CLARA (WIECK) SCHUMANN.

Copyright, 1903
By L. C. Page & Company
(INCORPORATED)

All rights reserved

Third Impression, April, 1908

COLONIAL PRESS
Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co.
Boston, U. S. A.

TO
Mrs. Louis C. Elson
TRUE TYPE OF
SELF-SACRIFICING WIFE AND MOTHER
IN A MUSICAL FAMILY,
THIS BOOK IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED
BY HER SON

NOTE

Acknowledgments are due to Mr. Otto Fleishner, of the Boston Public Library, for his kindness in furnishing lists of periodical articles bearing on the subject of this book.

The Author.

Contents

List of Illustrations

WOMAN'S WORK IN MUSIC

CHAPTER I.

ANCIENT AND MYTHICAL

The Church of Rome, though admitting no women to a share in performing its services, has yet made a woman the patron saint of music. The religions of antiquity have paid even more homage to the weaker sex in the matter, as the multitude of musical nymphs and fostering goddesses will show.

Of Saint Cecilia herself little is known accurately. The very apocryphal legend states that about the year 230 a noble Roman lady of that name, who had been converted to Christianity, was forced into an unwilling marriage with a certain Valerian, a pagan. She succeeded in converting her husband and his brother, but all were martyred because of their faith. This it is stated, took place under the Prefect Almacus, but history gives no such name. It is unfortunate, also, that the earliest writer mentioning her, Fortunatus, Bishop of Poitiers, speaks of her as having died in Sicily between the years 176 and 180. It is doubtful whether she would have been known at all, in connection with the art, but for a passing phrase in her story, which relates that she often united instrumental music to that of her voice in sounding the praises of the Lord. Because of these few words, she is famed throughout musical Christendom, half the musical societies in Europe are named after her, and Raphael's picture, Dryden's ode, Stefano Maderno's statue, and a hundred other great art works have come into existence.

The earliest inferences of woman's influence in music are to be drawn from the Hindoo mythology.[1] According to the tabular schedule of all knowledge, found in the ancient Brahmin records, music as an art belongs in the second chief division of lesser sciences, but on its mathematical and philosophical side it is accorded a much higher position, and is treated of in the oldest and most sacred Hindoo work, the Veda. This authority tells us that when Brahma had lain in the original egg some thousand billion years, he split it by the force of his thought, and made heaven and earth from the two fragments. After this, Manu brought into being ten great forces, whence came all the gods, goddesses, good and evil spirits. Among the lesser deities were the genii of music (Gandharbas) and those of the dance (Apsarasas), who furnished entertainment for the gods before man possessed the art.

About this time the female element began to assert itself. At Brahma's command, his consort, Sarisvati, goddess of speech and oratory, brought music to man, incidentally giving the Hindoos their finest musical instrument, the vina. The demigod Nared became the protector of the art, but Maheda Chrishna performed a more material service by allowing five keys, or modes, to spring from his head, in the shape of nymphs, while his wife, Parbuti, produced one more. Then Brahma helped the cause along by adding thirty lesser keys, or modes, all of them in the form of nymphs also.

These modes varied in character, some of them being too fiery to be attempted by mortals. It is related that Akbar, the emperor, once ordered the famous singer, Naik Gobaul, to sing the Raagni, or improvisation, of the mode of fire. The poor singer entreated for a less dangerous task, but in vain. Then he plunged up to his neck in the waters of the river Jumna, and began. Before he had finished half of the song, the water around him began to boil. He paused, but, finding the emperor's curiosity relentless, continued the strain, until at the close his body burst into flames and was consumed. Another melody caused the formation of clouds and the fall of rain, and a female singer is said once to have saved Bengal from drought and famine by means of this lay. Many other refrains had a similar power over the forces of nature; one could make the sun disappear and bring on night at midday, while others could change winter to spring, or rain to sunshine.

In all Indian legends, the charm of music is described as of immense potency. All animate and inanimate nature is represented as listening with ecstasy to the singing of Chrishna and Parbuti.[2] When Chrishna was on earth, in the form of a shepherd, there were sixteen thousand pastoral nymphs, or shepherdesses, who fell in love with him. They all tried to win his heart by the power of music, and each one sang to him in a different manner. Hence arose the sixteen thousand different keys which were said to have existed at one time in India.

The Hindoo musical system of to-day is likewise ascribed largely to female sources. The scale consists of seven chief tones, which are represented by as many heavenly sisters. The names of the tones (sa, ri, ga, ma, pa, dha, ni, corresponding to our do, re, mi, etc.) are merely abbreviations of the names of the nymphs who preside over them. The tones of the scale are divided into quarters, and the number of quarters in the diatonic scale intervals is four, three, two, four, four, three, and two. Thus the number of possible modes is vastly greater than in our own scale, which has only semitones. There are six chief modes, represented by six genii, while each one is married to five of the thirty nymphs who typify the lesser modes. Each one of the genii has eight sons, and these are wedded to a nymph apiece, making forty-eight in all. Every member of this prolific musical family presides over something, if it is only one of the quarter tones that form the scale.

To illustrate the method of naming, the four quarters of the fifth scale tone (pa, or Panchama) belong to the nymphs Malina, Chapala, Lola, and Serveretna. The next full tone (dha) is owned by Santa and her sisters. If the higher tone, dha, should be flatted, giving it the same pitch as the upper quarter of the lower tone, pa, the Hindoo musician would not speak of dha as being flat, but would say instead, "Serveretna has been introduced to the family of Santa and her sisters."

The Hindoo music of to-day is not as potent as in mythical times. The people themselves acknowledge the decline of their art, and admit that even in the last century or two it has deteriorated. As for the miracle-working Ragas, or improvised songs, the people in Bengal will say that they can probably be heard in Cashmere, while the inhabitants of Cashmere will send the inquirer back to Bengal. Woman, too, has a less important position than of old. "When the ancient sages made our musical system," says an eminent Brahmin in an interview at San Francisco, "there were many women among them; but now not one can accomplish anything in the art."

In the traditions of ancient Egypt, music is entirely under the patronage of male gods. Thoth, the Egyptian Hermes, invented the lyre by striking the tendons of a dead tortoise, which had dried and stretched in the shell. Osiris, too, the chief of the Egyptian gods, protected the art, although Strabo says music was not allowed in his temple at Abydos. While travelling in Ethiopia, the story runs, Osiris met a troupe of revelling satyrs, and, being fond of singing, he admitted them to his train of musicians. In their midst were nine young maidens, skilled in music and various sciences, evidently the prototype of the Grecian Muses. Horus, the son of Osiris (equivalent to the Greek Apollo) was considered the god of Harmony.

An important mythical character was Maneros, son of the earliest Egyptian king. He seems to hold the same position as Linus, son of Apollo, among the Greeks. The first song of Egyptian music was a dirge for his untimely end, and a lament for the swift passing away of youth, spring, joy, and so on. Gradually the song itself, instead of the king's son, began to be called Maneros, and became the well-known banquet song of the social feasts, calling upon the guests to enjoy life while they might. In time the song became a symbol of gaiety and merriment instead of grief.

In most of the ancient civilizations, the songs appear to have been accompanied by clapping of hands, to mark the rhythm. There were many actual dances, also, in ancient Egypt, as is fully proven by a number of the old paintings. Some were like our jigs, break-downs, or clog-dances, while others consisted of regular figures, such as forward and back, swing, and so on, the latter kind being restricted to the lower orders. In all of these, women must have taken a large part, and doubtless they were responsible for some of the music. They were not allowed to play the flute, but could indulge in the tabor and other instruments. Some of the scenes depicted closely resemble the modern stage, and it is more than probable that, when the audiences of to-day applaud our own ballet scenes, they are enjoying themselves in the old Egyptian manner.

There can be no doubt that woman played an important part in music, possibly even in composition, in many civilizations which apparently allowed her only a restricted field of action. The Empress of Germany recently defined woman's sphere as consisting of four subjects,—children, clothes, cooking, and church; yet the German women have far more influence than this official utterance would indicate. It is not surprising, then, to find in the folios of Lepsius a reproduction of something analogous to our conservatories of music. It represents a course of musical instruction in the school of singers and players of King Amenhotep IV., of the eighteenth dynasty. There are several large and small rooms, connected with each other, and containing furniture and musical instruments. In some are the musicians practising and teaching. One teacher sits listening to the singing of a young girl, while another pupil is playing the accompaniment on a harp. Still another girl stands attentively listening to the teacher's instructions, as in a modern class. In another place are two girls practising a dance with harp music. In one room is a young lady having her hair dressed, while in another a young girl has placed aside her harp and is sitting down to lunch with a companion. All this goes to show that different civilizations often resemble one another more than would appear at first sight, and very probably woman's part in ancient Egyptian music was much like that which she plays in our own to-day.

The earliest Hebrew music was undoubtedly modelled after that of Egypt. In later Biblical times, however, there were many national instruments, and the style of the music must have been characteristic. The Old Testament, even in its earlier books, contains many examples of the songs of the people. Their ancient folk-music showed three principal styles,—the joyous bridal song, the cheerful harvest or vintage song, and the wailing funeral song; and there are many examples of each in the Scriptures. As there was no definite notation among the ancient Hebrews, the actual tunes that were sung with these songs will never be known. But it may be possible that the melodies have been preserved by rote, for it is certain that these three schools of singing exist to-day in Arabia and Syria. Whole villages are known to unite in a seven-day festival of rejoicing, not unlike the one at the wedding of Samson, as described in the fourteenth chapter of Judges.

The Song of Solomon presents an entire set of bridal songs in the popular vein. A good example of the mourning song is found in the opening chapter of the second book of Samuel, where David laments the death of Saul and Jonathan. It is somewhat exceptional because of its being rendered by a man, for in Eastern countries the professional mourners were always women, hired for the occasion. The men might join in the chorus of woe if they wished, but the main part of the song was always given by the women, who were not unlike the "Keeners," heard in Ireland on similar occasions, even down to recent times. The book of Lamentations presents a series of funeral songs, written in imitation of the professional lays of grief, and containing many allusions to the mourning women. In the fifth chapter of Amos, in Habakkuk, and many other books, are further illustrations of such folk-songs. The fifth chapter of Isaiah begins with the cheerful style of the vintage song, and then suddenly changes to a song of grief, forming an artistic contrast that must have been highly effective.

In the Hebrew songs, as in the Egyptian, there must have been much dramatic action united with the vocal work. When the word "dancing" occurs, it generally means only gesture and pantomime. Its use is made evident in the song of Moses, in Exodus XV. It requires little imagination to picture Miriam using a folk-song with which her hearers were familiar, improvising words to suit the occasion, and illustrating the whole with successive gestures of pride, contempt, sarcasm, and triumph, while the assembled multitude joined in the chorus at every opportunity.

Still more evident does this union of voice and action become in the song of Deborah and Barak, in Judges V. A possible description of the performance of this musical comedy is given by Herder, who suggests that "Probably verses 1-11 were interrupted by the shouts of the populace; verses 12-27 were a picture of the battle, with a naming of the leaders with praise or blame, and mimicking each one as named; verses 28-30 were mockery of the triumph of Sisera, and the last verse was given as a chorus by the whole people." According to this, the tune must certainly have been a familiar one. The whole scene, with its extemporized words, its clapping of hands to mark the rhythm, and its alternation of solo and chorus, was probably not unlike the singing at some of the negro camp-meetings on the Southern plantations.

Foremost among the patrons of the art in Grecian mythology are the Muses. These were not always nine in number. Originally, at Mount Helicon, in Bœotia, three were worshipped,—Melete (meditation), Mneme (memory), and Aoide (song). Three Muses were also recognized at Delphi and Sicyon. Four are mentioned as daughters of Jupiter and Plusia, while some accounts speak of seven Muses, daughters of Pierus. Eight was the number known in Athens, until finally the Thracian worship of nine spread over the whole of Greece. The parentage of these divinities is given with as many variations as their number. Most commonly they were considered daughters of Zeus and Mnemosyne (memory), born in Pieria at the foot of Mount Olympus. Some call them daughters of Uranus and Gæa, others of Pierus and Antiope, still others of Apollo or of Jupiter and Minerva. The analogy between the Muses and the nine maidens in the Egyptian troupe of Osiris has already been noted.

In Homer's poems, the Muses have already attained their well-known abode on Olympus, where they sing the festive songs at the banquets of the immortals. They were supposed to inspire the mind of the bards, and in early times the poets were perfectly sincere in invoking them and believing in their inspiration. The Muses, in presiding over the various branches of Grecian art, appeared unable to brook any rivalry. Thamyris, an ancient Thracian bard, boldly challenged them to a trial of skill, and, on being overcome by them in the contest, was deprived by them of his sight and of the power of singing. He is represented in art as holding a broken lyre. The nine daughters of King Pierus of Macedonia fared no better, and after an unsuccessful contest were changed into birds. The Muses were closely connected with Apollo, who was looked upon as their leader. Many mountains, as well as grottos, wells, and springs in various parts of Greece, were sacred to them.

The Sirens were another personification of the marvellous power of music among primitive peoples. Their parentage also is variously given, though they are usually mentioned as daughters of the river god, Achelous. They are generally represented as maidens, with a more or less extensive equipment of wings and other plumage. These wings were obtained at their request when Proserpine was carried off, that they might be better able to hunt for her. But another account says that they refused their sympathy to Ceres, and were given their feathery coating by her in punishment. Some writers say it was due to Aphrodite, who was angered at their virginity. The Sirens, as well as other ambitious performers, were rash enough to attempt a contest with the Muses, and met with the customary defeat. The victorious nine then pounced upon the unfortunate trio, and tore off wings and feathers.

The Sirens' chief occupation consisted in sitting on the rocks by the sea and singing to passing mariners. According to Homer, their island lay between Æaea and the rock of Scylla, or near the southwestern coast of Italy; but the Roman poets place them on the Campanian coast. Their magic power to charm all hearers was to last only until some one proved himself able to resist their spell; and here again accounts differ. Homer gives the credit to Ulysses, who stuffed his mariners' ears with wax, and had them bind him to the mast. Apollonius Rhodius, however, in the Argonautica, claims the credit for Orpheus, who saved the expedition of the Argonauts by singing the Sirens into silence, after which the musical damsels fell from their heights and were themselves changed into rocks. If some of our modern musicians were put to the same test, and condemned to death if they failed to charm their auditors, the results would be beneficial both to art and to the cemeteries. The power of the Sirens lasted after their death, and, like their cousins in Egyptian and Indian lore, they used their music to charm the souls of the blessed dead.

Leaving the realms of the supernatural, the only great name that the student will find among the musical women of Greece is that of Sappho. The story of her life is known only in its general outlines, and even these have been the subject of many learned disputes. She was born near the close of the seventh century B.C., either at Mytilene or at Eresos in the island of Lesbos. She grew to maturity at the former place, and became one of the two great leaders of the Æolian school of lyric poetry. From the fragments of her poetry, and those of her great rival, Alcæus, it is evident that the two were not envious of each other's fame, but lived in the most friendly intercourse. Of the events of her life, we have only two. One, referred to in the Parian marble and by Ovid, is her flight from Mytilene to Sicily, between 604 and 592, to escape from some unknown danger. The other is the well-known story that, being in love with Phaon, and finding her love unrequited, she cast herself from the Leucadian rock. This rock is a promontory on the island of Leucas, upon which was a temple to Apollo. At the annual festival of the god, it was the custom to cast down a criminal from this rock into the sea. To break his fall, birds of all kinds were attached to him, and, if he reached the sea uninjured, boats were ready to pick him up. This apparently was a rite of expiation, and as such gave rise to the well-known story that unfortunate lovers leaped from this rock to seek relief from their distress. The story of Sappho and Phaon is one of these, but it has been claimed that its authenticity vanishes at the first breath of criticism.

It is fair to class Sappho as a musician, for in ancient Greece poetry and music were inseparable. Of her poems, which filled nine books, only a few fragments remain, of which the most important is a splendid ode to Aphrodite. At Mytilene she appears to have gathered about her a large and elegant circle of young women, who were her pupils in poetry, music, and personal cultivation. Her influence must have been widespread, for the list of her disciples includes names from all parts of Greece. Her work of teaching, in the midst of her fair followers, has been compared with that of Socrates surrounded by the flower of the Athenian youth. The power of her poetry is shown by the story of its effect on the rugged character of Solon, the lawmaker. Hearing for the first time one of her pieces, sung to him by his nephew, he expressed in the most impassioned terms the wish that he might not die before having learned such a beautiful song.

The career of Sappho is made more wonderful by the fact that woman's work in ancient Greece was supposed to consist only of family duties. She taught her sons in childhood until they were sent to their regular masters, and she guided her daughters and set them an example in doing household duties. According to Pericles, that woman was most to be prized of whom no one spoke, either in praise or blame. Because of Sappho's prominence and social activity, but more especially because of the ardent character of some of her poems, her good name has been assailed by many modern critics. The majority, however, consider the accusations as groundless.

Alcman, the great lyric poet of Sparta (Lydian by birth), brought the so-called Lydian measure to its highest perfection. He was always ready to praise women in his verses, and wrote some choruses especially for the—

"Honey-voiced, lovely singing maidens,"

which were sung by female voices only. Bœotia could boast of two great poetesses. Myrtis, a native of Anthedon, is reported to have been the instructress of Pindar, and is said to have contended with him for the palm of superiority. She was famous through the whole of Greece, and many places possessed statues in honour of her. The second poetess was Corinna, of Tanagra, sometimes called the Theban because of her long residence at Thebes. She flourished about 490 B.C., and was a contemporary of Pindar. Like Myrtis, she is said to have instructed him, and is credited with having gained a victory over him in the public games at Thebes. Only a few fragments of her work have been preserved to us. But Pausanias, who states that she defeated Pindar no less than five times, thinks that her personal charms may have had something to do with the matter.

While teaching Pindar, Corinna once offered to beautify his earlier efforts with mythological allusions. The pupil, nettled by this criticism, soon brought to his instructress a new poem, of which the first six stanzas touched upon every part of Theban mythology; whereupon she cooled his enthusiasm by remarking with a smile: "One must sow seed by the handful, not by the bagful."

Whether the character of these earlier poetesses was above reproach or not, it is certain that in the later days of Grecian civilization music was handed over to the most degraded classes. In Egypt the caste of professional musicians was not held in any respect, and the art was often merely an added accomplishment to enhance the value of slaves. So, too, in Greece, the practice of music was given over to the Hetæræ, or courtesans. That these women were at times able to win a high position is amply proven by the case of Aspasia. A native of Miletus, she came to live in Athens, and there gained the affections of the great leader Pericles, not more by her beauty than by her high mental accomplishments. The story of her life, and of the literary and philosophical circle which she drew around her, is too well known to need repetition. Another famous courtesan, though less well endowed mentally, and evidently on a much lower plane of character, was the famous flute-player Lamia. It was her beauty rather than her intellect that won the great honours which she attained; and a temple dedicated to her as Venus Lamia, as well as a signet upon which her portrait has been preserved, bear witness to this fact.

The character of Greek music can only be conjectured. At first simple, it was regulated on a mathematical basis by Pythagoras, who understood the laws of vibration. Later on it developed into something more rich and varied, and, while still devoted to unison, or melodic, effects, it was undoubtedly full of beauty, as is the old Scotch music. Its great development, as well as the use of many small instruments (kithara, flute, etc.), go far to prove that music must have formed a larger part of woman's domestic life than the actual records show.

Roman civilization borrowed much from Greece, especially in the matter of art. It is not surprising, therefore, to find that the musical status of Rome, especially in her later days, was a mere replica of that of Greece. In the instrumental field, we find the lyre of less importance, but the flute (a term that included reed instruments also) was constantly used in ceremonial and sacrificial music. Trumpets were in use at all triumphal processions, while in the days of the empire the well-known but problematical water-organ became popular. Although the Roman domestic conditions admitted of more freedom than those of Greece, it is doubtful if the women took any important part in performance or composition of music. There are no great poetesses on the Roman roll of honour, while there are many on that of Greece.

Rome differed from Greece in having its poetry and music written by different authors, while in Greece both words and notes emanated from the same brain. But even among men the Romans possessed no important composers. The names of those who wrote music to the plays of Terence and Plautus (the plays themselves being imitations of the Greek) are known to history, but the composers possessed no position of consequence. If the men received no great homage, there must have been little incentive for women to strive in the musical field.

As in Greece, female slaves played a large part in the world of art,—with this difference, that in Rome the masters were usually on a lower plane of cultivation than their own slaves. Dancing was an adjunct to music, though often practised as a separate branch of entertainment, and brought to a high state of perfection in its pantomimic form.

The position of woman in the far East was inferior even to her station in Greece and Rome. In China, for example, everything feminine was held in contempt. This had its influence on the musical system of the Chinese, according to one of their legends. After the invention of music, the formation of various instruments, and the composition of many songs, all due to more or less mythical emperors, Hoang-Ti, who reigned about the year 2600 B. C., decided to have the art scientifically investigated and its rules formulated. In his day music was practised, but not understood in its natural elements. The emperor therefore ordered Ling-Lun to look into the matter.

This dignitary, about whose work many anecdotes exist, travelled to Northwestern China, and took up his abode on a high mountain, near a bamboo grove. On cutting a stalk and excavating the pith between two of the joints, he found that the tube gave the exact pitch of the normal human voice, and also the sound given by the waters of the Hoang-Ho, which had its source near the scene. Thus was discovered the fundamental tone of the scale.

Meanwhile, the Foang-Hoang, or sacred bird of Chinese mythology, appeared with its mate and perched upon a neighbouring tree. The male bird sang a scale of several tones, while the female sang another composed of different tones. The first note of the male bird coincided in pitch with Ling-Lun's bamboo tube, and by cutting other tubes the erudite investigator proceeded to reproduce all the tones of both. By combining these, he was able to form a complete chromatic scale. But, owing to the prejudice against the weaker sex, the tones of the female (called feminine tones even to-day) were discarded in favour of those of the male bird. The latter, the basis of Chinese music, correspond to the black keys of our piano, while the former were equivalent to the white, or diatonic, notes of our scale.

That Chinese music, based on this pentatonic scale, need not be at all displeasing, is proved by many of the old Scotch tunes, which are built on the same system. An excellent illustration of its rhythmic structure, frequent iterations, and melodic character may be found in our own familiar tune, "There is a happy land, far, far away." The harsh quality that Europeans often find in Chinese performances is undoubtedly not a necessary adjunct, as the same criticism may be made upon many of our own street singers or brass bands.

The Chinese, like many other ancient nations, have a great contempt for the caste of musicians and actors, although enjoying the drama keenly. Parents have almost unlimited power over their children, and may sell them as slaves, or even in some cases kill them; but they are not allowed to sell them to the troupes of strolling comedians or to magicians. Any one convicted of doing this, or aiding in the transaction, is punished by one hundred blows of the bamboo. Any person of free parentage marrying an actor or actress receives the same punishment. Yet, while musicians connected with the stage are held under the ban, those who devote themselves to the religious rites receive the highest esteem. These, however, cannot be women.

The music of Japan, though built on the chromatic scale, was much the same as that of China. Actors and musicians command hardly more respect in the island than on the Continent. Women play a negative part in both countries, if we except the Geishas, who entertain in the tea-houses. But Japan has made such rapid strides in civilization recently that it may not be impossible for woman to develop the activity that she has already shown in Western lands.

CHAPTER II.

MEDIÆVAL

The position of woman among the northern races that overthrew the Roman power was wholly different from that which she held in the more ancient epoch, but even under the newer regime it was no enviable one. In many of the earlier Germanic systems, wives were bought by a definite payment of goods or of cattle. That this was a recognized practice is shown in the laws of Ethelbert, which state that if a man carry off a freeman's wife, he must at his own expense procure another for the injured husband. Usually women had no rights of inheritance, though in some cases they could inherit when there were no male children, and in others they could transmit the right of inheritance to their male descendants. Sometimes they were allowed to inherit movable property of a certain sort, probably largely the result of their own handiwork. The evident idea of the Salic law was to allow woman a marriage portion only, and as soon as she was safely bestowed upon some neighbouring group of people, neither she nor her children had any further claim upon the parent group.

Great cruelty was evident in the treatment of female slaves. According to the laws of Athelstan, if one of these were convicted of theft, she should in punishment be burned alive by eighty other such slaves. A similar example of stern discipline is afforded by the ecclesiastical provision, occurring no less than three times, that, if a woman scourged her slave to death, she should do penance. It is little wonder that under these conditions the female slaves would sing in a rather forced manner, if at all, and the women themselves would hardly indulge in the gentle art of composing music.

The early Christian Church, too, afforded no encouragement for women to exert their musical abilities. When the earliest meetings occurred in the catacombs, the female members of the congregation took their part in singing the hymns, but, when organized choirs were formed, they were allowed no place. The singing-schools founded in Rome by the Popes Sylvester I. and Hilary, at the end of the fourth century, were devoted solely to the training of male voices. In describing the earlier music, St. John Chrysostom says: "The psalms which we sing unite all the voices in one, and the canticles arise harmoniously in unison. Young and old, rich and poor, women, men, slaves, and citizens, all of us have formed but one melody together." But the custom of permitting women to join with men in the singing was abolished by the Synod of Antioch in the year 379.

In the music of the Celtic and Gaelic races, also, woman had no place. Their songs, like their lives, were martial in character. The harpists of Ireland and Wales, and the bagpipers of Scotland, were all men, and they made strict rules about the admission of new members to their guilds. Even among the early English minstrels, who devoted their powers to the milder art of love-songs and Christmas carols, no women are to be found. The wandering life of these bards and singers was too rude at first to admit of participation by the gentler sex, and it was only under more stable conditions of civilization that woman at last gained the opportunity of showing and developing her talents.

With the advent of chivalry, she found herself at once in a more exalted position. In this epoch, when cultivated minds began to devote their energies to other things besides fighting in war and carousing in peace, music found new and worthier subjects in nature and love and the beauty of woman. Under the new system she became the arbiter of all knightly disputes, the queen to whom all obedience was due. From this extreme worship arose the schools of the Minnesingers and the Troubadours, who paid her manifold homage in the shape of poetry and song.

According to the general statements of history, the Minnesingers began their career in the time of Frederick Barbarossa, of Germany. This would place their origin in the latter part of the twelfth century. Yet it is a strange fact that Heinrich of Veldig, usually accounted the pioneer in this new school of singing, utters a complaint about the loss of the good old times, and bewails the decay of the true greatness of the art to which he devoted himself. The original song in which he expresses this sentiment is still extant, and the particular stanza in question runs as follows:

"Do man der rehten minne pflag
Da pflag man ouch der ehren;
Nu mag man naht und tag
Die boesen sitte leren;
Swer dis nu siht, und jens do sach,
O we! was der nu clagen mag
Tugende wend sich nu verkehren."

That many of the early songs of the Minnesingers have been preserved is due to the forethought of Rüdiger of Manesse, a public officer of Zurich in the fourteenth century. He made a thorough collection of all specimens of the style of the Minnesingers, and many subsequent works, such as that of Von Der Hagen, are based upon his researches.

The language ordinarily used by the Minnesingers was that of Suabia, which was that employed at the imperial and many lesser courts of Germany. They used it with a skill and delicacy which was generally far superior to the style of the Troubadours. In performing their works, they did not, like their western brethren, have recourse to hired accompanists, or Jongleurs, but supported the vocal part by playing on a small viol. The Jongleurs were essentially a French institution, and no class of musicians similar to them existed in Germany. The Minnesingers, like the Troubadours, were amateurs, and aimed to keep free from the taint of professionalism. Men of the highest rank were proud to belong to this order of musicians, and emperors, princes, and famous knights are found among them.

The love-songs of the Minnesingers, as already intimated, were less fiery than those of the Troubadours. While the Provençal minstrel allowed his homage to his chosen lady to proceed to extreme lengths, his German brother paid a less excessive but far purer tribute to the object of his affections. Very often, too, the German poets rose to a still higher level, and sang praises of the ideal qualities of womanhood in general. Thus the singers of Germany caused far less domestic discord than those of France.

That there was still some unlicensed gallantry, however, can be seen from the type of music known as "Wacht-Lieder," or watch-songs. In these the amorous knight is represented as pleading with the watchman of the castle for admission to his lady-love. Sometimes the song took the form of a warning from the watchman, telling that daylight was near and the knight must depart.

Besides giving the world a host of shorter songs, the period of the Minnesingers brought forth some really great poets who were successful in the larger forms. The author, or authors, of the famous "Nibelungenlied" are unknown; but the work remains to us as the greatest epic of Germany. Foremost in point of fame stands Wolfram von Eschenbach, author of the familiar "Parzifal." In depicting his characters, he strikes a note of idealistic beauty. Another great poet was Gottfried of Strasburg, almost as famous as Wolfram, and in some respects his opposite. His characters are endowed with life and vigour, and eager to seize the pleasures of earth while they last. His best work was "Tristan and Isolde."

The legend of Tannhäuser, which has crystallized and been handed down to us in story, has an undoubted basis of fact. The existence of the cave of Venus, in the Thuringian hill of Hörselburg, may be taken as not proven; but there certainly was a tournament of song at the castle of the Wartburg, and many famous knights probably took part in it. Whether Tannhäuser himself was real is an open question; but there can be no doubt about Walther von der Vogelweide, who was one of Germany's greatest masters in the shorter forms.

Examples of still another style in the work of the Minnesingers are almost surely a direct imitation of the work of the Trouvères of Northern France. These examples consist of more or less lengthy fables, or sometimes tales with a pleasing moral attached. Many stories of Roman history are found among these, and many of the proverbs which we use without thinking of their authorship date from this time. Among the latter are, "Set not the wolf to guard the sheep," "Never borrow trouble,"

"The king must die,
And so must I,"

and many other such gems of wisdom.

In all this the women had some share, if they did not play so important part as their sisters in France. Their position as hostesses, or as the objects of poetical tribute, enabled them to comment and criticize, and, if they did little actual composing, they were allowed to take a prominent part in the performance of music. We find in the old books of rules and codes of education that the woman of rank and position was possessed of many accomplishments, if not exactly those that are expected to-day. One of these codes, or Essenhamens, as they were called, gives the four chief duties of women, and, making allowance for the change in civilization, they correspond fairly well with those already quoted from the present German Empress. The cooking and sewing remain the same, but, instead of amusing the children, the women were expected to care for children of a larger growth, by obtaining a knowledge of surgery. The chatelaine was supposed to take full charge of her lord if he returned wounded from tourney or battle. Instead of church matters, the final accomplishment was the secular game of chess.

Another work of the time gives rules of behaviour for women, inculcating a submissive demeanour that is hardly practised to-day. The usual modesty of deportment was prescribed; women were always to direct their glances discreetly downward, and in the case of a stranger were to speak only when addressed. If a room were full of women, and a man should suddenly enter, the rules of decorum compelled them to rise immediately, and remain standing until he should seat himself.

The extent of knightly devotion to women in the age of chivalry can hardly be exaggerated. The work of Ulrich von Lichtenstein, for instance, in his "Frauendienst," is full of the most absurd performances, which any sensible lady would have been justified in repudiating. The Troubadours indulged in even greater vagaries, and one Pierre Vidal, in love with a certain Louve de Penautier, whose first name meant "she-wolf," adopted the name of Loup, and actually assumed a wolf skin as his garment. To prove his sincerity even more, he insisted upon being completely wrapped in this hide and hunted by hounds and horsemen. After the dogs had caught him, he would not allow them to be pulled off, but insisted upon enduring their attacks for the glory of his lady-love. When nearly dead, he was rescued and taken to her castle, where he recovered health if not mental balance.

More noble than any of these was the tribute paid to women by the Minnesinger Henry of Meissen. Declining to single out any one fair Muse, he sang of womankind as a whole, and never ceased to praise their purity, their gentleness, and their nobility. Through his life he was honoured by them with the title of "Frauenlob" (praise of women), and at his death they marched in the funeral procession, and each threw a flower into his grave, making it overflow with blossoms.

The royal house of Suabia did its best to encourage the art of the Minnesingers, allowing them a liberty of criticism that would ordinarily be undreamed of in court life. It is in an epoch little later than this that we find a singer expressing one of his objections to royalty in the following verse:

"King Rudolf is a worthy king,
All praise to him be brought;
He likes to hear the masters play and sing,
But after that he gives them naught."

The rise of the Troubadours is due wholly to Oriental influences. There may have been some native poetry among the pastoral races of the sunny land of Provence, where the guild flourished, but not a single line of it remains to us. Moreover, it is certain that the Eastern minstrels left their impress in Spain, and that the Crusaders brought back from the Orient, among many other novelties, the custom of encouraging minstrelsy. The Arabian bards sang chiefly of love, as they well might in a land where female loveliness received such excessive worship. At the Saracenic courts, the bards were ever ready to win gratitude, and even more substantial rewards, by praising the latest favourite at the expense of former beauties. Provence, with its dazzling sun and glowing climate, possessed a striking resemblance to the Eastern countries, and among its inhabitants were many who could boast an Oriental ancestry. No less than five times did Saracen emirs lead their hosts into the country, endeavouring to overcome it not only by force of arms, but by the more peaceful and more certain method of introducing their own industries and customs. Provence itself was a land of peace and repose, and could better encourage gentler arts than the warlike nations of Northern Spain. We may find the Troubadours definitely established there in the early part of the twelfth century.

The language of their songs is the beautiful "Langue d'oc," so called from the use of the word "oc" to mean yes, and thus distinguished from the "Langue d'oil" of Northern France and the "Lingua di si" of Italy. The "Langue d'oc" was spoken in the entire southern part of France, and has given its name to a province of the present. So when the nobles of Provence, in the lordly retirement of their ancestral castles, sought an entertainment suited to their refined and sympathetic natures, they were soon imitated by the greater part of the nation.

The songs of the Troubadours were in many cases taken directly from Eastern models. In early Arabian times it was customary for two shepherds to converse in music by intoning responsive phrases on their flutes; and it soon became customary for two minstrels to sing in like manner. In the early songs of the Bible, too, are many verses whose second half answers the first, and, in fact, the Hebrew words for "answer" and "sing" are said to be identical. Among the Troubadours, this species of musical dialogue took the form of the tenson, or contention. The use of answering couplets in solo songs is another point of resemblance. Another favourite Arabian form was the casida, or stanza constructed with only one rhyme, and the rich and melodious Provençal tongue lent itself excellently to poems of this structure. So successful were the Troubadours in using it that sometimes their compositions were over a hundred lines in length. The short but brilliant Arabian lyrics, called "Maouchah," or embroidery, were well imitated by dainty and sparkling lyrics of the Troubadours. The Oriental mourning song became the Planh, or dirge. The evening tribute of the Arabian minstrels to their chosen loves became the serenade, while the Troubadours went still further in this vein by originating the aubade, or morning song. Among the other forms used, the verse was merely a set of couplets, the chanson was divided into several stanzas, while the sonnet was much freer in form than at present. When more than two singers took part in a tenson, it became a tournament. The sirvente was a song of war or politics, sometimes satirical, sometimes in praise of the exploits of a generous patron. The sixtine contained six stanzas of six lines each, with the rhymes holding over from one stanza to the next, and occurring in a different order in each stanza. The rhymes in the sirvente differed from what we consider correct by consisting always of a repetition of the same word. The discord was a sort of free fantasia, sometimes in several dialects. The pastorelle was of pastoral character, usually consisting of short lines and containing a dialogue.

Among the more narrative forms are found the ballad, more especially favoured by the Trouvères, or minstrels of the "Langue d'oil" regions. It gave rise to the various metres used in the epics, and sometimes formed the basis of these longer works. In general, the Trouvères devoted themselves to fiction and story, while their southern brethren sang of love. The novel, used largely in the south, was a short poem containing some brilliant anecdote of gallantry, couched in neat phrase. The romance, or long narrative, was by reason of its size the most permanent of all the poetry of this age. Though written by both Troubadours and Trouvères, the latter were far superior in style and invention, and it is mostly their work which has survived. These romances were sometimes in prose, but more often in poetry of extremely smooth and flowing metre.

The romances grouped themselves in three principal cycles,—first, the Carlovingian, including the stories of Charlemagne, of Roland and the twelve peers, of Fierabras, and so on; second, the Arthurian, dealing with the legends of the Round Table; and third, the Alexandrian, containing tales of antiquity, chiefly of Alexander the Great. In the first group, "Brut d'Angleterre" contains the mythical story of all the early English kings. It was adapted from lower Brittany by Robert Wace. A Saxon Trouvère continued this to his own time, imbuing his work with thorough hatred of the Normans. Walter Map, Archdeacon of Oxford under Henry II., wrote many Arthurian tales, while Chrétien de Troyes wrote the greater part of "Sir Perceval de Galles" in Norman-French. "Floriant and Florete" is another Arthurian tale, while "Aucassin and Nicolette," of unknown authorship, is a charming romance of love in Southern France and captivity among the Saracens.

The life of the Troubadour forms a pleasing picture in the book of mediæval history. He was essentially a gentleman by birth, scorning to take pay for his songs, and often distributing the gifts he received among his servants. He had to maintain a large retinue, and give sumptuous entertainments, with the result that he often used up his entire patrimony. The usual course in such cases was a trip to Palestine with the Crusaders, and a gallant death in battle with the infidel. But before reaching that end, his career must have been decidedly pleasant. He would pass the winter in his castle, training himself in feats of arms and in musical composition. At the advent of spring, he would issue forth, followed by a train of Jongleurs singing his songs, and proceed through field and wood to the nearest castle. Here in the evening a great feast would be arranged, with the Jongleurs in a special minstrels' gallery. Next day there would be music on the ramparts, or in fair weather brocade carpets would be spread in the meadows, and knights and ladies would listen to more songs. Here the Troubadour himself at times deigned to perform, thus affording his hearers an unusual privilege. Here, too, the women had a chance to show their own skill; for, if there were no woman Trouvères, there were plenty who were well able to hold their own in the shorter forms of the Troubadours.

That kings and princes did not disdain to become Troubadours is proved by the example of Richard of England and the Dauphin of Auvergne. But it is more unexpected to find a queen among their ranks, and that no less a queen than Eleanor, wife of Henry II. of England. Her grandfather, William of Poitou, was one of the earliest patrons of the art, and she inherited his tastes. Her career, like his, is one of boldness and adventure. When wife of Louis VII., before her marriage with Henry, she set an example to chivalry by going to the Crusades with that French king, and not in the capacity of wife, but rather as an Amazon warrior. She gathered around her a troupe of kindred spirits, and, equipped in the most graceful array that armourers and milliners could devise, started off at the head of her husband's knights. Her campaign was conducted on principles of pleasure rather than of strategy. In Asia Minor, where she led the van during the march, she chose her route according to the beauty of the landscape rather than safety of position, and more than once brought the army into grave danger. She varied the monotony of the advance by several romantic love episodes, notably with a young emir in the train of the Sultan Noureddin. She conducted her career in much the same style as the light opera heroine of to-day, who pauses in the midst of the action to sing a song, pursue an amour, or bask in the favour of all beholders.

ELEANOR OF AQUITAINE

Chief among her admirers was Bernard de Ventadour, whose verse has received high praise from the poet Petrarch. Of humble birth, he won the interest of the viscount of the castle, who gave him a good education. In those days this training consisted in knowing how to be courteous and well behaved, and how to compose a song and sing it. Bernard, after exercising his growing powers on the beauties of spring, the fragrance of flowers, and the music of the nightingale, turned his attentions to the charms of the young viscountess, which he sung with such success that one day the object of his praises, in a fit of rapture, bestowed a kiss upon him. Enraptured by this, he sang his eulogies with still more boldness, until he roused the jealousy of the lord of the castle, who locked up his young spouse, and drove the Troubadour from the district. He took refuge at the court of Eleanor, for whom he conceived a second and more passionate adoration, and whom he followed to England. But Henry was either more indulgent or more indifferent, and no further quarrels came.

The atmosphere of refinement brought into the rude life of the castle by the Troubadours is more than offset by the domestic infelicity they caused. Each of these knight-errants of literature was supposed to choose a lady-love, and it made no difference if she were already married. Thus conjugal fidelity was at a very low ebb, while amorous intrigues were openly encouraged by what amounted to a definite system of civilization. To settle the many vexed questions arising from this state of affairs, the Courts of Love were formed, at which noble ladies decided all disputed points. Most famous of these courts was that of Queen Eleanor herself, while among the others were those of the ladies of Gascony, the Viscountess of Narbonne, the Countess of Champagne, and the Countess of Flanders. Disputes before these courts usually took the form of the tenson, or contention, already described.

Many are the legendary accounts of the laws upon which these courts based their decisions. There are fables of knights riding in magic forests and finding scrolls attached by golden chains to the necks of fiery dragons, or the feet of fleet birds. These laws, if not applicable in our present civilization, show in the most interesting fashion how the subject of love was regarded in the twelfth century. Among them are found the following startling statements:

"Marriage cannot be pleaded as an excuse for refusing to love."

"A person who cannot keep a secret can never be a lover."

"No one can really love two people at the same time," says one rule; but another adds, "Nothing prevents one lady being loved by two gentlemen, or one gentleman by two ladies."

Two years was the required period of mourning for a dead lover. But such constancy may not have been demanded in the case of the living, for, according to rule, "A new love-affair banishes the old one completely."

Lovers in those days were expected to show the most definite symptoms of their malady; for, according to law, "Every lover is accustomed to grow pale at the sight of his lady-love;" "At the sudden and unexpected prospect of his lady-love, the heart of the true lover invariably palpitates;" and "A real lover is always the prey of anxiety and malaise." Also, "A person who is the prey of love eats little and sleeps little."

There are many maxims on the best way of keeping true love alive, and many more on the subject of jealousy. That the love of the Troubadours was none too permanent is indicated by the statement, "A moderate presumption is sufficient to justify one lover in entertaining grave suspicions of the other."

Among the celebrated decisions is one given by the Countess of Champagne upon the question, "Can real love exist between married people?" Basing her decision on the fact that love implies a free granting of all favours, while marriage enforces constraint, the fair arbiter decided for the negative. Another decree, of wider application, was pronounced by Queen Eleanor. A lover, after entreating his lady's favour in vain, sent her a number of costly presents, which she accepted with much delight. Yet even after this tribute to her charms, she remained obdurate, and would not grant him the slightest encouragement. He accordingly brought the case before the Court of Love, on the ground that the lady, by accepting his presents, had inspired him with false hopes. Eleanor gave the decision wholly in his favour, saying that the lady must refuse to receive any gifts sent as love-tokens, or must make compensation for them. The story does not tell whether the lady in question accepted the suitor or returned the gifts.

The absurdity to which these laws were carried is shown by another decision of Eleanor's. A gentleman became deeply smitten with a lady who had given her love to another, but who would have been pleased to return his devotion if ever deprived of her first lover. Soon after, the original pair were married. The gentleman, citing the decision that real love cannot exist between married people, claimed that the lady was now free to reward his fidelity. The lady declared that she had not lost the love of her first suitor by marrying him, but Queen Eleanor upheld the decision cited, and ordered the lady to grant her new lover the favours he desired.

The Troubadours at times treated subjects far different from the usual short lyrics or long romances. Many of these minstrels performed the unusual task of setting the laws in poetic form. It is not unusual to find lawyers becoming good poets, but in this case the legal minstrels drew from the codes of their native land enough inspiration for long effusions. Moral and religious precepts, too, were often put in the form of lengthy poems. Of even greater interest to the student of old customs are the so-called "Essenhamens," or collections of rules for behaviour for young ladies. In one of these, by Amanieus des Escas, called the god of love, the poet gives his counsel to a young lady in the train of some great countess. He meets her in one of her walks, whereupon she addresses him and asks for certain rules to guide her conduct. The poet, after apologetically insisting that she must know more about it, having ten times as much common sense as he has, overcomes his scruples, and proceeds to pour forth much undiluted wisdom.

From his verses we learn to approve of the well-known system of early rising and early retiring, with many minor points about washing, dressing, caring for the teeth and nails, and other mysteries of the toilet. Then follow rules for behaviour in church, with directions to preserve a quiet demeanour, and avoid improper use of the eyes or the tongue. From the church the writer conducts his pupil to the dinner-table, reciting many important details in carving, passing the dishes properly, and performing the correct ablutions. He closes this episode with the excellent advice that no harm can come from tempering wine with water. After this comes the conversation in the drawing-room, and many naïve methods of raising interesting discussions are suggested.

Less highly gifted than the Troubadours were the Jongleurs, who composed their retinue. These musical jacks-of-all-trades began as accompanists, singing the songs of their master at the castles he visited. But soon they grew numerous and independent, and occupied a station varying from that of our public entertainers to that of the humblest street musician. Nothing came amiss to them,—singing, playing all instruments, dancing, imitating the calls of animals and birds, and even the juggling that has derived its name from them. In the wandering life that they led, they were often forced to take their wives and children along, and thus women grew accustomed to take some part in the performances.

The glee-maidens were essentially an English institution, and no doubt they were more sure of courtesy and protection in that country than on the Continent. They were by far the most romantic figures of the minstrel world. Often they would wander about the country alone and unguarded, braving or avoiding the dangers of the road. Sometimes their only escort was a pet dog or a goat. They arrayed themselves in small garments of bright colours, often adorned with silver, while on their feet were leather buskins. They were at home in the courtyards of castles and monasteries no less than in the midst of villages and towns, and, mounting on some slight knoll, they would entertain gentles and commoners with voice and violin. They are often introduced into the romances of early England, and many famous glee-maidens are found on the pages of history. One of the most celebrated was Adeline, who lived in the time of William the Conqueror, and was successful enough to be rewarded by him with an estate.

In the reign of Henry III. we find one really great figure among the glee-maidens,—Marie de France. She was the Jongleuse of William Longsword, son of Henry II. and Fair Rosamond, and he certainly deserves the gratitude of the literary world for discovering and fostering her wonderful talent. Born probably in Brittany, her life and works identified her with the English. She was familiar with the Breton tongue, and also with Latin. Her first production was a set of lays in French verse, that met with instant popularity throughout England. The courts of the nobles reëchoed with her praises, and ladies as well as knights were never weary of listening to her songs. Twelve of them are now in the British Museum, among them a beautiful one dealing with King Arthur and the Round Table. These works are of rare charm, no less for their pleasing style and depth of feeling than for their simplicity of expression and clearness of narrative. Her second effort was a poetical rendering of many of Æsop's fables, done either as a favour or a tribute of love for her protector. This was followed by a translation of the Purgatory of St. Patrick in Ireland, taken from the Latin.

Few of the glee-maidens were so richly gifted or so highly placed as Marie. Most of them travelled about, either alone or in the company of glee-men, and were content with more ordinary compositions. At times they were accompanied by dancing bears, who went through their figures with the maidens, while the glee-men played, and tripped a fantastic toe, if not exactly a light one.

The existence of the Jongleurs gradually undermined that of the Troubadours, as the former grew more and more proficient. In the thirteenth century we find Guirant Riquier, often called the last of the Troubadours, requesting King Alfonso X. of Castile to make a definite classification of Jongleurs, and title the best, thus preventing the indiscriminate mixing of high and low musicians in the public mind. The king made some effort to do so, but met with little success, for the whole institution was gradually decaying. A more tragic fate awaited the Troubadours of Provence, the home of the art. Espousing the cause of the Albigenses, they used their wit with such telling effect that they brought down upon themselves the deadly hatred of the Papists; and in the short but bloody war that followed, they were almost wholly exterminated in the cruel slaughter caused by the forces of religious intolerance. Don Pedro of Aragon, who came to aid his brother Troubadours, met with defeat and death, and after his loss the victors started on a career of cruelty, torture, and indiscriminate murder. The castles of the minstrel knights, once the home of beauty and song, were razed to the ground, and the Troubadours were blotted from the page of history.

CHAPTER III.

WIVES OF THE COMPOSERS

Among the women who have influenced music without actually creating it, none have had greater chances to use their power than the wives of the famous composers. Often they have been endowed with no inconsiderable musical genius themselves, but have sacrificed their claim to renown upon the altar of domestic duty. Sometimes, in rare instances, they have had the ability to perform the double task of caring for the household and continuing their own musical labours. Their story is an interesting one, and from the time of the great John Sebastian Bach, who stands as a model of domestic purity, down even to the present day, they have played a large part in shaping the musical destinies of the world.

From the twelfth to the seventeenth century is a long gap, and music underwent many changes during this period. After the passing of the minstrel knights, popular music fades out of sight. That it had an existence, however, is amply proven. The Jongleurs must have continued long after their masters were stamped out, for their direct successors are with us to-day, and our hand-organ is the descendant of their fearful and wonderful organistrum. The entire school of English national music saw its palmiest days during this epoch. Even on the Continent, the great schools of contrapuntists delighted to show their skill by employing as their cantus firmus, or chief part, some well-known popular song, such as "L'Homme Armé," for example.

In Germany, the mantle of the Minnesingers fell upon the guilds of musical amateurs in the growing commercial cities. Less poetic than their predecessors, these Mastersingers, as they named themselves, often took refuge in arbitrary rules and set metrical forms that made a poor substitute for real inspiration. That there was some genuine poetic feeling and humour among them is shown by the work of Hans Sachs, the greatest of their number. He wrote many poems and plays, of which the "Fassnachtspiele" were the most popular and the most mirth-provoking. Contrary to the version of his life given in Wagner's opera, he succeeded in making a second marriage late in life; and contrary to the general experience in such cases, the marriage was a happy one, for his young wife was exceedingly proud of her famous husband. But in the actual creative work of the Mastersingers woman played no part.

Sacred music and the science of composition flourished as never before. There is an appropriate saying that old music was horizontal, while now it is vertical; and the contrast between the interweaving of parts, proceeding smoothly together, and our single melodies supported by massive chords, is aptly illustrated by the remark. This very interweaving led to a style of music that was extremely complex, affording chances for intellectual and mathematical skill rather than emotional fervour. It has been customary to say that this style of composition was unsuited to women, and to pass over the epoch with the casual remark that no women composers appear within its limits. But modern research has shown the futility of this statement.

The records of the Netherland schools are meagre, so it is to Italy that we must turn for the earliest examples of skilled women composers. The first great name is that of Maddalena Casulana, who was born at Brescia about 1540. Her published compositions took the shape of two volumes of madrigals, issued in 1568 and 1583. Next in point of time comes Vittoria Aleotti, a native of Argenta. Her magnum opus was published at Venice, in 1593, under the flowery title, "Ghirlanda dei Madrigali a 4 Voci." Francesca Baglioncella, born at Perugia in the same century, is another exponent of the art, while Orsina Vizzani, who first saw the light of day at Bologna in 1593, not only composed many pieces in this form, but by playing her own and others'[3] works did much to make it popular with all music-lovers in Italy.

The year 1600 saw the beginning of opera, due to the work of Peri and his Florentine compeers in trying to—

"Revive the just designs of Greece."

Among the early operatic composers is found the charming and accomplished Francesca Caccini, daughter of that Giulio Caccini who was Peri's friend and most formidable rival. Born at Florence in 1581, and educated in the most thorough manner, she was for many years the idol of her native city, not only because of her great talent in singing and composition, but also on account of the exquisite beauty of her Latin and Tuscan poetry. Among other musical works by her are two examples of the new form,—"La Liberazione di Ruggiero" and "Rinaldo Innamorato,"—both of which are preserved to us. A later composer in the same field was Barbara Strozzi, whose opera, "Diporti d'Euterpe," was successfully received at Venice in 1659. In Ricordi's modern collection of old Italian songs are some charming examples of her skill in other directions.

In the domain of Italian sacred music, too, the women were not inactive. Catterina Assandra, at the beginning of the seventeenth century, wrote a number of religious works, of which "Veni Sancte Spiritus," for two voices, achieved more than passing fame. Margarita Cozzolani and Lucrezia Orsina Vezzana, both Catholic sisters, won renown by their motets and other sacred works. Cornelia Calegari, born at Bergamo in 1644, won the plaudits of her nation by her wonderful singing and organ-playing, as well as by her many compositions. Her first book of motets was published in her fifteenth year, and met with universal success. The highest forms possessed no difficulties for her, and among her works are several masses for six voices, with instrumental accompaniment. These names are enough to show that woman was able to hold her own, even in a period when music had apparently banished those emotional qualities with which she is said to be most in sympathy.

The women of other countries were not idle in this period of musical activity. Germany, in spite of her meagre records, can show at least one great name. Madelka Bariona, who lived during the sixteenth century, upheld the musical reputation of her country by publishing seven five-voiced psalms at Altdorf, in 1586. Bernarda Ferreira de Lacerda was of Portuguese nationality. She won great renown by her writings and her knowledge of languages. Philip II. of Spain wished to entrust her with the education of his children, but she declined, alleging as her reason that she wished to devote all her time to study. Many of her manuscript compositions and musical writings are preserved in the Royal Library at Madrid.

France can boast of a real genius in Clementine de Bourges, who was born at Lyons in the sixteenth century. Such authorities as Mendel and Grove accord her a rank with the very greatest of her time. She held a high position among the intellectual leaders of that day, as much by her great learning as by her musical skill. She shows complete mastery of many instruments, and her gifts in composition are amply proven by her four-part chorus, which can be found in J. Paix's organ collection. Her career was brought to an untimely end by grief. She was engaged to Jean de Peyrat, a royal officer, who met his death in a skirmish with the Huguenots in 1560. Her sorrow at this disaster proved incurable, and she died in the next year.

Although the unfortunate Mary, Queen of Scots, belongs to a more northern land, the credit of her talents may be fairly accorded to France, where she received her education. She made no musical attempts in the more ambitious forms, but wrote many songs, among which "Las! en mon doux Printemps" and "Monsieur le Provost des Marchands" met with considerable success in their day.

With the advent of Bach, music was no longer the dry mathematical study that it had been during the later middle ages, for in his hands it became imbued with true feeling. Descended from a famous family of musicians, he was born at the little German town of Eisenach, in 1685. Receiving his early education at Ohrdruf, he showed himself endowed with unusual genius. Forced to make his way when fifteen years old, he supported himself in the Convent School of St. Michael's, at Luneburg, by means of his musical talents. After a short term as court musician at Weimar, he became organist of the New Church at Arnstadt, and here he met the woman who was to be his first wife. Almost the earliest mention of her is made in a report of the consistory, criticizing the young organist for certain breaches of discipline. From this report, it appears that he had asked for four weeks' leave for study, and had stayed away four months; he had played interludes that the reverend board considered too long and too intricate; and, on being reproved, he had made them too short; and once, during the sermon, he had gone forth and spent these stolen moments in a wine-cellar. The final charge asks by what authority he has latterly allowed a strange maiden to appear, and to make music in the choir. This "strange maiden," who made music with Bach in the solitude of the empty church, was none other than his cousin, Maria Barbara. A year later (1707) he married her, and took her to Mühlhausen, where he had found a less troublesome post as organist in the Church of St. Blasius.

The domestic life of Bach and his wife was a pattern for married couples of all time. All his friends unite in calling him an especially excellent "Haus-Vater," a term of commendation applied to those men who remember their duty to their own families, and do not sacrifice domestic happiness to fame and fortune. Personally he was pleasant to every one, mere acquaintances as well as intimate friends, and his house was always the centre of a lively gathering. With his wife, he took sedulous care of the education of his children, of whom there were no less than six at her early death in 1720.

Bach was not the man to remain long a widower, and in the next year the bereaved composer's fancy lightly turned to thoughts of a second marriage. His choice fell upon Anna Magdalena Wulken, a Cöthen court singer of twenty-one years, and the happy consummation occurred on December 3d. She was a good musician, and did much to enliven the domestic circle by her beautiful soprano voice. Not content with merely taking part in her husband's works, she learned from him to play the clavier and read figured bass, and rendered him valuable aid by copying music for him.

Soon after the marriage, Bach and his wife started a manuscript music book, entitled "Clavier Büchlein von Anna Magdalena Bach, Anno 1720." On the first page was written a playful denunciation of the melancholy and hostility to art that were so often inculcated by the Calvinism of that time. This book and another of the kind, which followed it five years later, are both preserved in the Royal Berlin Library. In them are a series of clavier pieces, by Bach, Gerhard, and others; a number of hymns and sacred songs; one of several humourous song's, describing the reflections of a smoker; and still others, apparently addressed to his wife, and giving fresh proofs of his devotion to her. Her portrait was painted by Cristofori, but disappeared after being in the possession of one of the sons.

As a result of his second marriage, Bach was blessed with thirteen more children, six sons and seven daughters. All his children loved him, and his kindness and sincerity enabled him to retain their respect as well as their affection. In all his activity he was never too busy to save some time for the family circle, where, in later life, he would take the viola part in the concerted music that cheered his domestic hearth. It is sad to think of the poor wife's fate in contrast with so much family happiness. After Bach's death, in 1750, she struggled bravely to support her children, but became gradually poorer, and was forced to end her days in an almshouse, and be buried in a pauper's grave.

Less happy than Bach in his married life was Franz Josef Haydn. After a boyhood of poverty and struggles, he obtained a position as Kapellmeister to a Bohemian nobleman, Count Morzin. This post was none too lucrative, however, for it brought the composer only about one hundred dollars a year, while his teaching could not have provided him with much extra wealth, and his compositions brought him nothing. Yet his financial troubles did not deter him from seeking those of matrimony, in spite of the fact that Count Morzin never kept married men in his service. According to the poet Campbell, marriage looks like madness in nine cases out of ten; and Haydn's venture was certainly no exception.

The one upon whom the composer's affections lighted was the younger daughter of a barber named Keller. He had met her while a choir-boy in the Church of St. Stephen, at Vienna, and she had afterward become one of his pupils. For some unexplained reason,—let us hope it was not because of the young composer's love,—she took to the veil, and renounced the wickedness and the marriages of the world. The barber, possibly hoping to lighten the suitor's disappointment, and very probably wishing to have both daughters off his hands, promptly suggested to the young lover that he take the elder sister instead. Apparently realizing that marriage at best is but a lottery, Haydn accepted the proposition.

The wedding took place at St. Stephen's, on November 26, 1760. Whether Count Morzin would have made an exception in Haydn's case, and retained him in spite of this event, there is no means of telling, for that nobleman met with financial reverses, and was forced to give up his musical establishment. Fortunately for the young genius, some of his works had been heard and admired by the Prince Paul Esterhazy, who showed his musical discernment by taking Haydn into his service and becoming a lifelong patron of the composer.

There was little real affection between Haydn and his wife at the start of their life journey together. He declared, however, that he really began to have some feeling for her, and would have come to entertain still warmer sentiments toward her if she had behaved at all reasonably. But unfortunately, she did not seem to be capable of behaving reasonably. The wives of great men are usually proud of the attainments of their husbands, and take no pains to conceal this fact. But the barber's daughter of Vienna was totally lacking in any real appreciation of her gifted consort. As Haydn himself observed once, it would have made no difference if he had been a shoemaker instead of an artist. She used his manuscript scores as curl-papers and underlays for the family pastry; she made continual use of the conjugal privilege of going through his pockets and abstracting the cash; and once, when he was in London, her calm selfishness rose to the point of asking him to buy a certain house, which she admired, so that she might have a home provided for her widowhood.

Through all his troubles, Haydn preserved a dignified silence about his domestic unhappiness, and in his letters it is mentioned only twice. For a long time he bore the trials patiently, but at length was forced to give up the household and live apart from his domestic tormentor. The woman who had hoped for a permanent home in her widowhood ended her lonely existence in 1800, nine years before the close of her husband's career.

With these facts in view, it is not surprising to find that Haydn at times sought elsewhere the consolation he was denied at home. He was fond of feminine companions, especially when they were well endowed with personal attractions. He must have possessed ingratiating manners, for he certainly could not boast of great personal attractions, and he himself admitted that his fair admirers were, "At any rate, not tempted by his beauty." His natural tenderness showed itself in a passionate fondness for children,—a blessing denied to his own home.

One of his most violent friendships had for its object a young Italian singer of nineteen, Luigia Polzelli. Apparently she was not happy with her husband, and a bond of mutual sympathy drew the composer to her. After the death of her husband, she persuaded Haydn to sign a promise to marry her if his wife should die, but the composer afterward repudiated the agreement, very likely not wishing to repeat his first matrimonial blunder.

Another romance is found in the love-letters sent to the composer by a charming London widow named Schroeter. Without overstepping the bounds of propriety, he was able to draw some profit from this episode, for he gave lessons to his fair admirer, and allowed her to do manuscript copying for him. Apparently the friendship was more of her seeking than of his own, as her letters to him bear witness. These are copied neatly in one of his note-books, along with various amusing "Anectods," a description of a London fog, "thick enough to be spread on bread," and an excellent receipt for making the Prince of Wales's punch.

Mozart was another musical genius who was forced to accept as second choice the sister of his first love, though in his case the results were not so disastrous as with Haydn. It was in Mannheim, on the way to Paris, that Mozart made the acquaintance of the copyist Weber, and succumbed to the charms of his daughter, Aloysia. But Leopold Mozart, wisely playing the rôle of stern father, soon sped the susceptible youth on his way to the French capital. It is a French proverb that tells us,—

"Nous revenons toujours
À nos premiers amours,"—

and a year later he returned. But Aloysia, now famous by her singing, soon made it plain that his affection was no longer returned. Mozart seems to have borne the blow well, and soon after her marriage to the actor Lange, who proved a jealous husband, he wrote home his decision to wed her younger sister, Constance. After much opposition from members of both families, he carried out his intention.

As in Haydn's case, the young couple were forced to live on "bread and cheese and kisses," with none too much of the first two articles. Mozart, more than any other composer, met with undeserved hardships. On every side his music was praised and his genius admired, but nobles and princes, and even the emperor, would give him no material aid. He made a devoted husband, and much of the money that disappeared so readily from his hands was probably used for the benefit of his wife, whose health was not of the best. Their life (in Vienna at first) was a continual effort to solve the old vexed problem of making both ends meet, and Constance must be given high praise for the wonderful skill with which she managed the small and uncertain income of her husband. Several times the young couple were brought face to face with the direst need, but their patience and cheerfulness carried them through the crisis. On one occasion, when there was no fuel on hand and no money to buy any, a visitor found the pair busily engaged in waltzing about their bare room in order to keep warm. At another time they were rescued from their extremity only by the kindness of their friend, the Baroness Waldstätten, who intervened just in time to save them from beggary. After three years, Leopold Mozart relented enough to visit his daughter-in-law, whom he found far more deserving than he had expected; but he himself was not well off, and could be of little financial help.

That Constance was of great aid to her husband, in spite of an easy-going nature, cannot be doubted. She possessed the faculty of telling interesting stories and novelettes, and with this apparently inexhaustible fund of invention she would amuse him between his periods of work. The description that we have of the composition of the great "Don Giovanni" overture gives a pleasing illustration of this phase of the family life. Owing to rehearsals and other work, the day before the performance arrived with no overture yet written. In the evening, according to his custom, Mozart began the task by sketching out the themes and a general plan of construction for the work. Near him sat his wife, ready to entertain him with her pleasing tales when he looked up from his work. For one or two hours he did indulge in actual repose; but all through the rest of the night he continued the work, relieving his mental concentration by listening to the storiettes or occasionally sipping a glass of his favourite punch. The manuscript was completed and ready for the copyist the next morning at seven o'clock, and along with the other numbers scored a complete success in the evening.

Some blame has attached to Constance for the lack of exact knowledge about Mozart's grave. At the hour of his burial, in the public cemetery, a violent storm drove away all the mourners. There was a cholera scare in Vienna at the time, which kept many people away from the graveyard. Her own neglect of the matter may have been caused by illness, but, whatever the reason, the fact remains that when public interest was aroused the exact location of Mozart's grave could no longer be defined.

The life of Carl Maria von Weber was tinged in its earlier years with the romance that seemed to pervade all phases of life in his native country. Germany had just passed through one of her rare but regular periods of national awakening, and every one was full of a keen spirit of patriotic originality in life, letters, and art, as well as in music. Gifted with unusual talents, trained in the paternal hope of his becoming a boy prodigy like Mozart, and urged by the need of making his own career, he soon made a name for himself by his personal charms as well as his talents. A welcome guest in the homes of aristocracy and cultivation, he possessed a roving disposition and a spirit of adventure that made his life not unlike that of the early Troubadours.

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 Freischütz," "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 Iræ 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 Ducré, 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 Ducré.

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 rôles 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 Bülow, 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.

RICHARD AND COSIMA WAGNER.

Among living composers gifted with musical wives, the most preëminent 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 rôle 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.

MARIE WIECK

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. Fétis 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 für Musik. In a more purely musical manner, his feelings took shape in such works as his "Daidsbündler" 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 Rückert, 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 Düsseldorf) 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 Variée, piano.
Op. 4, Valses Romantiques, piano.
Op. 5, Four Piéces Caracteristiques, piano.
Op. 6, Soirées 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 Rückert's "Liebesfrühling."
Op. 13, Six Songs.
Op. 14, Second Scherzo, piano.
Op. 15, Four Piéces 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 Härtel'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 Lübeck. 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 Lübeck, 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.

MARIE ANTOINETTE

It was the French attaché, 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 Erdödy received the still warmer greeting of "Liebe, liebe, liebe, liebe Gräfin." 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 Erdödy 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 Töplitz, 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 rôle 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 château, 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 Cécile 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 æstheticism 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.

SYBIL SANDERSON

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 Été." 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 "Rüdesheim," "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 preëminently 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, "Cœur 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 "Œnone." 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 Maître 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.

MAGGIE OKEY

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 début, 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 Encyclopædia. 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.