Part 20

On his return journey he planned his septet for piano, two stringed and four wind instruments, one of his most admired chamber compositions. In 1854 he passed his summer vacation in Switzerland and visited Munich. In 1855 he visited Hanover, where he heard his seventh violin concerto played, as he writes, "in a very masterly manner, by Joachim." On his departure from Hanover the Royal Hanoverian Chapel presented him with a very handsome conductor's baton. In 1856 Spohr became conscious that his productive powers were failing. He wrote two quartets and a symphony, all three of which he condemned, after repeated alterations, to remain in manuscript and silence. In 1857 he made a trip through Holland and returned to Cassel much refreshed. On Nov. 14, much against his inclination, the elector retired him from active duty on a pension of fifteen hundred thalers per annum. He soon became reconciled to his retirement, but two days after Christmas he met with a more serious misfortune in a fall which broke his left arm and rendered him incapable of further violin playing. This was a source of deep grief to him and no doubt prepared his spirit for the final resignation of all earthly joys. How he clung to his artistic endeavors may be seen in a letter to Hauptmann (April 6, 1858) in which he says: "I am now perfectly convinced that I cannot accomplish any great work more. I regret to say that my last attempt of the kind failed, and my requiem remains a fragment; nevertheless, as the subject, as far as the _Lachrimosa dies illa_, at which I stuck fast, pleases me well, and seems to have much that is new and ingenious in it, I shall not destroy it, as I should like to take it up again, and shall make another attempt to complete it." He devoted half a day to this attempt, but the effort only brought him to a final determination to abandon composition for good and all.

In the beginning of July he went to Prague, when the 50th anniversary of the Conservatory was celebrated by three musical performances, one being of "Jessonda." On the way home he visited Alexandersbad, returning much refreshed. Yet thenceforward his spirits declined; he complained to his wife that he was weary of life because he could no longer do anything. In September, however, he summoned enough interest to go to the Middle-Rhine Festival at Wiesbaden and in October to Leipsic. In December, 1858, he occupied himself once more as a teacher, giving lessons gratis to a poor girl who wished to become a teacher. On April 12, 1859, he made his last appearance as a conductor, directing his own "Consecration of Tones" symphony at a charitable concert by the Meiningen court orchestra. In the course of the summer he made a few short journeys, but could not conceal from himself their evil effects. On Sunday, Oct. 16, a change in his condition became manifest. On retiring that night he expressed to his wife a hope that he should "at length have a good night's rest." In the morning he awoke calm and refreshed in spirit, but his physician at once saw that the end was at hand. He lingered, surrounded by those he loved, till Oct. 22, when at 10.30 in the evening he peacefully passed away. In 1883 a statue was erected to his memory.

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Spohr's principal works are as follows: oratorios and cantatas--"Das jüngste Gericht" ("The Last Judgment," first version, 1812), "Die Letzten Dinge" ("The Last Judgment," second version, 1826), "Des Heilands letzte Stunden" ("Calvary," 1835), "Der Fall Babylons" ("The Fall of Babylon," 1841), and "Das befreite Deutschland" ("Free Germany"), MS.; operas--"Die Prüfung" ("The Trial," 1806), "Alruna" (1808), "Die Eulenkönigin" ("The Owl Queen," 1808), "Die Zweikampf mit der Geliebten" ("The Lovers' Duel," 1811), "Faust" (1818), "Zemire und Azor" (1819), "Jessonda" (1823), "Der Berggeist" ("The Mountain Spirit," 1825), "Pietro von Albano" (1827), "Der Alchymist" ("The Alchemist," 1830), and "Die Kreuzfahrer" ("The Crusaders," 1845); church music--mass for five solo voices and two five-part choruses, opus 54: three psalms for double chorus and soli, opus 85; hymn, "Gott du bist gross" ("God thou art great"), for chorus, soli and orchestra; symphonies--No. 1, E flat, opus 20; No. 2, D minor, opus 49; No. 3, C minor, opus 78; No. 4, "Consecration of Tones," F, opus 86; No. 5, C minor, opus 102; No. 6, "Historical symphony," G, opus 116; No. 7, "The Earthly and Heavenly in Men's Lives," for two orchestras, C, opus 121; No. 8, G minor, opus 137; No. 9, "The Seasons," B minor, opus 143; eight overtures, 17 violin concertos and concertinas, 15 violin duets, 33 string quartets, 8 quintets, four double quartets, 5 pianoforte trios, 2 sextets, an octet and a nonet, and many songs. Schletterer's catalogue of his works (published by Breitkopf and Härtel) carries the opus numbers up to 154, many of the _opera_ embracing six compositions, and there are a dozen compositions without opus numbers, among which are some of his operas and oratorios. In all he left over two hundred works, in all fields of composition.

It is difficult for us at this day to fairly estimate the importance of Spohr as a figure in musical history. Dates show us that his finest works chanced to see the light about the same time as the over-shadowing masterpieces of Weber and Mendelssohn. Thus "Faust" produced in 1818, was eclipsed by "Der Freischütz," in 1821, and his "Calvary" (1835) by "St. Paul" (1836). His "Last Judgment" alone had a free field for a time. But though we with over half a century's perspective find the masterworks of Weber and Mendelssohn still in the foreground, while Spohr recedes into the middle distance, the contemporaries of these composers saw them standing apparently shoulder to shoulder at the front of the picture. Spohr's influence upon those who lived when he did was very considerable, and, more than that, there are certain features of his style, which, it cannot be doubted, presented themselves as attractive models to his immediate followers along the path of musical progress.

Believing himself to be a disciple of Mozart, and striving to preserve in his writings the suave beauty and sculpturesque repose of the Mozart style, Spohr was at heart a romanticist, was in the vanguard of the new romantic movement in Germany, and established in his compositions some of those peculiarities which have come to be regarded as special characteristics of romantic utterance. While, therefore, he created no school and, except in violin playing, has had no large following, he exercised over his younger contemporaries a discernible influence, which cannot be disregarded. That no one in our time looks to the works of Spohr for models, does not obliterate the fact that he was an influential factor in the development of that romantic school which has given us all that is greatest in music since the death of Beethoven. One critic has well said of him: "Spohr's noble sentimentality and warmth of expression excited during his lifetime all the youth of Germany into an unusual enthusiasm. The composer's influence is now somewhat less than it was, and indeed latterly his productions have been underrated, but as all that is genuine resists momentary bias, Spohr's works are once again coming to the fore. In history, Spohr stands as a most important link between the old and new romantic schools of German tonal art. As a tone-poet he possesses an individuality so strongly marked, and so important an idiosyncrasy, that he cannot like Marschner, Kreutzer, Reissiger, and others, be identified with the school of Weber, but stands almost independent between the last-named master and men like Mendelssohn and Schumann."

The special feature of his style, which the critic just quoted calls an "important idiosyncrasy," was his mastery of chromatic modulations. The use of chromatic harmonies is characteristic of the romantic school, its further development being seen in the "Tristan und Isolde" of Wagner. It may be well to add, for the further enlightenment of the lay reader, that chromatic modulation is the secret of that flexibility of style and largeness of tonal atmosphere which are found in Wagner's works; and for the first determined movement in this direction we must thank Spohr. Nevertheless, Spohr's use of chromatic modulations was wholly unlike that of later composers. As Emil Naumann says, "If Salieri is justified in saying of certain composers, who use venturesome skips in their modulations, that they are like a man who jumps through the window when the door is open, we may well say of Spohr that he passes the open door at least six times before he decides upon entering." This circumlocution is unquestionably the result of Spohr's endeavor to place upon his natural impulses the curb of the Mozartean polish. The outcome of his self-restraint is the reduction of his operas to a dead level of sweetness that becomes wearisome.

It was this never-ceasing mellifluous quality that forced itself upon the attention of Chorley and made even that eminent lover of Bellini cry for something else besides candy. Says Chorley: "The most graceful Italian garden, where 'grove nods to grove--each alley has its brother,' is not arranged with a more perpetual reference to reflexion, parallel, reply, repetition, than the largest or the least piece of handiwork put forth by this arithmetically orderly composer. Further, Dr. Spohr's vocal ideas and phrases have, for the most part, a certain suavity and flow, belonging to the good school of graceful cantabile, eminently commendable, when not indisputably charming. But it is difficult, nay, I may say at once, impossible, to cite any motive from his pen, which, by its artless vivacity, seizes and retains the ear; and there are few of his melodies that do not recall better tunes by better men." This sweet level of cantilena undoubtedly also impressed itself on Schumann, who was expressing his admiration of Spohr when he said: "As he looks at everything as though through tears, his figures run into each other like formless, etherial shapes, for which we can scarcely find a name."

In fine Spohr's works reveal to us a man who was deficient in personal force because he was not a creative genius, but who exerted all the influence of an original mind upon his contemporaries because he was wholly at heart and almost wholly in practice in touch with a movement new and absorbing. If Spohr had possessed real creative genius, his devotion to Mozart as a model would have dwindled before the incitements of the movement toward national romanticism which was agitating German literature and art. His yearning toward the freedom and infinite possibilities of chromatic harmonies brought him into direct conflict with the polished symmetry, the veneration for a set form and a conventional distribution of keys, of the classic period of Mozart. Had he been a man of aggressive individuality he would not have made the mistake of putting an intellectual curb on his emotional impulses, but would have spoken according to the promptings of his heart.

But Spohr, though earnest in his purposes and intolerant of all that was not sincere in art, was altogether of too amiable a nature to rudely cross the Rubicon and seize upon the new territory. He was among those who saw the promised land, who felt the embrace of its atmosphere, and who yet hesitated upon the borders. The trumpet call of modern romanticism was sounded in 1821 when Vogl made Schubert's "Erl King" known to Germany, and in the same year Weber thrilled the hearts of his countrymen by giving them a national opera, "Der Freischütz," whose story, like that of Schubert's song, was taken from the folk-lore of the people. Spohr followed these leaders in making use of the national literatures as in "Faust," and the tales of the fireside, as in "Zemire und Azor"; but he emasculated his music in his endeavor to cling to the style of a period which had terminated. What might have been a style leading directly into the restless eloquence of the Wagnerian diction became a "lingering sweetness, long drawn out," and it was reserved for Weber, who had the necessary force, the resistless energy of creative power, to become the founder of true German opera and the artistic progenitor of Richard Wagner.

Wagner showed a warm appreciation of Spohr. He expressed his admiration for the composer in a letter to a Dresden friend written from Paris, in 1860, when he was preparing to produce "Tannhäuser" in the French capital. He wrote thus: "Almost simultaneously I lost by death two venerable men most worthy of respect. The death of one came home to the whole musical world, which deplores the loss of Ludwig Spohr. I leave it to that world to estimate what wealth of power, how noble a productiveness departed with the master's death. To me it is a painful reminder that with him departed the last of that company of noble, earnest musicians whose youth was directly illuminated by the glowing sun of Mozart and who like vestals fed the flame received from him with touching fidelity and protected it against all storms and winds on their chaste hearths. This lovely office preserved the man pure and noble; and if I were to undertake to express in a single phrase what Spohr proclaimed to me with such ineradicable impressiveness, I would say: He was an earnest, upright master of his art. The 'handle' of his life was faith in his art; and his greatest refreshment flowed from the potency of this belief. And this earnest faith emancipated him from all personal pettiness. All that was entirely foreign to him he severely let alone without attacking it or persecuting it. This was the coldness and brusqueness with which he was so often charged. That which was comprehensible to him (and the composer of 'Jessonda' may be credited with a deep, fine feeling for everything beautiful), that he loved and cherished, without circumlocution and with zeal, so soon as he recognized one thing in it--seriousness, a serious intention toward art. Herein lay the bond which attached him in his old age to the new endeavors in art. He could remain a stranger to it, but not an enemy. Honor to our Spohr; venerate his memory! Let us imitate his example."

Another feature of Spohr's music which calls for mention is his predilection for a programme. He was a believer in the ability of the composer to convey his emotions through the medium of absolute music to the hearer. His "Consecration of Tones" symphony, for instance, is an attempt to depict in music the part which music plays in life and nature--an attempt not wholly successful. But these labors give Spohr a place among the founders of modern romantic writing for orchestra, and as such he must be respected. His chamber music is distinguished by the general characteristics of his style, and by a beautiful clearness of construction.

As a composer of violin music and as a performer on the instrument Spohr exercised influence which is still felt. His pupils were Hubert Ries, St. Lubin, David, Bott, Blagrove, Kömpel and C. L. Bargheer, all players of note. David was the teacher of Wilhelmj, whose Doric style preserved all forcible simplicity and repose of the Spohr manner. Spohr's playing was based on the solid principles of the Mannheim school, modified somewhat by the style of Rode, for whom Spohr had a great and well-grounded admiration. But, as we should expect, Spohr in his maturity arrived at the possession of a style which was wholly the product of his own individuality. The fundamental and vital characteristic of his playing was his treatment of the violin as a singing voice. He played with immense breadth and purity of tone, with subtle delicacy of touch, and with exquisite refinement of phrasing. He had no taste for the free style of bowing cultivated by Paganini and was opposed to anything approaching the _saltato_. He had a large hand and was thus enabled to execute difficult passages of double stopping with accuracy.

Violin technics have been developed so much since Spohr's time that his compositions do not present alarming difficulties to contemporaneous performers. Nevertheless, they were sufficiently difficult at the time of their production, and they remain among the acceptable works for violin. His concertos--at any rate, the best of them--are heard occasionally in concert rooms to-day, not without pleasure, though they are open to those objections which have been made against his operatic and orchestral music. His earlier concertos show the immediate influence of Viotti and Rode, but his later works were the most valuable contribution that had been made to the literature of the violin, except the Beethoven concerto up to the time when Spohr ceased to compose them. Indeed Spohr must be credited with fully as earnest an endeavor to raise the violin concerto from the level of a mere show piece to that of a serious and artistic composition as either Beethoven or Mendelssohn. Paul David has rightly said: "It was mainly owing to the sterling musical worth of Spohr's violin compositions that the great qualities of the classical Italian and the Paris schools have been preserved to the present day, and have prevented the degeneration of violin-playing.... He set a great example of purity of style and legitimate treatment of the instrument--an example which has lost none of its force in the lapse of more than half a century."

CARL MARIA VON WEBER

The plenitude of genius in the classical period of German music has a striking illustration in the rapid succession in the kingship which followed the wresting of the musical sceptre from Italy. Beginning with Bach, there has been no break in the line of succession. Had such a thought occurred to the father of modern music, he might have established a sentimental foundation, a handgrasp, a kiss, or an apostolic laying on of hands, which might have been transmitted down to our day without once leaving the direct and royal line. In the musical succession there is an over-lapping, a concurrence of reigns, nearly all the time. The most significant phrase of this phenomenon is exemplified in the subject of this study. Gluck and Mozart might have come like the good fairies of the nursery tale to kiss him in his cradle. Haydn and Beethoven might have waited till their salutations would inspire his youth. He himself might have blessed the infancy of Schubert, Mendelssohn, Schumann and Wagner. This it is which helped to give Carl Maria von Weber a position in musical history which now we recognize to be commanding in a sense never realized so fully before. His activities range over the territory through which is drawn the indeterminate line of demarcation between the Classic and Romantic schools. He embodies the spirit of both tendencies, though not in an equal degree. Not only does he touch hands with the kings of the eighteenth century and their successors of the nineteenth, but some of his life threads in the fabric of history were interwoven with theirs. We shall see how in the story of his life.

The influence of heredity has a twofold illustration in this story. The musical talent of Weber and, indeed, the general bent of his artistic predilections were an inheritance. An ardent devotion to music and the drama can be traced back a century in the family from which he sprung. The family belonged to the minor nobility of Austria. Of the tastes and inclinations of the first Freiherr von Weber, who was endowed with the title in 1622, nothing is known. But a brother, who had taken up a residence in Suabia, probably after the loss of the family estates in the Thirty Years' War, was musical. He was the ancestor of Fridolin Weber, who, in turn, was the father of several daughters who would have merited a paragraph in the annals of music had they not won a page through the circumstance that Mozart fell in love with one, Aloysia, and married another, Constance. Franz Anton von Weber, a brother of this Fridolin, was the father of Carl Maria, who through Constance became cousin by marriage to Mozart. The brothers, though many other things besides, during the latter portion of their existence were, for the purpose of gaining a livelihood, musicians. Fridolin, who had dropped the "von" from his name when Mozart met him in Mannheim, was reduced to the position of a sort of general utility man in the Court Theatre; Franz Anton, who clung to the sign of nobility and conveyed other titles to himself to which he had less right, enjoyed the distinction of being one of the best viola players of his time and was also an admirable performer upon the double-bass. He even ventured upon the sea of composition with some songs with pianoforte accompaniment, which frail craft bore him up for a considerable time.

Here was one manifestation of the law of heredity; contemplation of the other is less agreeable. From Franz Anton von Weber his son inherited an instability of character which for a time threatened to make shipwreck of his divine gifts. The whole of Franz Anton's life was the career of an adventurer. In his youth he was a titled rake in Mannheim. He became a soldier and was slightly wounded fighting against Frederick the Great at Rosbach. The Elector of Cologne, Clément Augustus, gave him an appointment and on the death of his father-in-law advanced him to the posts which the latter had held--Steward and Court Councillor. From these posts he was dismissed with a small pension by Clément Augustus's successor in the Electorate. It is said that his devotion to music was partly the cause of his dismissal. He was fonder of his fiddle than of his duties, and often went walking in the fields, playing on his viol, his eight children trooping behind him as if he were another Pied Piper. He married into a councillorship and fiddled himself out of it. The Prince-Bishop who appointed him was the gay prelate who "danced himself out of this world into another" and who gave employment to Beethoven's grandfather and father in his court band; the Prince-Bishop who dismissed him was the serious-minded and thrifty Maximilian Frederick, who became the master of Beethoven himself. Those who are fond of delving for remote causes may associate the birth of Weber with this action of Beethoven's patron. Franz Anton, having lost his position and squandered his wife's fortune, started out on a dramatic and musical itinerancy. His wife did not survive her humiliation. He wandered through Germany after three years of service as Chapelmaster to the Bishop of Lübeck and Eutin, and in 1784 found his way to Vienna, where he placed two of his sons under the tuition of Haydn, and a year later married the sixteen-year-old Genoveva von Brenner, a daughter in the family that had given a home to his sons. This delicate flower the adventurer of fifty plucked out of its genial surroundings in the Austrian capital and transplanted to Eutin, whither he now returned to accept the post of town musician, another having meanwhile won the once despised but now coveted chapelmastership. Small wonder that when Carl Maria Friedrich Ernest, the first child of this mistaken marriage was born he should have brought with him into the world a frail and puny body afflicted with a disease of the hip which was the cause of the composer's lifelong lameness.