says: “C’est une espèce de pacotille d’harmonie et d’enharmonie germaniques que Mr. Spohr apporte, en contrebande, de je ne sais quelle contrée d’Allemagne.” But Rossini is his man, of whom he says further on: “Cet Orphée moderne a défrayé de chant le concert de Mr. Spohr, et il lui suffit pour cela de prêter une petite aria et un petit duo bouffo.” But as a violinist I found more grace in his eyes; he says for instance: “Mr. Spohr comme exécutant est un homme de mérite; il a deux qualités rares et précieuses, la pureté et la justesse,” but then winds up his phrase like a true Frenchman: “s’il reste quelque temps à Paris, il pourra perfectionner son goût et retourner ensuite former celui des bons Allemands.” If the good man only knew what the “bons Allemands” think of the musical taste of the French?!

This ridiculous vanity in the Parisians is shewn also in their conversation. When one or other of their musicians plays anything, they immediately ask: “Well, can you boast of anything like that in Germany?” Or when they introduce to you one of their distinguished artists, they do not call him the first in Paris, but at once the first in the world, although no nation knows less what other countries possess, than they do, in their--for their vanity’s sake most fortunate--ignorance.

You are doubtless astonished that I have as yet said nothing of the music of the royal chapel; but I delayed doing so intentionally, until I had first heard some of Cherubini’s masses. Lesueur and Cherubini, the two directors of the music of the royal chapel, assume the duties of their office every three months alternately; our arrival took place during the time of Lesueur’s directorship, and Cherubini’s did not begin till the first of January. But the musical directors of the royal chapel do not conduct the music themselves, and preside only in their court uniform at the head of the vocal personnel, without taking any active part in the performance. The director de facto is Plantade; Kreutzer leading player of the first violin, and Baillot of the second. The orchestra is composed of the first artists in Paris, the chorus is powerful and good. Every mass is rehearsed once or twice, and under Plantade’s sure and spirited direction, every thing goes exceedingly well.

Although previously prepared by Mr. Sievers’ account, I was very far from expecting to hear music here of the style we call church-music in Germany; yet I was greatly taken by surprise by the brilliant theatrical style of a mass by Plantade, which I heard on my first visit to the chapel on the 17th of last month. There is not the least trace of the ecclesiastical style, not a vestige of the canonical management of the voices, and still less of a fugue. But apart from this, there were very pretty ideas, and much good instrumentation, which would be quite in place in a comic opera. The concluding allegro, probably upon the words: Dona nobis pacem (for I am not certain, since the French pronounce Latin in a manner very unintelligible to a German ear) was so completely in the style of the finale to an opera (like those usually with three or four times increased tempo) that at the end, forgetting completely where I was, I expected to see the curtain fall, and to hear the public applaud.

At midnight, on the 24th December, we heard a so-called “Messe de minuit” of Lesueur’s composition. First of all we were obliged to endure a great trial of our patience, in which during two somewhat tedious hours, from ten to twelve o’clock, we heard nothing but psalms, sung off in the most monotonous manner, and interrupted at intervals with barbarous peals of organ-play. At length, at midnight, the mass began. Again the same frivolous theatrical style as in that of Plantade, but which at the solemn midnight hour was still more insufferable. But what most surprised me, particularly from Lesueur, who is reputed here a first-rate harmonist, and was educated, if I am not mistaken, for a teacher of harmony at the Conservatoire, there was not even a four-part management of the voices! Though at times it may be effective in an opera, when writing only a two-part vocal distribution, to let the soprani go in octaves with the tenors, and the alti with the bass, partly with a view to facilitate the execution of the generally bad theatrical choruses, and partly to obtain by that means more material power; yet to me it seems quite barbarous to introduce this in the church, and I should therefore like to know what Mr. Lesueur, who must certainly be an artist of reflective powers, means by it. In the place of the offertory, variations by Nadermann for the harp, horn and violoncello were thrust in, executed by the composer and Mrs. Dauprat and Baudiot. You who know, that in Germany a serious symphony even appeared to me too mundane at this part, may therefore readily imagine what an unpleasant impression these frivolous, French variations on the harp must have made upon me in a mass at midnight; and yet I saw the people present in earnest prayer. How is it possible for them to feel a religious sentiment with such trivial music! This must be either a matter of no importance to them, or they know how to close their ears effectually; otherwise, like myself, they would of a certainty be reminded of the ballet at the grand opera, in which those three instruments are heard in a like manner in the most voluptuous dances. Although the harp in ancient times was the favorite instrument of a pious king, it should for all that be banished from the church, because it is wholly unfit for the severe style which is the only one suitable for that edifice.

But will you believe it, when I assure you that even the worthy master Cherubini himself, has allowed himself to be led away by this bad example, and his masses exhibit in many places a theatrical style. It is true that he makes amends for it in those places with superior music, full of effect; but who can enjoy it, if he cannot wholly forget the place in which he hears it?

It would he less regrettable that Cherubini also should deviate from the true ecclesiastical style, if in some individual parts he did not shew in what a dignified manner he can move in it. Several separate subjects in his masses--particularly the scientifically conducted fugues, and above all his Pater noster up to the profane conclusion--afford the grandest proofs of this. But when one has once overcome the inclination to feel annoyed at this frequent, extremely digressive style, one feels then the highest enjoyment of art. By richness of invention, well-chosen, and frequently quite novel sequences of harmony, and a sagacious use of the material resources of art, directed by the experience of many years, he knows how to produce such powerful effects, that, carried away by them in spite of oneself, one soon forgets all pedantic cavil to give oneself wholly up to one’s feelings, and to enjoyment. What would not this man have contributed to art, if instead of writing for Frenchmen, he had always written for Germans!--

FOURTH LETTER.

Paris, January 30. 1821.

The two months which I had allotted to our stay in Paris are drawing to a close. As I do not know whether circumstances may even permit us to come here again, we are exerting ourselves to find all the remarkable things we have not yet seen, and make daily excursions in Paris and into its environs. In order to devote my time wholly to this, I have given up the idea I had conceived of giving another soirée before our departure, and for which I had already made some arrangements. The fortnight which I should have been obliged to devote solely to that object, I can now therefore pass more pleasantly, and in greater freedom. I gave up with much more repugnance my project to give a second public concert, since, from the reception given to the first, I had good ground to expect a successful result. But during this month there was not a day to be found favorable for such a purpose; for on a week day the administration will not give up the theatre, as there is either a grand or an Italian opera, and of the three yet remaining Sundays, the first was too near, the second, as the anniversary of the death of Louis XVI., not to be had, and the third, already pre-engaged by Mr. Lafont for a concert. To extend our stay over the middle of next month, we have no desire, for we are heartily tired of the noisy life and ceaseless night-disturbance here, and ardently long for a quiet place of residence.

On the other hand I have latterly played more frequently at private parties, and seen with pleasure that my compositions, upon every repetition, have been received with greater enthusiasm, especially by musicians. This has been particularly the case with a new quintet for pianoforte, flute, clarinet, horn and bassoon, which I have written for my wife, and in which, since by the advice of the physician, she has abandoned the harp, she has appeared several times. The chief object of my coming here, to make myself personally known to the most distinguished artists here, and to become more nearly acquainted with them, I have thus fully effected; and I cannot speak sufficiently in praise of the sympathy and kindness which the greater part of them have evinced towards me. They repeatedly endeavoured to persuade me to make a longer stay, and should I feel disposed to give a second concert, they would not only take all the trouble of the arrangements for it off my hands, but promised to get together for me the best orchestra in Paris, without the cost to me of a single sou. Although I am not likely to avail myself of this offer, yet it was very gratifying to me.

Another no less important object of my coming here has also been achieved; I have had opportunities of hearing the most celebrated violinists of, and at present in Paris. Baillot gave a soirée at his house for me, at my request; I heard Lafont at his own concert; and the younger Kreutzer and Habeneck at morning concerts which were arranged expressly for the purpose. Should you wish to know which of these four Violinists has best pleased me, then without hesitation, in point of execution, I say, Lafont. In his play he combines beauty of tone, the greatest purity, power, and grace; and he would be a perfect violinist, if, with these qualifications, he possessed depth of feeling, and had not accustomed himself to the habit peculiar to the French school, of laying too much stress upon the last note of a phrase. But feeling, without which a man can neither conceive nor execute a good adagio, appears with him, as with almost all Frenchmen, to be wholly wanting; for although he dresses up his slow movements with many elegant and pretty ornaments, yet he still remains somewhat cold. The adagio appears altogether to be considered here, both by artists and the public, as the least important part of a concerto, and is only retained perhaps because it separates both the quick subjects and increases their effect.

To this indifference for it--as indeed the general insensibility of the French for everything that works upon the feelings--I ascribe also, that my adagio and the manner in which I played, made less impression here than the brilliant allegro subjects. Accustomed to the special applause which my manner of playing it had received from Germans, Italians, Dutch, and English, I at first felt hurt to see it thought so little of by the French. But since I have observed how seldom their artists give them an earnest adagio, and how little their taste for it is awakened, I became pacified on that subject. The practice of giving emphasis to the last note of a period, by an increased pressure and a rapid upward stroke of the bow, even when that note falls on a part where the time is bad, is more or less common to all French violinists, but with none so prominent as Lafont. To me it is incomprehensible how this unnatural accentuation has arisen, which sounds exactly as though a speaker endeavoured to intonate the short final syllable of a word with particular force. If when executing a musical piece the cantabile of the human voice had always been kept in view as model (which in my opinion should be done by every instrumentalist) such errors would never have become confirmed habits. But the Parisians are so accustomed to this unnatural custom, that a foreigner who does not play in the same bizzarre manner, appears to them much too plain, or, as Mr. Sievers expresses it, “much too straightforward.”

That Lafont’s excellence restricts itself always to but a few pieces at once, and that he practises the same concerto by the year together before he plays it in public, is well known. Since I have heard the perfect execution which he attains by this means, I certainly will not cavil with this application of all his powers to the one object; but I could not imitate him, and cannot even understand how one can bring one’s-self to practise the same piece of music for four or five hours daily, but still less how it is to be done without eventually losing every vestige of real art, in such a mechanical mode of proceeding.

Baillot is, in the technical scope of his play, almost as perfect, and his diversity of manner, shews that he is so, without resorting to the same desperate means. Besides his own compositions, he plays almost all those of ancient and modern times. On one and the same evening he gave us a quintet of Bocherini, a quartet of Haydn, and three of his own compositions--a concerto, an air varié, and a rondo. He played all these things with the most perfect purity, and with the expression which is peculiar to his manner. His expression, nevertheless, seemed to me more artificial than natural, and indeed his whole execution, from the too salient evidence of the means by which he gives that expression, has the appearance of mannerism. His bow-stroke is skilful, and rich in shades of expression, but not so free as Lafont’s, and therefore his tone is not so beautiful as that of the latter, and the mechanical process of the up and down stroke of the bow is too audible. His compositions are distinguished above almost all those of any other Parisian violinist by their correctness; neither can they be denied a certain originality; but being somewhat artificial, mannered, and out of date in style, the hearer remains cold and without a sense of emotion. You know that he frequently plays and takes great pleasure in Boccherini’s quintets. I was desirous of hearing him in these quintets, with about a dozen of which I am acquainted, in order to see whether from the manner in which he executes them he could succeed in making one forget the poverty of the compositions. But well as they were given by him, the frequent childishness of the melodies, and the poverty of the harmonies (almost always three-voiced only) were no less unpleasing to me, than in all those I had heard before. One can hardly understand how a cultivated artist like Baillot, to whom our treasures in compositions of this kind are known, can bring himself to play those quintets still, whose worth consists only in the regard had to the period and circumstances under which they were written. But that they are here listened to with as much pleasure as a quintet of Mozart, is another proof that Parisians cannot distinguish the good from the bad, and are at least half a century behind in art.

I heard Habeneck play two airs variés of his composition. He is a brilliant violinist and plays much with great rapidity and ease. His tone and his bow-stroke are somewhat coarse.

Kreutzer junior, the brother and pupil of the elder, played to me a new, very brilliant and graceful trio of his brother’s composition. The manner in which he executed it reminded me somewhat of the style of the elder one, and satisfied me that they are the purest players of all the Parisian violinists. Young Kreutzer is wanting in physical power, he is somewhat ill, and dare not play sometimes for months together. His tone therefore is weak, but in other respects his play is pure, spirited and full of expression.

Two days ago I heard two more quite new quintets of Reicha, which he wrote for the morning-concerts of the five previously named artists. They were played at a rehearsal, which appears to me to have been given solely for the purpose of fishing for more subscribers to the morning-concerts, among the numerous persons who were invited. At least a list of them was handed round. It is sad to see what means artists here are obliged to resort to, in order to procure support for their undertakings. While the Parisians press eagerly forward to every sensual enjoyment, they must be almost dragged to intellectual ones.--I found the composition of these two new quintets, like those I had previously heard at Kreutzer’s, rich in interesting sequences of harmony, correct throughout in the management of the voices, and full of effect in the use made of the tone and character of the different wind-instruments, but on the other hand, frequently defective in the form. Mr. Reicha is not economical enough of his ideas, and at the very commencement of his pieces he frequently gives from four to five themes, each of which concludes in the tonic. Were he less rich, he would be richer. His periods also are frequently badly connected and sound as though he had written one yesterday and the other to-day. Yet the minuets and scherzi, as short pieces, are less open to this objection, and some of them are real masterpieces in form and contents. A German soundness of science and capacity are the greatest ornaments of this master. The execution in the rapid subjects was again wonderfully correct, but somewhat less so in the slow ones.

I do not think I have yet spoken to you of the Feydeau. We have been less frequently to that theatre than to the other operatic theatres, because it so happened that on those evenings when we were at liberty pieces were generally performed that did not much interest us. Yet we were present at the first representation of Méhul’s “Joseph,” which, after a long repose was again put on the stage. The public however, did not seem very grateful for this to the directors of the theatre, for they gave it but a cold reception. In support of my assertion that the French take an interest only in the piece, and know little how to appreciate the excellence of the music, I may adduce, that the tirades in the dialogue were far more applauded than the song parts. The singers succeeded in obtaining applause only when, in the superabundance of an artificial feeling, instead of singing, they began to sob. At the pieces of the opera--for instance, at the first chorus of the brothers--there was not a hand stirred. Many of the tempi were taken quite different from those in Germany, but not to the advantage of the music; for instance, the fine morning-hymn of the Israelites, behind the scenes, was taken so quick, that it lost all its solemnity. A screaming violin, also, that supported the soprani was far too prematurely loud. The orchestra played well, and was particularly remarkable for a delicate piano.

Moscheles has been here a month. He makes a great sensation with his extremely brilliant play, and wins the admiration both of artists and dilettanti, the former by his execution of his richly intellectual compositions, and the latter by his free fantasias, in which, as far as his Germanism permits him, he accommodates himself to the Parisian taste. The brothers Bohrer have also returned to-day from a tour in the provinces, but will remain here a few days only, and then leave on a new tour viâ Munich to Vienna. I regret that I shall not have an opportunity of hearing these artists, whom I have not met for ten years. They wanted to persuade me to accompany them from here upon a tour in the southern provinces, where they assure me some money is to be made. But I have not the least inclination to go. The bad orchestras in the provincial towns, the bad taste and the unpleasant negociations to lessen the amount to be given up to the theatre and the poor of the towns, would make a journey of the kind too disagreeable to me. In a few days we shall return to Germany by way of Nancy and Strasbourg, and therefore shall soon greet you again in dear Fatherland.

Till then farewell!

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To these letters regarding my sojourn in Paris, I have yet to add some few things from recollection. From the frequent opportunities I had of playing before Cherubini at private parties, I conceived a very ardent desire to have all my quartets and quintets so far as I thought them worthy of it, heard by that by me highly esteemed master, and to introduce them by degrees to his notice, in order to ask his opinion of them. But in this I succeeded with very few only, for when Cherubini had heard the first quartet (it was Nr. 1 of the Op. 45 written at Frankfort), and I was on the point of producing a second, he protested against it, and said: “Your music, and indeed the form and style of this kind of music, is yet so foreign to me, that I cannot find myself immediately at home with it, nor follow it properly; I would therefore much prefer that you repeated the quartet you have just played!” I was very much astonished at this remark, and did not understand it until I afterwards ascertained that Cherubini was quite unacquainted with the German masterpieces of this kind of Mozart and Beethoven--and at the utmost had once heard a quartet by Haydn at Baillot’s soirées. As the other persons present coincided with Cherubini’s wish, I consented the more readily, as in the first execution of it, some things had not gone altogether well. He now spoke very favourably of my composition, praised its form, its thematic working out, the rich change in the harmonies, and particularly the fugato in the last subject. But as there were still many things not quite clear to him in the music, he begged me to repeat it a second time, when we should next meet. I hoped he would think nothing more about it, and therefore at the next music party brought forward another quartet. Before I could begin, however, Cherubini renewed his request, and I was therefore obliged to play the same quartet a third time. The same thing occurred also with Nr. 2 of Op. 45, excepting that he spoke of it with more decisive praise, and said of the adagio: “It is the finest I ever heard.” He was equally pleased with my pianoforte quintet with the concerted accompaniment of wind instruments, and I was frequently obliged to play it on that account. The first time my wife played the piano part; but when Moscheles subsequently requested permission to study it and to play it once, she had not the courage to play it any more in Paris, after him. He remained therefore in possession, and entered more and more into the spirit of the composition. He executed the two allegro subjects especially with far more energy and style, which certainly greatly increased their effect. As the wind instruments of Reicha’s quintet were excellent, I never recollect to have heard that quintet so perfectly rendered as then, although I have heard it played in more recent days by many celebrated pianoforte virtuosi. From the continual repetition of my quartets in Paris I could find no opportunity of giving even one of my two first quintets for stringed instruments which had been some time written. Nevertheless I found for them a very sympathetic audience at Strasbourg, on my return journey, to which the taste for quartet-music has more readily penetrated from its contiguity to Germany. The quintet in G major, with the half melancholy half merry finale, became soon an especial favorite with the friends of music there, and at their request formed the finale of every quartet-party. In Carlsruhe, where on a former visit I had already played quartets frequently, particularly in the house of that lover of art Mr. von Eichthal, my stay this time was very much saddened by finding the friend of my youth Feska dangerously ill: he shortly afterwards succumbed to his incurable malady.

* * * * *

Returned to Gandersheim, I resumed again, immediately, the pleasant active life of the previous summer. Edward Grund soon arrived also, and devoted himself with his usual zeal both to his own improvement and to the instruction of my children. I myself first began with the composition of the already mentioned ten-voiced vocal mass, but I was soon obliged to give it up for a short time. I received a letter from my old friend Hermstedt, in which he invited me on the part of the directors of the baths of Alexisbad in the Harz, to give a concert in the course of the approaching season. He offered at the same time to make all the necessary arrangements beforehand, so that I should not require to stay there longer than a few days. He also urgently pressed me to write a new clarinet concerto for him, and promised if he received it sufficiently early, to play it for the first time at the Alexisbad concert. As I liked to write for Hermstedt, who at that time was without doubt the first of all living clarinet virtuosi, I consented to his proposal, and set to work immediately. After despatching to him the new concerto F minor (the third for clarinet), I wrote for myself and wife another pot-pourri concerted for violin and pianoforte on two themes from the “Opferfest”--published afterwards as Op. 56, for which I worked out anew a former composition for clarinet with orchestral accompaniment which I had written in 1812 for Hermstedt, for the celebration of Napoleon’s birthday, in Erfurt. I considered it one of my most successful pieces, and wished by this new elaboration of it, to make it more generally known. It may be readily understood that in this transfer from the clarinet and orchestra to the violin and pianoforte, very considerable modifications were requisite, and that I could adhere chiefly only to the form and modulations of the previous composition. By the time this piece of music had been studied by us in the usual manner, with the greatest care, the day fixed upon for our departure for Alexisbad arrived. Of this excursion I have now but very faint reminiscences. I neither know what we played at the concert, nor how the new clarinet concerto pleased, and the less so, that since that time I have not heard it again; for it has remained altogether in Hermstedt’s hands, and has never been published. But I recollect very distinctly a natural phenomenon by which our concert was disturbed and for some time interrupted, as in London by the smashing of the windows. Just as the music was about to begin, a storm, which had threatened since noon, broke out with such violence, that what with the rolling of the thunder and the noise of the rain that poured down in torrents, nothing could have been heard. In the over-crowded concert-room, which was suffocatingly hot, the closely packed auditory were compelled to await the passing over of the storm, and the concert could not be commenced until the air of the room had been renewed by the opening of the doors and windows. Owing to this the concert did not terminate till complete nightfall. The confusion and perplexity which ensued among the departing audience now first reached their climax; for it was found that the otherwise very modest rivulet which runs through the valley of Alexisbad had become so swollen, and had torn up and flooded the roads to such an extent, that the numerous company that had come in from the neighbourhood of the town found it impossible to return home in the darkness of night. All therefore first rushed to the dining-room of the baths, but there no provision had been made for such an influx of guests. As soon as the regular visitors of the baths had retired to their apartments previous to sitting down to dinner, the strangers seized upon their seats at the table, and upon the eatables also, so that when the former returned they were obliged to content themselves with what they could lay hold of. Upon this very naturally a good deal of ill-feeling was excited, and the host had enough to do and a hard time of it to pacify and keep the people in bounds. Now, furthermore, it was found that to pass the night there were neither rooms nor beds sufficient for their accommodation, and a great number of the strangers were nolens volens obliged to lie down indiscriminately beside each other upon a shakedown of straw. Many did it good humouredly, but others with ill-suppressed curses. For the unconcerned spectator it was indeed a highly comical and amusing scene.

During the same summer, I received a similar invitation to go to Pyrmont and give a concert there. I acquiesced, and proceeded thither accompanied by my wife and my pupil Edward Grund, who conducted the orchestra and very much facilitated my solo-playing by practising the accompaniment beforehand, which alone enabled me to play my own compositions. Grund had in truth become a first-rate artist, and began now to make musical tours with much success; which led to his appointment as director of the court-orchestra at Meiningen, which office he now still (1853) fills, respected by his prince and by the members of the orchestra, and zealously exerting his energies to the advantage of art. As upon his leaving Gandersheim, in the autumn of 1821, the musical instruction of my daughters completely ceased, and as they gave evidence of vocal powers that appeared worthy of a further artistic cultivation, I determined to remove to Dresden with my family, in order to give the children the advantage of the instruction of a then celebrated teacher of vocal music of the name of Miksch in that city. To Emilia I had indeed, myself already begun to give instruction in singing, but soon found that I had neither the necessary perseverance and patience, and that it drew my attention too much from my work of composition. Besides this, also, I determined as soon as my family had become somewhat settled in Dresden, to proceed alone upon some short artistic tours in the neighbourhood. I wrote therefore to my former pupil Moritz Hauptmann in Dresden, and requested him to treat with Mr. Miksch on my behalf, and so soon as he should agree, to hire apartments for me; shortly after which I received a reply informing me that all my wishes had been carefully complied with.

My mass for ten voices had been meanwhile completed, and I longed very much to hear it. As on my journey to Dresden I contemplated giving a concert in Leipzic, and on that account should be obliged to make a longer stay there, I bethought myself of getting it sung during the time I was there by the grand choral-society of that town, with the Director of which I was acquainted. I wrote to him therefore to inquire if he felt disposed to have the work practised beforehand, and as he replied in the affirmative, I sent the score to him to have the voice-parts immediately written out.

The parting from Gandersheim was this time a very sad one, as the children also, to whose society their grandfather and grandmother had become so much accustomed, were to part from them, and I was obliged to promise to return the next summer, even though for a short visit only.

On arriving in Leipzic, one of my first visits was to the Director of the choral-society, to ascertain something about my mass. But what I learned was not very satisfactory. The rehearsals it is true had been commenced; but the work had been found so enormously difficult, and was so imperfectly understood, that the director refused decidedly to let me hear it. At my urgent request, however, a trial was made, which went very badly, and as I did not nearly hear the effect which I had pictured to myself during the inspiration of the work, I concluded that I had produced a complete failure. After hearing it a few more times, I resolved to make some alterations in it, in order to facilitate its execution, and shortly after, the mass was published by Peters as Op. 54. A long time afterwards, when I had almost forgotten it, some parts of it were sung to me by the Berlin choral-academy under Zelter’s direction. These had been so well studied, were intonated so clearly, and had so imposing an effect from the combination of so many voices, that I now became fully convinced that the work could be performed, and conceived the desire to have it studied by my choral-society in Cassel. This proved successful, as I did not lose my patience and the singers were indefatigable, and the entire mass, without any omissions, was performed in November 1827 on Saint Cecilia’s day. The experience I had acquired during these rehearsals taught me, however, to avoid a too great abundance of modulations and difficult chords in succession.

Arrived in Dresden, we were conducted by Hauptmann to the lodgings he had hired for us, which were pleasantly situated in a quiet part of the town. Both my eldest girls immediately began their singing-lessons with Mr. Miksch and I then went in search of my former acquaintances among the artists and amateurs of music, and, foremost of all, of the orchestra director Carl Maria von Weber. He received me in a very cordial manner, and by degrees introduced me into all the musical circles, where I not only heard much good music, but had the opportunity of playing my own chamber-music. As the musicians who accompanied me evinced great interest in my quartet-play, this induced me, with their assistance to give quartet parties every week at my house, to which I invited the most ardent lovers of music in the town. At these I brought forward, as I could not succeed in doing in Paris, all the quartets and quintets in succession which I had written up to that time, and as I soon got to the end of them, and they met with great approbation from all hearers, I was encouraged to write some new ones. In a short time, I finished two (the two first of Op. 58), and I took such interest in this work, as well as in the whole artistic life of Dresden, that I at once gave up my contemplated musical tour, and deferred it to the latter end of the winter.

Meanwhile Carl Maria von Weber had succeeded in obtaining the permission to have his opera of “Der Freischütz” studied in Dresden, after it had met with such brilliant success in Vienna and Berlin; and the private rehearsals were already begun. As up to that time I had not entertained a very high opinion of Weber’s talent for composition, it may be readily imagined I was not a little desirous of becoming acquainted with that opera, in order to ascertain thoroughly by what it had achieved such an enthusiastic admiration in the two capitals of Germany. My interest in it was increased the more from my having worked also a few years before, when at Frankfort on the Maine, upon the same materials, from Appel’s book of apparitions, for an opera; and only abandoned the composition upon accidentally hearing that Weber was already engaged upon it. The nearer acquaintance with the opera, certainly did not solve for me the riddle of its enormous success; and I could alone account for it by Weber’s peculiar gift and capacity for writing for the understanding of the mass. As I very well knew that this gift had been denied me by nature, it is difficult for me to explain how an unconquerable impulse should have led me nevertheless, to attempt dramatic composition anew. But so it was! Scarcely had I arrived home, than I took from my trunk, a half-forgotten work which I had begun in Paris. On a tedious rainy day which in that muddy city renders it impossible to go out of doors, I asked my landlady to lend me a book to read. She brought me an old, well-read romance: “La Veuve de Malabar.” I found its interesting matter would well permit of being adapted to an opera, and I purchased it of her for a few sous, in order to make trial of it. While in Paris, and during the journey home I turned over in my mind the most favourable form for the composition of the opera, and began immediately after my return to Gandersheim to make the cast of a scene. In those hours when I did not feel disposed to work on the composition of the mass, I progressed with it, and by the time I removed with my family to Dresden, I had nearly completed it. I now reconsidered and worked over anew this sketch with renewed zeal, decided in the most precise manner everything that should take place in each scene, and then looked out for a poet who would feel disposed to write the opera according to this plan. Such a person I found in Mr. Edward Gehe, who readily entered into my ideas. In this manner originated the text of the opera “Jessonda.” I was just on the point of beginning its composition, when an event took place that took off my attention from it again for some time.

One morning, in the beginning of December, Carl Maria von Weber, called upon me, and informed me that he had just received an invitation to Cassel, with the offer of the appointment of conductor of the orchestra at the newly-built court theatre there, but had decided upon declining it, as he was fully satisfied with his present position. Should he, however, find me disposed to apply for that post, he would in his reply to the letter, direct attention to me, and say that I was at present living in Dresden. As shortly before I had heard from a member of the Cassel orchestra who passed through Gandersheim much of the magnificence of the court theatre there and of the love of art of the elector William II. who had just entered upon the government, I could not doubt but that I should find there an important and pleasant sphere of action. I therefore accepted Weber’s offer with many thanks, and before the lapse of a week, as a result of his reply, I received a letter from Mr. Feige, director-general of the Cassel court theatre, in which he offered me on the part of the elector the appointment of master of the court orchestra, and I was requested to send in my terms of acceptance by return of post. After I had consulted with Weber and my wife, I demanded: 1) the appointment for life, by rescript, at a salary of 2000 Thalers; 2) a leave of absence of from 6 to 8 weeks, every year; and 3) the assurance that the artistic direction of the opera should be made over to me exclusively. The whole of these stipulations were agreed to, but in return it was required of me that I should enter upon my post at the latest on the commencement of the new year. Overjoyed as we were at this new appointment, particularly Dorette, as she was thereby certain that she would be no more separated from her children for a long time, yet we were not altogether satisfied at having to leave our present residence so soon, where Emilia and Ida were making such progress, particularly in singing. We had besides taken our Dresden lodgings up to Easter, and a removal in the middle of winter was altogether very unpleasant. I therefore proposed that I should leave, to assume my place at Cassel, but that my wife and the children should remain in Dresden till the spring. Painful as was to her the separation from me for so long a time, she was compelled to admit the obvious convenience of my proposition. As the new year was now approaching, I therefore made the necessary preparations for my departure, and urged Gehe to work upon the matter for the second and third act of Jessonda, with all possible diligence, while I took the first act, which was ready, with me to Cassel.

Meanwhile another new and startling offer was made to me. Count Salisch, my old patron in Gotha, wrote word to me that the duchess had been informed I was now living in private at Dresden, and she was therefore desirous to know whether I might not be disposed to resume my old engagement, which, since the recent death of Andreas Romberg, was again vacant? Count Salisch added furthermore that they would be enabled to grant me a considerable increase of my former salary. Had I not already accepted the offer from Cassel, I might possibly have given this one the preference, in order to afford my wife the pleasure of a reunion with her mother and family by a return to her native town. But the choice was thus not permitted to me, and I might consider this rather in the light of a fortunate circumstance, as my sphere of action in Gotha would have been a very circumscribed one, in comparison with that in Cassel. In a few years also I should have again been left without a home, for the duke, and his successor also, prince Frederick, the last heir, died soon after each-other, and the state was divided among the other Saxon duchies. The orchestra was then pensioned off, and as I could not have endured to live in complete idleness, I should have soon removed again to some other place.

The parting from my wife and children, although for a short time only, was nevertheless a very sad one. Dorette, who wept bitterly, could alone be somewhat comforted by my promise to write every week and inform her of everything that I was doing. In Gotha, when on passing through I paid a visit to my mother-in-law, I was urgently pressed by her and the other relatives of my wife, as also by the members of the orchestra, to settle there once more. The duchess, also, to whom it was requisite I should pay a visit, as she had always evinced so much interest and kindness towards me, resorted to every means to make me give up Cassel, and offered to induce her brother the elector of Hesse to release me from my engagement. But as, since I had left Gotha, and looked about me in the world, the sphere of action in that place seemed to me too humble and restricted, I withstood every solicitation and made a speedy departure.

I had scarcely arrived in Cassel (New Year’s Day 1822), than I was summoned to an interview with the elector, who received me with great kindness, and said many flattering things to me. Among other subjects he expressed the hope to see his opera become by my exertions one of the most celebrated of Germany, and requested me to make such propositions as were best calculated to effect that object. In order to do that I requested a fortnight’s time, so that I might first make myself well acquainted with the means and materials at hand. After I had been present at a few rehearsals and performances, I then assumed my new post with the direction of Winter’s “Opferfest.” As the previous director of music, Benzon, had from all accounts, been so much wanting in authority, that the singers and the orchestra did not hesitate to oppose his regulations, which indeed led to his dismissal, I considered it immediately necessary to somewhat tighten the reins of discipline. I therefore became very strict at the rehearsals of the “Opferfest,” but did not find the least disposition to resist either in the singers, or in the orchestra; and already in the first opera which I directed, succeeded in producing a better ensemble than they had hitherto been accustomed to. This was also generally acknowledged, and immediately procured for me the confidence of the elector, as also of the whole theatrical personnel. As I already found some excellent voices among the singers, viz. the first tenor Gerstäcker and the prima donna demoiselle Dietrich, and ascertained that Feige the director of the theatre was negotiating for the engagement of several other eminent artists, I limited for the present the proposals which I now sent in to the mere increase and improvement of the personnel of the chorus and orchestra. The latter consisted in part of civilian musicians, and partly of musicians belonging to the band of the body-guard, among whom were several of great excellence. The elector had granted to the latter as well as to the civilian musicians a rescript of engagement for life, so that I could no longer carry out my notion of constituting the orchestra solely of civilian musicians, in order to avoid any collision between the military and the orchestral duties of the non-civilians. I hoped at least, however, to get rid of the objectionable regulations which obliged the military musicians to appear in full uniform, which upon my first visit to the theatre was a great eye-sore to me. But neither did I succeed in this, for upon my representing it to the elector he replied, “It is contrary to military etiquette for a soldier to appear before me otherwise than in full uniform;” and when I made answer that the close-fitting uniform made the orchestral duties more difficult, and that the high epaulettes in particular made it quite impossible for the violinists to hold their instrument in the proper way, he proposed to give the musicians a particular and convenient uniform without epaulettes, for the orchestral service, rather than give up his whim. He rejected also my then suggested proposal to give the civilian-musicians the same kind of uniform; and in this manner this party-coloured orchestra remained unchanged to the astonishment of all foreigners, until the year 1832, when the present elector became co-regent in the government.

But my propositions for the increase and improvement of the orchestra were all adopted, and I received instructions to engage some more good violinists, and some first-rate solo-players for the leading wind instruments. By this means the opportunity was afforded me of bringing my brother near to me once more, who, after the expiration of his engagement in Vienna had met with an engagement in the Berlin court orchestra. I was equally successful with my former pupil and friend Hauptmann, and both received a rescript of engagement for life. Some excellent musicians were soon found also for the wind instruments, and by this increase and by diligent study and exercise, the orchestra became one of the best in Germany, and has so remained, in spite of all the personal changes until now (1853).

But I must revert to the year 1822. My accession to office was celebrated by the whole theatrical company, by a grand dinner, at which the two heads of the theatrical administration, the intendant Mr. von Manger, director of the police, and director-general Feige presided. Songs, speeches and toasts were sung and made in my honour, and I felt myself quite at home in a circle where I was met on every side with so much friendliness, and indeed in so hearty a manner. As the Elector, who in the first years of his rule was very generous, had made Messrs. von Manger and Feige grants of money for special performances for the relief of native and travelling musicians, this gave rise to brilliant and interesting soirées at both their houses. These meetings were enlivened by genius and wit, and there prevailed thereat a joviality which though somewhat free was yet decorous. I at first therefore frequented them with pleasure; but towards the time when I expected my family I gradually withdrew from them, partly because I was obliged to confess to myself that my wife would not quite approve of this circle and partly because I was fearful of endangering my official authority by a too companionable intercourse with the singers.

A few days after my arrival in Cassel I was presented to the Electress and her daughters, the Princesses Caroline and Marie, and was invited to their evening parties. At one of these I was requested to play some of my quartets, which I expressly practised beforehand with the most distinguished members of the court-orchestra. Messrs. Wiele, solo violinist, Barnbeck, first violinist, and Hasemann, first violincellist (my former quartetist in Frankfort, who had been engaged at Cassel shortly before). These music parties, which were much spoken of, were probably the reason why the Elector, who, separated from his wife, never joined her evening circle, gave me the order to give a court-concert, in order to afford an opportunity for himself and the Countess Reichenbach to hear me play. This concert, for which I enlisted the services of all the talent among the singers and court-orchestra, was given in the grand saloon of the palace, before a brilliant company (in which of course the Electress did not appear, as the Countess Reichenbach occupied her place), and as it was the first at the new court, it made a great sensation. It was, however, the only one for a long time, as the Elector and the Countess took but little interest in concert music.

By the wish of the orchestra I assumed also the direction of the concerts which they gave in the new town-hall saloon, and appeared also at one of them as solo player. In the first years their receipts were divided, as they had previously been, among the members of the orchestra; but later, upon my proposition, they were appropriated to a relief-fund for the widows and the families of deceased members of the orchestra, and managed by a committee according to rules and regulations devised for that purpose. This relief fund, which from that period was supplied from the receipts from the concerts given every winter by the court orchestra and those from the performance of an oratorio on Good Fridays, is still in existence (1853), and in the course of years has alleviated the distress of many widows and orphans of the members of the orchestra. But for several years past the concerts have been no more given in the town-hall, but in the court theatre, from the time the former Elector became patron of the institution, who, as little as the present Elector, could make up his mind to be present at a concert given anywhere else than in the theatre.

* * * * *

(Resumed in April 1858 after a pause of five years.)

(In this continuation, of the Journal, written in Spohr’s seventy-fifth year, the manuscript would no longer permit of being printed so verbally as previously, and here and there, to avoid too much prolixity, it was necessary to make omissions. Some gaps, nevertheless, which required filling up have been so far completed only as the citation of Spohr’s own words in letters written to absent friends, would permit of,--so that the reader may rely upon the subject matter as faithfully given and that only Spohr himself speaks, without any additions from the pen of others, up to the mournful period (June 1858) when his biographical notes, which reach to the year 1838, break off altogether.)

Shortly after my arrival in Cassel, I was invited by the countess Hessenstein to a music-party. I there met several dilettanti of the town, who all sang, though in their own very bad style only. As nevertheless some of them had the gift of good voices, it suggested of me the idea of directing my exertions on that side also, and beginning by the institution of a choral society. I therefore formed an acquaintance with some of the singers, communicated my plan to them, and we immediately arranged to meet on an early day in order to consult further upon the steps necessary to be taken. As result of this meeting a code of regulations was drawn up, and as early as the 22nd March following an invitation was sent round to the dilettanti of Cassel, signed by myself, Mr. von Steuber, and secretary Knyrim, to join the society we were about to establish under the name of the “Society of St. Cecilia,” in order, “after the example of the majority of the larger towns of Germany, to strive here also towards the same noble aim, to awaken and cultivate a pure and correct taste for music of an exalted and earnest character.” As the enterprise met with a cordial welcome, the society was soon formed, and upon its opening began first with the study of Mozart’s incomparable Ave Verum, then with Haydn’s Hymns of Thanks, and Mozart’s first mass, followed by a Salve Regina by Hauptmann, a charmingly beautiful composition in the real, pious ecclesiastical style. Meanwhile the number of members had increased to more than fifty, and such satisfactory progress was made in the weekly rehearsals, that already in the first year of its institution the society performed several times in the catholic church accompanied by the organ, during divine service, masses by Hauptmann and others.

In the theatre also, after I had got to know the singers and orchestra more intimately, my sphere of action began to extend itself. The first quite new work studied under my direction was the opera “Zemira and Azor,” which I had written at Frankfort, and which was first performed on the 24th March. A young, talented singer, Miss Canzi, who was just then on a professional visit to Cassel, sang the part of Zemira, and Gerstäcker, the then much admired first tenor of our stage, the part of Azor. As the other characters of the opera were also well represented, it could not fail to be as well received here as at Frankfort, so that not only was it repeated during Canzi’s stay, a few days afterwards, but also immediately studied by her successor, Miss Roland, and given several times during the course of the year with great applause. But far more pleasure than from the enthusiastic approbation of the public, did I receive from the circumstance that the opera pleased me, who had not heard it for two years, and I was a still more severe judge of my later productions. I was also now more than ever convinced, that this, like many of my compositions required to be given in strict accordance with the spirit of the work to please the non-connoisseur as well; and that my music, if negligently played, can readily be so spoiled, that the connoisseur himself would be at a loss to understand it. Meanwhile, in the beginning of March 1822 my family arrived under the protection of my brother Ferdinand, who had fetched them from Dresden on his way here from Berlin, and we removed together to the house I had hired in the Bellevue. Once more settled down in the domestic circle I immediately began to compose the new opera “Jessonda,” and finished it in December of the same year. [In a letter written to Speyer of Frankfort on 26th January 1823, he says: “I have been latterly so much engaged upon a new opera that I have somewhat neglected everything else. It is now ready, and I am right glad to have completed so important a work. If I expect more from this opera than from the earlier ones, it is because of my greater experience, and the inspiration I felt in the study of almost every ‘number’ of the successfully written libretto. In order to devote myself to the work in my hours of inspiration only, I have allowed myself also more time with this than with all the former ones.”] Some “numbers” from it--the overture, an air of Jessonda’s, and the well-known duet between Amazili und Nadori--were performed the very same winter at the subscription concerts, and my daughter Emilia gained much applause in them. The entire opera was first represented upon our stage on the birthday of the Elector, the 28th July, in the following summer, and was received with general acclamation. [In a letter of the 2nd August 1823, appears, further: “You wish to hear from me something respecting the first representation of ‘Jessonda;’ it is a subject scarcely becoming me to write upon, for without wishing to do so, I must nevertheless speak in praise of it. The effect was great! It is the fashion here, upon birthdays to receive the court only with applause, and then the opera is listened to without any loud demonstration of approbation. It should also have been so now; but already before the end of the first act a storm of applause burst forth, and etiquette was forgotten for the rest of the evening. The performance was excellent. Gerstäcker, Miss Roland, Hauser were grand, Miss Braun was endurable at least, and better than in other characters. The chorus and orchestra, scenery, dances, spectacle combats, storm, decorations, costume, every thing, was excellent.... This work has made me very happy, and I have reason to hope that the opera will please much in other places.”]

From the windows of our house on the Bellevue we had a very fine view across the meadows into the valley, which is enlivened by the Leipzic high-road, and the beauty of the country induced us to take frequent walks in the charming environs of Cassel. In these walks we were mostly attracted by the numerous villas situated in gardens, outside the Wilhelmshöhe, and also of the Cologne gate; and as we began to like this part very much, we soon felt the wish, also, to have such a house with garden as we had already once rented in Gotha, that we might call our own property. When therefore in our rambles any one of these particularly took our fancy. I often made enquiries whether the owner was disposed to sell it, but was frequently answered in the negative, until at length a small country-house outside the Cologne gate, close to the town and not far from the theatre, in a quiet neighbourhood surrounded on all sides by gardens, was offered to me to purchase. As the price asked for it did not exceed the amount of my small savings placed with the firm of William Speyer of Frankfort, I concluded the purchase of it at once, and already in the autumn we moved into the newly-acquired property and had the pleasure of gathering forthwith a good harvest of fruit and vegetables. The only thing I missed in the new house was a spacious music room. I therefore had a partition wall removed that separated two rooms on the first floor, and by that means gained a sufficiently roomy saloon for a quartet party, which, however, had the defect in an acoustic point of view, of being too low; for which reason I proposed to myself at a later period to erect a building with a music room.

Our pretty quiet country-house incited me anew to fresh compositions, and so I first wrote a third quartet to the two already begun in Dresden, which were published by Peters of Leipzic as Op. 58. In order to have this quartet heard and the former ones, I established here also a quartet circle, at which, in turn with some other families who were lovers of music, we gave three quartets every week, and concluded the evenings with a frugal supper. At first the quartet consisted of myself, Mr. Wiele, solo violinist, and subsequently concert-master of our court orchestra, of my brother Ferdinand, who took the viol, and of our excellent violincellist Hasemann. But as by degrees, both in the orchestra, and in this small circle, death made some vacancies, others were obliged to be substituted in their place, and then some time was always required until we obtained once more the old, customary ensemble again. In 1831 my brother was first snatched from us, then Wiele, and at last Hasemann; but their places were again filled by new members of our court orchestra, so that the quartet parties, which only took place in the winter months, never ceased entirely, and I myself up to quite recently (1858) played two quartets in each of them.

After I had completed the third quartet of Op. 58, a fancy seized me to carry out an idea I had long conceived, and of which, if I am not mistaken, Andrew Romberg, when we played a quartet together for the last time before his death, first spoke of, viz. to try my hand at a double quartet. The circumstance that Romberg had entertained the idea for several years without ever attempting it, incited me to it yet more, and I imagined to myself the manner in which he had also comprehended it, and how two quartet parties sitting close to each other, should be made to play one piece of music, and keep in reserve the eight-voice play for the chief-parts of the composition only. According to this idea, I also wrote my first double quartet (B minor), began the theme of the first allegro with both quartets unisono, and forte, in order to impress it well upon the hearers, and then carried it concerted through both quartets in turn. Of the families who belonged to the quartet circle, the marshal of the court von der Malsburg had the most spacious place, for which reason I waited until the turn came to him to give the quartet party, at which I then with the assistance of my best pupils and of a second violincellist from the orchestra, gave the new double quartet to our circle, to hear. I was greatly pleased to find that its effect was far greater than that of simple quartets and quintets, and as this kind of chamber music excited also great sensation abroad[27], as was proved by its frequent performance, I expected nothing less than that the composers of that day would soon imitate it and make it general. But this was as little the case, as with some other extensions of the forms of art, which I have tried in later years, as for instance in the symphony for two orchestras: “Irdisches und Göttliches im Menschenleben.” (The earthly and heavenly in human life, Op. 121) in the historical symphony (Op. 116), and the four-handed piano-forte accompaniment to some tenor songs. One single young composer only, of Lubeck, of the name of Pape, who was afterwards appointed violincellist in the orchestra of the theatre at Bremen, once sent me a double quartet in manuscript. He had great talent for composition, but found no opportunity of making his things known, and like so many young Germans, became desponding for want of the recognition of his talent. This has never been published, and thus my four double quartets remain the only ones of their kind. An octet for stringed instruments by Mendelssohn-Bartholdy belongs to quite another kind of art, in which the two quartets do not concert and interchange in double choir, with each other, but all eight instruments work together. This kind, although not so interesting as the double quartets, has been imitated; for the violincellist Schuberth of St. Petersburg published one of the kind at his brother’s, the music-publisher’s in Hamburg, which has been played by us in Cassel several times, and been well received.

[27] The “Vienna Allgemeinen musikalischen Anzeiger,” of the 14th March, said among other things, in announcing the publication by Peters [Op. 65] of this work: “To waste words in praising this double quartet, which all unite in admiring, would be carrying coals to Newcastle.”

At this time I was engaged besides on various other compositions: two pot-pourris on themes from “Jessonda” (Op. 64 and 66, at Peter’s in Leipzic), one for violin, the other for violin and violincello, both of which I played in the course of the winter in our subscription concerts. I further composed a hymn to St. Cecilia, written by Miss von Calenberg for the festival of the 22nd November, which consisted of chorus with a brilliant soprano solo, the latter very well executed upon the occasion by my eldest daughter Emilia.[28]

[28] The manuscript remained unpublished for many years, and was only recently published bei Luckhardt in Cassel as Op. 97.

For the celebration of this day, which our choral society did this year for the first time, a company of about 120 persons assembled, mostly friends of the members of the society, in the Austrian saloon, which had been handsomely decorated for the occasion, and ornamented with a life-size picture of St. Cecilia. The festival began with the hymn to St. Cecilia, after which a member delivered a discourse upon the musical art, and with the most flattering expression of the thanks and acknowledgements of the society, presented me with a valuable gift, consisting of two large bronze candelabra executed by the subsequently so celebrated sculptor Henschel, and ornamented with scenes from my three operas performed here. This was followed by a “Lord’s Prayer” by Feska, the Salve regina by Hauptmann, and during the supper, some songs for male voices were sung. In the following year Hauptmann composed another hymn written by Miss von Calenberg in celebration of the name-day of our holy patroness, and as this, together with my composition, met with the same general approbation, both these pieces of music were executed in turn upon all the subsequent celebratimes of the festival. The voluntary contributions which were collected upon these occasions were applied only to charitable purposes, and the celebration of the day although sometimes interrupted by some disturbances, continued to be observed up to a late period, sometimes on a more limited and at others on a more extensive scale.

In the following year (1824) I received an invitation from Councillor Küstner, who was then director of the Leipzic theatre, to bring out my opera of “Jessonda” upon that stage. [A letter of the 14th February furnishes an account of its successful performance there on the 9th of that month: “Upon entering the orchestra I was received with general acclamation, the overture was called for again with a loud and continued da capo. Every ‘number’ was received with lively applause, and four of them called for again, of which one was a chorus, the first of the 2nd act. The greatest, and really stormy enthusiasm, was created by the duet between Amazili and Nadori. After the conclusion of the first act a speaker stood up in a box on the first tier, and addressed me in a speech in which he characterised me as a true master of German art, and called upon the audience to give me a “three times three”! This actually took place with a flourish of trumpets and kettle-drums in a tutti such as I thought would bring down the walls of the theatre. At the conclusion of the opera the same scene occurred, and the house rang with cries of “da capo Jessonda!” The day after the performance Councillor Küstner sent me double the amount of the honorarium agreed upon, and when upon my departure from the inn I was about to pay my bill, I found that it had been already settled.... Peters, the publisher of the selections from it for pianoforte, declared to me also, that after such a success of the opera, the honorarium I had fixed was too small, and that I must now permit him to fix one for it.”] On the 14th June of the same year, the opera was also produced at Frankfort, for the first time, and after that on the stage of all the principal theatres of Germany.

Some time afterwards I received the command from the Elector to write a new opera to celebrate the marriage of his daughter the Princess Marie with the Duke of Saxe-Meiningen, which was to take place in the spring of 1825. The subject I had before proposed in Vienna to Theodore Körner to arrange for me, Musäus’s tale of the “Rübezahl,” now came into my mind, and I therefore applied to Mr. Edward Gehe in Dresden, who had written the libretto of “Jessonda” so much to my satisfaction. But as I could not send to him a clear outline of the scenes for the opera, not being myself as yet well decided respecting the working-up of the materials, his fancy could not assist him in the matter, and he sent me a libretto that did not all come up with my ideas, and to which I did not at all feel myself inclined to compose. I now called to mind my former kettle-drummer in the Frankfort orchestra, the already-mentioned George Döring, who was at the same time a literary man, and who since then had made himself known by several successful novels. I therefore addressed myself to him, and explained my views respecting the working-up of the “Rübezahl,” particularly pointing out to him, that as I intended this to be a grand opera, it would not be necessary to write it in rhyming verse. In Gehe’s “Rübezahl” there were many things both shallow and inappropriate, and which appeared to me as caused by the shackles imposed upon the author by the rhyme, and this Döring, by my express wish, was to avoid altogether. Although this has been greatly objected to, I am nevertheless of opinion that the want of the rhyme in my opera “Der Berggeist,” although it does not fulfill all that could be desired, is the least to be blamed for it. Although Döring’s libretto was neither altogether to my mind, yet there was no time to be lost, and less so, since this was not the only work the elector had requested me to prepare for the celebration of the marriage. I had besides to compose a grand march with introduction of the melody of the old German ballad: “Und als der Grossvater die Grossmutter nahm,” together with a torch-light-dance for fifty-three trumpeters, and two pair of kettle-drummers (for these were the numbers to be found in the music bands of the army of the Elector of Hesse); and as for the sake of the modulation I was obliged to take various tones of the trumpets, and the trumpeters of the bands not being very musical, I was obliged to practise them also beforehand in this torch-light-dance.

At the end of the year, nevertheless, I was ready with all these compositions, and could now proceed to the study of the “Berg-Geist.” Our first tenor Gerstäcker, who had been ill for some time past, had meanwhile become worse, and his malady had taken so sad a turn, that all likelihood of his being able to sing was out of the question, and we were now without a first tenor. The Elector therefore gave orders to invite some foreign singer to perform for a series of nights in his place, and we were so successful as to engage for several weeks the services of the tenorist Cornet of Hamburg, who was then in great repute, together with his betrothed, Miss Kiel of Sondershausen, who undertook the first soprano part in the new opera. Scarcely, however, had I begun the study of the work by our own theatrical company, than I received from Spontini an invitation that very much surprised me, viz. to proceed to Berlin, to direct the first representation there of the opera of “Jessonda,” fixed for the 4th of February, and to preside myself at the two last grand rehearsals. Spontini, who must often have seen himself reproached in the Berlin newspapers, for giving nothing but his own operas, and witholding other meritorious works from that stage, might have come to the idea of meeting that reproach in the most signal manner by inviting the composer of “Jessonda.” But in reality he did not seem to trouble himself much in furthering the representation of the opera; for as soon as, having obtained leave of absence, I arrived at Berlin, and waited upon Spontini, he received me in a very friendly manner, it is true, but informed me that the preparatory-rehearsals even had not yet been begun, and that he had sent me the invitation without the previous knowledge of the intendant of the royal theatre, Count Brühl. I now first sought to soften the sensitiveness of the latter on the score of such a neglect, and in order not to be obliged to return home without having effected anything, I then consulted with him on all that was necessary to expedite the representation of the opera.

In the preparatory rehearsals which now took place, I had the satisfaction of finding that the principal parts were in good hands: Bader and Blume as Nadori and Tristan, and Mdmes. Schulze and Seidler as Jessonda and Amazili, were excellent singers; the part of Dandau also was well filled by Mr. Krause, and that of Lopez, which had at first been given to a comic singer, by which the serious character of the opera would have been damaged, was taken by the baritone Devrient, after I had agreed to make some alterations in the recitatives. The opera could thus have been soon placed on the repertory, when Bader suddenly fell ill, and after his convalesence Mrs. Seidler, being seized with a hoarseness occasioned some obstruction. As the term of my leave of absence was nearly at an end, I made application for an extension of it. But the Elector had felt himself aggrieved by the obstacles thrown in my way by Spontini and the Berlin intendance, and he allowed me but a few days more, after the expiration of which I was to return, whether the opera was brought out or not. Fortunately, Mdme. Seidler got better; I could now therefore direct in person the first representation of “Jessonda” in Berlin, and be witness to its very favourable reception. Immediately after, I left, and travelled three whole nights without resting, in order to regain the time lost.

The two singers from Hamburg had arrived in the meantime, and had already performed with great applause; I could therefore begin the stage rehearsals of the “Berg-Geist” at once. But between whiles I received furthermore the elector’s order to arrange choruses for the prologue to the opera, in which were to be introduced some popular Thuringian melodies. To effect this I applied to my pupil Grund, concertmaster at Meiningen, who procured for me the desired melodies, which I then made use of in the work as well as they would admit of it.

On the 23rd March 1825, the marriage took place in the palace of Bellevue. On the procession of the new-married pair and their suite from the dining-hall to the white saloon, the orchestra played my march, which had a good effect, and at the part where the “Grossvater-Lied” was introduced was very pretty. The Elector, and the Duke (who was decidedly more musical than his father-in-law) both congratulated me much upon the grand march, which, at their request, was played a second time. The reception of the married couple at the festive representation on the following evening in the theatre, was a very brilliant and noisy one; for I ordered the fifty-three trumpeters and the two pair of kettle-drummers whom I had placed up in the gallery to join in with the acclamations and vivats of the audience! The festive-prologue written by counsellor Niemeyer followed; then my new opera “Der Berg-Geist,” which in truth was received by the thronged and brilliantly lighted house with as much boisterous applause as “Jessonda,” but which neither pleased me so much, nor was so popular on other stages as the latter. The Elector, who was very satisfied with all I had written for the occasion, sent for me the next-day, thanked me, and presented me with a very handsome snuff-box, upon the lid of which, though somewhat unsuitable for a musician, was a very artistic chasing representing a combat of cavalry, set and framed under glass. But--and that was the best part of it--it was filled with Friedrich’s-d’or, and therefore a handsome and princely gift.

A few months afterwards Councillor Küstner sent for my new opera to Leipzic, and in September the first representation of it on that stage took place. [A letter of the 18th September speaks of it in the following manner: “The day before yesterday “Der Berg-Geist” was launched here with the greatest success.... The mise en scene was more brilliant than was ever known before in Leipzic, and some of the scenes were more beautiful than any I had ever yet seen. The scene-painter Gropius is in a fair way to become the first in the world; neither in Italy, Paris nor London have I ever seen anything so charming as the closing-scene of the second act.... The reception the opera met with, was the most flattering I had ever yet experienced.... The performance may be said to have been a very successful one. With the exception of one error in the overture, and one obstinate rock which would not come up out of the earth, nothing went wrong. On the stage, almost all did better than in Cassel, particularly the Berg-Geist (Köckert) and Oscar (Vetter).... The orchestra, although far inferior to ours, was unusually good.”]

In the summer of 1825 an aimable young man, Frederick Curschman of Berlin, came to Cassel to perfect himself under my guidance as a musician. Although he had begun the study of jurisprudence at Göttingen, he thought nevertheless of giving up the law, and had already tried his hand with success at various kinds of literature, particularly in songs, which he sung with a pleasing baritone voice, and thereby introduced himself into our musical circle. As his musical education was still imperfect, I advised him to apply first to Hauptmann, who at my request had undertaken to instruct my violin pupils in the theory of music, and shown great skill in that capacity. Curschmann also immediately joined our society of St. Cecilia, and became a very valuable member of it, as he not only sang the bass soli very well at sight, but frequently took the pianoforte accompaniment, and did the duty of a librarian with great zeal. Together with some of our best dilettanti he formed also an opera circle, in which for the first time were produced several of his compositions which afterwards became such favorites, and parts of his little opera “Die Todten, oder Abdul und Erinnieh,” which was brought out at a later period upon the stage here. He thus in many ways enlivened the culture of art in our town, and soon became the favorite of the musical world.

In the same year Councillor Rochlitz, the editor of the Leipzic Musical Journal, offered me the text of an Oratorio: “Die letzten Dinge,” to compose for; which I received with great pleasure, as my previous attempt in that style of art, “Das jüngste Gericht,” the oratorio performed at Erfurt, by no means pleased me any longer, and therefore I had not once been disposed to perform a single “number” of it at the meetings of our society. I now began with new studies of counter-point, and of the ecclesiastic style, and set zealously to work on the composition, in which I followed the prescriptions of the author which he had forwarded to me with the text, in respect to its treatment, and which I not only strictly adhered to, but found of assistance to me. The first part of the oratorio was thus soon ready, and as early as the end of November I could give it with the members of our choral society, at a concert in behalf of the sufferers from the fire that had occurred shortly before at Seesen; although it is true, with pianoforte accompaniment only. On that occasion, I observed with great pleasure, that it made a deep impression upon the assistants, as well as upon all the auditory, and this observation was of the more importance to me, as it convinced me that I had found the proper style for this kind of work. I had in particular striven to be very simple, religious, and true in expression, and carefully to avoid all artistic trickery, all bombast and every thing of difficult execution. With increased zest I now proceded to compose the second part, so that the whole work was finished by the following Good Friday (1826) and then first performed complete in the Lutheran church. [A letter of the 26th March speaks of it in the following manner: “Yesterday was a great day of festival for the lovers of music here; for never yet had so solemn a musical performance as my oratorio taken place in Cassel. It was in the evening, and the church was lighted up. My son-in-law Wolff, who had been long in Rome, proposed to illuminate the church as at Rome on Good Friday, with lights disposed overhead in the form of a cross, and carried out his idea. A cross fourteen feet long, covered with silver-foil, and hung with six hundred glass lamps, was suspended overhead in the middle of the church, and diffused so bright a light that one could everywhere clearly read the text-books. The musicians and singers, nearly two hundred in number, were placed in the gallery of the church, arranged in rows one above the other, and for the most part unseen by the auditory, which, amounting to nearly two thousand persons, observed a solemn stillness. My two daughters, Messrs. Wild, Albert and Föppel, together with an amateur, sang the soli, and the performance was faultless. The effect was, I must myself say, extraordinary. Never did I before experience such satisfaction from the performance of one of my greater works! I had always had to lament either an imperfect execution, an unsuccessful effect, or something else. This time it was quite different. The work, also, is simple and easy, and yet not less comprehensive in contents, than the others.”] The visibly deep impression that the oratorio made upon the public may also have been yet further assisted by the solemn grandeur of the illuminated cross--which harmonized greatly with the religious sentiment inspired by the day. The elector only was not pleased with the selection of the Lutheran church and its “catholic illumination,” as he called the cross, and he ordered that the orchestra should give their future Good Friday concerts in the court and garrison church, lit up with chandeliers to be furnished from the electoral household lighting department.

Shortly afterwards I received an invitation from my London friend Ferdinand Ries, who had returned to Germany, and was then living in the neighbourhood of Godesberg on the Rhine, to direct personally my new oratorio at the Rhenish musical festival at Düsseldorf, the arrangements for which had been confided to him. Although the Rhenish musical festival was held at Whitsuntide, and therefore at a time when our theatrical vacation had not yet begun, and I therefore required to obtain an express permission to do so, I nevertheless succeeded in obtaining it immediately, for the Elector felt himself flattered when his director of music was invited to important musical performances, and thereby acquired honour and fame.

While therefore I prepared to set out with my whole family, except Ida who, in the meanwhile, had married Professor Wolff, four of the most ardent lovers of music here, Mr. Curschmann, the referendary Charles Pfeiffer, Mrs. von der Malsburg and her friend Miss von Heister, made up their minds to join us, and like us to travel by post, in order to be able to put up at dinner-time, and at night at the same places. Favoured by the finest weather, we set out on our journey on the 9th May 1826, and as the carriages always kept close together, we exchanged places in them sometimes, always took our meals together, and our pleasant and spirited conversation was not at all interrupted, so that I never recollect having made a more agreeable journey.

On the third day we were met three miles from Düsseldorf by the festival committee and the family of the State-Councillor von Sybel, at whose house I and the members of my family were to stop; and scarcely had we arrived at Düsseldorf, than we were welcomed by the choral-society with a serenade. At the first general rehearsal, which was held on the following morning, I had the satisfaction of finding that my oratorio had been carefully and correctly studied by the different societies, and was sung with an enthusiastic feeling for the work. I could not feel so content with the orchestra, which had been gathered together from different places, and in which dilettanti assisted, and among others, my friend Thomae from Cleves, among the wind instruments. It was therefore a difficult matter to bring all the instruments to the same pitch, and it could only be effected by great patience and frequent repetitions. In the afternoon of the same day, the rehearsal of the performances for the second day was held, which Ries conducted. At it were given a new symphony by Ries (manuscript D major), a Sanctus and a Credo from a mass by Frederick Schneider, the jubilee overture of Carl Maria von Weber, and lastly, a selection of the finest “numbers” from Handel’s “Messiah.” As Miss Reinigen of Crefeld, the solo singer, was taken suddenly ill, my daughter Emilia was obliged to take the soprano part also in the vocal performances. But so diligently did she study it, that already at the very first rehearsal she went through the business right well, and by her aid all derangement of the festival was obviated. But so much the greater was Ries’s difficulty with the wind instruments in his symphony. He nevertheless displayed in the matter great patience, and dealt very leniently with the awkwardness of the dilettanti. On the following day were held two more rehearsals of the performances for the first and second day of Whitsuntide (the 14th and 15th May), which then, after such careful rehearsals passed off without a fault. My oratorio was received with such enthusiasm by those who played and by the auditory, that on the evening of the very first day, the prolongation of the festival was mooted in order to repeat once more “Die letzten Dinge” for the benefit of the Greeks. This was publicly announced on the second day of the performances, and the majority of the strangers present stopped in order to be present at its repetition. Thus my work had the honour conferred upon it of a second performance, of which I might well be proud, as since then so far as I know of, such a thing has never happened to any work given at the Rhenish musical festivals. In the musical journals, also, there appeared several very favourable notices of my oratorio, and I therefore hastened to publish selections from it for the pianoforte. But the edition I issued was soon sold off, and a second was therefore published afterwards by Simrock of Bonn, who also brought out the song parts with it, by which the performances of the work in almost all the towns of Germany, Holland and Switzerland was very much facilitated. I could therefore be very content with the reception of this oratorio, and frequently as it was performed and spoken of, no voice was ever heard raised in condemnation of it.

In the course of this year I wrote besides a second quintet (B flat minor, Op. 69, published by Peters) and three quartets (Op. 74, also by Peters). But I now longed to begin a greater work, and particularly an opera, although the “Berg-Geist” acquired no extensive popularity, since, after the representations in Cassel and Leipzic, it was only given at Prague, where it met several times with a brilliant reception. As Curschmann at the same time entertained a similar desire, he had requested his fellow-traveller and friend, Charles Pfeiffer, who at that time had begun to make himself a name as a poet, to work up a novel of Tieck’s, “Pietro von Abano” as an opera text. He may however have felt himself not yet quite sufficiently advanced in his musical culture, and therefore when Pfeiffer had completed the first act of the libretto, he abandoned his project of attempting so soon a grand opera. He now offered me the composition of Pietro, and as the novel, as well as the manner in which it had been worked up, pleased me greatly, I soon came to an arrangement with both gentlemen respecting it, and in February 1827, set to work very assiduously upon it, and completed it in August of the same year. The opera occasioned me anxiety at first, on account of the immediate succession of two scenes--a funeral, and the pranks of a band of merry students--so strikingly dissimilar and incongruous as to render their proximity unpleasant: neither did I at all like the speaking part of the bishop, without any singing. But as this part was taken by Seydelmann, who was then engaged at our theatre from pure interest he took in the work, and was performed in a very dignified manner, I became more satisfied with it, and had the gratification of finding that it made a deep impression upon the performers, the orchestra, and my musical friends who were permitted to assist at the rehearsals. On its first representation, on the 13th October 1827, it was also received by the public with a similar enthusiasm to “Jessonda,” and I had therefore reason to hope that like it also, it would soon obtain popularity beyond Cassel. But when at the request of the directors of some other theatres I forwarded the book to them, I soon found that not only did the catholic towns disapprove of the introduction of the bishop and the ecclesiastical forms on the stage, but the intendants of theatres in protestant towns, also, and among others, Count Brühl in Berlin, who rejected the opera, because they had some scruples about the contents. At that time it is true, many of the later operas and plays, which since then have hardened the public against all objectionable matter, had not become the fashion of the day. But Meyerbeer, who now wanted to hear the opera with all these circumstances of form, expressed himself in regard to it in the following manner in a letter of the 4. March 1828: “I cannot conclude my letter without thanking you for the pleasure that the perusal of the score of your master-piece “Pietro von Abano,” which Mr. Schlesinger lent to me, has afforded me, and I am happy to be able to say, that in particular the first act, the first finale (although only furnished by the poet with two personages), the scene between Antonio and the half-lifeless Cecilia in the second act, and the ingenious manner in which the stringed instruments, half con sordini, half senza sordini, shadow forth the dialogue between the living Antonio and the spirit-like Cecilia; the imposing finale of the second act; and besides these, numerous other features of splendid dramatic intention, excellent declamation, novel, picturesque instrumentation and harmony, have truly charmed me, and excited in me the most ardent desire to be present at a performance of your master-piece.”

In the year 1828, I wrote my second double-quartet, and endeavoured to bring it nearer to my first idea of the double choral style, than the first: in this I succeeded to my own satisfaction. I played it for the first time publicly in one of our winter-concerts of December, with great applause, and it soon found the same appreciation and publicity in other places as the previous one. Shortly afterwards I received an invitation to conduct my oratorio “Die letzten Dinge” at a musical festival that was to take place at Halberstadt on the 4th June 1828, and I set out this time accompanied only by my wife and my youngest daughter Theresa, as shortly before, my daughter Emilia had married a manufacturer of the name of Zahn, and could leave her domestic concerns as little as Ida.

My oratorio was excellently performed by the different choral-societies that had been invited for that purpose, as they were all enthusiastic admirers of it, and gave it the preference over all other works then performed.

At the second concert I played my new concertino in A major (Op. 79, published by Schlesinger), and I think that, upon the same occasion, also, my just finished third symphony in C minor (Op. 78, also published by Schlesinger) was then performed for the first time. One circumstance, the remembrance of which is still impressed upon my memory, and which relates to my daughter Theresa, then nine years old, I must yet relate. I took the child with me to all the rehearsals, as she would always attend those at Düsseldorf, and I augured from that, a great love for music. In Halberstadt Theresa expressed especial pleasure in the concluding “number” of the oratorio, and as that was a fugue on the words: “His is the kingdom, the power, and glory,” I furthermore concluded that she had not only a strong sentiment for music generally, but also for its graver forms, and I even imparted to Dorette the pleasure I felt at the happy disposition of our child. But when I questioned Theresa more closely respecting her preference for the fugue, I was informed to my great surprise and to my shame, “that she only liked the piece of music in question better than all the rest, because she knew, that, as at Dusseldorf, the rehearsal would soon be over, and that then we should go home to dinner!”--Shortly afterwards I received from the parties who got up this musical festival a permanent, and more gratifying cause to remember the same; for they sent me, as a mark of their gratitude, a costly table-clock, ornamented with appropriate emblems, and bearing on the pedestale an inscription, with the date.

In the course of the year I wrote three more violin-quartets, which were published by Schlesinger as Op. 82, after which, as I was not very successful with my operas upon other stages, I turned once more to church music, and in the spring of 1829, wrote my “Lord’s prayer,” on the text of Mahlmann. The effect which this work produced at its first performance, although only with pianoforte accompaniment, on the festival of St. Cecilia the same year, was greatly increased, when a few months afterwards it was given at one of our winter-concerts with full orchestral accompaniment. It was not only received here in Cassel upon every repetition up to more recent times, with great approbation, but it soon found much approval in other places also.

On the 4th June 1829, another musical festival took place at Nordhausen, to which I was also invited. Of the first day’s performance I have nevertheless, now no clear recollection; but on the second day I played with Müller of Brunswick, with Wiele of this place, and with Maurer of Hannover, a concertante for four violins, of the composition of the latter. For myself, I chose to play the fourth, on the occasion, as my Stradivari-violin had a particularly good tone on the G string, and as we had practised together that celebrated piece of music very assiduously, the applause was quite extraordinary. My new clarinet-concerto in E flat, which I had written for Hermstedt for this musical festival, met with no less approbation, but it is no longer in my possession, neither do I now know whether it is still in existence. During our stay in Nordhausen, we lived in the house of a Mr. Fleck, a merchant, whose wife was a very amiable hostess. One day at dinner, Edward Grund my former pupil, was prompted to propose a toast to her, in doing which he introduced the observation that she “was anything but a Fleck[29] in human society, but much rather to be called a gleam of light.” I also remember still with pleasure the beautiful weather that favoured the dinner which the people of Nordhausen gave to their guests upon a neighbouring hill which commanded a view of the town. The collation was spread upon the greensward, and as good wine was by no means wanting, the company soon became very merry, and returned to town in the best possible humour.

[29] Fleck, in the German language, signifies, a spot, stain, or blemish.

In August 1829, I wrote a solo-quartet in E major (Op. 83, published by Schlesinger). But my desire to try my fortune once more with an opera gave me no rest, and I therefore persuaded my friend Charles Pfeiffer to work up for me the subject of a Spanish novel by Washington Irving, that seemed to me very attractive, and in every respect adapted for an opera. But as Pfeiffer’s name could not be mentioned in the playbills, as in the electorate of Hesse it is not considered becoming for a servant of the state to occupy himself with poetical works together with his official duties, the indetectable name of Schmidt was chosen instead of his; just as when “Pietro” was brought out the author’s name was not mentioned, as Feige, then the director of the theatre, did not like to be responsible to the Elector and the public for permitting a fictitious name proposed by me to be placed upon the playbill.--In October 1829, I, therefore, with my usual zeal, with every new work, set about the composition of the opera of the “Alchymist,” completed it in April of the following year, and immediately distributed the parts, in order to perform it on the 28th July, the birthday of the Elector. It pleased here in Cassel quite as much as my previous operas, but out of Hesse was represented at Prague only, though with great approbation;[30] while the selections made from it for the pianoforte, arranged by my brother Ferdinand, found a more widespread publicity.

[30] In the Vienna “Musicalischer Anzeiger” of the 23rd January 1834 is the following notice respecting it: “All who have had the opportunity of hearing and judging for themselves, know and feel that the esteemed maestro, in all his dramatic compositions, with the exception of the single, purely genial “Faust,” introduces his hearers less into the wondrous realm of fancy, than he leads them like a true friend, by pleasant meandering paths through the charming and balmy groves of harmony. This work also, breathes the same calm, reflective spirit that speaks to the heart, the same pure taste, the same style, as noble as it is elegant, the same constancy, unity and well-sustained interior connection, that so particularly characterizes all the works of this perhaps most substantial of all living composers, and which distinguish also no less this musical creation.”

In June 1830 Paganini came to Cassel and gave two concerts in the theatre, which I heard with great interest. His left hand, and his constantly pure intonation were to me astonishing. But in his compositions, and his execution I found a strange mixture of the highly genial and childishly tasteless, by which one felt alternately charmed and disappointed, so that the impression left as a whole was, after frequent hearing, by no means satisfactory to me. As his visit took place just on Whitsunday, I took him the next day to Wilhelmshöhe, where he dined with me, and was very lively, indeed somewhat extravagantly so.

A few months afterwards the revolution of July broke out in France, and as a general excitement had extended itself to Germany also, symptoms of discontent with the public authorities showed themselves also here in Cassel. Just previously, the Elector had gone to Vienna, accompanied by the Countess Reichenbach, with the object, as it was believed, of effecting at the Austrian court the elevation of that personage to the dignity of a princess. He had afterwards repaired to Carlsbad, and from there came all manner of strange reports about his serious illness, resulting from some personal conflicts with the Countess Reichenbach, on account of which, his physician Mr. Heräus, proceeded to Carlsbad, but not having been admitted to an audience, returned to Cassel. A deputation from the members of the privy council was hereupon sent to Carlsbad; was received several times by the elector, and brought back intelligence that he would shortly return to his capital. Before this took place however, on the evening of the 6th September, disturbances broke out. I was at the moment with my wife at the theatre, where Raupach’s comedy “Der Zeitgeist” was being performed, and I remarked on a sudden, that messengers had been sent to the officers who were present, informing them that “the alarm” had been sounded in the town, and upon this they all immediately left. This created so much sensation in the house, that the rest of the audience thought that nothing less than a great fire had broken out in the town, and they also left the house in the midst of the performance. Fearing for the safety of our own and our children’s dwellings, we went out with the rest, and were at length informed that the excited people had riotously attacked several bakers’ shops, and committed depredation in the houses of the owners, because, notwithstanding the fall that had taken place in the price of corn, they had raised the price of bread. In order to prevent further excesses on the part of the populace, a number of the citizens had, with the consent of the ministry, taken up arms, and the military occupied not only the electoral palace, but the Königstrasse and the Friederichsplatz, so that the people leaving the theatre could not pass through the closed streets. We were therefore compelled to make a circuit to reach our house and when arrived there, dared not retire to rest at the usual hour, as the commotion that prevailed in the town was still very great. The Elector did not return till the 12th September, but at first unaccompanied by the Countess Reichenbach, and with the greatest privacy. He immediately proceeded to Wilhelmshöhe, whither, a few days after, the magistracy with chief-burgomaster Schomburg at their head, followed him, to express their pleasure at his convalescence and return; as also to petition him to assemble the estates, which had not been done since 1815, and to advise with them upon the alleviation of many existing grievances. The magistracy was nevertheless not admitted to an audience till the following morning in the electoral palace at Cassel, during which, half the town had collected on the Friedrichsplatz, in order to ascertain immediately whether the result of the deputation was successful, and if such should be the case the master-cooper Herbold, had agreed to make it known to the people by waving a white handkerchief from the window of the chamber of audience. When therefore the deputation in solemn procession from the Ober-Neustädter town-hall, approached the palace, and had crossed its threshold, all eyes were directed to the windows of the audience-chamber, and the decision was anxiously awaited.

The Elector, to whose ears doubtless many disquieting reports had come, and who could place no dependance on his troops (many of whom, as at a latter period was shown, desired a constitution) for the protection of his palace and the successful suppression of the revolution, gave, to the universal joy of the people a satisfactory reply. Scarcely had the waving of the white handkerchief announced this to the populace, than the assembled thousands upon the Friedrichsplatz rent the air with deafening cheers of Long live the Elector! upon which he shewed himself for a moment at one of the windows, and acknowledged them with several bows. In the evening the town was spontaneously illuminated, and at the theatre, instead of the previously announced piece of the “Ahnfrau” the “Barber of Seville” was chosen, and the public in their delight at the appearance of the Elector and his son before the beginning of the opera, greeted him with tumultuous cheers, and struck up the “Hail to the elector Wilhelm.” This was followed on the 19th of September by the promised summoning of the ancient estates of Hesse, consisting of deputies from the nobles, the towns, the universities and the peasantry, who assembled on the 16th October, and immediately promulgated a satisfactory report to the people. On the following day the opening of the assembly of the states was celebrated by the performance of divine service in the great church, and by command of the government by a solemn choral hymn sung by the society of St. Cecilia accompanied by the court orchestra. For this occasion I selected the last “number” of my cantata composed in Vienna, “Die Befreiung Deutschlands” (The emancipation of Germany), with its solo-quartet, and the concluding fugue: “Lasset uns den Dankgesang erheben” (Let us raise the song of thanks), a four-voice choral piece which was alternately sung, with the congregation, and the Halleluja from Händel’s Messiah.

The propositions brought forward by the estates, after several weeks’ discussion between the electoral commissaries and the deputies, were with various additions and modifications, admitted as basis of the new constitution of the state as well as for the propositions made by the Elector respecting a fixed amount for a civil list, and division of the whole of the state revenues, which besides had been chiefly accumulated from the sale of the men taken into the pay of the English to fight against the revolted North-American colonies during the time of the Elector Friedrich II. The 9th January 1831 was the day fixed for the promulgation of the new constitution, and on the evening of the day before, the Electress came back with her daughter Caroline from Fulda, where she had been residing for some time past, in order to be present at this joyful event. The elector received her upon his arrival at her residence in the Belle-vue palace, and I received order from the officer of the lord marshal of the court, to give the reconciled couple a serenade with the court orchestra. After I had held the rehearsal in the course of the afternoon for that purpose, I proceeded with the orchestra in exceedingly cold weather to the Belle-vue palace, and having ascertained the apartment in which the court was assembled we drew up outside and played as well as the extremely unfavourable weather would permit. Towards the end of the music the princely pair shewed themselves, the Elector embraced his wife at the window, and the inhabitants of Cassel, who in spite of the cold had collected in crowds, broke out into a loud cheer of joy. The next morning the public announcement of the new constitution was made, and the oaths were taken with due solemnity on the part of the civic-guard publicly upon the Königsplatz, on that of the military on the Friedrichsplatz, and by all the authorities, the court officials and the orchestra in their proper localities. In the evening the town was illuminated, and at the theatre, brilliantly lighted up, “Jessonda” was given as festive opera for the occasion, preceded by a play written for the occasion by counsellor Niemeyer. In the latter was introduced at the same time a hymn composed for it by me, “Hesse’s song of joy on the establishment of its constitution;” and at the conclusion, the well-known and previously mentioned melody, which, with appropriate words, was sung also by the audience, after which the latter greeted the electoral family assembled in the state box with a storm of cheers. Everybody now looked forward to a happy future; but unfortunately the Countess Reichenbach, with her brother Mr. Ortlepp, returned the day after to Wilhelmshöhe. This had no sooner become known in Cassel, as also that the elector had visited her there, than the disturbances immediately broke out afresh. Citizens and peasantry gathered in crowds before the palace at Wilhelmshöhe, and threatened aloud to drive the countess out by force, until it was at length ascertained that she had left for Hanau, and a public announcement was placarded in Cassel: “that the cause for the disturbance had been removed.” But a few weeks afterwards the Elector followed her, as it was thought to take up his residence altogether at Hanau.

Meanwhile at my house the construction of an additional building which had been begun the previous summer from a plan drawn by my son-in-law Wolff was completed. By this, in addition to somewhat more house-room, I obtained more particularly a music room such as we had long felt the want of for our quartet parties, which although closely adjoining the house itself, had nevertheless a higher roof, in order to give it the desired height. In its decoration also, the chief endeavour was to obtain a favourable acoustic arrangement, so as to dispense with all drapery over the windows and doors, which is so obstructive of sound. On the 2nd February 1831, we consecrated the newly-acquired space with the celebration of our “Silver Wedding”; at which my parents from Gandersheim were come to assist, and had brought with them as a present a porcelain vase richly ornamented with silver, upon which, besides the names of the donors, was engraved the inscription: “May the silver of to-day be one day gold!” This fete, properly speaking was got up by my children, in conjunction with our musical friends, and was opened by the torch-light dance from my “Faustus” executed by the guests, with appropriate words to the choral parts. This was followed by a succession of “Tableaux vivants,” in which the chief incidents of my life were ingeniously represented. Among many other poems both of comic and serious import, which were recited at table, my friend Pfeiffer had also contributed a composition with the view, that all the persons present should appear in the costume of the characters in my operas, and that K. Pfeiffer himself should recite the poem. This poem gave me great pleasure at the time, and its recital, with all its allusions, excited general merriment, and no one would have dreamed that its youthful author would be snatched in a few months by death from our circle. Early in the morning of the 31st July, while bathing in the river Fulda, he was struck with apoplexy, and his beautiful and diversified labours in literature were suddenly arrested for ever. For his obsequies I composed a solemn dirge for several voices, and subsequently, when the civil guard of this place had a monumental memorial erected over his early grave, upon its consecration the chorus from “The last things,” “Selig sind die Todten,” was sung by the St. Cecilia society with the assistance also of its female members, a circumstance which upon no previous occasion of the kind had ever taken place in Cassel. Dr. B. W. Pfeiffer, the father of the deceased, who previously had been known to me only in his official capacity as chief advocate of the court of appeal, visited me upon the occasion to thank me for my attention, and in this manner I first became personally intimate with him, to whom I was at a later period to be more nearly allied as son-in-law.

Unhappily that was the last family rejoicing which my brother Ferdinand lived to see. He shortly after fell so seriously ill that the physicians immediately pronounced him irrecoverable, and I was present a few days afterwards when he breathed his last. As his widow, in spite of all her solicitations, received no pension from the bureau of intendance, and was therefore reduced to the small income paid to her from the relief-fund which I had instituted a few years before, I set aside for her subsistence a yearly allowance, with the aid of which she was enabled to give a good education to both her children and to allow her son Ludwig, my godson, to prepare himself for his collegiate studies. After some years of diligent study, with a view of going to the university of Marburg, the young fellow returned to his earlier expressed desire to devote himself entirely to music. Upon a closer examination, however, this did not seem to me advisable, as it was now too late for him to acquire the necessary thorough musical education, and by my advice he adhered to his chosen profession of the law, passed a brilliant examination in 1847, and entered into the official service of the electorate of Hesse.

In the month of April in pursuance of the new constitution, the first assembly of the estates upon the basis of the new election law was summoned, and held its sittings in a saloon of the Belle-vue palace. Schomburg, the burgomaster of the capital, was unanimously chosen as its president, and the government did not dare oppose his nomination. As the sittings were public, this awakened immediately an active political vitality in the town, and the debates were followed up to the conclusion of the session with great interest by all classes. Professor Sylvester Jordan, the deputy from the Marburg university, soon distinguished himself by his eloquence, and he almost always succeeded in carrying through his liberal motions in the assembly.

In order to extend these liberal sentiments among the inhabitants of Cassel, some men well known for their liberal opinions considered it requisite to form a political club, under the name of the “reading museum,” and I willingly joined my exertions to theirs. At this place every afternoon during the session, the various subjects which had been discussed in the chamber were made known. The sittings of the deputies were often very stormy ones, though the chairman reprimanded the non-members every time they applauded a speaker, and threatened to have all disturbers turned out by the civic guard, yet the daily visitors at the sitting did not much care about it and still endeavoured to influence the voting. But the administration of public affairs suffered considerable detriment from the circumstance that the Elector had quitted his palace at Cassel since March, and taken up his residence permanently, at Hanau. As the assembled estates had failed in all their repeated efforts to persuade him to return to Cassel, they resolved towards the end of August, in conjunction with the town council of Cassel, to send a deputation to Hanau, with the proposition that the Elector should either return without delay to the capital or adopt means for the undisturbed administration of affairs. The deputy from Rinteln, Wiederhold, president of the high court of judicature, was one of the deputation, and he succeeded in inducing the Elector to take his son as co-regent with him in the government, and to transfer the administration of affairs to him exclusively so long as he himself remained away from Cassel. Thus the young Prince, after a long residence at Fulda, returned to Cassel as co-regent, together with the Countess Schaumburg, with whose morganatic marriage with his son the Elector now expressed himself reconciled. The Prince delivered to the estates a deed of agreement concerning the solemn maintenance of the constitutional laws, and was at first received at Cassel with satisfaction, particularly as he nominated the mediator, Wiederhold, minister of justice. But as it was soon observed that the Electress, on account of her refusal to acknowledge the Countess Schaumburg as her daughter-in-law, experienced many annoyances and affronts, considerable disapprobation was displayed in the town, and all classes generally sided with the amiable Electress, who by her kind sentiments and mild manners had for long years acquired the love and respect of the people of Hesse. As for me, I had, however, to congratulate myself on being in favour with the Prince at that time; and he requested me to make arrangements for giving him some court concerts at the palace of Wilhelmshöhe. Upon his returning shortly to the town he even requested me in a very courteous letter, to afford him and the Countess the pleasure of hearing some of my quartets, and to arrange for that purpose a quartet party at the palace. It would seem, however, to have been a somewhat tedious affair for them, for I never received a second invitation.

In the autumn 1831 I finished my “Violin-Schule” (course of instruction for the violin) a work which I had undertaken at the solicitation of many persons, and on which I was engaged for more than a twelvemonth, having always begun between-whiles some other compositions which had more attraction for me.[31]

[31] It was published by Haslinger, in Vienna, and the “Wiener Theater-Zeitung,” conducted by Ad. Bäuerle, speaks of it in the following manner: “A fit companion to Hummel’s ‘Clavier-Schule’ (pianoforte school); for in the same way that that opens a new department of education in pianoforte play, this embraces the whole art and science of violin play, and lays down clear principles for an art which hitherto has been taught more by oral precepts, or, at the utmost, by small fragmentary pamphlets. It required the penetrating, searching mind of a Spohr, who surpasses in complete scientific culture the authors of every existing school, to condense in systematic order so important a branch of art, which has been two centuries in acquiring shape; so that the violin, so prominent in all music, may be cultivated upon sure and proper principles, and its study carried out with certain success. How well the great maestro Spohr goes to work to effect this we shall shew in a subsequent clearer exposition of the contents; for he has not only copiously treated the scientific musical culture of the pupil by the clear outspoken method of the instruction in the explanatory text, assisted by the excellent and appropriate pieces which he supplies for practice, but also, in the mechanical part of the instruction, in which the mechanism of the human body is so beautifully and appositely shewn in all its bearings on the mechanical structure of the instrument. The excellent preface to the work presents rules of conduct both for the instructors and parents of pupils for the obviation of a host of evils which have hitherto arisen from false and erroneous modes of proceeding, from the circumstance that few lovers of music, and few teachers of music even, are sufficiently acquainted with these arcana of the art. Well and clearly does he enumerate the means of encouragement by which the industry of the pupil may be incited. How generous is the invitation of the famed master to the students of the violin, that they should impart to him their experience in the progress of their studies of his code of instruction for violin-play, for the further extension of his own knowledge! In this the great earnestness of the true artist for the attainment of the one great object is made conspicuously evident.”... The notice concludes with the following words: “The world-famed master, Spohr, has by this excellent work alone ensured an undying celebrity, and thereby added but a new and beautiful leaf to the laurel wreathe that encircles his brows.”

I afterwards wrote three quartets, which were published as Op. 84, by André of Offenbach, and later for the St. Cecilia society three psalms of Moses Mendelsohn’s translation for two four-voice chorals and four solo-voices, which were published by Simrock of Bonn [Op. 85], and had an extensive circulation.

In the summer of 1832 I was ordered by my physician to proceed to the well-known warm sulphur baths of Nenndorf, to cure a stiffness in one of my knees, and which I had contracted the preceeding winter from a cold caught while skating. My wife, who accompanied me, had taken with her among other books, a volume of the poems of my friend Pfeiffer, which were not published till after his decease; and as I had long wished to set something from it to music in memory of him, I chose one of them: “Die Weihe der Töne,” which pleased me very much, and appeared to me particularly well suited for the composition of a cantata. But when I was about to begin the work, I found that the text of this style of poem did not lend itself altogether well to it; and I felt much more disposed to represent the subject matter of the poem in an instrumental-composition; in this manner originated my fourth symphony, under the title: “Die Weihe der Töne.” [In a letter to Speyer of the 9th October 1832, this is adverted to in the following words: “Although I have now no duties to perform at the theatre,[32] and have had leisure sufficient for composition, I have nevertheless been but little disposed latterly, to set to work. From the great interest which I took and still constantly take in the political regeneration of Germany, the recent retrograde steps have too much annoyed me to permit of my giving myself calmly to any work of deep study. Nevertheless I have again lately completed a grand instrumental composition, and that is a fourth symphony, but which differs greatly in form from the previous ones. It is a musical composition inspired by a poem of Karl Pfeiffer’s: “Die Weihe der Töne,” which must be printed, and distributed in the music room, or recited aloud before it is performed. In the very first part, I had for task, the construction of a harmonious whole from the sounds of nature. This, as indeed the whole work, was a difficult, but a highly attractive problem,” &c.]

[32] The court theatre was closed at this time.

My musical friends in Hannover, and friend Hausmann at the head of them, had no sooner become informed of my presence in Nenndorf, than they apprised me of their intention to pay me a visit, and to bring their instruments with them, so that I had an opportunity of giving the lovers of music then in Nenndorf a music-party, at which I played my recently written quartet. Meanwhile my cure was successfully completed, and I was relieved of my lameness of the knee, chiefly by a powerful but very painful douche upon the suffering part. Returned to Cassel, I first of all finished my new symphony, and let my friends hear it at a rehearsal, and subsequently at a subscription concert. I still recollect with pleasure the great effect it produced upon all who heard it. It was afterwards given with great applause at the Gewandhaus concert in Leipzic, and Rochlitz wrote a very animated notice of the work in his Musical Journal. None of my symphonies can boast of having achieved so wide a circulation in almost all the towns of Germany; it is still a favorite work, and in most permanent concerts is played at least once every year.

In April 1832, by order of the Prince, the court theatre was closed “for an indefinite period,” all the singers and comedians, with the exception of those who had contracts of engagement for a longer period, having previously received due notice of dismissal. Two singers only, messieurs Föppel and Rosner (whose wife was the prima donna) could not be comprised in this decision. Together with the orchestra, I was also summoned to attend; all who had no rescript from the elector received notice of dismissal, and we others were asked whether we were disposed to resign our places for an indemnification to be agreed upon with each individual separately. I, who had first to give my answer to this proposal on the part of the administration, immediately declared that I was not disposed to agree to it, but would abide by my engagement, and, should it become necessary, would maintain my right before the proper tribunal. The other musicians also at once pronounced their adhesion to my declaration, and we thus lost one hautboy player only, whom I had at an early period engaged at Prague by the authority of the elector, to make up the complement of the orchestra, and who upon his joining, had unfortunately neglected to have his rescript made out. The first bassoonist, who was in a similar predicament, succeeded nevertheless in maintaining his place, being enabled to produce a letter from me in which I had engaged him in the name and by the authority of the elector, that the letter would guarantee his engagement until the rescript was prepared; by this circumstance he was saved to the orchestra. We others were then not called forward any more, and all remained upon the old footing.

In the autumn of 1832, my brother William wrote to me from Brunswick to apprize me that in the ensuing November would be the “goldene Hochzeit” (the golden wedding) of our parents; and he proposed to me that all their children should meet in Gandersheim, to congratulate our parents, and present them with a musical-clock. That it would be a source of still greater pleasure to my parents, if I combined a musical entertainment with the festival, I could readily imagine, and I therefore urged William Wolff, the brother of my son-in-law, to write a poem for me, to set to music, at the performance of which my wife and I with the piano and violin should represent the orchestra, my three daughters take the solo parts, and my brothers with their wives, and my sons-in-law sing the chorus. So soon as I had received the words in the form which I had suggested, I immediately went to work, wrote a cheerful polonaise (in the execution of which I gave my wife and self the opportunity of shewing our skill as virtuosi on our respective instruments); this I followed up with a general chorus, after which I brought in the three soli of my daughters, who at the conclusion sang a trio; and then lastly I added a general chorus finale. While I was practising this festal cantata with my wife and children, I sent to my brothers their chorus parts also, for the same purpose, and we all met at Gandersheim a few days before the fête-day, which was on the 26th November. As our parents could not accommodate all of us with bed-rooms, I hired for myself and my numerous company, the whole accommodation of an inn, and then consulted with my brothers and sons-in-law as to the best and most effective manner of celebrating the day. Wolff suggested above all things to hire the handsomest and largest room in the whole town; to decorate it with festoons of evergreens and artificial flowers; to display there our presents, and give our cantata before our parents and the families of our friends. We were not long in finding a room, for there was but one at all suitable in the whole place, and that moreover scarcely large enough to hold all the invited guests. From the neighbouring wood we procured in abundance the necessary branches and evergreen for the decorations, and were then all employed for several days together in making the festoons and in preparing garlands of paper-flowers, as also with drawing and painting transparencies. When we would get tired of all this work, I began the rehearsals of the cantata, and could not but admire the industry of the fair sex among us, who had practised their husbands so well in the tenor and bass parts of the chorus, although they were almost utterly unmusical (though gifted with good voices), that their performances were creditable enough to hear. In this manner the time passed very quickly till the festival, and we then had the gratification of seeing our parents deeply moved by our entertainment, and our presents greatly admired by our Gandersheim friends. Besides a musical-clock, which in particular was an object of great attraction, the presents consisted of a very handsome and convenient foot-stool embroidered for my father by his Brunswick daughter-in-law, and in numerous specimens of work executed for my mother by the Cassel ladies. The banquet, which was in part brought from my parents’ house and part furnished from a restaurant, was a very profuse one, at which the wines and liquors brought by us brothers met no less with great approval, so that the festival of the Spohr family went off very satisfactorily, and was long a topic of conversation in Gandersheim. The general interest exhibited on the occasion by the townspeople and those of the neighbourhood was very gratifying, and this among other things was exhibited by the contributions sent to my mother to entertain the numerous guests, for she received a complete houseful of provisions, in the shape of game, pies, pastry, flour, eggs, fruit &c. This gave the whole affair a complete patriarchal character; and every body did his or her utmost to evince their friendship for the worthy and venerable pair, and their respect for the man, who for so many years had stood by them as the faithful physician with help and with advice, and who, wherever he could, had always relieved the necessities of the poor.

After my return I received the command of the Prince to give a succession of concerts during the winter, in place of the theatrical performances, which had been suspended since the spring. These concerts were to take place every Sunday for the benefit of the treasury of the theatre, and the singers who remained with us were to be employed therein. The public, however, greatly displeased at this, and that the receipts from the concerts were thus to be diverted from the relief fund for the widows of the members of the orchestra, came to the determination not to subscribe to them, and thus the receipts were almost null. Few of the concerts only, and that in which the “Weihe der Töne” was first given, were well attended, but in the others the house looked very dreary and empty. Meanwhile it would seem that the Prince and the Countess Schaumburg, had found the winter tediously long with a closed theatre; for towards the spring I received orders to proceed to Meiningen to engage for the months of March, April, and May, a company of travelling performers who were there at that time, under the direction of Bethmann from Berlin. As I expressed the wish to take my wife with me, the Prince ordered his master of the horse, von der Malsburg, to furnish me with a convenient court carriage from the electoral stables, and we proceeded to Meiningen with post horses. But there were other obstacles to be overcome on this mission, besides the negotiations with Bethmann. The latter, for instance, had accepted an engagement for the whole summer from the court of Meiningen, and it was necessary to prevail upon the duke to part with the services of the company earlier than he had intended. To this, however, the duchess notwithstanding her differences with her brother, on account of his quarrel with the mother, rendered me her assistance. Shortly after my return, Bethmann and his company arrived, and for the re-opening of the new theatre gave the “Freischütz,” with much applause. Miss Meisselbach pleased especially by her performance of Agatha. The former director of the theatre, Feige, and I were then appointed in superintendance over Mr. Bethmann, with instructions to place at his disposal, the three singers whose engagements were yet unexpired, the orchestra, and the whole of the company of the scene-painters and workmen of the theatre, the extensive wardrobe, decorations, &c. We now worked out together the order of the repertory, Feige and Bethmann for the plays and I for the operas, and were soon enabled to represent once more all the operas that were previously performed on our stage. At this time I wrote my third double quartet [E minor] and another concertante for two violins, which were soon after published by Simrock in Bonn as Op. 87 and 88.

In June of the same year another grand musical festival took place at Halberstadt, which was undertaken by the minister Augustin and his son, as the sixth musical festival of the Elbe, to direct which concert-master Frederick Schneider of Dessau and myself were invited. It differed chiefly from the previous ones in the erection of an enormous tent, or rather of a large booth constructed of planks, upon the square in front of the cathedral, for the refreshment and social entertainment of the visitors, as well as of the auditory and assistant artists, and in which all strangers could assemble at any hour of the day. The musical performances took place on three successive days, and began with Händel’s oratorio of “Samson” under Schneider’s direction. The next morning the objects most worthy of notice in Halberstadt were visited, particularly the collections of paintings belonging to the Canon von Spiegel and Dr. Lucanus. It was intended to have given a concert at the theatre, but as it was not sufficiently spacious to hold the numerous auditory, a second concert was given simultaneously in the large room of the “Golden Angel,” and the non-resident virtuosi and singers were divided equally to perform at both places. The tickets which were distributed admitted to the rehearsals also, so that each person could hear one of the concerts at the morning rehearsal, and the other at the evening performance; and one single piece of music only was given at both concerts, which was the favorite duet from “Jessonda” between Amazili and Nadori, sung by Mrs. Schmidt and Mr. Mantius, because neither party would permit this piece to be taken from it by the other.--I conducted at the concert given in the room at the “Golden Angel,” and played my new concertante in H minor with concert-master Müller from Brunswick. On the third day the last concert took place in the forenoon, and under my direction, upon which occasion I found upon my conductor’s desk a present of a red velvet coverlet bearing an inscription embroidered in silver. At this concert were performed Mozart’s symphony in C major, and that of Beethoven in C minor; my Lord’s prayer and a Te Deum by Schneider, and I had the satisfaction of observing that at this musical festival my three compositions met with the most general applause. At noon a grand banquet in the large tent terminated the festival, at which the proceeding were of a very noisy character.

We were obliged to devote the remainder of the vacation to a journey to Marienbad in Bohemia, where it was hoped my wife, who constantly suffered from nervous debility, would regain some strength from bathing and drinking the waters, as well as from the enjoyment of the fresh air from the mountains. Among the visitors at the baths we met Raupach of Berlin, with whom I took frequent long walks, during which he related to me many things relating to his approaching theatrical labours. He was at that time full of a new drama which he was going to write immediately upon his return home, in which he intended to lash the ill-natured and hypocrites, and the scene of which he had laid in China. But he probably never completed it, or perhaps the ill-natured ones of Berlin found means to prevent its representation, for so far as I know, no piece of the kind from the pen of Raupach was ever made public. The society of music at Marienbad, whose director was a linen manufacturer in the neighbourhood, had much pleased and surprised me with a very successful performance of Cherubini’s overture to “Medea,” with which, by way of serenade, he had greeted my arrival, and for which I the more readily complied with his wish to write a walz for them à la Strauss, to which also my inclination to try every sort of composition, had long predisposed me. At first, when I had practised their orchestra in it, the walz pleased me very well; but afterwards I found it wanting in that freshness and originality which distinguish most of the walzes of Strauss and Lanner. Nevertheless, by the desire of my publisher Haslinger of Vienna, he brought it out as Op. 89, not only in the original form as an instrumental piece, but also arranged for two and four hands.

On my return to Cassel I next wrote six four-voice songs for men’s voices, which Schuberth of Hamburgh published as Op. 90, and began my fourth quintet in A minor, finished in February of the following year, and which Simrock of Bonn published as Op. 91.

On the 5th April 1834, my children and friends took me by surprise with an unusually grand fete in celebration of my fiftieth birthday. For that very evening I had announced an opera and could not at all understand, why the intendance had suddenly countermanded it, but this had been solicited by my folks unknown to me. My wife and I now availed ourselves of the evening thus left at our disposal to accept an invitation to my son-in-law Zahn’s and we were both not a little surprised to find the apartments brilliantly lighted up with candelabra, and ornamented with ingenious transparencies and flowers, with my bust crowned with a wreath, and a brilliant company assembled to celebrate the day with music (a cantata composed by Hauptmann) and with speeches.

This was unhappily the last festivity of the kind that my good wife lived to see. Our stay at Marienbad had not given her any permanent relief, and as her sufferings returned once more with the commencement of the winter, it became necessary for her to resume the attempt at cure in the next vacation. This time we met at Marienbad the brothers Bohrer, and after I had renewed my former acquaintance with these talented artists, we had frequent quartet parties together, in which we also prevailed upon the old linen-weaver, who was a good violin player, to join us. These music-parties enlivened my wife as well, who benefited so much by the waters that we returned to Cassel with the mostly lively hope of her ultimate recovery. But soon afterwards her condition again became worse, and I now felt but little disposed to proceed with my new oratorio which I had begun in April. Already the year before, on our return journey through Leipzic, Councillor Rochlitz had offered me an oratorio of the passion written by him: “Des Heilands letzte Stunden” [the last moments of the Saviour] to set to music. Although it had already been once set to music, under the title “The end of the just,” by Schicht, I nevertheless took it with pleasure, as he assured me that although the previous composition had been played and with some applause, yet it had not produced sufficient effect; for which reason he had again remodelled the text and had made it more suitable to the object proposed. As, however, I became informed that he had proposed this new text to Mendelssohn also for composition, before proceeding with the work I first wrote of the latter, requesting him to inform me whether he had the intention of composing the oratorio? As he replied in the negative, and informed me that he himself intended to put a text together from scripture (“Paulus”), I began my work in the spring of 1834, which was subsequently interrupted by our journey to the baths. As I nevertheless remarked that my wife, notwithstanding her suffering condition, interested herself as much in my present work as she had done in my previous ones, I soon forgot every thing in the inspiration with which I devoted myself to it. Although upon my return home from the rehearsals at the theatre Dorette received me always with sad looks and anxious observations respecting her health, she nevertheless evinced again so great an interest in the progress of my work, and listened with such lively attention to that which when ready I rehearsed at the St. Cecilia society, that again I always resumed the continuation of the work with new courage. Frequently nevertheless she would interrupt me with the melancholy question: “What will become of our Theresa, should I sink under my illness?”--for her anxiety for Theresa had at that time become her fixed idea--and when I made reply to her: “A happy wife, as our other children have become,” a radiant smile overspread her face, for she had also doubtless remarked, that Theresa, in spite of her youth, had already many aspirants for her favour, and she herself received with no displeasure the attentions of a member of our St. Cecilia society. In this manner I got to the end of the first part of my oratorio, and my wife had the pleasure of seeing the interest and enthusiasm with which it was sung by the society; but after that her strength quickly declined and she was obliged to take to her bed. When I saw the thoughtful expression of face of our physician and family friend Dr. Bauer, I called in also the most reputed physician of our town, Dr. Harnier, to consult with him. But he also shook his head and could give me little hope to save her. As my daughters Emilia and Theresa took upon them the closest care of their mother, I was enabled to comply with Dorette’s wish to continue my work during the day upon the completion of the oratorio, in which she greatly interested herself, but was obliged to watch by her bed at night in turn with Emilia. I had scarcely got to the third “number” of the second part, when her malady assumed the form of a nervous fever, which carried her off, and to the present day I think with bitter sadness of the moment when I pressed the last kiss upon her forehead.

My son-in-law Wolff took upon himself all the mournful preparations for the funeral, for which in my despair I was wholly incompetent, and by that means I was enabled to leave the town for a week with my youngest daughter, who was quite beside herself for grief at the death of her mother, and who moreover had passed the last day by the side of her sister Ida, who was likewise ill. I hired apartments at an inn at Wilhelmshöhe, and we strove to regain the necessary self-possession by long and fatiguing wanderings in the neighbouring bare and wintry woods. When we were at length obliged to return into town we felt the solitude of our house but the more intensely. It was therefore long before I could find resolution sufficient to continue the score upon which I had inscribed a memorandum of the day of my wife’s decease, the 20th November; until at length the disposition to work returned, and I finished the oratorio by the end of the winter. On Good Friday 1835 I gave an entire performance of it. The thought that my wife did not live to witness the completion and performance of the oratorio diminished greatly the satisfaction I experienced at this most successful of my works, and I did not attain a full conception of its effect until in its later performances. An opportunity for a repetition of the oratorio presented itself the same summer on Whitsunday, on which day the Prince, contrary to custom, had granted us permission to give a concert in the church. The theatrical vacation coming soon after this, I was obliged to seize the opportunity, and comply with the advice of my physician to proceed to a sea-bathing place, and I selected for the purpose Zandford, a newly-established and as yet not much frequented watering-place about 3 miles[33] from Haarlem. Besides Theresa, my sister-in-law, Minchen Scheidler, who for some years since the death of my mother-in-law had resided with us, and who during our former journeys was accustomed to visit her brother professor Charles Scheidler at Jena, accompanied me on this journey, and both were exceedingly pleased with it. We descended the Rhine to Dusseldorf, where I had projected staying for a few days, as Mendelssohn, who had accepted the situation of director of music in the new theatre built by Immermann, now lived there. The wife of Councillor von Sybel, at whose house I lived during the musical festival, had heard of our intention to make a short stay in Dusseldorf, and urged me to take up my lodging in her house, which I did the more readily as I had heard that Immermann was a visitor in her house and generally spent his evenings there.

[33] English.

I took my violin with me, and my last works also, among which a second recently finished concertino, E major, Op. 92, published by Breitkopf and Härtel of Leipzic. We first went to Frankfort, stopped there one day only at Speyer’s house, and then continued our journey from Bieberich by the steamboat. At Dusseldorf we were received at the house of Mrs. von Sybel in a very friendly manner, and already on the first evening had the pleasure of making Immermann’s acquaintance, who to the special delight of my sister-in-law read to her his charming “Tulifäntchen.” Of Mendelssohn, who was not there, I heard, that he also was one of the friends of the house, but never appeared there on those evenings when Immermann came, because with him, who devoted his whole attention to the spectacle only, he had disagreed about the opera.

The next morning, when I paid a visit to Mendelssohn and met his sister there, he played to me the first “numbers” of his oratorio “Paulus,” with which I was not altogether quite pleased because it was too much in the style of Händel. He and his sister, on the other hand, appeared greatly pleased with my concertino in E major, in which there occurred a characteristic staccato in one long stroke, by way of novelty, such as he had never before heard by any other violinist. Accompanying me then in a very clever manner from the score, he could not hear this staccato often enough, and repeatedly requested me to begin with it again, saying the while to his sister: “See, this is the famous Sporish staccato, which no violinist can play like him!” Thence I went to see Immermann, who proposed to me to pay a visit to Grabbe, who at that time, at Immermann’s invitation, was staying at Dusseldorf, and I thus on the same day made the acquaintance of that strange being. When, upon my entering his lodging, the little fellow set eyes upon a giant like me, he drew back timidly into a corner of the room, and the first words he spoke to me were: “It would be an easy matter for you to throw me out of that window.” I replied: “Yes, I certainly could, but I am not come here with that intention.” This comical scene over, Immermann then first introduced me to the foolish yet interesting creature.

In the house of our hospitable hostess we passed some pleasant days alternately in Mendelssohn’s and Immermann’s society, and then resumed our journey on board the Dutch steamer to Cleves, where I was desirous of visiting my old friend Thomae for a few days. We found him a widower also; for he, too, had recently lost his wife. The nut-tree in his garden, of which we had set the nut in 1818 with such solemnity during our stay with his family, was in full leaf and flourishing amazingly. Thomae’s children, who were now all grown up, and of whom the eldest son had now taken his father’s place as notary, were all in good health, but he himself seemed low-spirited and ill. Our visit nevertheless afforded him great pleasure, and upon our departure he presented Theresa, as god-daughter of his deceased wife, with a gold watch, and entreated us to visit him again on our return. In this manner, after quitting the steamboat at Rotterdam, we arrived safely at Zandford, by way of the Hague, Amsterdam and Haarlem. When we had hired apartments at the bath-house and looked out of our windows upon the sea for the first time, my sister-in-law uttered the ominous words: “Here I could wish to remain for ever!” After I had arranged with the physician of the bathing-establishment, who came from Haarlem daily to visit the bathers, respecting the terms for his attendance during my bathing cure, and had immediately begun to bathe, I soon went into the sea with real pleasure, and took great delight in swimming about in it. Our fellow inmates of the bath-house and guests at the dinner-table were some puritan families from Elberfeld and Barmen, whose religious notions I had soon sufficient opportunity to learn by their conversation at table, but which by no means inspired me with a wish to make their nearer acquaintance. After dinner we used to take our walks in the wood, which, beginning immediately behind the downs, extended almost as far as Haarlem, and in this manner we passed the fine weather with which we were favoured in the summer of 1835, very happily in our retirement. This was, however, soon to be interrupted by an unexpected artistic enjoyment; for the lovers of music of Amsterdam, who had been informed of my presence in Zandford, invited me and my fellow travellers to a concert which they had arranged in my honour. We proceeded therefore by omnibus to Haarlem, and thence by the canal boat to Amsterdam, where we alighted at the house of Mr. Tenkate, a former acquaintance of mine. In his company we went to the concert given in the concert room of Felix Meritis, at which several of my compositions were given; first one of my symphonies, then the duet from “Jessonda,” sung by Mr. de Vruecht of Haarlem and the prima donna of the German theatre; after which Mr. Tours of Rotterdam played a violin-concerto of mine, and Mr. Vruecht terminated the concert with some songs. After we had supped at the house of our host, and were on the point of going to bed, a serenade was given me, which we listened to from the balcony of the house.

My sister-in-law, who during the concert had complained of a head-ache, now probably caught cold, for despite my warning she would stand out also in the chill night air on the balcony to hear the serenade; and upon our return to Zandford, upon consulting the bath-physician next morning, he found that a cutaneous eruption had made its appearance in the night, which, however, he did not consider dangerous. The vacation meanwhile was drawing to a close, and the physician was of opinion that after the invalid had kept her bed for a few days, we should soon be enabled to set out upon our return journey. But on the evening of the same day, while I was sitting at the bed-side of my sister-in-law, as the sun was going down, and speaking with her of our return home, she requested in a tone of anxious and nervous agitation to be allowed to get up, and while exerting my utmost strength to prevent her from rising, she fell back suddenly upon the pillows, and losing all consciousness, breathed her last. Both Theresa and I, seized with alarm, called for assistance, upon which a young man, a medical student whose apartment was contiguous to ours, came in with all his instruments and immediately proceeded to open a vein. But it was without success. No blood would flow, the surgeon pronounced her dead and was now using every effort to bring Theresa to her senses, who had fainted away with fright. Thus was sadly realised the ominous desire of my sister-in-law: “Here I could wish to remain for ever!” What we felt as we followed her a few days afterwards to her last resting-place, and how sadly this scene resuscitated the mournful recollection of that we had witnessed the year before in Cassel, I need not attempt to describe.

We now proceeded with all possible speed on our return journey, and at the landing-place of the steam-boat near Cleves met our friend Thomae, who, when he learned our new loss, persisted no further in his desire that we should again stay a few days at his house. As my leave of absence was moreover expired, we continued our journey to Cassel without further delay. But I there felt the lonesomeness of our home yet more keenly, deprived of the one whom we had left behind, and I therefore began to experience the want of a partner through life who would also take an interest in my musical labours. The meetings of our society of St. Cecilia were near at hand, where at our weekly rehearsals the opportunity might present itself to me to make unperceived such observations as would perhaps enable me to select a lady in whom I might hope to find a solace for the remainder of my life, and one fitted to restore to me my lost happiness. I there bethought me especially of the sister of my deceased friend Karl Pfeiffer, whose serious tone of mind and warm interest for high-class music I had observed during her constant punctual attendance for several years at the concerts of the society, and who, moreover, as I knew through her brother, had a particular predilection for my music. Besides this, in my almost daily walks on the Cologne Alley, which took me past the garden of Chief Councillor Pfeiffer of the court of appeal, I had for a long time past the opportunity of witnessing at a distance the happy and unpretentious manner of life of the family. As at that time (September 1835) the electoral troops were concentrated for the autumn manœuvres, and had formed a camp in the neighbourhood of the castle of Wilhelmsthal, whither the Casselers now resorted as their chief promenade, I bethought me of making a party thither, and through my daughter Theresa requested the parents Pfeiffer to permit both their daughters to accompany us.

During this little excursion, I had the opportunity in the course of conversation to become acquainted with the high and varied intellectual culture of the two sisters, and so I became fully confirmed in my resolve to sue for the hand of the eldest sister, Marianne, whose knowledge of music and skill in pianoforte play I had already observed, when she sometimes gave her assistance in accompaniment at the concerts of the St. Cecilia society. As I had not the courage to propose for her by word of mouth, there being more than twenty years difference in our ages, I put the question to her in writing, and added, in excuse for my courtship, the assurance that I was yet perfectly free from the usual infirmities of age. I now awaited the answer with the most anxious expectancy. To my great joy it proved one of assent, upon which I hastened to her parents, and in due form asked her in marriage. They wished every happiness to our union, and we now daily learned to know each other better. As at my age there was not much time be lost, I urged that the wedding should take place immediately after the new year, which after some opposition from the relations and the bride, was consented to. Our wedding was fixed for the 3rd of January 1836, and I asked my parents to become witness to my new happiness. Yet, on the appointed day our wedding nearly failed to take place, for the required permission of the co-regent Prince had not yet been received, notwithstanding all the exertions of my friend Mr. von der Malsburg, whose office it was, as marshal of the court, to have it made out.

My father-in-law, who in former years had given private readings in public law to the Prince, and then did not stand very high in his favour, had totally lost it since, as a member of the first parliament (from 1831 to 1832), he had effected by his able and convincing report to the assembled states a great diminution of the disproportionate amount of the military expenditure. The Prince bore this doubtless in mind, and therefore delayed granting his permission for the marriage of his daughter. Neither did we receive this until my bride had signed a bond, which was expressly required of her, whereby she waived all claim to a future pension. As I, in case of my death, was enabled to provide for my wife by other means, we consented to this requisition; and in this manner our wedding did yet take place on the day which had been appointed. The nearest relatives of the family of my parents-in-law, to the number of three and thirty, together with my own parents, my daughters and their husbands, were assembled on the occasion. The marriage ceremony, at the request of my bride, was performed by her favorite preacher Asbrand, whom she knew personally and highly esteemed.

I now lived again in my former and accustomed domestic manner and felt unspeakably happy with my wife! As we frequently played together, I became more and more acquainted with her high sentiment for the noble in the science of music, and from her great ability for reading at sight, was enabled in a short time to play with her not only all that I had previously written for the violin with pianoforte accompaniment, but many new things in that style of art, and which I had not previously known, were suggested to me by her. This inspired me with a great desire to try something for once in duets especially written for pianoforte and violin. The first I wrote for ourselves was the duet in G minor (Op. 95 published by Breitkopf of Leipzic). Thus engaged I frequently observed with great pleasure the lively interest she took in my works, in the same manner as my departed wife had afforded me so much happiness and stimulated my labours. When I had written out a passage, upon playing it with her I could immediately hear its full effect, which interested and made us both equally happy. Besides the above I composed at this period six songs for a counter tenor voice, published by Simrock of Bonn as Op. 94.

When the summer and the season of vacation drew nigh, we resolved upon a journey to visit our respective relatives. But as there was no railway at that time, we were obliged as formerly to travel with post horses, and proceeded by way of Eisenach to Gotha, where we visited a step-sister of my late wife, who had married a tradesman of the Name of Hildt of that place. We found them in their flower-garden, spent a pleasant evening with them, and left the next day for Erfurt. As the musical amateurs of that place had heard of our coming beforehand, we were immediately received at the hotel of “The Roman Emperor” by a deputation, who invited us in a most flattering address to the festive entertainments which had been prepared for us. At the banquet which was given on the first day, I was welcomed in a poem composed for the occasion, after which my health was drunk with an enthusiasm which afforded great gratification to my wife and daughter. In the evening we drove to the “Steiger,” the favorite place of resort of the citizens of Erfurt; but as it shortly afterwards began to rain, we could not much enjoy the beautifully laid out gardens, and were compelled to take refuge in the saloon itself. Fortunately they had taken care to provide a good pianoforte and I could therefore let the company hear my new duet for violin and piano, and also my concertino in E sharp, both of which I played with my wife. After that, Theresa sang some of my newest songs, and by some of the ladies and gentlemen of Erfurt my bass duet from “Faust” and several songs were sung. This improvisated musical party appeared to please the company greatly, and thus, despite the rain, we returned to town very satisfied with our day’s pleasure. Early on the following morning we were taken by surprise with a serenade performed in our honour by the military-band drawn up on the square in front of the hotel. It began with the well-known sounds of one of my symphonies, which was followed by several other pieces, and lastly by the first finale from “Zemira and Azor.” We then went to see objects of note in the town, particularly the fine cathedral, upon entering which we were greeted by the pealing notes of the celebrated organ, and afterwards, the introduction to the “Last moments of the Saviour,” as also several other melodies, chiefly from my earlier oratorios, were executed in a very impressive manner. After we had partaken of a magnificent repast at the house of Major von Rommel, whose wife was a cousin of Mrs. Spohr’s, we drove to the theatre, where preparations had been made for a grand concert, at which, with a brilliantly lighted house, the “Weihe der Töne” and my “Lord’s Prayer” were performed in a very satisfactory manner.

The next morning we continued our journey to Leipzic, and there again attended several interesting musical parties, which my old friends Rochlitz and Weiss, as also the distinguished pianiste Mrs. Vogt, gave at their houses in our honour, and where I played some of my more recent quartets, which were as yet unknown to the Leipzickers, particularly the Quatuor brillant in A major, which I had composed in the previous autumn (Op. 93, published by Haslinger of Vienna). In Dresden, at the hotel of the “Stadt Gotha,” we met the family Kleinwächter of Prague, father, son and daughter--as also my friend Adolph Hesse, the celebrated organist of Breslau, whom I had personally known since 1828, when he first visited me in Cassel, and who entertained a great friendship for me. With him we proceeded on a preproposed tour through Saxon Switzerland, and performed the first distance, to the entrance of the Uttewalder Ravine, in the carriage, which, when we became tired of climbing the steep heights which offered the chief points of view, always took us again and carried us conveniently from one magnificent rocky aspect to the other. We had nevertheless some long and fatiguing pedestrian trips, for instance that of the ascent of the great Winterberg, when the heat was very oppressive. From Hirniskretschen, the limit of our journey, we descended the Elbe to Schandau, partook of a pleasant dinner there, during which we rallied each other mutually upon our fatigue, which we endeavoured as much as possible to conceal from the visitors at the baths, who sat with us at table, and which gave rise to many comical incidents.

In Dresden we went to a very interesting quartet party at the house of the court musician Franz, a former pupil of mine, for which occasion it was festively decorated with wreaths and flowers. We there met the three directors of orchestra Reissiger, Morlachi and Rastrelli, and I played one of my double quartets and my newest concertino. As we purposed leaving Dresden the next morning it was now necessary to take leave of our amiable fellow travellers Kleinwächter and Hesse, in whose society we had passed so many pleasant hours, and who during the time of our being together, had really heaped upon us every demonstration of affection and attention. They parted from us with tears in their eyes, and we continued our journey through Leipzic and Halle to Brunswick, where we were desirous of visiting my brothers William and Augustus, and at the same time of assisting at the musical festival which was then about to be held there. This took place in the Ægydian church, and opened with Händel’s “Messiah.” Although that noble work was long since well known to us from previous performances of it, we were nevertheless again truly charmed by the grandeur of the choruses, the powerful cast, and Mozart’s instrumentation. On the two following days mixed concerts of vocal and instrumental music were given; but the pieces performed being for the most part operatic music, they appeared to us not altogether suited for the church. At all the grand dinners which took place daily at noon under the large tent that had been erected on the wall promenade, the hilarity was generally somewhat tumultuous; and one scene that occurred on the last day was of a very comical nature.

Mantius, the tenor singer of Berlin, who had already sung some songs with great applause, was at last requested to sing the favorite one of “Fair Annie.”[34] This song has an apparent termination, which is followed by a yet more brilliant finale. It so happened that the auditory always broke out into a loud applause before Mantius had got to the end. After this had occurred to his great annoyance at some verses, he at the following verse mounted upon a bench, and at last even got upon the table, in order at length to obtain a complete hearing for the brilliant point of the song, but again his efforts were fruitless! The apparent termination was always too irresistible, and although Mantius previous to the last verse again implored his hearers both earnestly and piteously to restrain their applause until he had really come to the end, one of them nevertheless allowed himself to be carried away by his feelings and to shout bravo at the wrong time, and that was quite sufficient for the rest to join in. The expression of despair with which, though overwhelmed with applause, the singer now jumped down from the table, was indescribably ludicrous.

[34] “Schön Hannchen.”

Upon our leaving Brunswick we were pressingly invited by Councillor Lüder, who had also been present at the musical festival, to spend a few days with him at his country seat at Catlenburg, upon our way back; and this formed a worthy termination to this interesting journey.

On our return to Cassel I found a letter from my former pupil Gercke, director of music at Paderborn, in which we were invited to the millenium jubilee of St. Liborius, which was to take place there on the 21st July. The celebration of this festival was to commence on the first day with church solemnities, and on the second with the production of my oratorio: “Des Heilands letzte Stunden” (The last moments of the Saviour). As my holidays were not quite expired, we quickly made up our minds, and in a few days again took our seats in the travelling carriage, in which this time my sister-in-law Caroline Pfeiffer filled the fourth place. We slept at Lichtenau and set out from there so early the next morning, that we arrived at Paderborn before eight o’clock, but we found nevertheless the town so full, that we could not be accommodated at either of the two hotels there. The host of the second hotel seemed however to regret his inability to accommodate us, and hired for us a couple of rooms in a private house opposite. But we could there procure two beds only, so that he was obliged to arrange a sleeping place for me and my wife for the night in the hotel, and that indeed in a room occupied by a hair-dresser during the day in the pursuance of his calling, and for the sale of his wares. We had scarcely entered our unseemly apartment than we received a visit from the dilettanti of the town, and from the artists who had come to take part in the musical performances. We were then conducted to the house of one of their friends, where the best places were given to us at the windows, to see with more convenience the brilliant procession which accompanied the relics of St. Liborius in their golden shrine, to the cathedral. When the immense crowd of the population had somewhat dispersed we also proceeded to the cathedral, where we admired the richly decorated and beautiful structure, and heard Carl Maria von Weber’s mass in D major, the too worldly style of which however did not altogether please us. On the following evening my oratorio was performed in the church of the Jesuits, brilliantly lighted up, whither we were accompanied and a passage made for us through the thronged aisle up to the front places assigned to us on cushioned seats close to those of the bishop of Paderborn, chief president Vincke and the commandant of the town. I remarked with pleasure that here also a great enthusiasm was felt for my oratorio; Gercke directed exceedingly well, the choruses had been well studied, and among the solo-singers, who were for the most part dilettanti, the well-known concert singer Mrs. Johanna Schmidt particularly distinguished herself in the part of Mary. Scarcely had we retired to rest after this busy day, than we heard a torch-light serenade under our windows, consisting of instrumental music and four-part songs. When on the repeated loud calls on my name I went to the window with the intention of returning thanks, I found in front of it so high a pile of pasteboard boxes belonging to my co-occupant of the room as to impede my efforts to open it, and I was therefore compelled to convey my deferred oral thanks in a written shape the next morning previous to our leaving.

In this manner we returned to Cassel from this excursion also very gratified, after which, inspired with improved health and in very happy domestic circumstances, I began a new period of industrious composition. Already on the return journey from Dresden I had constantly thought of a new composition, and sketched out the programme of it. This was another sonate for me and my wife, which was afterwards published as a duet for piano and violin “Nachklänge einer Reise nach Dresden und in die sächsische Schweiz” (Reminiscences of a journey to Dresden and through Saxon Switzerland) Op. 96, by Simrock of Bonn and dedicated to our amiable fellow travellers of Prague and Breslau. In the first theme I endeavoured to describe the love of travel, and in the second the journey itself, by introducing the winding of the postillions’ horns, customary in Saxony and the neighbouring part of Prussia, as the dominant in the scherzo, played by the violin upon the G string in a horn-like manner as chief theme, worked out with striking modulations on the pianoforte, and then I depicted in the trio a fanciful dreaming-like sentiment, such as one so willingly yet unconsciously gives onesself up to in the carriage! The subsequent adagio represents a scene in the catholic royal-chapel at Dresden, which begins with an organ-prelude on the pianoforte alone; after which the violin plays the intonations of the priest before the altar, which are followed by the responses of the chorister-boys in the same tones and modulations as they are given in catholic churches and that of Dresden. This is followed by a air for castrato, in which the violinist has to imitate the tone and that style of singing. The last theme of all describes in a rondo the journey through Saxon Switzerland, in which it endeavours to recal the recollection of the grand beauties of nature and to represent the merry strains of the Bohemian music, which one hears resound from almost every rocky glen; to effect all which in so compressed a limit could of course be but imperfectly realised.

In the course of the year 1836 I wrote also a number of songs, six of which, in one book, were published by Breitkopf & Härtel as Op. 101, and among the rest “Sangeslust” (The love of song) given in Breitkopf & Härtel’s musical album, with four-handed accompaniment; furthermore a Psalm for chorus and soli with orchestral accompaniment, and a fantasia in the shape of an overture to Raupach’s mythical tragedy “Die Tochter der Luft” (“The Daughter of the Air”) which was shortly afterwards performed at one of our subscription concerts. But as in this shape it did not altogether please me, I afterwards worked it up as the first theme of my fifth symphony, which I composed for the “concerts spirituels” at Vienna and which was shortly afterwards published by Haslinger as Op. 102.[35] In the beginning of the following year (1837) I wrote my third duet for pianoforte and violin in E major, which was afterwards published by Paul of Dresden as Op. 112.

[35] Its first performance in Vienna produced there a great sensation, as several gratifying reports, accompanied by a costly silver cup with suitable inscription, testify. The Vienna Musical Journal said in a very enthusiastic review, among other things: “It is again a work, that speaks its own master’s praise in elegant language: a pure whole, a thing apart of itself, all of one casting. The introduction, andante C sharp, breathes a cheerful repose which gradually assumes an impassioned character and prepares the hearer for the transition to the allegro, C minor, which, replete with treasures of harmony bears in itself the germ of an imposing effect.... The second theme, Larghetto, A major, is a conglomerate of deep feeling, warm fantasy, and of song replete with sentiment etc.; in this again each note speaks to the heart with irresistible force.... The scherzo, C sharp, opens with a bold freshness of appeal to life and cheerfulness, the sharp rhythms, the unceasing and restless competition of the wind and stringed instruments, the impetuous bursts of tonic power as opposed to the soft clear flowing cantilene of the alternative,--and, all these effected in a manner so original and striking as to defy expression in words.... For the presto finale, the poet of sound appears to have husbanded as much as possible the sum total of his creative powers.... Not one of the numberless beauties were lost upon the hearers, each theme in succession received the merited tribute to his mastery; and indeed the richly fantastic scherzo electreified all so unanimously, that a da capo was imperatively called for.”...

About this same time I made earnest preparations to carry out an idea which had long occupied my thought, namely to give a musical festival, for which Cassel seemed to me in many respects exceedingly well adapted. My plan of this was as follows, on Whitsunday afternoon to give Mendelssohn’s oratorio of “Paulus” (St. Paul) in the church of St. Martin; on Whitmonday evening, with the church lighted up, to perform my symphony “Die Weihe der Töne” and my oratorio of “Die letzten Dinge;” on Whittuesday in the forenoon, at the theatre, a concert of foreign and native singers and virtuosi, and on the same evening, as was usual on the second festival day, a new opera.

The invitations abroad, the assembling of the musicians, and the rehearsal of the oratorios by the choral-society had already begun, when to my application to the Prince for permission I received the following authoritative decision from his private secretary: “The days of performance must be changed, as the evening of Whitsunday could not be granted without disturbing those who had prepared themselves to receive the holy sacrament on that evening; neither could any concert be allowed on Whitmonday (on account of the church service and the opera); nor could any scaffolding be erected in the large church for the chorus, as it would be unbecoming in the locality of the burial vault of the electoral family. His highness must await other proposals, before he could graciously condescend to grant his permission.”

To this I replied that a musical festival in Cassel could alone prove successful, and the risk of the very considerable expense could alone be safely incurred if it were permitted, as at other places, and as is the custom at the musical festivals on the lower Rhine, to take place in the Whitsuntide holidays, when a great number of strangers would flock to the town and the lovers of music of the neighbouring places would not be prevented by business from attending. That if Whitsunday evening could not be granted, no other two succeeding evenings of that time could be found for performances in the church. As, furthermore, no other appropriate place was to be found in Cassel, than the large church, and that the erection of seats therein could not be allowed, I found myself compelled to abandon totally the projected musical festival.

Unpleasant to all parties as was this complete failure of the plan, I was compelled to abide by it, despite the somewhat considerable expense I had already incurred, and of which I could reimburse myself but a very small part only by the re-sale of the procured song-parts to the choral society. As meanwhile, however, we had industriously practised Mendelssohn’s oratorio, and become more and more delighted with it, I proposed to give it on Whitsunday at the concert which had been permitted for the benefit of the relief fund; but this was refused also by the Prince, so that we were obliged to content ourselves with gratifying the lovers of music with two private performances of the oratorio upon the pianoforte at the society of St. Cecilia.

In the summer of 1837 I received an invitation to go to Prague to direct the performance of my opera “Der Berg-Geist” (The Spirit of the Mountain) and for that purpose I thought of proceeding thither at the commencement of the holidays. But as the permission had not been received at the treasury of the theatre on the evening before, I addressed myself to the Prince between the acts of the opera, and enquired of him, Whether he had any orders for me to execute upon the journey. In the somewhat indistinct answer I received from him I understood, it is true, something about my permission not having been made out; but as I had no time to lose, I found myself under the necessity of setting out without it at 4 o’clock the next morning. Seeing Feige, the director of the theatre, walking in the neighbourhood of my house at that early hour, I thought he might have been sent to ascertain whether I really had the boldness to set out on my journey without the written permission. On the first day’s journey indeed, I was not without some uneasiness lest a mounted messenger might be sent after us to order our return. I therefore hastened as much as possible at every post-station the putting-to of fresh horses, and we thus crossed the frontier without molestation. After a journey of six days we at length reached Prague, where Marianne and Theresa were greatly struck by the beauty of the city and had moreover the gratification to learn from the theatre bills placarded at the corners of the streets, that my opera Jessonda was to be given that evening, in which a foreign singer was to make her debut. That the opera was a great favorite here was evident from the fact that immediately after the performance of the overture, the public encored it. The “Blumenduet” (flower duet) and the duet “Schönes Mädchen” (lovely maiden) were also encored. But I was very much annoyed at several omissions, for which however the director of the Prague orchestra was not to blame, being omissions which were customary in Vienna, from whence the score had been supplied. The principal singers were very good, so that a favourable result was also to be anticipated for the “Berg-Geist.”

On the following morning I was taken by surprise by a visit from a zealous lover of music, Dr. Hutzelmann, who had been informed that I was fond of swimming, and had for that reason come to take me to the military school of natation on the Moldau; the officer attached to that establishment, who accompanied me, soon remarked that I was a practised swimmer, and proposed a swimming excursion outside the school, in which he ordered me to be accompanied by two soldiers in a boat. They took my clothes with them, and after I had swum for about half an hour with the stream, they assisted me into the boat, in which I dressed myself while the soldiers rowed us back to the town. While I was swimming near the boat, our conversation turned more and more upon my compositions, with which the musical instructor in swimming was almost as well acquainted as myself. He proposed to me a similar enjoyment every day in the Moldau, and next morning found him already waiting for me with his boat near the swimming-school. Meanwhile the rehearsals of the “Berg-Geist” went on exceedingly well. The director of the orchestra had very carefully managed the private rehearsals, and studied everything so well, that in two performances which I myself conducted the opera was eminently successful. Upon my entering the orchestra I was not only received by the public in the most enthusiastic manner, but loudly called for each time at the conclusion of the opera. The singers who supported the chief characters were madame Podhorski as Alma, Messrs. Pöck and Emminger, as Berg-Geist and Oskar, who sang and performed exceedingly well, and the opera maintained its place in the repertory of Prague theatre for a long time. We remained a few days longer in Prague, and I played at several private parties not only quartets but also my sonatas and solo-music with my wife’s accompaniment, who likewise played some quite new composition of Kittl and Kleinwächter for four hands, in which she displayed great ability and quickness in reading at sight. The Kleinwächter family made several excursions with us into the beautiful environs of Prague, by which means we became intimately acquainted with all the attractions of that fine city. At length however we were obliged to tear ourselves away from these enjoyments and resumed our journey. Now also came the most fatiguing part of our tour, that to Vienna, in which we suffered exceedingly from the heat and dust, as also from the dirty and wretched accommodation of the inns where we passed the night. On the fourth day we arrived half dead at Vienna and put up at the “Erzherzog Carl” hotel. After I had called upon my former friends, we passed some very pleasant days there, for which we had to thank my Cassel friends von Steuber, the ambassador from the Elector of Hesse, the Baron von Lannoy, and particularly my Viennese publisher, Haslinger. The latter took us every evening to some new gardens, where Strauss and Lanner gave their concerts, and where we supped exceedingly well à la carte at the little tables spread for the entertainment of the guests. Sometimes, also, we went to the theatre, to see the real Viennese popular farces, but my female companions were not sufficiently acquainted with the Viennese dialect, to relish them thoroughly.

After the lapse of a fortnight, in which we participated in all the amusements of Vienna, we took leave of our kind friends and resumed our journey towards the beautifully situated Salzburg, which is one of the finest possible, particularly the first half, the way across the lake to the Ischl baths. In Salzburg, which as the birth-place of Mozart was to me sacred ground, we first of all visited his widow, the present wife of Privy Councillor von Nissen, who was very pleased at our calling upon her, and in whose house we made the acquaintance of her two sons. In the excursions we made into the neighbourhood in one of the customary light, one-horse vehicles of the country, we were most pleased at the celebrated Gollinger waterfall, and with a sliding trip through the rock-salt-works at Hallein, which was something quite new for my female fellow travellers. From Salzburg we now went on to Munich, where I learned to my great surprise, that the Prince of Hesse had just arrived there. As it was now necessary for me to apologise to him for my departure from Cassel, I addressed myself for that purpose to the Marshal of the court, von der Malsburg, and at the same time informed him that I had been requested by the intendant of the Munich theatre to conduct there the performance of my opera “Jessonda,” but for which I would first request the Prince’s permission. On the following morning the Prince sent word to me that it would be very agreeable to him that I should direct the opera, and in that case he would prolong his stay to hear it. Adorned with a hat lent to me by Mr. von der Malsburg and a little bit cut off from the ribbon of his order, I repaired the next day to the appointed audience, and was received by the Prince with the following words: “Why, you disappeared from Cassel all at once.” To which I replied: “I thought I had taken my leave in the form prescribed,” and as he said nothing further on the subject, the matter was so far settled for this time. But the contemplated representation of “Jessonda” did not take place during my presence in Munich, as the king expected some days after a visit from the Prince, and had deferred the opera till then, and in the meantime my leave of absence had expired. We therefore left Munich before. On our way back we paid a visit to my uncle Professor Adolphus Hencke in Erlangen, where we made the acquaintance of the present Councillor Rudolph Wagner of Göttingen, and returned to Cassel before the Prince arrived.

Shortly afterwards, I received a letter from Hermstedt, wherein, by request of the Princess von Sondershausen, he commissioned me to write some soprano songs for her with pianoforte and clarinet accompaniment. As this task was much to my liking, I composed in the course of a few weeks six songs of this kind (Op. 103, published by Breitkopf & Härtel of Leipzic) which by the express desire of the Princess I dedicated to her, and for which I received from her the present of a very costly ring.

I began the year 1838 with the composition of the “Vaterunser” [Lord’s Prayer] of Klopstock (Op. 104, Breitkopf & Härtel, Leipzic) which I wrote with a double chorus for men’s voices; at first only for pianoforte accompaniment, and afterwards instrumentated for orchestra, as it was intended to be performed at the singing festival for the benefit of the Mozart institution at Frankfort, where though I was obliged to decline directing in person, it was first performed on the 29th July, and having been well studied, produced, according to the reports from there, a very solemn and imposing effect.

In the succeeding months I again composed several songs for soprani or tenori, which appeared as Op. 105, at Hellmuth’s in Halle.

Meanwhile the first public performance of “Paulus” took place at last on Good Friday in the garrison-church, and we were looking forward with pleasure to its repetition on Whitsunday, when our good Theresa fell suddenly ill of a malignant nervous fever, which in a short time brought her blooming life to a close. On the Tuesday before Ascension Day we had, chiefly at Theresa’s own wish, made a pleasant excursion to Wilhelmshöhe; there she first complained of indisposition, and on our return home she was immediately obliged to take to her bed. As Dr. Ludwig Pfeiffer, our then attendant physician and second brother of my wife, was just then absent from Cassel, we called in once more her uncle, Dr. Harnier, who although no alarming symptoms as yet shewed themselves, visited the patient several times daily, until after the lapse of a week, to our great terror he pronounced her complaint to be nervous fever. This now constantly increased in vehemence, and as in her fits of delirium she spoke continually of a journey we had contemplated to Carlsbad, the idea of which had greatly pleased her, I promised her that she should go thither as soon as she recovered. This greatly soothed her, but nevertheless did not diminish the fever, and on Whitsunday morning the blooming maiden of nineteen succumbed to the fearful malady. The loss of the talented amiable girl plunged us in such misery that we looked forward with earnest longing to the approaching theatrical vacation, in order to leave immediately the mournful surroundings of our home, and seek far away from Cassel some respite from the constant remembrance of our anguish.

After we had been delayed another eight days in Cassel by the reiterated retarding of my leave of absence, we were enabled to set out for Carlsbad on the 23rd June, accompanied by my mother-in-law, to whom the use of the waters had also been recommended, which was exceedingly welcome to me, particularly on account of my wife, who had taken very much to heart the loss of our Theresa. No sooner were we arrived in Carlsbad than we met with Hesse of Breslau, and in our walks to the springs soon made the acquaintance of other warm lovers of music, with whom on dull days, when the weather would permit of no excursions together to the charming environs, we made up small music parties at our lodgings. As a young lady from Breslau, Miss Ottilia Schubert, sang most charmingly, my wife practised her in my new songs with clarinet accompaniment, at which a first-rate clarinet player, Mr. Seemann from Hannover, took the clarinet part; in this manner our hearers became acquainted with a new style of songs which they had not known before, and which interested them exceedingly. Somewhat later, De Beriot also arrived with his sister-in-law Pauline Garcia, in Carlsbad, and the concert which he gave at the theatre afforded us very great enjoyment. He played with great purity, brilliancy and execution, but his compositions did not altogether please us, and Miss Garcia, afterwards the so-celebrated Mrs. Viardot-Garcia, sang with a voice of great compass, though not exactly a very fine one, and with great artistic skill. She especially delighted her hearers with the execution of her Spanish romances and ballads, in which she accompanied herself very well on the pianoforte.

[Here, unfortunately, Spohr’s own narrative of his life closes for ever!--To the subsequent encouragements of his relatives to resume it he used to reply: “I take no pleasure in writing now; and there are sufficient materials for the continuance of the Biography at any time, in the diaries and papers of my wife.”--Hereupon, this latter, mindful of this express indication of her husband’s, resolved to place notes, journals, and letters of every kind, and even memoranda jotted down for her sole private use and edification, at the disposal of those members of the family who undertook by means of extracts, without any pretence to literary skill--in simple, unadorned truthfulness, after Spohr’s own example--to carry out the history of his life to the end.]

* * * * *

After a beneficial use of the waters, Spohr left Carlsbad, and on his way back stopped at Leipzic, where some musical parties quickly got up by the families of his acquaintance enabled him to pass some very agreeable days, and at which he played his favorite quartet in A minor, with his newest concertino, to the great delight of his hearers. Upon this occasion, it was a source of great pleasure to him to make the long desired acquaintance of Robert Schumann, who though in other respects exceedingly quiet and reserved, yet evinced his admiration of Spohr with great warmth, and gratified him by the performance of several of his interesting fantasias.

Mendelssohn was at the time unfortunately absent, and in his next letter to Spohr expressed his great regret thereat; and requested him at the same time to send him his last symphony (No. 5, C minor), as it was intended to perform it at the opening of the approaching season in the first concert of the Leipzic Gewandhaus. While expressing his thanks for it beforehand, he says at the same time, in reference to a song of Spohr’s with which he had just previously become acquainted: “As I am now on the subject of thanks, I must thank you many times and with all my heart for the beautiful song in F sharp with clarinet accompaniment, the “Zwiegesang,” which pleases me exceedingly and has so completely charmed me with its prettyness, that I both sing and play it every day. It is not on account of any one particular feature that I admire it, but for its perfectly natural sweetness as a whole, and which from beginning to end flows so lightly and gratefully to the feelings. How often have I sung it with my sisters, and each time with renewed pleasure! And for that I must now also thank you....”

The first work with which Spohr occupied himself after his return to Cassel, was a fourth quartet for stringed instruments (G minor), which was published by Paul of Dresden as Op. 106, both in its original form and as arranged by Spohr himself for the pianoforte for four hands.--About the same time he received the very unusual order to make arrangements for a concert at court, which after frequent and long deliberations, at length took place on the 19th. September at the palace of Wilhelmshöhe. The instrumental pieces were performed by the members of the electoral chapel, but the vocal subjects were at Spohr’s recommendation confided to Firnhaber, a distinguished dilettant professor from Hildesheim, who himself had a court appointment, and had been for some years tutor to Baron Scholley, stepson to the Prince. With a very fine high tenor voice, he combined a good musical education, and a lively sentiment for art, and Spohr’s compositions, with the manifold beauties of which he had made himself more and more acquainted during his residence in Cassel, soon inspired him with real enthusiasm. As Spohr also took as much pleasure in his society as in his charming style of singing, he was a constant assistant at all music parties, and his presence in Cassel suggested to Spohr many of his most pleasing and favorite songs, of which were: the book of songs from Op. 101 to 105; the duet for soprano and tenor Op. 107, (both published by Simrock) and Franz Dingelstedt’s “Mitternacht” (midnight), which song was published by itself by Paul of Dresden. Respecting the last, the author of the words, who had then an appointment at the gymnasium of Fulda, wrote to Spohr at a subsequent period, expressing the greatest satisfaction: “Yesterday evening I heard your song ‘Mitternacht’ sung, and still deeply impressed by it, I hasten to thank you, and to express both my delight and my pride therein. I will not say that you have entered into the spirit of my words--for what are they after all? No, it is you who have caught the long, low, solemn whisperings of midnight. For the first time I regret that I am not sufficiently acquainted with music to understand and express the enthusiasm of the initiated in matters of change of tempi, tone &c.; in your art I am a naturalist merely, but I enjoy this production of it yet more deeply and intimately than they all; for I feel as a poet in the matter!--Not a word more now of common-place praise and song of thanksgiving! You have afforded me an hour of delight, and stirred within me emotions such as alas! I can feel here but seldom: a reward for my aspirations, an incentive to future efforts! You, I am sure, understand me!”....

In October 1838 Spohr, following the example set by many of the larger towns of Germany, succeeded at length in carrying out his reiterated proposition to give a concert at the theatre in aid of the funds for the erection of the testimonial to the memory of Mozart. The first part of the concert comprised among other things Mozart’s symphony in D minor; and in the second, tableaux vivants, with appropriate music, from Mozart’s operas, in which at the conclusion, the last chorus of the requiem resounded, and the bust of Mozart, placed in the foreground of the stage, was crowned by genii with wreaths of laurel.--A similar festival took place the following spring in aid of the fund for the memorial to Beethoven, but with this difference, that the programme contained besides the choicest selection from the works of that honoured maestro, a composition of Spohr’s also, his most recent concertino: “Sonst und Jetzt,” which he had performed for the first time shortly before at one of the regular winter concerts, and upon this occasion reproduced at the express desire of the Prince. The success upon both occasions was extremely great.

At the commencement of the same year, several other remarkable concerts took place, and among others, Ole Bull performed twice in the theatre, to overflowing houses, notwithstanding the increased prices of admission, and filled the public with astonishment and admiration of his play. Spohr himself took the warmest interest in the wonderful play of his colleague in art, and gave a musical party at his own house in his honour, in which he first played one of his own quartets, but in the following he resigned the first place to Ole Bull, and even took the second violin. His opinion respecting Ole Bull’s play may here be given in his own words, when writing to his friend Speyer upon the subject: “Ole Bull has lately given two concerts at the theatre and greatly charmed the public. His many-toned strokes and the accurate certainty of the left hand are remarkable, but like Paganini, he sacrifices too much to the tricks of the art. His tone on the weak strings is bad, and he can only use the A and D string on the lower part and pianissimo. This gives to his play a great monotony when he cannot bring in his tricks of art. We found this in two of Mozart’s quartets, which he played at my house. On the other hand, he plays with much feeling, but not with a cultivated taste.” With every acknowledgment made by Spohr of the extraordinary performances of Ole Bull, certain features of charlatanism, so foreign to his own simple nature, did not escape him, and he frequently related at a subsequent period with a good-natured smile to his own friends, and to others, how Ole Bull at a passage which offered him an opportunity of shining in one of his incomparable pp, kept his bow hovering over the strings for several seconds, so that the public who listened in breathless silence for the last sound of his constantly decreasing tones, might believe they still continued dying away in ppp.

About this time also, the representation of a small opera: “Der Matrose,” in the composition of which Spohr had assisted, was frequently repeated. The text, adopted from the French, was written by the admired comedian Birnbaum, and at his wish set to music by four composers of this place, Spohr, Hauptmann, Baldewein (director of music), and the song-writer and teacher of music Grenzebach, collectively. Besides the overture, Spohr had undertaken the song of a home-returning mariner, together with the finale and all these “numbers,” and the whole operetta met with lively approbation from the public. Unfortunately Spohr, at a later period, was no longer in possession of these, as they remained in the hands of Mr. Birnbaum, for whose benefit the first representation of the opera was intended. The highly characteristic mariner’s song only appeared some time afterwards, arranged by himself with four-handed accompaniment for the pianoforte, and was published by Paul of Dresden.

In April 1839 Spohr received a pressing invitation from England to direct the performance of his oratorio “Des Heiland’s letzte Stunden” at the grand musical festival which was to take place in September at Norwich. After he had succeeded in obtaining the requisite leave of absence from the Prince, the customary tour during the summer holidays was this time limited to a shorter excursion, in which he made visits to his relatives and friends. He next proceeded to Holzminden--where Spohr’s younger brothers Augustus and Charles resided with their families, the former, as a fiscal assessor, and the latter a law official of the duchy of Brunswick. Thence he went on to Gandersheim to visit his venerable parents, and lastly to Catlenburg, to Councillor Lüder. As a matter of course on this journey he was not without his violin, and wherever Spohr came he found grateful hearers, who considered themselves superlatively happy in listening to his play. More than any of the other pieces that he executed, his newest, charming composition, a Spanish rondo for pianoforte and violin, afforded them delight; this soon became one of the most favorite pieces of music in Cassel also, and remained so up to a very recent period. At a later period, when it was published by Mechetti in Vienna as Op. 111, there appeared simultaneously a pianoforte arrangement of it for four hands by Czerny, which was certainly most welcome to all who had not the advantage of hearing the original composition executed by a distinguished violinist.

Returned to Cassel, Spohr finished his “Historical Symphony in the style and taste of four different periods” which he had begun before he set out on his journey. (Theme the first: The period of Bach-Händel, 1720. Adagio: Haydn-Mozart 1780. Scherzo: Beethoven period 1810. Finale: The most modern period 1840) a work, which afforded him not only during its creation, but also upon the occasions of its closely following performances in Cassel, the greatest satisfaction. Abroad also, and first in London, where he sold it to the Philharmonic Society for the term of one year, and subsequently in Germany, where he was permitted to make it known after the lapse of that period, it met with the most lively reception. Many voices were, however, raised in blame, and of these that of Schumann, in his musical journal, was the severest in tone. On the other hand Baron Lannoy, in Vienna, reported that the work had been received with great favour: Mendelssohn sent in a most flattering account of its reception at Leipzic; and many letters full of praise arrived from England.

* * * * *

In the beginning of September Spohr set out upon the journey to England, accompanied by his wife and his friend Mrs. von Malsburg, with whom he had been many years acquainted.[36]

[36] As Spohr himself always considered this English musical festival (the Norwich festival) and the flattering reception given to him and his works in that country, as the most brilliant period in his active life, its description may reasonably find a place here in a somewhat more detailed form.

After an exceedingly rough passage, which delayed his arrival in London by six hours, Spohr was very agreeably surprised in the midst of the confusion incidental to such circumstances, on being addressed by a gentleman, a stranger to him, exhibiting an order from the custom-house authorities, to deliver Spohr’s luggage without examination, and who then took him and his female fellow-travellers speedily and safely to land in a boat, where a coach was in waiting to take him to the hospitable house of professor Edward Taylor. In the amiable family-circle of that gentleman and surrounded by the genuine English usages and comforts which had so many charms for the guests, they soon found themselves at home, and a few days sufficed to lay the foundation of a life-long friendship. As their farther journey permitted but a short stay in London, it was necessary to make the best use of the time to see the objects most worthy of notice in the metropolis, which filled the travellers with wonder and admiration. The visit to Westminster Abbey made a deep impression upon all, and this was expressed in the letters they sent home:[37] “The very entry into this majestic structure, which is certainly the finest of all the objects of note in London, makes an impression so deep and solemn upon the mind, that we could scarcely repress our emotion; and in reality one seems to move no longer among things of this world. The tones of a splendid organ may have contributed to this feeling,--for divine service was just being performed,--and this was followed by sacred psalmody sung in double chorus so pure, so sweet and executed with such feeling, that they seemed like the voices of angels from the realms of bliss. We had neither of us ever heard any thing like it before. Now again the notes of the organ pealed forth, and we distinguished harmonies of Spohr’s, and soon recognised the touching sounds of his mass for ten voices; and then the grand overture to “Des Heilands letzten Stunden” was splendidly performed by the celebrated organist Tarle....”

[37] The extracts given here and subsequently from the letters of Spohr’s relatives, may find their excuse in the circumstance that he himself had neither leisure nor inclination to write letters during this journey, but was greatly pleased when his female companions wrote home frequently (which of course was always in harmony with his own sentiments),--and he seldom allowed such a letter to leave without having expressed his full concurrence with the contents.

But the time pressed for the departure to Norwich, where professor Taylor,[38] the chief director of the whole musical festival, had already made the necessary preliminary rehearsals of Spohr’s oratorio, and now received the travellers to accompany them to the mayor of Norwich. On the following morning the mayor took his guests to hear divine service in the cathedral, which is of immense size and considered one of the finest in England. In a letter upon the subject Spohr’s relative thus expresses herself: “Of such a celebration of divine service, though it lasted nearly three hours, one is not readily weary; the heavenly music with which it is interspersed in various ways, I cannot describe, and it is performed with a purity and finish such as made great impression also on Spohr himself. The congregation did not sing at all, but always followed in their hymnbooks and prayer-books, the text of which (all taken from the Bible) I certainly could understand better than the sermon. The choir robed in white, with their tender tones, made an irresistible impression; words, music, and execution, all were in such perfect unison, that I could scarcely imagine a finer worship of the deity in heaven itself. When at the conclusion we passed through the spacious nave of the magnificent building with the whole congregation, the masses of people arranged themselves on either side to permit our passage, and looked at Spohr as something wonderful; many also, requested to be introduced to Spohr, and our kind mayor, who accompanied us and conducted Spohr, was quite happy, and proud of the whole scene. His daughter Mary, a charming maiden of fifteen, is also enthusiastically fond of music and particularly of Spohr’s; she plays herself very nicely on the piano, and when her father informed us that it would make her exceedingly happy to play a few notes with Spohr, he accompanied her in one of his favorite sonatas of Mozart...”

[38] As a member of the committee he had conducted the correspondence with Spohr relative to his coming, concerning which the following remarks appeared in the “Spectator”: “It is highly to the credit of the great master, that to the question what compensation he required for the time and exertions required of him during the journey, and for direction of the oratorio, he simply replied: ‘The committee will doubtless have no objection to pay my travelling-expenses?’ We are glad to learn that the modesty of this reply and Spohr’s coming to England without any further negotiation on the matter with the committee, was duly recognised by the latter, who thereupon came to the resolution to present Mr. Spohr with a sum of 100 guineas over and above the account of his expenses.”

If Spohr had understood the English language, the impression made upon him by the divine service would perhaps have been greatly disturbed by the circumstance that the sermon preached upon the occasion was in a great measure levelled against his oratorio. Already before his arrival in Norwich, several persons of the puritanical party had raised their voices against its performance, and endeavoured in every way both in print and in the pulpit to shew that it was profane and sinful to make so sacred a subject as the sufferings and death of Christ, a theme for music. It thus so happened that on the Sunday morning on which Spohr visited the cathedral a zealous clergyman considered it his duty to hurl a crushing discourse against his oratorio: The “Calvary,” as it is rendered in English, and at the conclusion implored his hearers not to surrender their souls for one day’s pleasure, but to stop away from its performance. The “Monthly Chronicle” further observes on the subject: “We now see the fanatical zealot in the pulpit, and sitting right opposite to him the great composer, with ears happily deaf to the English tongue; but with a demeanour so becoming, with a look so full of pure good will, and with so much humility and mildness in the features, that his countenance alone spoke to the heart like a good sermon. Without intending it, we make a comparison, and cannot for a moment doubt in which of the two dwelt the spirit of religion, which denoted the true christian!”

On the day after the performance of the oratorio the same journal says: “This day was to decide the fate of the oratorio “Calvary,” and had the decision been unfavourable the fame of Norwich was for ever departed. The public mind was therefore on the greatest stretch, for many persons feared the powerful influence of an adverse clergy. But a better spirit, a sentiment of right feeling triumphed, and hours before the opening of the doors the matter was decided. From far and near the auditory flocked in thousands, evincing a powerful feeling of excitement, and an enthusiasm which increased continually during the performance; and beyond all expectation, a complete triumph was achieved. It may justly be said of this oratorio, that a heavenly inspiration breathes throughout; more than any other work of modern times it is one sprung from the genial source of a warm heart, and cannot be heard with a tearless eye....”--The bishop of Norwich, who in accordance with his religious bias belonged also to the party of the opponents of the oratorio, and was therefore on a footing of reserve with the mayor, was nevertheless desirous to make the personal acquaintance of his celebrated guest, and sent him repeated notes of invitation to dine with him; as these however were written in English, they of necessity were handed to the mayor as interpreter of their contents, who each time transmitted to him in the name of Spohr a reply excusing his inability to accept it. At length it was proposed that he should be introduced to the bishop at one of the concerts, and to this the mayor assented on the condition that Spohr should promise him to meet the bishop half way only, and not move a step farther towards him, when he rose from his distant seat to approach Spohr.

This adherence to the stiff formality of English ceremony, which was a special and prominent feature in the grandiose arrangements of the mayor, was frequently the source of a variety of ludicrous scenes and discussions. Thus it was that Spohr, on the first day that he had gone to the rehearsal of his oratorio, sent thence in haste home to his female fellow travellers, who had remained behind, two gentlemen, strangers, with the invitation that they also should proceed thither, to share in the impressive sight which the magnificent St. Andrew’s Hall had presented to him immediately upon entering it. As may readily be imagined the ladies acceded to the invitation, and accepted unhesitatingly the attendance of the “gentlemen as yet unintroduced to them in the house,” by which they excited the astonishment of every one there, even to the very domestics; but they had the satisfaction of witnessing themselves, upon arriving at the hall, the enthusiastic reception with which the whole assembly greeted Spohr upon his entering the orchestra. Of this the “Monthly Review” speaks as follows: “I would have wished all the world had heard the thunders of applause, the very storm of greetings with which Spohr was received by the whole orchestra, down to the very boys of the choir. This reception of the great man, which drew tears of emotion from the eyes of his wife, must also have deeply moved him.” On the following evening the first concert was to take place, and Spohr was to perform in it his concertino “Sonst und Jetzt” (“Then and Now”); but as there were some difficult passages for the drum in it, he had requested the attendance of the young drummer-boy at his residence in the forenoon, in order to give him personally the necessary instructions concerning his part. When the neat little fellow made his appearance, it was however found that he understand no language but English, and in this predicament he was obliged to have recourse to the assistance of the mayor’s amiable little daughter, who then, although astonished at all the unusual doings in her father’s house, willingly endeavoured to explain in English to the strange boy the remarks made by Spohr in the French language, with many scientific expressions which were quite unintelligible to herself; but which at length she effected with a result so accordant with Spohr’s wishes, that for years afterwards he always recalled to mind with real pleasure the ludicrous but interesting scenes of that charming effort at intercommunication.

In the evening on which the first of the six monster-concerts took place in the spacious hall filled with nearly 3000 persons and 500 assistants, a symphony of Haydn and several song pieces were first given, among which also, the duet from Jessonda: “Schönes Mädchen”: but then as the “Times” expressed it, “all eyes were turned with expectancy towards the orchestra in order to greet Spohr upon his appearance with an enthusiastic applause....” “A deep silence of suspense and expectancy reigned at the commencement of his concertino, which he has called “Sonst und Jetzt,” in order to express the opposite character of the themes which therein denote the different style of the more ancient and modern compositions.” The opinion upon Spohr’s play then follows in terms of the highest praise, and concludes with the words: “His instrument speaks as eloquently to the heart as the finest melody. The accomplished mastery of his bow as of his fingers, is yet surpassed by the wonderful power of his mens divinior. The concertino, after a short but beautiful prelude, begins with a charming minuet of the old school, adorned with a whole wealth of harmonies, which seem to flow of themselves from Spohr’s pen; then follows a Turkish allegro, replete with fancy and overflowing with the brilliant lustre of modern execution.”

A letter written home and others describe the succeeding concerts: “The first sacred concert on Wednesday morning was wonderful; it lasted from half-past 12 to 4 clock, and comprised in the first part many fine old things of Purcell, Palästrina and others; and in the second and third parts the magnificent oratorio of Händel: “Israel in Egypt;” in which the choruses were executed with immense power, and the soli by the English church-singers in the most perfect manner. Spohr was inexpressibly delighted with it, and said, “English church-singers only are capable of rendering Händel’s sublime music in all its grandeur.” A peculiar custom which pleases me greatly is, that every time a chorus expresses the praise of God, or in any way adverts to God or Christ, the whole mass of people rise from their seats, and listen to it standing.--The order of the musical pieces in the evening concert was very much the same as in the previous one. It began with Mozart’s symphony in E flat major, which was followed by twenty other different subjects, among which were some pieces from operas by Mozart and Weber, and Spohr’s terzet from “Zemira and Azor,” which is never omitted at any English musical festival. Spohr played with his former pupil Blagrove his charming concertante in a surpassingly fine manner, and the effect was if possible greater than yesterday. Our hospitable host, who is exceedingly assiduous in his attentions, and accompanies Spohr every time on going and returning, seems also extremely happy to be near him, and to joy in his high repute. To-day is, in the opinion of everybody, the grand and most important day, on which Spohr’s oratorio is to be given. You all know that music, and how grand it is, but no one who was not present, can picture to himself what it was here, heard in such a place, faultlessly executed by such a mass, and listened to with such religious attention and enthusiasm. At and after the first part one remarked several exclamations of delight and wonder, but at the second a solemn emotion seemed to reign throughout the whole auditory, and more and more eyes became suffused with tears; not the women only, but strong men were deeply moved. And such an effect I consider as the highest and purest praise. They were happy moments for me also when afterwards crowds of gentlemen and ladies who did not like to intrude upon Spohr, came to me, to congratulate me, and assured me with much emotion, that this was the most sublime and beautiful thing that was ever composed, with many other similar expressions. The third part, which Spohr listened to with us with the greatest delight, comprised the requiem of Mozart and other pieces of sacred-music by Mozart and Bach....”

The public papers gave a detailed account of the deep impression made by Spohr’s oratorio, and among others the “Norwich Mercury” said: “The beautiful hall was crowded, nevertheless, even before the commencement, a breathless silence prevailed; a solemn religious sentiment reigned throughout the assembly. The inspired composer raised his staff--the staff descended--and mournful tones, low and faintly heard like distant wailings felt upon the ear, and made a powerful impression on the feelings: the brilliant hall seemed as though changed to a solemn temple--and every worldly thought was in an instant dissipated.--The overture reveals the character of the whole; the succeeding introductory chorus of the most agreeable softness and purity seems to foreshadow a peace momentarily witheld from us by a characteristic sentiment of sadness. The ensuing recitative of St. John relates the treason of Judas, and this is immediately followed in striking contrast by the aria of the betrayer, in which the disorder of the mind induced by the reproofs of conscience is expressed with great power and truth by the accompaniment. Now begins the part of Mary, with a charming air accompanied by the female chorus, and which, replete with tenderest devotion, appeals to our inmost feelings. In a difficult but very expressive recitative St. John prepares us for the entry of St. Peter, who has denied his master, and in the air sung by him, replete with intensity of expression, the composer in good taste and with correct judgment expresses the distinction between the reproving conscience of the erring apostle and the preceding hopeless agony of spirit in the betrayer. In the succeeding chorus reigns a simple majesty, a confidant reliance upon the justice of God, the expression of which is eminently successful.--In the scene which follows, in which the judgment hall is opened to us and Christ denounced before Caiphas, the inspiration of the composer has reached its culminating point: the manifold contending passions--the fiendish excitement of the populace, the humble resignation in the sorrow of the disciples, the exalted resignation of the saviour--all these are brought by him with such painful truthfulness of expression before the mind, that we feel it impossible to approach in music nearer to reality and truth than Spohr has succeeded in doing in his treatment of this pre-eminently tragic moment of the Redeemer’s life.

The second part begins with an introductory funeral march, and a striking chorus of the disciples expressive of their sympathy with and lamentations for the fate of their master. The ensuing chorus of the priests and people, who wildly and savagely taunt the redeemer upon the cross, is in our opinion almost the most powerful and wonderful passage in the whole work. The moving recitative of John and Mary is, moreover, intense in its effect, and their aria full of melody and grace, close upon which follows the gem of the whole oratorio, the unsurpassable terzet for two soprani and an alto, “Jesus, himmlische Liebe” (Jesus, heavenly love), with its sweetly soothing harmonies. This terzet is a master-piece of the purest finish; Spohr himself never wrote any thing more beautiful. The solemn earnestness of the chorus: “Allgütiger Gott,” with the canonic entrata at the words: “In seiner Todesnoth,” is indeed in conception and form the most original. In masterly recitatives John prepares us for the concluding scene, and after the last words of Jesus: “It is fulfilled,” the low sound of distant thunder is heard, which continues as though warningly during the fine and truly pious quartet. And now the orchestra seems to burst all bounds, and to contend in one wild storm, which the powerful hand of the composer can alone direct and allay. We have already heard many musical representations of storm and tempest, but as yet nothing at all like this; and we think that this immense effect is derived from Spohr’s seizing the powerful phenomena of nature more in their general grandeur than in their detail. We are struck with awe at the overpowering effect itself and with wonder at the mind that could so apply and direct all the resources of art. A recitative with splendid modulations leads to the short choral passage of the disciples, in which the divinity of the Redeemer is proclaimed, simply, firmly and powerfully. The final chorus, a prayer of the disciples full of sorrow and hopeful faith, is simple, melodious and elevated; a poetical outpouring in music, which must excite the sympathy of every human being who has a trusting belief in a future life.--When the last accord died away in its tragic grandeur, we looked around us--not a breath was to be heard, deep silence everywhere--all were impressed with feelings more powerful than they could express. It was a moment of holy reverential exstacy--no noisy outburst of rapture,--the impression was too overpowering for earthly utterance,--but it was a lasting one, and will assuredly never be forgotten.”

The English newspapers spoke also respecting Spohr’s manner of conducting, and the “Spectator” said on the subject: “It is truly delightful, wonderful in precision and firmness of tact, and at the same time accompanied by motions plainly indicative of the effect proposed.” And again: “We see in Spohr, a man who has a clear comprehension of his object, and knows his work as thoroughly in all its details as in the whole. At the rehearsal, whenever a note was missed, he sang it, in whatever harmony it might chance to be, and in doing so his voice was very melodious.”

The letter previously referred to says further, in reference to the following days, under the date of September 20th: “Yesterday, before the commencement of the evening concert, a deputation from the committee waited upon Spohr with the request to play his concertino once more; this, however, he decidedly begged to be excused compliance with, and the more so, as he had already agreed to direct in person the overture to and air from “Faust,” with which the second part of the concert began. Immediately he entered the orchestra for that purpose, he was again greeted with loud and long continued applause, in which doubtless the audience expressed, besides, their sense of admiration of his oratorio, which, according to English custom, could not be applauded at the time of performance. To-day Händel’s splendid “Messiah” was given for finale, which here also never fails to make its constant impression. And now at length the grand festival has terminated with all its pleasures and magnificences! It indeed required an inspired and corporeal strength of frame such as Spohr fortunately possesses, to hear in the short space of so few days the ordeal of six concerts of four and a half hours’ duration each, besides rehearsals and daily dinner parties, with unimpaired freshness of spirit--not to speak of all the visits paid him and the strangest requests from far and near, with which he complied as far as he could. The last day with its scenes of leavetaking, was also a very trying one to the feelings, and cost me I must confess, many tears.--The parting from all the kind people who, although we were strangers to them, had received us with such great heartiness, was very painful. When next I see you I will relate many wonderful instances of the amiability of these Englishmen, and of their admiration of Spohr, which even extended itself to me. But the estimation in which Spohr is held here in England, and the manner in which this is evinced on all sides is almost incredible”....

After so brilliant a success of Spohr’s oratorio, and after he had himself witnessed, as the “Spectator” expresses it--“How the orchestra and singers competed to shew him that England was the country of all others best fitted for the performance of his oratorio,” nothing could be more agreeable to him than the proposal made to him during his stay, to compose especially a new oratorio for the next Norwich musical festival, which would take place in 1842.

Scarcely was he returned to Cassel than professor Taylor sent him the English text of “The fall of Babylon,” of his composition, the text of which, though much to Spohr’s liking, it was necessary first to have translated into German, as he had not confidence sufficient in his knowledge of the English language to undertake the composition from the original text. Though the translation did not so completely succeed in a truthful rendering of the expressions and rhythm of the English text, as that this could subsequently be adapted to the composition without much alteration, it nevertheless sufficed so well for the desired object that Spohr could proceed at once upon a work which so greatly interested him. Filled with real inspiration for the task, he devoted thereto every leisure hour that remained to him from his numerous professional duties, nor did he rest until he had completed the whole and satisfied himself with its performance on the pianoforte at the St. Cecilia festival of 1840, that he had fully succeeded in it. In pursuance of an understanding with the Norwich committee a public performance of it with full orchestra was to take place in Cassel on the ensuing Good Friday of 1841 and a second at Easter 1842, but with these exceptions the work was to remain unused and in abeyance until the Norwich festival in the autumn of the latter year, and then first be made public simultaneously in England and Germany in both languages.--

But to return to the year 1840, which Spohr entered upon with great activity in the preparatory studies for the representation of the opera “The Lovers’ Duel,” which till then had never been performed in Cassel; for the principal characters of which he had just then found suitable performers. The first representation took place for the benefit of the relief fund, and with a very full house brought unusually good receipts, which however unfortunately were extracted from the treasury of the theatre on the following night in the most incomprehensible manner, and despite the well-secured locality in which the money was deposited. But a very small amount could then be collected to replace this loss to the relief fund, a circumstance which greatly marred the satisfaction Spohr had derived from the success of his opera, which had met with a most gratifying reception from the public.

About this time Spohr received an invitation from Aix-la-Chapelle to direct the musical festival of the district of the Lower Rhine, which was to be held there; on which occasion a very pressing solicitation for his leave of absence was addressed to the Prince on the part of the committee. This memorial had the desired effect; for shortly afterwards the Prince sent for Spohr, and tendered him of his own accord in the most friendly manner the leave of absence he had not yet solicited.

As every obstacle was now smoothed away, Spohr set out upon his journey at the end of May, and was not only received upon his arrival in Aix-la-Chapelle with serenades of welcome, but also on his putting up for each night at Frankfort and Cologne on his journey through. In the splendidly furnished house of the notary Pascal, in which Mr. and Mrs. Spohr found a most hospitable reception, the succeeding days devoted to the necessary rehearsals passed quickly and agreeably. On Whitsunday, in the theatre, which had been converted into a music saloon, Händel’s “Judas Maccabeus” was performed, of which some epistolary notices spoke as follows: “When Spohr entered the orchestra to conduct the oratorio he was received with enthusiastic applause; we had the best places in the first row reserved for us, exactly opposite to where the very prettily arranged mass of five hundred and forty-seven co-operators, brilliantly illuminated, presented a very charming coup d’œil. The music, which had already greatly pleased us by its splendid effect in the rehearsals, was now naturally heard to yet greater advantage. The solo singers--Mrs. Fischer-Achten, Albertazzi and Müller, Mr. de Vrucht from Amsterdam and Mr. Fischer--good as they were on the whole, did not make upon us the same impression of finished excellence as did the choruses, which completely charmed us. In the second concert also, in which besides Spohr’s “Lord’s Prayer,” the overture to “Medea,” the A major symphony of Beethoven, and Mozart’s Davidde penitente, were performed, Spohr upon every entry and exit was greeted with unbounded applause, and at the termination a wreath of laurel was presented to him by two young ladies. In the third concert, of a mixed character, Mrs. Fischer-Achten, and Albertazzi, with the celebrated Staudigl of Vienna, were respectively heard and excited general admiration. The singing of all three, was each in its kind what may be termed of the most perfect finish. As worthy finale to the whole, the repetition of the last magnificent chorus from Spohr’s “Lord’s Prayer” followed, which again drew from the audience the most enthusiastic bursts of applause....”

As on the following forenoon the brothers Müller of Brunswick gave a quartet concert in the “Redoutensaal,” Spohr delayed his departure, at their urgent entreaty, in order to play his third double quartet with them, which was again also rewarded with its usual rapturous ovation. In this manner was this grand festival brought to a successful termination, and the general satisfaction which it had elicited was but little detracted from by the reproving voice of Mr. A. Schindler, whose cartes de visites made him known as “ami de Beethoven,” and who in previous musical festivals had begun to distinguish himself by his disputes with Mendelssohn respecting his slow tempi in the conducting of works of Beethoven’s, and now also in a similar manner found fault with Spohr for his manner of conducting the A major symphony. This--with the exception of the general disapprobation that it elicited--had no further result than that Spohr, at the urgent and reiterated desire of the committee, replied to Schindler in a short but decisive letter, but which, couched in Spohr’s usual mild language, did not disturb the personal understanding of either during the festival.

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