It was in Vienna that he met his future wife. Being given charge of the opera at Prague, he journeyed to the Austrian capital for the purpose of engaging singers, and among them brought back the talented Caroline Brandt. He soon wished to enter into closer relations with this singer, but found obstacles in the way of marriage. She was unwilling to sacrifice at once a career that was winning her many laurels, and she did not wholly approve of the wandering life that the gifted young manager had led up to the time of their meeting. We find him discontented with this situation, and travelling about in search of a better and more important post; and during one of these trips he received a letter from Caroline, saying that they had better part. This brought forth the accusation from the embittered Weber that "Her views of high art were not above the usual pitiful standard, namely, that it was but a means of procuring soup, meat, and shirts." There can be no doubt, however, that her influence was of the utmost value in steadying his efforts.

When Weber was once back in Prague, her real love for him overcame all scruples, and she showed herself ready to wait until he should attain a post of sufficient value to permit their marriage. After putting the Prague opera on a stable basis, he looked about for a long time in vain, until finally he obtained a life position as conductor in Dresden. At last he was able to return to Prague and marry his faithful Caroline, with the certainty of being able to provide her a home. The newly wedded pair made a triumphant concert tour, and settled down to a life of domestic felicity in Dresden. It can hardly be said that Weber lived happily ever afterward, for he found many troubles in connection with his new post. But his married life was such a constant source of joy to him that he felt always inspired with fresh energy to overcome all difficulties. It was during his married career that he won those immense popular successes, with "Der Freischuetz," "Euryanthe," and "Oberon," that gave the most brilliant lustre to a name already immortal. The last opera took him to London, away from his beloved family. Aware of his failing health, he made every effort to reach home, but that boon was denied him, and he died without another view of those who would have been anxious to soothe his last moments.

Ludwig Spohr was another composer who possessed a musical wife. He came of a musical family, his father being a flutist, while his mother played the piano and sang. Ludwig took up the violin at five years of age, and at six was able to take part in concerted music. His compositions began at about the same time. After a youth of earnest study, long practice, and successful tours, he finally became leader in the band of the Duke of Gotha. It was there that he met Dorette Scheidler, the famous harpist, whom he afterward married. Her influence is seen in his later compositions, for he wrote for her a number of sonatas for harp and violin, as well as a good many harp solos. The musical pair went on many tours, always sharing the honours of the performances.

Still more evident is the influence of woman upon music in the case of Hector Berlioz. This great genius, born in 1803, was the son of an opium eater, and the morbid character of most of his works may be traced to this cause. Berlioz studied at the Paris Conservatoire, but his sensational style did not win favour with the classical Cherubini, and the young man was forced to work against many difficulties. He was even forbidden at one time to compete for the Prix de Rome, and came near giving up his career in dejection.

On the Parisian stage was a beautiful Irish actress, named Harriet Smithson, who was performing the plays of Shakespeare. Berlioz at once fell in love with her, but it was some time before his needy circumstances allowed him to lay his suit before her. When he did so, his passion found shape and expression in a great musical work,—the Symphonic Fantastique.

This is a weird and sinister composition, but very effective. It is in five movements. The first represents a young man seeing his ideal and falling in love with her, the object of this sudden affection being depicted by a tender theme on the violin. This theme pervades the entire work. In the second movement, which represents a ball, it signifies the entrance of the fair one. The third movement is called "In the Fields," and contains a duet between the two lovers in the guise of a shepherd and shepherdess. They are portrayed by an English horn and an oboe, the result being one of the great instrumental dialogues that are sometimes found in-works of the tone masters. An effective touch is the introduction of a thunder-storm, after which the English horn begins a plaintive note of inquiry, but meets with no reply. In the fourth movement, the young man has slain his love in a fit of jealousy, and is on his way to execution. Very powerful music expresses the fatal march, interrupted every now and then by the surging footsteps of the crowd. At its close, the hero ascends the scaffold; amid a hush, the tender love theme reappears, but is obliterated by a sudden crash of the full orchestra, and all is still. Berlioz, however, does not let his hero rest in the grave, but adds a fifth movement to show him in the infernal regions. Piccolo and other wild instruments depict the fury of the demons, a parody on the Dies Irae follows, and even the tender love-theme is not spared, but is turned into the most vulgar of waltzes.

This musical love-letter was understood, and Miss Smithson afterward married the great composer. But, unfortunately, the romance stopped at this point, and they did not "live happily ever afterward." The actress was forced by an accident to leave the stage permanently. She and her husband did not agree well, and were continually at odds. Finally she took to drink, and a separation soon followed. Berlioz married again, his second wife being the singer, Mlle. Recio. He outlived her, and in later life was taken care of by her mother.

The symphony, incidentally, was so successful at its first performance that a strange-looking man rushed to the platform, saluted the composer, and sent him a more substantial token in the shape of twenty thousand francs. The stranger proved to be Paganini, but that famous violinist was such a miser that the story has been doubted. It is said that he acted in behalf of an unknown benefactor, but his enthusiasm at the performance seems to disprove this, and the work possesses just the dark and sinister character that would appeal to Paganini.

Another composition inspired by the same love episode is the "Romeo and Juliette" Symphony. Berlioz tried to make all his music tell a story, and he believed in the theory that tones could be made to represent ideas in a much greater degree than is usually supposed. The result is shown in many characteristic passages in his works, an excellent example being the gentle and melancholy theme that typifies Childe Harold in the symphony of that name. But Berlioz carried his idea to extremes, and fairly earned the half-reproach of Wagner, who said of him: "He ciphers with notes." That Berlioz could write with more direct beauty is shown by his practical joke at the expense of the critics; for he pretended to unearth an old piece by a certain Pierre Ducre, which they praised greatly in contrast with his own works, and after they had done their worst, Berlioz proved that he himself was the mythical Ducre.

Giuseppe Verdi was another great musician who felt the full richness of domestic happiness, if only for a time. Born in the little hamlet of Le Roncole in 1813, he proved himself possessed of unusual talent, and after a time went to Busseto for lessons. There he came to the notice of M. Barezzi, who became the friend and patron of the young student. The story of his being refused at the Milan Conservatory, and afterward amazing the authorities by his speed in composing fugues, is too well known to need repetition. After his Milan studies, we find him back at Busseto, in love with Barezzi's daughter Margherita. The father, unlike the usual stern parent who repels impecunious musicians, gave his permission for their union, which took place soon after, in 1836.

In a couple of years he settled down in Milan, with his wife and two children. Success began to crown his efforts, and his career of opera composer was well begun, when his domestic happiness came to a complete end. First one child fell sick and died of an unknown malady, then the second followed it in a few days, and within two months the bereaved mother was stricken with a fatal inflammation of the brain. In the midst of all these misfortunes, Verdi was kept at work by a commission for "Un Giorno di Regno," which was to be a comic opera! Little wonder that the wit oozed out of the occasion, and the performance proved a failure. The despondent Verdi resolved to give up his career altogether, and only by the insistence of the manager, Merelli, was he finally persuaded to resume his occupation. In later life he married again, passing a placid existence on his extensive estates.

The domestic career of Richard Wagner has formed the subject for endless discussions. His birth, his early studies, his university career, and his start as a professional musician, all took place in Leipsic. There, too, he met the famous opera singer, Wilhelmine Schroeder-Devrient, whose gifts made such an impression on the young composer. It was the excellence of her acting, as well as her singing, that gave the embryo reformer his first ideas of the intimate union of drama and music that is one phase of his later operatic greatness. Many of his leading roles were written for her, and as late as 1872 he stated that whenever he conceived a new character he imagined her in the part.

His work as leader took him first to Magdeburg. The failure of his early opera, "Das Liebesverbot," put an end to this enterprise, and soon afterward he appeared as concert leader in Koenigsberg. There he met and married his first wife, Wilhelmina (or Minna) Planer. Their natures were different in many respects. While he displayed many of the vagaries of genius, she was patient and practical, and, if not wholly understanding the highest side of his nature, she gave up her own career to help him through his days of poverty and struggle.

The first venture of the wedded pair was at Riga, where Wagner was engaged for a term to conduct in a new theatre. After this, they took ship for Paris, and the stormy passage gave Wagner many a suggestion for his "Flying Dutchman." It was in the French capital that Minna's domestic qualities were given their most severe trial, for the composer found little or no chance to produce his own works, and was forced to gain a precarious living by the commonest musical drudgery. Probably her constant care and economy were all that turned the scale in favour of success. At length the Dresden authorities became interested in some of the earlier operas, and Wagner was liberated from his dependent position.

The stay in Dresden being cut short by the political troubles of 1848 and 1849, Wagner found a home in Zurich, where his wife soon joined him. There he wrote or sketched the grand works that came to full fruition in his later life. After years of exile, he came back to Germany, where his pursuit of fortune was still in vain, and might have ended in suicide but for the sudden patronage of his royal admirer, the mad King Ludwig of Bavaria. It was at this time that the differences in character began to cause domestic infelicity in the Wagnerian household. Finally the pair separated, and, although he did not leave Minna in want, yet she was compelled to pass the last few years of her life in seclusion and loneliness, while he basked in the favour of royalty, and found the high position that had so long been denied him. It is usually claimed by Wagner's most rabid partisans that she was unable to hold her place in the new surroundings, and that his genius needed a helpmate more in sympathy with his high ideals. Admitting the truth of these assertions, the fair-minded critic must accept them as an explanation, at least, of his conjugal ingratitude, but Minna's faithful performance of duty in the early days will not allow them to stand as a valid excuse.

Wagner's second marriage with Cosima, daughter of Liszt and divorced wife of Von Buelow, resulted happily. The devotion of the new helpmate to the Wagnerian cause has survived the master's death by many years, and is still witnessed by the musical world. The domestic bliss of their married life is well shown in the beautiful Siegfried Idyll, which Wagner composed as a surprise for his wife on their son's birthday.



Among living composers gifted with musical wives, the most preeminent is Richard Strauss. As Clara Schumann could perform her husband's works, so the wife of Strauss, who is an excellent singer, is at her best when giving her husband's songs. Like Grieg's wife, she is more successful than all other singers in this role of domestic devotion. She usually appears with him as accompanist, a position in which he excels, and each modestly tries to make the other respond to the applause that is sure to follow their performance.



CHAPTER IV.

CLARA AND ROBERT SCHUMANN

History has never witnessed a more perfect union of two similar natures, both endowed with rich mental gifts, and each filled with a perfect sympathy for the other, than the marriage of Robert Schumann and Clara Wieck. It holds a place in the story of music similar to that occupied by the romance of Abelard and Heloise in poetry. The lives of both composers afford an example of the most unselfish devotion and depth of affection, combined with the highest idealism in an art that poets themselves have admitted to be even nobler than their own.



The birth of Clara Wieck, on September 13, 1819, took place at Leipsic. That city had not yet entered upon the period of musical greatness that it was soon to enjoy. The day of Beethoven and Schubert was apparently passing, and only the lighter and more trivial styles of composition held sway. Her father, however, Friedrich Wieck, was a piano teacher of extensive reputation and most excellent qualities, and did his best to raise the standard of the place. From him, and from her mother as well, the young Clara inherited her innate musical taste. But the maternal influence was not of long duration, for domestic troubles soon caused the separation of Wieck and his wife, the latter marrying the father of Woldemar Bargiel, while the former also entered into a second union, with Clementine Fechner at Leipsic. A daughter of this second marriage, Marie Wieck, won some fame as a pianist, but was far surpassed by her elder half-sister.

Clara did not at first show signs of becoming a child prodigy, but in her fifth year she gave indications of possessing musical talent, and her careful father proceeded at once to develop her powers. So successful were his individual methods that in four years she was able to play Mozart and Hummel concertos by heart, and ready to sustain her part in public. Her first appearance was in conjunction with Emilie Reichold, one of her father's older pupils, with whom she played Kalkbrenner's variations on a march from "Moses." One important paper of the time spoke of her success as universal and well deserved, and did not hesitate to predict a great future for her under her honoured father's wise guidance.

Wieck has been the subject of much criticism on account of his supposed harshness and severity. In the matter of Clara's musical training, however, these charges cannot be sustained, as one of her own letters will show. "My father has come before the world in an entirely false light," she writes, "because he took art earnestly, and brought me up to regard it earnestly. People have no idea how utterly different from the usual standards must be the whole education and career of any one who wishes to accomplish something worth while in art. In connection with artistic development, my father kept the physical development especially in view also. I never studied more than two hours a day in the earliest times, or three in later years; but I had also to take a daily walk with him of just as many hours to strengthen my nerves. Moreover, while I was not yet grown up, he always took me home from every entertainment at ten o'clock, as he considered sleep before midnight necessary for me. He never let me go to balls, as he judged I could use my strength for more important things than dancing; but he always let me go to good operas. In many free hours I used to grow enthusiastic over piano arrangements of operas and other music. One cannot do that when one is tired out. Besides that, I had, even in earliest youth, intercourse with the most distinguished artists. They, and not dolls, were the friends of my childhood, though I was not deprived of the latter. Those people who have no comprehension of such a serious bringing up ascribed it all to tyranny and severity, and held my accomplishments, which may indeed have been more than those of a child, to be impossible unless I had been forced to study day and night. As a matter of fact, it was wholly my father's genius for teaching that brought me so far, by cultivation of the intellect and the feelings united with only moderate practice."

"To my pain," she continues, "I must say that my father has never been recognized as he deserved to be. I shall thank him during my entire lifetime for the so-called severities. How would I have been able to live through a career of art, with all the heavy difficulties that were laid upon me, if my constitution had not been so strong and healthy because of my father's care?"

About this time there came upon the scene a youth named Robert Schumann. Born in 1810, of a family that was literary rather than musical, he had obtained some knowledge of the art with his father's consent. After the death of the latter, his mother would not hear of his choosing a musical career, but insisted on his studying law. This he did at Heidelberg, in a rather original manner,—taking long walks, reading Jean Paul's works, and practising piano nearly all day. In the summer he met Wieck, whom he adopted as a teacher, and in this way he came to know the learned pedagogue's talented daughter.

Her musical education was now beginning to bear fruit. In the concert tours that she began soon after her first triumph, she never allowed herself to be carried away by the fondness of the public for mere display, but always aimed at something higher. Instead of making a show of her technical attainments, she consecrated her powers to the cause of true art. It required great courage to uphold her standard, for she came upon the scene at a time when only phenomenal playing, bristling with seemingly unconquerable difficulties, won the public homage and the public wealth. Herein both she and her future husband showed themselves actuated by the very highest motives.

Unfortunately for the romantic side of the story, theirs was not a case of love at first sight. No less than five years after their first meeting, we find Schumann deeply interested in a certain Ernestine von Fricken, another pupil of Wieck. It is stated that the beautiful numbers of the "Carneval" were due largely, if not wholly, to her inspiration, which at that time reached its highest point.[4] The letters A, S, C, and H (the German way of notating B) represent the Bohemian town of Asch, where she was born, and are also the only musical letters in Schumann's own name. He himself noted this coincidence in a letter to Moscheles, and built the themes of the various numbers almost wholly upon them.

However this may be, he certainly had a great admiration for Clara even in her early years. He took piano lessons of her father, and became for a time an inmate of their house. He owed much to the teaching, but still more to the stimulating artistic society of the Wieck family.

In 1829 he left his teacher, and made a final effort to prepare for the legal career that his mother had planned for him. It was of little avail, however, for in the next year we find him writing home that his entire life had been "but a twenty years' strife between poetry and prose,—or music and law,—and it must now cease." So earnestly did he plead his case that his mother at last yielded to his wishes, though with fear and trembling, and the final decision was referred to Wieck. That artist, who had by this time fully recognized Schumann's great gifts, gave his decision in favour of music, and the young enthusiast, after having his affairs duly settled, returned to Leipsic and devoted himself altogether to art.

It is probable that he would have given himself wholly to the career of a successful pianist, but for an accident. After a year of painstaking practice, he invented a contrivance by which the weaker fingers were allowed to gain strength by usage, while the third finger was held back. This mechanism was altogether too successful, for, after using it some time, he found his third finger so badly crippled that he was forced to give up hope of ever winning fame on the concert stage. What seemed a catastrophe to him has proven a blessing to the world, for, if he had spent his life in executing the works of others, he would never have had the leisure to create his own immortal compositions.

Meanwhile Clara was steadily improving her already remarkable powers. Besides keeping up her playing, she now began regular study in composition. In later life the two were to labour together in many pieces, but even at this time Schumann's interest in her work was great, and in one of his early compositions (Impromptu, Op. 5) we find him using a theme of hers as the basis of his own piece.

The eleven-year-old girl was now started upon a series of tours by her father, who wished to give her some idea of the world, and to let the world gain some knowledge of her attainments. From Dresden he writes home joyfully to his wife: "It is impossible to describe the sensation that your two little monkeys from the Leipsic menagerie have made here." But the fatherly care and wisdom were not lacking, for he continues: "I am anxious lest the honours and distinctions should have a bad influence upon Clara. If I notice anything of the sort, then I shall travel further at once, for I am too proud of her modesty, and would not exchange it for any decoration in the world." In the next year the triumphs were continued at Weimar, Cassel, and Frankfurt. After winning the approval of Spohr and other competent judges who were above all envy, she proceeded to Paris, where her father had the proud privilege of exhibiting her talents to Chopin. In Weimar, Goethe took a deep interest in the wonderful child, and sent his picture to the "Richly endowed (Kunstreichen) Clara Wieck," as a token of the pleasure her playing had given him.

As the result of her Parisian meeting with Chopin, she became one of the best interpreters of that master's works, and gave them to the world in much the same manner that she did those of Schumann soon afterward. Usually her work in educating the public was successful. But critics are not all safe guides, and even to-day we find many unmusical men in responsible newspaper positions, so it is not surprising to find an occasional misunderstanding occur. In Vienna, for instance, we find the influential but self-important Rellstab writing that it is "a shame that she is in the hands of a father who allows such nonsense as Chopin's to be played." These strictures did not extend to the performance, however, and the writer does not fail to acknowledge her marked talent. Fetis bears witness to the "lively sensation" she created on the banks of the Seine, while along the Danube she won victory on victory. The aristocracy were eager to admit her to their circle, and the Austrian Empress named her court virtuoso, an honour never before bestowed on a foreigner.

Some time before this, she had won the attention and interest of the young Schumann, if nothing more. He had been at work on a symphony in G minor (which, by the way, proved a failure and was never published), and the performance of the first movement in his native Zwickau took place at a concert given there by Clara, then only thirteen. Even then her performance was astonishing, and, as Schumann put it, "Zwickau was fired with enthusiasm for the first time in its life." Schumann was no less excited than the rest of the town. His letters of that time are full of expressions that seem to betray a deeper feeling, though he himself did not become conscious of it until later. "Call her perfection," he writes to a friend, "and I will agree to it." In a Leipsic tribute, he inquires: "Is it the gifted child of genius (Wunderkind), at whose stretch of a tenth people shake their heads, but admire? Is it the hardest of difficulties, which she throws off to the public as if they were wreaths of flowers? Is it perhaps mere pride, with which the city looks upon its daughter; or is it because she gives us the most interesting things of the most recent times with the least delay? I do not know; but I do feel, simply, that she has the spirit that compels admiration."

The great poets, too, gave her their tributes of praise. "They recognized in this inspiring vision," says Liszt, "a true daughter of their fatherland. They strewed their pearls of song before her, and glorified this Benjamin of their race, who, gazing about with inspired glances and wondrous smiles, seemed like a silent Naiad, who felt herself a stranger in the land of prose."

Meanwhile the love that had been growing in silence between her and Schumann began to take tangible form. His unspoken passion found expression in the written rhapsodies addressed to "Chiarina" in his new music journal, the Neue Zeitschrift fuer Musik. In a more purely musical manner, his feelings took shape in such works as his "Daidsbuendler" Dances, the "Chiarina" of the Carnival, the F-Sharp Minor Sonata, the Kreisleriana, the Humoreske, the Novelettes, and the Nocturnes,—truly an offering of rare beauty, and well worthy to express the feelings of the inspired lover. They bore witness of his adoration to all who knew him, and all who were able to listen with understanding ears. And Clara, too, in spite of high honours and higher friendships, had already given her heart to the silent man endowed with the deep spirit of romance and poetry. She was his, in spite of the opposition of her father, who guarded his treasure with a jealous eye, and would hear of no marriage unless in the distant future.

It was in 1836 that the two lovers came to an understanding. In the next summer Schumann made formal mention of his suit to her father. Wieck's refusal may have been due to his entertaining higher hopes for his now famous daughter, but at any rate the father found an adequate reason in the vague and unsubstantial prospects of the young composer. This was a sad blow, but Schumann tacitly acknowledged its justice, for he soon began making efforts to better his condition, instead of working only for the glory of art. Although he tried to resign himself to give Clara up, he could not do so, and with her consent he left for Vienna in hopes of giving his music journal a broader field. The effort was not a success; Schumann found Vienna no less trivial in its tastes than many other places, and wrote home that people could "gabble and gossip quite as much as in Zwickau." His sojourn there had one important result in his discovery of Schubert's beautiful C major Symphony, which he sent to Mendelssohn for performance at the Leipsic Gewandhaus.

Disappointed in material prospects, he tried to obtain a more honourable position by getting a Doctor's degree from the University of Jena. "You know, perhaps, that Clara is my betrothed," he writes to an influential friend. "Her high rank as an artist has often led me to consider my own humble position, and, although I know how modest she is, and that she loves me simply as a man and a musician, still I think it would please her to have me seek a higher position in the civic sense of the word. Let me ask you: Is it very hard to get a Doctor's degree at Jena?" Apparently it was not hard when a man of Schumann's fame applied, for in another letter he writes: "Everything combined to fill the measure of my joy. The eulogy is so glorious that I certainly owe you a large share of thanks for it. It gave me and my friends most sincere pleasure. The first thing I did was, of course, to send a copy into the north to a girl who is still a child, and who will dance with glee at the idea that she is engaged to a Doctor."

But Wieck's refusal to sanction the marriage could not be altered. In fact, his opposition became even stronger and more determined. Finding any direct appeal of no avail, Schumann was forced to have recourse to law, and Wieck was compelled to give reason for his refusal before a legal tribunal. Although Schumann was not rich, yet he possessed some income from his paper, and his other work brought him enough reward to enable him to make a home for Clara. Besides these receipts, he had a small property that gave him an annual return of 500 thalers, and as he himself wrote: "We are young, and have hands, strength, and reputation.... Tell me now if there can be real cause for fear." Nevertheless the case dragged on, and a nature as sensitive as his must have been deeply mortified by the legal wrangling and the publicity of the affair. At last a favourable decision was reached, and after a year of doubt and suspense the marriage took place on September 12, 1840.

Henceforth their life was one perfect union. There could be no happier marriage in the world than this one, where a man of creative genius was mated with a woman gifted with the ability and the wish to interpret his works earnestly and faithfully. They regarded art from different points, but with the same ideas and ideals. Both were wholly devoted to all that was true and noble, and both felt the same antipathy to whatever was trivial or superficial. Together they moved along the pathway of life; together they won their laurels. "To admire one or the other was to admire both," says Liszt, "for, though they sang in different tongues, their life music made but one noble harmony. The annals of art will never divide the memory of these two, and their names can never be spoken separately."

And now Schumann's happiness began to take tangible form and show itself to the world. Hitherto his compositions had been chiefly for the pianoforte, but now his genius burst forth in song. Cycle followed cycle during the next few years, and the fortunate lover sang of his happiness in strains of such romantic beauty that their charm can never fade while love and music have power to sway the passions of mankind. The warm feeling and emotion in the poems of Rueckert, of Chamisso, of Heine, were echoed and intensified by the choicest melodies of the art that is said to begin its expression where language ends. That Clara had some direct share in these songs, besides publishing many of her own, there can be no manner of doubt. She certainly formed their inspiration, and must have assisted in the task of preparing them.

These works placed Schumann in the foremost rank of song composers, and he is now held equal to Schubert and Franz in this form, if not actually the greatest song-writer in the world. Franz is more delicate, Schubert more simply melodious, but Schumann's songs are endowed with a warm vigour of strong emotion that has never been equalled. His contemporaries felt their force, but hardly realized their full power, for one of the writers on Schumann's own paper accorded them only a secondary rank. "In your essay on song-writing," the composer replies, "it has somewhat distressed me that you should have placed me in the second rank. I do not ask to stand in the first, but I think I have some pretensions to a place of my own." Posterity has been proud to place him with the foremost.

In other matters besides those relating to art, the marriage was perfectly happy. Both husband and wife possessed simple domestic tastes, and both were endowed with the innate modesty that prevented their being harmed by the continual praise of the world. They lived for each other, and for their children. He modelled his compositions on lines to suit her artistic nature, and she threw herself ardently into the task of giving these works to the world. Her days were spent in winning fame for him, or in shielding his sensitive and irritable nature from too rude contact with the world. Now that his life was one of perfect tranquillity, he withdrew more than ever from intercourse with strangers, and became wholly absorbed in his domestic felicity and his creative work. The complete happiness of his married life was bound to produce its effect on his nature, and not only in the songs, but in the larger works also, his most beautiful music is due to the inspiring influences of this part of his life.

After a time his wife was able to entice him from the quiet home (first in Leipsic, then Dresden, and finally Duesseldorf) that sheltered this scene of domestic harmony. Sometimes her tours were taken alone, but at last she was able to draw him with her into the world. In Germany, in the Netherlands, in Austria, even in Russia, constant triumphs awaited them. There were a few exceptions, chief among them being Vienna, the city where Mozart struggled so long in vain, and where Gluck was unable to produce more than a passing impression by his great operatic reforms. But nearly all the places they visited offered admiration and incense to the faithful pair of artists. Through Schumann's genius, that of his wife was influenced, and Clara Schumann became far greater than Clara Wieck had ever been. She became a true priestess of art. She did not rest until she gave the world a clear understanding of the depth of thought in his great works. She made her fame serve his, and considered the recognition of his qualities her own reward. Yet it still happened at times that this recognition came slowly, and in Vienna, as late as 1846, he was spoken of merely as the husband of Clara Wieck, and after the court concert given by her, some one turned to him with the question: "Are you musical, too?"

Gradually the perfect happiness was marred by the growing sickness of Schumann. Always extremely nervous and excitable, he had on one or two earlier occasions been forced to forego work. In 1851 the disease became evident again. By degrees his conduct grew more and more eccentric, and he became a victim of actual delusions. He often insisted that he heard one particular note, or certain harmonies sounding, or voices whispering messages of hope or of sorrow. One night the spirits of Schubert and Mendelssohn seemed to reveal a theme to him, upon which he tried to complete a set of variations. At times he would work calmly and sensibly, but one day, in a fit of mental anguish, he left his house, alone, and threw himself into the Rhine. Rescued by some boatmen, he went home to experience a few more lucid periods, but insanity gradually mastered him. His last two years were spent in a private asylum near Bonn, where he died July 29, 1846. His wife, who had been on a tour in London, returned just in time to witness his end. He was buried in Bonn, near the tombs of Beethoven and Schubert.

As widow, Clara Schumann continued faithfully the work of her married life. Her many tours were still a means of performing her husband's music, and she was able to know that her life-work was successful in Germany at least. Soon after his death, the name of Schumann became immortal, and the very peculiarities of his work were recognized as essentially national in character. His widow found a home with her mother in Berlin, where she stayed for four years, and whither she returned after twelve years in Baden-Baden. In 1878 she became chief teacher of piano in the school founded by Doctor Hoch at Frankfort, and there for ten years she lived and worked with the most complete success. In 1892 she retired from her labours, and on May 19, 1896, her long life of usefulness came to a quiet end. Five days later she was laid at rest with her husband in the peaceful little cemetery at Bonn.

In private life, as well as in public performance, her personality remained one of earnest simplicity and nobility of thought. She was admired and loved by all who knew her, and when failing health compelled her to give up her teaching, their affection showed itself in the substantial form of a large subscription.

Her compositions, according to the foremost critics, are not numerous, but show the sincerity of purpose that marks all her work. Even her earliest pieces, chiefly short dance forms for piano, are redeemed from triviality by interesting rhythms and fresh, almost abrupt, modulations. They are mostly delicate rather than forceful, with frequent ornaments and staccato passages that require a light and skilful touch. Among her later and more serious works, the G minor trio is musicianly and interesting; the three cadences to Beethoven concertos are charming examples of their kind, and the preludes and fugues (Op. 16) form an excellent legato study, and are eminently successful in construction as well. A piano concerto, Op. 7, dedicated to Spohr, is short and poorly balanced, the first movement being a single solo leading into the andante. The later works, especially the songs, show plainly the influence of her husband's great genius. The list of her published compositions is as follows:

Op. 1, Quartre Polonaises, piano. Op. 2, Caprices en Forme de Valses, piano. Op. 3, Romance Variee, piano. Op. 4, Valses Romantiques, piano. Op. 5, Four Pieces Caracteristiques, piano. Op. 6, Soirees Musicales, 6 pieces, piano. Op. 7, Piano Concerto in A minor. Op. 8, Variations de Concert (Pirate de Bellini), piano. Op. 9, Souvenir de Vienne, Impromptu, piano. Op. 10, Scherzo for piano. Op. 11, Three Romances, piano. Op. 12, Three Songs from Rueckert's "Liebesfruehling." Op. 13, Six Songs. Op. 14, Second Scherzo, piano. Op. 15, Four Pieces Fugitives, piano. Op. 16, Three Preludes and Fugues, piano. Op. 17, Trio, G minor, for piano, violin, and 'cello. Op. 18 and 19 did not appear. Op. 20, Piano variations on a theme of Robert Schumann. Op. 21, Three Romances, piano. Op. 22, Three Romances, piano and violin. Op. 23, Six Songs from Rollet's "Jucunde."

Without opus number, Cadenzas to Beethoven's concertos, Op. 37 and 58; Song, "Liebeszauber," Geibel; Andante and Allegro for piano; Song, "Am Strand;" and a march in E flat, composed in 1879 for a golden wedding.

Clara Schumann edited Breitkopf and Haertel's edition of her husband's works, and issued a volume of his early letters.



CHAPTER V.

OTHER MUSICAL ROMANCES

Although some of the great composers remained unmarried, many of them were influenced by women, and the effect is frequently visible in their compositions. Dedications of musical works to women are apparently a matter of little moment, but often they are surface indications of some deep feeling underneath, which is expressed in the music. Especially will this be found true in Beethoven's case, but it applies also to Schubert and other composers.

If George Frederick Handel never married, it was certainly not from lack of an opportunity to do so. In 1703, while still in his teens, he journeyed with his friend Mattheson, who was in search of a post as organist, from Hamburg to Luebeck. The place was occupied by the renowned Buxtehude, who was so advanced in age that he was forced to look for a successor. The two young aspirants tried the organs and clavicembalos, but did not care to accept the post. It seems that one of the conditions bound the successful applicant to marry the organist's daughter, and neither of them showed the slightest inclination to take this decisive step.

It is said of Handel that during his Italian trip he became engaged to the singer, Vittoria Tesi. But his biographer, Chrysander, disbelieves the story, and the historian Burney speaks of an Italian count as her lover. According to the latter account, she behaved very generously, and tried to dissuade her noble admirer from a marriage that would disgrace him and his family. Finding him insistent, she left her house one morning, and for fifty ducats persuaded a baker's apprentice to marry her, the pair to live separately, while the step would be used in dismissing the poor count. If she had really been engaged to Handel, or had loved him, she might have had a husband at less expense; and probably a musician is a more valuable article than a baker's apprentice.

During his long career in England, Handel was twice nearly married. In one case the mother of the fair charmer objected to her daughter's union with a "mere fiddler." Handel drew back with becoming pride, and was probably not much hurt. Certainly he never lost the magnificent appetite for which he was famous. Soon afterward the mother died, and the father, apparently put in control of the family by this event, stated to the composer that there was now no objection to the match. But Handel declined the offer, saying that it was too late. The situation was different from that at Luebeck, and his musical career now stood in the way of matrimonial ventures. At a later time he wished to marry a lady of wealth and position, but, as she made it a condition that he should give up his profession, he declined to pursue the match. None of these women were of especial influence upon him or his music, and he composed his long series of operas and oratorios in complete bachelor freedom.

Gluck owed much of his musical success to the aid of a woman. While in Vienna, gaining fame by his earlier works in Italian style, he won the interest and esteem of the ladies of the imperial court, among them the Empress Maria Theresa. He was chosen to direct music at court festivals, and after one of his later Parisian successes, the empress honoured him with the post of court composer. Gluck's wife had not the position or influence to help him in the musical side of his career, as Clara Wieck did Robert Schumann, but in the cultivated atmosphere of the court he found one woman who afterward aided him with all the force of her rank and influence,—his pupil, Marie Antoinette, the future Queen of France.

Even at Vienna Gluck was planning the reforms in opera that were to banish the prevailing vocal inanities from the stage, and make his name immortal. He did not minimize the beauty of contemporary operatic music, but claimed that it consisted merely of a set of conventional arias and scenas, and that the music did not in any way emphasize or illustrate the meaning of the words. As in the well-known sextet from "Lucia," which divides the sheep from the goats in our own day, the character of the music was often directly at variance with the spirit of the words. His memorable production of "Orfeo," though not remodelling the world at a single stroke, won a full triumph, and showed all music lovers the force of the new theories.



It was the French attache, Du Rollet, actuated by a sincere admiration of the Vienna master's works, who first proposed to have Gluck come to Paris. One of the directors of the Royal Academy of Music, to whom Du Rollet addressed himself, made the matter public in France, but did not reply. After some time Gluck himself renewed the agitation for a hearing, with no better results. That his work was understood is shown by a note from the Academy to Du Rollet, wherein one of the directors promises to accept Gluck's opera if he will contract to furnish six more; for one such work would overthrow all the French operas produced up to that time. Finding the directors unable to come to a decision, Gluck appealed directly to the Dauphine Marie Antoinette, who gave the necessary orders, removed all difficulties, and invited Gluck to the city where she was to be his faithful friend and patroness through all struggles and trials.

Of the success of Gluck in Paris, this is hardly the place to speak. Through all the intrigues of his musical enemies, the queen remained a firm adherent of the new school. The contest was long and fierce. Singers left or pleaded some excuse at the last moment; rival composers produced opera after opera in hope of eclipsing him; critics, for and against, entered into a protracted war of words and wit; and finally Gluck's opponents, under the lead of Madame Du Barry, brought in the Italian Piccini, with the avowed intention of obliterating Gluck's fame. Great as his genius was, he might have had a harder fight for justice but for his firm friend at court. He always had access to the queen, and was always accorded more respect at court than his rivals, Piccini or Sacchini. Realizing the worth of his own works, he often laid himself open to the charge of conceit, but the queen was ever ready to defend him warmly.

Marie Antoinette was herself a composer, and no doubt Gluck's early tuition was responsible for her musical attainments. Hers was not the rank nor the period in which a woman could attempt to work in the larger forms, but her songs were eminently successful. One of those, since made familiar by a more modern setting, is reproduced for the benefit of the reader. Its grace and charm will speak for themselves.

With Haydn and Mozart ranking among the married men, the next tonal master who claims attention is the great Beethoven. He was a mental giant endowed with intense emotional vigour,—hearing inwardly the beautiful strains that he wrote down, dreaming of the millennium and human brotherhood, and expressing in the most heartfelt terms his yearning for the one and only love who would share his lot with him. Yet when we come to search for this one and only love, we find that her name is legion. We also find that Beethoven remained single through it all, and never won a helpmate to guide his destinies and curb his eccentricities. His love for women was pure and sincere, if not lasting, and many indications of the strength of his passion are to be found in the great works that bear his name.

That Beethoven stood in sore need of a wife to regulate his personal habits may well be assumed. Probably there never was a lodger who was more constantly in trouble than this irritable and absent-minded genius. Wholly absorbed in his music, he never seemed to realize that thumping the piano at all hours of the day and night might prove disagreeable to his fellow boarders. Even when not playing, he would think out his great themes, and fall into a fit of abstraction that might last for hours. He would stand beating the time, or he would pace the room shouting out his melodies with full voice. As an antidote to this excitement, he would pour water over his hands at frequent intervals, regardless of the damage to the floor and the ceiling below. He was fond of taking long walks, which he would not omit in wet weather, and when he returned on rainy days the furniture was sure to suffer. He indulged in the habit of shaving at his window, to the great amusement of the people passing by, and the intense chagrin of his landladies. As a result of these traits, he was forced to make frequent changes of base, and at one time he was paying rent in four different places at once.

The following story of Beethoven's absent-mindedness is vouched for by Moscheles: "When I came in early to find Beethoven, he was still abed; but feeling wide-awake and lively, he jumped up and placed himself at the window just as he was, in order to examine the 'Fidelio' numbers which I had arranged. Naturally a crowd of boys gathered under the window, whereupon he roared out, 'Now, what do those —— boys want?' Upon my pointing to his own scantily clad figure, he said, 'Yes, yes, you are quite right,' and immediately put on a dressing-gown."

Beethoven and his servants usually had hard times getting along with each other. He was utterly careless and untidy, and the utmost confusion reigned in his room. "Books and music were scattered in all directions," says a visitor. "Here the residue of a cold luncheon; there some full, some half-emptied, bottles. On the desk the hasty sketch of a new quartette; in another corner the remains of breakfast; on the pianoforte the scribbled hints for a noble symphony, yet little more than in embryo; hard by, a proof-sheet waiting to be returned; letters from friends, and on business, spread all over the floor; between the windows a goodly Stracchino cheese; on one side of it ample vestiges of a genuine Verona salami; and notwithstanding all this confusion, he constantly praised, with Ciceronian eloquence, his own neatness and love of order!" When something did go astray, he would complain bitterly that everything was done to annoy him; but, after a few moments of raving, he recovered his natural good humour.

Though never married, Beethoven was always in love. He had several attachments during his youthful days in Bonn, though none were really serious. Meeting again in later life with one of his early flames, the gifted singer, Magdalena Willman, he begged her to become his wife, but met with a refusal. "He was very ugly and half crazy," she said afterward in excuse. Most of the objects of his later affections were women of rank and position, but in early years he fell a prey to the charms of damsels in much more humble stations. According to his pupil, Ries: "Beethoven never visited me more frequently than when I lived in the house of a tailor, with three very handsome but thoroughly respectable daughters."

At twenty, he fell in love with Babette, daughter of the proprietress of a coffee-house that he frequented. That Babette's charms impressed others may be gathered from the fact that she afterward became the Countess Belderbusch. Three years later, Eleonora von Breuning was the recipient of his devotion, and he would no doubt have found a good wife in her if she, too, had not finally married some one else. The next important figure on the list was the Countess Babette de Keglevics, afterward Princess Odeschalchi, to whom Beethoven showed his feelings in the shape of the Sonata, Opus 7. The Baroness Ertmann he addressed as "Liebe, werthe, Dorothea Cecilia," while the Countess Erdoedy received the still warmer greeting of "Liebe, liebe, liebe, liebe Graefin." All of these women, and many others, were ready to stand almost any liberty from Beethoven, and they entertained the warmest affection for him. At a later date, the Countess Erdoedy erected a temple in her park to the memory of Beethoven. That his affections were changeable, if intense, was admitted by the composer himself. On being teased about his conquest of a beautiful woman, he admitted that she had interested him longer than any of the others,—namely, seven whole months.

More serious was his feeling for the lovely young Countess Giulietta Giucciardi, one of his pupils. "Life has been made a little brighter to me lately," he writes, adding later, "This change has been brought about by a dear, fascinating girl, whom I love, and who loves me. After two years, I bask again in the sunlight of happiness, and now, for the first time, I feel what a truly happy state marriage might be." But, unfortunately, she was not of his rank in life, and later on we find her, too, marrying another. Beethoven would certainly have married her if he could have done so, and his epistles to her are full of many fervid expressions of love. At his death, some letters of the most passionate description were found in his desk, and for a time it was thought they were addressed to her, but they are now ascribed to the influence of her successor.

The Countess Therese von Brunswick, who next received Beethoven's devotion, had been one of his pupils, and had once been rapped over the knuckles by him for inefficiency. Twelve years later, in 1806, pupil and teacher were actually engaged,—secretly, to be sure, but with full knowledge and consent of her brother. Yet after four years of varying conditions the match was broken off, and the composer again forced to take refuge in the lonely comfort of his art.

But he found other consolation in the charms and the companionship of Bettina von Brentano, whom he met at this time. According to his letters, she was no whit behind any of the others in being his "dearest friend," "dearest girl," and "dearest, fairest sweetheart." Soon Beethoven was to see her, too, married to another, and, if he never succeeded in taking the fatal plunge himself, he could at least have the melancholy satisfaction of knowing that all the objects of his adoration had entered safely into the holy state of matrimony.

In 1811 he met Amalia Seebald, and soon afterward inscribed in her album the sentiment:

"Ludwig von Beethoven, Whom if you ever would, Forget you never should."

His feeling for her was not exactly the effervescent feeling of youth, but the quieter, deeper sentiment of personal esteem and affection, which comes later in life, and is therefore more lasting. Her influence is visible in much of his later music, and the seventh and eighth symphonies were inspired by her.

That Beethoven took a friendly interest in other love-affairs besides his own is shown by an incident taking place in Toeplitz, where the actor, Ludwig Loewe, was in love with the landlord's daughter of the "Blue Star," at which Beethoven used to dine. Conversation was usually impossible because of stern parents and a multitude of diners. "Come at a later hour," said the girl; "only Beethoven is here, and he cannot hear." This answered for a time, but at length the parents forbade the actor the house. Despite Beethoven's serious reserve, Loewe had often noticed a kindly smile on his face, and now resolved to trust him. Finding the composer in the park, he begged him to take charge of a letter for the girl. Satisfied with the honesty of the young man's intentions, Beethoven did this, and next day brought back the answer, keeping up his role of messenger during the whole of the five weeks that he remained in the town.

Franz Peter Schubert was a true son of Vienna. Sprung from the lower classes, he never felt wholly at ease among the aristocracy, and made no such deep impression upon them as Beethoven did. He was most at home in the informal society of his few chosen friends, all men of talent in some direction, whom he drew about him by his own genius and good-fellowship. His very nickname, "Kanner-was," taken from his usual question about newcomers, bears witness to the fact that he would have nothing to do with any one who did not show intellectual ability in some direction,—poetry or art, if not music.

Schubert's brief schooling, where his natural gifts were left to flourish by themselves, was succeeded by three years of musical drudgery in the shape of school-teaching. But his genius was restless, and he threw up that post. How he existed during the next few years is a complete mystery. He lived for a while rent-free, and his wants were never many, but for some time he apparently got along with no income whatever. His fertility in composing songs showed itself already. His later feat of writing "Hark, Hark, the Lark" on the back of a bill of fare, finishing it within half an hour of his first seeing the poem, is well known. It seems that he could forget as easily as he invented. At one time he sent a set of songs to his friend Vogl for inspection, but the latter was unable to look them over for two weeks. On finding one of especial interest, Vogl had it transposed to suit his voice, and gave it to Schubert to play. The composer, after trying it, cried in admiration: "I say, that's not bad; whose is it?"

At last he obtained the post of private teacher in the family of Count Esterhazy. It was the Countess Caroline, younger of the two daughters, who was to become the object of Schubert's later adoration. On the first visit, however, she was only nine, and we find Schubert, with his usual promiscuous taste, more at home with the servants than in the drawing-room. "The cook is a pleasant fellow," he writes; "the ladies' maid is thirty; the housemaid very pretty, and often pays me a visit; the nurse is somewhat ancient; the butler is my rival; the two grooms get on better with the horses than with us. The count is a little rough; the countess proud, but not without heart, and the two young ladies good children."

Eight years later he spent another period of six months at the chateau, and at this time felt the passion for the young countess that has been so often alluded to in his biographies. According to Bauernfeld, she inspired an ideal devotion that sustained and comforted him to the end of his life. There can be no doubt that etiquette and their difference in position prevented much intercourse between the two, but his devotion was apparently as lasting as it was unselfish. According to Kreissle, it found expression once, on her asking him, in jesting reproach, why he never dedicated anything to her. "Why should I," came the reply; "everything I ever did is dedicated to you." One of his posthumous works bears her name, which would hardly have been printed unless found on the manuscript in the handwriting of this greatest of tone-poets.

Mendelssohn came of a family that boasted an eminent intellectual leader of Judaism in the shape of Moses Mendelssohn, the composer's grandfather. Abraham, the father, brought up his two children, Fanny and Felix, in the Lutheran faith. Between the brother and sister there existed the most intimate understanding and affection, lasting through their entire lives. Both were musically gifted, possessing delicate hands and taper fingers that were often spoken of as if made expressly for playing Bach fugues.

Growing to maturity in the delightful family atmosphere that characterizes the better class of Jews and their descendants, Fanny Mendelssohn met and loved the young painter, Wilhelm Hensel. Her mother would not hear of an immediate engagement, but, after five years of art study in Rome, Hensel returned to become Fanny's betrothed. Felix, now launched on his professional career, produced an organ piece especially for the wedding. Another work for family use was his cantata, or opera, "Son and Stranger," composed for the silver wedding of his parents. This was prepared without their knowledge, and in order that the non-musical Hensel might take part with the rest of the family, Mendelssohn wrote for him a number consisting wholly of one note repeated. Even with this aid the Muses were unpropitious in the performance, and Hensel could not hit the right pitch for this note, while all his neighbours tried to prompt him, and the young composer sat at the piano convulsed with laughter.

Fanny Hensel led a life of happy activity. She and her brother drew around them a circle of celebrities that included scientific as well as artistic leaders. Like her brother, she was a composer. At first, however, he objected to her publishing her works, on account of her sex, and half a dozen of her songs without words were brought out among his own. In 1846 she ventured at last to issue some piano melodies and vocal works, in compliance with flattering offers from Berlin publishers. Then her famous brother sent his blessing on her becoming "a member of the craft," and hoped she would taste only the sweets and none of the bitternesses of authorship. Her greatest work is a piano trio,[5] which was not published until after her death. Among other compositions, she wrote several choruses for Goethe's "Faust," and a number of part-songs.

Her life came to an untimely close. In the year 1847, while conducting the little choir that she led on Sundays, she met an end as sudden as it was unexplained. Her hands dropped in an instant from the keyboard of the piano, and fell limp at her side. In spite of medical aid, death came after a short interval. It is highly probable that the early exertions of herself and her brother, which made their talents so wonderful, resulted in lessening their vital strength.

Mendelssohn himself was married. After his father's death he had wedded Cecile Jeanrenaud, daughter of a French pastor, and with her he passed a life of happiness. Fanny speaks in admiration of her beautiful eyes and expression, and praises her constant gentleness, which so often soothed her brother's nervous and irritable moods. But not even her kindness could make Mendelssohn forget the death of his sister, who had been a second self to him. When he first heard of it, he uttered a shriek, and fell senseless to the ground. His own death came directly from this fall, for it caused the breaking of a blood-vessel in his head, according to his physician. A holiday in Switzerland did some good, but the sight of Fanny's rooms on his return more than neutralized this effect. He grew weaker and weaker, until he met his death, less than six months after that of his sister. The bereaved wife, who had given such bright domestic charm to the home circle, lingered on for six years, but drooped in her loneliness until at last consumption carried her off.

In direct contrast to the clean and sunny happiness of Mendelssohn is the passionate and morbid aestheticism of Chopin. Like Beethoven, the Polish pianist never married, but, unlike Beethoven, he was not actuated by the highest of ideals. The first object of his devotion was the young soprano, Constantia Gladkowska, who was just ready to graduate from the Warsaw Conservatory when he was attracted by her. He became her champion in criticism, and his letters are full of emotional outpourings about her. He gave concerts with her, and found some moments of real bliss in her society, but she finally married another.

A second affair was his love for Marie Wodzinski, whom he had known in childhood and met at Dresden. She was just nineteen, and endowed with charming beauty. The pianist-composer spent many an evening with her at the house of her uncle, and often joined the family in their walks. But this affair, too, came to no result. The hour for farewell struck, she gave him a rose, and he improvised a valse for her. This waltz, which he afterward sent her from Paris, was the one called "L'Adieu."

That Chopin was fickle in his passions is shown by an anecdote of George Sand's. According to her, he was in love with a young Parisienne, who received him very kindly. All went well until one day he visited her with another musician, who was at that time better known than Chopin in Paris. Because the young lady offered this man a chair before thinking of asking Chopin to be seated, he never called on her again, and apparently forgot her immediately. George Sand avers that during all this period he was considering a marriage in Poland, but other acquaintances do not confirm this part of the story.

During the ten years passed together by Chopin and George Sand, in Majorca, Genoa, Nohant, and Paris, Chopin produced most of his important works. How much they were inspired by her, no one can say. But it is certain that her care of him in his usually ailing condition must have been of great aid to him. It is certain that she became an integral part of his life, for he did not survive their separation longer than two years. This separation at any rate, was responsible for some of the Polish master's compositions, for he comforted his wounded spirit by pouring out his emotions in such works as the great A flat Polonaise.



A figure of lesser though more recent prominence was Sybil Sanderson. Her fame on the operatic stage is a matter of the present, in spite of her death. She inspired the composer Jules Massenet to produce many of his best works, notably the opera, "Esclarmonde," which was written with her in view as performer. Another tribute to her is found in the song, "Femme, Immortelle Ete." These are but a few of the more important instances in musical history, which go to show that woman's influence is responsible for many works in connection with which her name does not appear at first glance. The actual women composers, however, form a long and honourable list, and are by no means confined to the present period of female emancipation.



CHAPTER VI.

ENGLAND

England's period of musical greatness has been said to be the past and the future. During the contrapuntal epoch her music flourished as never before or since, and side by side with the Shakespearian period in literature came an era of musical glory scarcely inferior to it. During the Restoration, too, music still held its own, thanks to the genius of Purcell in opera. But no names of women are recorded, and it is only in the eighteenth century, and the latter half at that, that they begin to appear on the roll of fame.

The year 1755 witnessed the birth of two women who were gifted enough to leave worthy works behind them,—Maria Parke and Mary Linwood. The former was the daughter of a famous oboist, who gave his child an excellent training. She became well known as a pianist and singer, and among other works produced songs, piano sonatas, violin pieces, and even a concerto for piano, or rather harpsichord. Miss Linwood devoted herself more entirely to vocal compositions, and published a number of songs and the oratorio, "David's First Victory." Two operas by her were left in manuscript.

Mrs. Chazal, who flourished at a still earlier date, won reputation as an orchestral conductor. This work is hardly deemed to come within woman's sphere, but the many choral and orchestral festivals of England offered her a better chance in this direction than her sisters in other lands could obtain. Mrs. Chazal's works included overtures and an organ concerto, as well as piano and violin music. Organ compositions seem to have been fairly numerous in England a hundred years ago, and we find Jeanne Marie Guest, daughter and pupil of a well-known organist, writing a number of voluntaries and other selections, also some manuscript concertos and some piano music. Other instruments were not neglected, as may be seen from Ann Valentine's "Ten Sonatas for Harpsichord and Violin," published in 1798. Another good organist was Jane Clarke, who issued a setting of psalms, as sung at Oxford, in 1808.

Coming nearer to our own times, Elizabeth Stirling, who died in 1895, was considered one of the very best of English organists. Her works for that instrument include two grand voluntaries, a half-dozen excellent pedal fugues, eight slow movements, and many other pieces. She has done much unselfish labour in arranging selections of Bach and the other great organ masters, besides publishing songs, duets, and piano works of her own. In 1856 she tried for a musical degree at Oxford, presenting an orchestral setting of the 130th Psalm; but, although the work won high praise, no authority existed for granting a degree to a woman. Marian Millar, a composer of songs and orchestral-choral works, met with more success in hunting for the coveted "Mus. Bac." and obtained it by applying to Victoria University. Augusta Amherst Austen, another organist, has written songs and hymn tunes, while Elizabeth Mounsey, also a performer, has published songs and piano pieces as well as organ works.

Ann Shepard Mounsey (1811-91), afterward Mrs. Bartholomew, a sister of Elizabeth, is mentioned by Spohr as a child prodigy. She was a friend of Mendelssohn, who wrote his "Hymn of Praise" for her sacred concerts in London. A set of "Thirty-four Original Tunes and Hymns" may be classed as organ work, but her greatest effort took the shape of an oratorio, "The Nativity." She also wrote a sacred cantata, and many lesser vocal works, including excellent solo and ensemble songs. Emma Mundella (1858-96) received an education both long and broad, and brought forth part-songs, piano pieces, church music, and an oratorio, "The Victory of Song." Elizabeth Annie Nunn (1861-94) also produced religious works, and, besides songs and various church music, published a Mass in C.

In the early part of the nineteenth century, the mechanical skill of Sebastian Erard made the harp extremely popular. At that time English households contained harps much as they do pianos at present. Excellently adapted as it was for women's performance, it is not surprising to find women composing for it also. Elizabeth Anne Bisset, Hannah Binfield, and Olivia Dussek, afterward Mrs. Buckley, were three famous examples of female skill in writing for the instrument.

Of song composers there have been a multitude. Among the early ones, Ellen Dickson (1819-78), under the nom de plume of Dolores, won a wide reputation. Her works are still sung, the most popular being her setting of Kingsley's brook song, "Clear and cool." Frankly simple in style, but full of pretty melodies, were the songs of Mrs. Charles Barnard (1834-69), who became widely known under the pseudonym of "Claribel." With her may be classed the ballad writers, such as Mrs. Jordan (Dora Bland), who composed the "Blue Bells of Scotland," or Lady Scott (Alicia Anne Spottiswoode), the author of "Annie Laurie" and other well-known songs. Mary Ann Virginia Gabriel (1825-77) was best known by her many tuneful songs, but wrote also part-songs, piano pieces, and a number of cantatas and operettas. Charlotte Sainton-Dolby (1821-85), the famous singer and friend of Mendelssohn, was also most widely appreciated because of her songs, though her cantatas, "The Legend of St. Dorothea" and "The Story of the Faithful Soul," were often performed. Sophia Julia Woolf (1831-93) won fame by her piano pieces and her opera, "Carina," as well as through her songs.

Kate Fanny Loder, not content with songs and the opera "L'Elisir d'Amore," has composed an overture for orchestra, two string quartettes, a piano trio, piano and violin sonatas, minor piano pieces, and some organ works. Caroline Orger (1818-92) was another talented composer whose work possessed sincerity and artistic value, and was above the merely popular vein. Among her productions, which have been often performed, are tarantellas, a sonata, and other piano pieces, a 'cello sonata, a piano quartette and trio, and a piano concerto.

Alice Mary Smith (1839-84) seems to have been on the whole the foremost woman composer that England has yet produced. A pupil of Sterndale Bennett and Sir George A. Macfarren, she devoted herself wholly to composition, and made it her life-work. Her music is clear and well balanced in form, excellent in thematic material, and endowed with an expressive charm of melodic and harmonic beauty. Among her orchestral works are two symphonies, one in C minor and the other in G; four overtures, "Endymion," "Lalla Rookh," "The Masque of Pandora," and "Jason, or the Argonauts and Sirens;" a concerto for clarinet and orchestra, and an "Introduction and Allegro" for piano and orchestra. Her chamber music is also successful. It consists of four quartettes for piano and strings in B flat, D, E, and G minor, also three string quartettes. With the orchestral works should go two intermezzi for "The Masque of Pandora," finished later than the overture. Her published cantatas include "Ruedesheim," "Ode to the Northeast Wind," a strong work, "The Passions" (Collins), "Song of the Little Baltung" (Kingsley), and "The Red King" (Kingsley). Her many part-songs, duets, and solos are imbued with rare melodic charm, as may be seen from the famous duet, "Oh, that we two were maying." Her career, though none too long in years, was one of constant creative activity.

There are a number of English women who have done excellent work in the large orchestral forms, if we may count festival performances as a measure of success. Edith Greene has composed a symphony, which was well received at London in 1895. To her credit may be placed many smaller works of real merit, among them a worthy violin sonata. Amy Elsie Horrocks, born in Brazil, brought out her orchestral legend, "Undine," in 1897. She has also composed incidental music to "An Idyl of New Year's Eve," a 'cello sonata, variations for piano and strings, several dramatic cantatas, a number of songs, and many piano and violin pieces. Besides doing this, she has won fame as a pianist. Mrs. Julian Marshall, born at Rome, has produced several orchestral works, as well as several cantatas, an operetta, a nocturne for clarinet and orchestra, and a number of songs. Oliveria Louisa Prescott, a native of London and a pupil of the Royal Academy of Music, is responsible for two symphonies, several overtures, a piano concerto, and some shorter orchestral pieces, besides vocal and choral work.

Dora Bright, born at Sheffield in 1863, another student of the Royal Academy, is one of England's most gifted musicians at the present time. She became assistant teacher of piano, harmony, and counterpoint, and won many prizes, being the first woman to obtain the Lucas medal for composition. Her two piano concertos are praised by critics for their "bright and original fancy and melodious inspiration of a high order, coupled with excellent workmanship." The orchestral colouring is said to be thoroughly exquisite. A fantasia for piano and orchestra was given at the London Philharmonic Concerts in 1892, the first instance of a woman's composition being given by that orchestra. Her string quartettes have won notice, also her piano duos, a violin suite, some flute and piano pieces, and several piano solos and songs.

Alice Borton has published an "Andante and Rondo" for piano and orchestra, as well as several piano works (suite in old style) and a number of songs. Edith A. Chamberlayne has composed two symphonies, as well as a manuscript opera, a sextette for harp, flute, and strings, and various harp, organ, and piano music. Edith Swepstone has had some movements of an unfinished Symphony performed, also an overture, "Les Tenebres," at London in 1897. She has written a piano quintette and a string quartette, besides short cantatas and the usual lesser pieces for violin, piano, and voice. Marie Wurm, born at Southampton in 1860, is a successful pianist as well as composer. Her concerto in B minor is highly praised for excellent workmanship, originality, and melodic strength and charm. Among her other works are a concert overture, a string quartette, violin and 'cello sonatas, some five-voiced madrigals, with various piano pieces and songs.

Rosalind Frances Ellicott has won a place of honour among women composers. She was born in 1857, and is a daughter of the Bishop of Gloucester. Her music is not especially ecclesiastic in vein, but includes many notable secular compositions. Among her important works are dramatic, concert, and festival overtures, and a fantasia for piano and orchestra, all given at various English festivals. Of her various cantatas, the "Birth of Song," "Elysium," and "Henry of Navarre" have met with the most success. She has written two piano trios, a string quartette, and much music for 'cello, piano, and voice.

Ethel M. Smyth, who recently was brought into notice in America by the performance of her opera, "Der Wald," is one of England's talented musical women. In purely orchestral vein she has produced a serenade in D and the overture "Antony and Cleopatra," both being given at the Crystal Palace in 1890. She has shown originality in other than operatic fields, and her greatest work is a Mass in D. This is a composition of decided merit, and is full of sustained dignity and breadth of style. It is intensely modern in quality, and its expressive feeling is somewhat reminiscent of Gounod, but it is not in any sense an imitation of the great Frenchman. Her string quintette has been performed at Leipsic. She has written a violin sonata and the usual number of minor pieces and songs. Her opera has received much praise, but the final verdict rates it as rather confused and undramatic, in spite of much good music in the score.

Many women have attempted opera, but none have met with more than temporary success. In England, owing to the example of Gilbert and Sullivan, light operas and operettas have flourished to a considerable degree. Mary Grant Carmichael met with some success through her operetta, "The Snow Queen," but like Miss Smyth gave the world a more important work in the shape of a mass. Ethel Harraden, sister of the novelist, had her opera, "The Taboo," brought out at the Trafalgar Square Theatre, London, with excellent results. She has composed an operetta, "His Last Chance," besides vocal, choral, and violin pieces. Harriet Maitland Young has completed several operettas, of which "An Artist's Proof" and the "Queen of Hearts" were successfully performed. Annie Fortescue Harrison witnessed the production of her "Ferry Girl" and "Lost Husband" at London. Louisa Gray's "Between Two Stools" has been given at many places. Ida Walter's four-act opera, "Florian," received a London performance in 1886. Florence Marian Skinner has made Italy the scene of her work. Her "Suocera," in serious vein, appeared at Naples in 1877, while her "Mary, Queen of Scots," after being given at St. Remo and Turin, received a London hearing.

England is preeminently a land of musical festivals, at which choral work plays an important part. London and the larger cities have their regular series of concerts, and the size of the capital attracts outside artists, but many of the smaller towns have annual occasions, at which local talent is sure to receive a full appreciation. This accounts for the prevalence of cantatas in the English musical repertoire. Subjects of all sorts are used, and dramatic, romantic, or even simple pastoral themes appear to delight the British ear when set to music and given by some singing society.

Among the many women who have attempted this form of composition, some have already been mentioned, but a number have been satisfied with it for their only efforts in extended style. Lizzie Harland produced her dramatic cantata, "C[oe]ur de Lion," in 1888, following it with the "Queen of the Roses" for female voices. Ethel Mary Boyce, winner of various prizes, has composed "Young Lochinvar," "The Sands of Corriemie," and other cantatas, as well as a March in E for orchestra. Miss Heale, another London aspirant, is credited with "Epithalamion," "The Water Sprite," and other choral works. Emily M. Lawrence has produced "Bonny Kilmeny" and "The Ten Virgins," both for female voices, while Caroline Holland has written the cantata, "Miss Kilmansegg," and the ballad, "After the Skirmish," for chorus and orchestra. Miss Holland has won laurels as a conductor, besides being known as a composer. All of these have done a greater or less amount of work in the small forms, for piano, voice, or violin.

Still longer is the list of women who have worked wholly in the shorter forms. Yet the absence of ambitious work must not be taken to indicate a lack of musical genius, for many of England's best known musical women rest their fame upon a few short pieces. There is a vast difference between good music and great music, and a song of real worth often outlasts an ambitious but overswollen symphony that is laid on the shelf after one hearing.

In the field of violin music, there are many women deserving mention. Margaret Gyde, after taking prizes and scholarships, produced two excellent violin sonatas, besides piano pieces, songs, and some organ music. Contemporary organists, in passing, are well represented by Kate Westrop, who has published four short voluntaries for organ. Laura Wilson Barker, wife of Tom Taylor, has entered the classical arena with a violin sonata, and has done more ambitious work in the music to "As You Like It" and the cantata "[OE]none." Caroline Carr Moseley has produced several pieces for violin and 'cello, and has written one or two dainty works for toy instruments. Mrs. Beatrice Parkyns, born of English parents at Bombay, has several charming violin compositions to her credit, and the same may be said for Kate Ralph, a native of England. Emily Josephine Troup is another violin composer, who has also tried her hand at songs and piano pieces. Maggie Okey, at one time wife of the pianist De Pachmann, and now married to Maitre Labori, famous as the advocate of Dreyfus, has composed a violin sonata, a violin romance, and several piano pieces. Kate Oliver is responsible for some concerted music, while Alma Sanders has produced a piano trio, a violin sonata, and a piano quartette. To-day Ethel Barns heads the list of violin composers among women.



By far the most important name in this field of woman's work is that of Agnes Zimmermann. Born in Cologne in 1847, she received her musical education in London. At the Royal Academy of Music she studied piano under Pauer and Potter, afterward attaining high rank as a performer. In composition, her teachers were Steggall and George Macfarren. She won the silver medal of the Academy, and obtained the king's scholarship twice, in 1860 and 1862. In the next year she made her London debut, and a year later appeared with the Gewandhaus orchestra at Leipsic. Her fame as a classical pianist was soon established, and her excellent work in editing the sonatas of Beethoven and Mozart bore added testimony to her musical knowledge. Her compositions include a piano trio, three violin sonatas, a suite and other pieces for piano, and a number of songs. Her clear style and thorough musicianship have given these works more than a passing value, and she is reckoned to-day as one of England's leading women composers.

Still more numerous than the violin composers are the women who have shown their ability merely in the form of a few piano pieces. Almost every eminent performer is at some time tempted to express his own musical thoughts in writing. Such has been the case with Arabella Goddard, the famous pianist. Born near St. Malo, in 1838, she played in her native place at the age of four. At six she was studying with Kalkbrenner at Paris. At eight she played before Queen Victoria, and published six piano waltzes. Among her maturer works are an excellent ballade and several other piano selections. Dora Schirmacher, born in 1862, was less precocious, but won the Mendelssohn prize at Leipsic, where she studied under Wenzel and Reinecke. Her works consist of a suite, a valse-caprice, a sonata, a serenade, a set of tone pictures, and so on. Amina Beatrice Goodwin was another child prodigy, first playing in public at the age of six. She studied with Reinecke and Jadassohn at Leipsic, Delaborde at Paris, and finally with Liszt and Clara Schumann. She has published many piano selections, besides founding a pianoforte college and publishing a good book of practical hints on technique and touch. She is married to an American, Mr. W. Ingram-Adams. The list of piano composers might be extended much further, but these are the most representative names.

Of the long list of song composers, but few have produced anything of marked artistic value. Foremost among these at present is Liza Lehmann, who has recently become famous through her song cycle, "In a Persian Garden." She came of a gifted family, for her father, Rudolph, was an excellent artist, and her mother a composer of songs, which were modestly published over the initials "A. L." Her grandfather was Robert Chambers, famed by his Encyclopaedia. Born in London, she studied singing with Randegger, and composition afterward with Freudenberg, of Wiesbaden, and the Scottish composer, MacCunn. She expected to make a career as a singer, but found herself so extremely nervous whenever appearing that she was forced to abandon the idea. She persevered awhile, however, and has been frequently heard in Great Britain and Germany.

In 1894 she retired and married Mr. Herbert Bedford. Only then did she begin those efforts in composition that have since met with such great success. She has published a number of songs and some piano and violin pieces, but is always thought of in connection with her cyclic setting of the Persian poet, Omar Khayyam. When she composed this, she was little known, and fortune as well as fame was a stranger to her. Oddly enough, all the London publishers refused this work, which has since then charmed two continents. Finally it was sung at her house by a gathering of musical friends, the performers being Ben Davies, Albani, Hilda Wilson, and David Bispham. They were so delighted with it that they brought it out at the Monday "Pops," and after that its success was assured. There are other song cycles by this composer, notably "In Memoriam," but none equal the "Persian Garden." It is full of rich passages of exquisite beauty, moving pathos, and strong expression.

Frances Allitsen passed a lonely childhood in a little English village. She would improvise warlike ballads for amusement, though her later works and her character are marked by gentleness of thought. She hoped to make a name by singing, but unfortunately lost her voice. Her family were all hostile to a musical career, and regarded her tastes as most heinous. She describes the scene of her youth as a place "where, if a girl went out to walk, she was accused of wanting to see the young men come in on the train; where the chief talk was on the subject of garments, and the most extravagant excitement consisted of sandwich parties." Domestic misfortunes and illness left their mark on her, but could not hinder her musical progress. She finally sent some manuscripts to Weist Hill, of the Guildhall Music School, and with his approval came to London. Her days were spent in teaching, to earn money with which to pay for her studies in the evening, but she braved all difficulties, and finally won success. She is best known in America by her songs, which are really beautiful settings of Browning, Shelley, Longfellow, Heine, and other great poets. But she is a master of orchestral technique as well. Her overture, "Slavonique," was successfully performed, and a second one, "Undine," won a prize from the lady mayoress. Her room is a delightful gallery of photographs of artists and musicians. She has a picture of Kitchener, whose example, she says, ought to cure any one of shirking; hence the mistaken anecdote that she could not work without a picture of Kitchener on her desk.

Mrs. Rhodes, known in the musical world as Guy d'Hardelot, was of French ancestry and birth. She spent her childhood in a Norman castle, and her youth in Paris and London, studying music. After marriage she met with reverses, and was forced to earn a living by teaching. She studied composition with Clarence Lucas, and gives him great credit for developing individuality. She has three excellent guiding maxims,—"Avoid familiar things, choose words so clear that people can see the picture, and be sure that the climax comes at the end."

Her songs succeed in combining the elegance and lightness of the French school with the appealing simplicity of the English. Her reputation was established with her first publication, the melancholy and dramatic "Sans Toi." Her many succeeding lyrics range from liveliest humour to deepest pathos, and all are thoroughly artistic. Widely known are "Sans Toi," "Mignon," "Vos Yeux," "Say Yes," "Chanson de Ma Vie," "La Fermiere," "Valse des Libellules," and many others. Her favourite poets are Victor Hugo and Ella Wheeler Wilcox, a rather strange mixture. Her only attempt in larger form is the operetta "Elle et Lui." She is a great friend of Mme. Calve, who is especially fond of her songs. She has accompanied Calve on an American tour, and has appeared with her before Queen Victoria at Windsor. She sings herself with a light but attractive voice and the most perfect diction. Of late she has composed for Calve some acting songs, such as "The Fan."

Maude Valerie White takes rank among the very best of England's song writers. Born at Dieppe in 1855, she entered the Royal Academy at the usual age, completing her studies at Vienna. During her student days she produced a mass, and at various times she has composed violin and 'cello pieces, but she has won most fame, as well as much money, by her songs. Grove considers the best of these to be the settings of Herrick and Shelley; he gives high praise to her setting of the latter's "My soul is an enchanted boat," and considers it one of the finest songs in our language. Her other lyrics include such gems as "To Mary," "Ophelia's Song," "Ave Maria," and so forth, besides a number of exquisite German and French songs. Her careful attention to the metre and accents of the words, combined with the excellence of the poetry she chooses and the real worth of her music, have won the admiration of all music lovers.

Florence Gilbert, a sister of the well-known dramatist, has won some renown as a ballad composer. She studied harmony and composition with Stainer and Prout, and after this excellent training spent much time in creative work. For a long time she let her songs remain in manuscript, out of diffidence as to their value. Finally Mme. Helen Trust, the singer, came upon them, and obtained permission to bring out the "Message to Phyllis." Its success was pronounced, and the composer was easily persuaded to issue her other works.

One of the older group of song composers is Clara Angela Macironi, whose work has been known many years. Born in 1821, she studied in the Academy, and became one of its professors. Her suite for violin and piano is well written, but she is known to the general public chiefly by her part-songs. Some of these have been sung by three thousand voices at the Crystal Palace. She has published many songs for solo voice also, but these are hardly equal in musical worth to the productions of the more recent geniuses.

Less high in standard, but vastly popular, are the songs of Hope Temple, of whose works "My Lady's Bower" and "In Sweet September" are probably familiar in many households. Edith Cooke has found a vein of dainty playfulness in "Two Marionettes" and other similar songs. The productions of Kate Lucy Ward are graceful and musicianly, while Katharine Ramsay has written some admirable children's songs. Without enumerating more, it may be worth mentioning that the famous Patti has tried her hand at composing songs, and that Lady Tennyson has set some of her husband's lyrics, although he is said to have been tone-deaf and unable to appreciate any music.

The Irish songs of Alicia Adelaide Needham are said to be exceptionally good, and thoroughly new and local in flavour. Ireland is also represented among women composers by Christina Morison, who produced a three-act opera, "The Uhlans," and wrote many songs; Lady Helen Selina Dufferin, whose songs are widely known, especially the "Lay of the Irish Emigrant;" and Lady Morgan, born in the eighteenth century at Dublin, and known through her operetta, "The First Attempt."

Scotland can show no great woman composer. There are a few ballad writers besides those already mentioned, but they are of little importance. Wales can boast one musical daughter in Llewela Davies, who won a large collection of prizes while at the Royal Academy. Her works include three sketches for orchestra, a string quartette, a number of songs, and a violin sonata that received a London performance in 1894, and was highly praised by the critics.[6]



CHAPTER VII.

GERMANY

It is only natural that the country whose composers have led the world for more than two centuries should produce many musical women. The list excels not only in point of length, but in merit and priority. It begins with the nun Roswitha, or Helen von Rossow, who flourished at the end of the tenth century, and won renown by her poetry, some of which she set to music. But in modern times many important names are found in Germany at a time when few or none appear in other countries.

Music was considered a proper relaxation for royalty, and in the eighteenth century every petty court aimed to keep its orchestra and performers, while very often the exalted hearers would try their own hands at playing or composing. Frederick the Great was especially fond of music, and played the flute with much skill and persistence, and his sister, the Princess Anna Amalie, was as gifted as her brother in a musical way. She wrote many compositions, of which an organ trio has been published in a Leipsic collection, while her cantata, "Der Tod Jesu," represents a more ambitious vein. Contemporary with her was Maria Antonia, daughter of the Emperor Charles VII., and pupil of such famous men as Porpora and Hasse. Her musical aspirations took the form of operas, of which two, "Il Trionfo della Fedelta" and "Talestri," have been published recently. Amalia Anna, Duchess of Saxe-Weimar, composed the incidental music for Goethe's melodrama, "Erwin and Elmira," and won flattering notices, though part of their praise may have been due to her rank. Maria Charlotte Amalie, Duchess of Saxe-Gotha, published several songs, and wrote a symphony for an orchestra of ten instruments.

Coming into the nineteenth century, we find the Princess Amalie of Saxony possessed of considerable talent. Her skill showed itself in the form of various pieces of church music and no less than fourteen operas, best among them "Die Siegesfahne" and "Der Kanonenschuss." The Empress Augusta herself, wife of Kaiser Wilhelm I., besides always fostering the art of music, was gifted with a talent for composing, even in the larger forms. Among her works are an overture, the ballet "Die Maskerade," and several marches, of which one is on the German army lists at present. Princess Charlotte of Saxe-Meiningen, who lived but twenty-four years, found time to compose several marches and a number of songs and piano pieces.

Among living composers, Princess Beatrice of Battenberg is the author of a number of melodious songs, also an orchestral march and some church responses. Saxe-Meiningen seems to hold its own in the present as well as the past. Princess Charlotte, daughter of the Emperor Frederick III., has composed some military and Turkish marches, also a tuneful "Cradle Song" for violin and piano. Marie Elizabeth, of the same principality, counts among her works an "Einzugsmarsch" for orchestra, a Torch Dance for two pianos, a number of piano pieces, and a Romanze for clarinet and piano.