world, and as it employed the powers of men of ability, had arrived at a position in which it might, without whimsicality, be held analogous to the scholastic theology of the middle ages; the true spirit of song was overwhelined beneath the mass of physical intricacies the energy that ought to have mounted on the wings of inspiration was chained down to the page of formal rule-like the bronze eagle vainly spreading its wings in the dim cathedrals of that age, harmony was pressed for ever to the earth beneath the ponderous Pica of counterpoint.

Efforts had been made, it is true, by master minds to get rid of these trammels-here and there a spirit rose above its age, and soared for an instant to a higher elevation-Gluck, and, above all, Handel, had ideas anticipating their time-but the power of precedent and opinion, that is, the voice of the schools, was too much for any aspirant, however venturous-the haggard hawk was whistled down, and took his place with compunction on his master's fist. There was needed the appearance of a genius which should be at once possessed of all the natural and acquired powers befitting the first explorator into unknown and unrecognised regions; and, by the peculiarities of his position, unfettered by the ordinary scruples and obstacles which grow up along the path of maturity, and hedge it in from the fields of unattempted discovery. Both these conditions were fulfilled in the instance of Mozart. Accomplished in all the theory and practice of the day, he rose to the level of the world around him at an age when others are yet submissive in the hands of tutelage; and began to imagine new scenery of sound, and undiscovered glories beyond the audible horizon, before the cords of custom had time to fasten themselves round his spirit, and hold him to the anchorage of antiquity. Nor were his aspirations the fruitless sighs of an Alexander, impatient to plant his foot upon a world that never existed, and to mar it when entered on; they were rather the just enthusiasm of the noble Genoese, who had seen his world in the eye of intelligence, before he hoisted his sail upon the waters of the untracked Atlantic, to lay a second paradise of wealth and beauty open to the expatriated wander

ers of Eden. Both these qualifications were possessed by Mozart in a degree more than sufficient to warrant the anticipation of success. His knowledge of music, and his skill, both in its composition and practice, were unexampledand the age at which he had attained to this knowledge and this skill, was scarcely removed from infancy. Never did his subsequent triumphs as a musician or a composer, equal the wonders of his sixth year! We extract from Mr. Holmes's agreeable book two passages in confirmation of this, premising, by way of making the first intelligible, that Leopold Mozart was the father of the infant prodigy, and was not only a considerable proficient himself in the science and art of music, but gifted with singularly acute understanding, as well as refined feelings: the young Mozart at this period had reached his seventh year.

"One day as Leopold Mozart, accompanied by a friend, had just returned home from church, he found little Wolfgang busy with pen and ink. What are you doing there?' said his father. Writing a concerto for the clavier,' replied the boy. The first part is just finished.' It must be something very fine, I dare say-let us look at it.' 'No, no,' said Wolfgang, 'it is not ready yet.' The father however took up the paper, and he and his friend began at first to laugh heartily over this gallimatias of notes, which was so blotted as to be scarcely legible; for the little composer had continually thrust his pen to the bottom of the ink-stand, and as often wiped away with the palm of his hand the blot thus brought up, intent solely upon committing his thoughts to writing. But as the father examined the composition more attentively, his gaze became rivetted to the page, and tears of joy and wonder began to roll down his cheeks, for there were ideas in this music far beyond the years of his son. 'See,' said he, smiling, to his friend, 'how regularly and correctly written it is; though no use can be made of it, for it is so immensely difficult, nobody could play it.' It is a concerto,' returned little Wolfgang, and must be practised before it can be performed. It ought to go in this way.' He then began to play it, but was unable to accomplish more than give a notion of his design. This concerto was written with a full score of accompaniments, and even trumpets and drums."

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So much for his knowledge-hi performance may be judged of from th

following passage in a letter of the father's, written about the same period

"After walking about Heidelberg, our Wolfgang tried the organ in the Heil Geist Kirche, and played so admirably, that his name was ordered by the dean of the city to be inscribed on the organ as an eternal remembrance."

Thus were the head, heart and hand of the child already prepared for their allotted work, while childhood made departure from precedent as easy and delightful as a ramble from the path into the meadow. The ear and soul of infancy had been filled to the level of the surrounding worldto overflow and form new channels was the natural and resistless consequence.

But, alas! the banks of a prescribed course are ever occupied on either side by those who are sure to resist the fertilizing flood as if it were the devastation of a torrent, and, where they cannot lead, force the stream back into its bed. On all sides, the exquisite liberties of Mozart, playfully pushing aside rule and authority to gain access to the objects beyond its reach, were interpreted as acts of trespass; and those who felt themselves inclosed, no less by the limits of their own faculties than by the boundaries of custom, were unanimous in their outcry against the offender, urging his unlicensed intrusion as a sin against the majesty of harmony itself, and calling upon the liegemen of song to assist, as one man, in repelling so unwarrantable an invasion. The father, who submitted unmurmuringly to be eclipsed by the rising splendour of his son, and early antici pated the position he was destined to occupy, was not slow in perceiving the storm that was raised against him— indeed it was soon felt in its effects. A visit to Vienna, made about five years later, opened a scene of intrigue, cabal, and opposition, such as at the time proved too much for the genius of the son, the firmness and prudence of the father, and the patronage of the court, combined.

La Finta Semplice was suggested as the subject for an Opera buffa:

bring it out; but no-delays, excuses, evaded promises, purposely confused rehearsals, and every other stratagem that malice could suggest, were put in operation to suppress it, till at length it was as wholly ruined as if it had been committed to the flames; for being written with a view to a particular company, it was unavailable for any other. The father, a man quite ignorant of the strategy of theatres, was slow to conceive the extent of secret animosity of which his son was the object; but when he saw this, and the utter shamelessness and absence of principle with which theatrical proceedings were conducted, his indignation was unbounded, and the occasion certainly justified it. 'The whole hell of music,' he writes, "has bestirred itself to prevent the talent of a child from being known.""

The history of the entire transaction was related to the emperor by the irritated father. We extract a few passages from a letter which recounts it :

"After many of the nobility of this place had convinced themselves of the extraordinary talent of my son by the concurrence of foreign testimony with personal examination and proof, it was generally admitted, that it would be one of the most remarkable events of either ancient or modern times, were a boy of twelve years old to compose an opera, and direct its performance himself. This opinion was confirmed by an article written at Paris, in which the learned writer, after a detailed examination of the genius of my son, affirms that there is no doubt of this boy's competency to produce an opera at twelve years old. Every one thought that in so famous a matter, a German ought to give his own country the preference; such was the unanimous opinion, and I followed it.

"The Dutch ambassador, Count von Degenfeld, to whom the ability of the boy was long sincej known in Holland, was the first who made the proposal to the manager Affligio; the singer Carattoli was the second; and the agreement with the manager was concluded at the house of the court physician, Laugier, in the presence of the young Baron von Swieten, and the two singers Carattoli and Caribaldi. The whole party thought, the two singers especially expressing themselves with vehemence, that even middling music, from so young a boy, would be, from its rarity, wonderful; but that to see the child at the clavier, directing the orchestra, would draw the whole city to the theatre. My son accordingly began to write.

"As soon as the first act was ready, I requested Carattoli himself, in order to make sure, to come and hear it, and give his opinion upon it. He came, and his astonishment was so great, that he returned the next day, bringing Caribaldi with him. Caribaldi, not less surprised, in a day or two brought Poggi to me. Both applauded so loudly, that upon my repeated question whether they thought it good, whether he ought to proceed, they showed some anger at the want of confidence, and exclaimed frequently with emotion, Cosa! Come! Questo è un portento. Questa opera andrd alle stelle. Una meraviglia. Non

dubiti, che scrivi avanti! with a multitude of the like expressions. Carattoli said the same things to me in his own chamber.

"The rehearsals were now about to begin; when-who could have expected it? but from this time the persecutions of my son commenced."

Even imperial sympathy did not avail to insure to the opera a hearing. It was finally abandoned, though the elastic genius of the young composer sprung back the instant the pressure was removed; and we find him within a month afterwards ready with three works a "Solemn Mass," an "Offertorium," and a "Trumpet Concerto for a boy,” all of which met with signal

success.

But although the course of years and the wonderful works of the youthful prodigy at length raised him superior to all detraction, and placed him at the summit of fame, the struggle against him was kept up to the last; and, even while countenanced by the generous approbation of the truly great of his day, of Martini, of Haydn, and others of that stamp, still there was a pack of noisy depreciators ever barking at his heels hanging upon his skirts even through the triumphs of Le Nozze di Figaro and Il Don Giovanni. A large and influential party, too, of the correct school-musicians contemned the romantic, and as they affected to call them, impertinent novelties of the boy's style, pointing to the honest counterpoint of the Bachs, Wagenseil, Paradies, &c., as the true models by the amount of his departure for which his crime was to be measured. Amongst these were Salieri, Righini, and Aufossi. It is melancholy also to be obliged to add to the list the name of Gluck; but

vanity and egotism were in him a disease; and in the latter part of his life combined with the intrigues of parasites completely to obscure his judgment. Both these parties have been silenced by the voice of time—that judge which pronounces his panegyric not the less loudly that the ears which alone might have been flattered by the eulogium, are now alike beyond the reach of harmony and its praise. The unanimous consent of posterity has pronounced the rebellion of Mozart a revolution; and the master-spirits of modern times have not hesitated to follow where he has led, surpassing him only in so far as long experience and familiarity have rendered the path then first ventured on easy and safe. The impassioned grandeur of Beethoven- the wild magnificence of Weber-the romantic energy of Rossini-the tender warblings of Bellini and Donizetti-the pathetic grace of Spohr, all hang like the broad palmleaves from the stem, to whose aspiring growth they are indebted for their life as well as their elevation. Such is the triumph which was realized from the first in the presaging mind of the boy himself. He saw his own influence, like his shadow, stretching away before him; but he did not see that to outstrip his age was to entail upon himself the punishments due to its tardiness, and that if he would render his name immortal, it must be carved into the very core of his earthly happiness. It is wearying to read the unvaried detail of fruitless effort, beating against the wires that caged it, and falling back in its exhaustion, the prisoner of custom. Nor was it from one class of men alone that these rebuffs were met-from crowned and mitred heads down to the meanest populace, Mozart was doomed repeatedly to endure humiliation. His acknowledged merits scarcely procured him patronage sufficiently substantial to feed him; and his most exquisite works were occasionally condemned by the coarse clamour of a mob primed to disapprove. Through the best years of his life, the great composer was forced to waste his hours in tuition, or yet more ignominiously to expend his genius on the production of ballads and country dances, to be performed by himself, as an hired minstrel, at the banquets and fêtes of the nobility.

The imagination can scarcely picture the presence of the man whose name is so familiar in the history of renown; whose works have survived their age, and form almost a solitary exception to the shortlived destiny of song; who yet thrills the hearts of sensibility wherever harmony is acknowledged as the exponent of passion and feeling throughout the world-we can scarcely picture the pallid and penetrating aspect of that man, subdued like our Weipperts and Strausses in the corner of a crowded saloon, venturing forth the magic secrets of his soul in the lowly dress suggested by the stolidity of his patrons, and forced to comfort himself in his degradation by the prospect of the wretched pittance thus earned to meet the first necessities of physical life.

But such is the penalty too often paid for the precocious possession of transcendent genius:

"Urit enim fulgore suo, qui prægravát artes
Infra se positas."

Mediocrity is often success as well as happiness. Genius, like ambition, may "o'erleap itself, and fall at the other side."

If it should be put upon us to shew how it was that Mozart could justly claim the praise of having conducted the musical art across the gulf which separates antiquity from our own times, we might reply by asking a question ourselves. Is there any person of instructed musical taste in any civilized country who is not ready to point to the operatic music of Mozart as the earliest which possesses the distinctive character recognised as modern-that is, such as is at this day the character of music in general? and to mark what goes before it (notwithstanding some individual exceptions) as oldthat is, such as it referred to a former and relinquished condition of the art? Aware as we are of the reaction that has extensively taken place of late years in favor of the profundities of the Bachs and others of that school, still we confidently anticipate an answer in the affirmative. And when we recollect that in some of the established usages, as regards operatic composition, the innovations of Mozart were positive, including the abandonment of the necessity for choral

conclusions to the acts-the ending of passages and parts in the hushed solemnity of a piano, instead of the eternal bravura which "filled the measure" before his time-the poetical introduction of mere inarticulate beauties of harmony to suggest undefined feelings of delight in the mind, apart from the definite character needed to explain the words and acton—all these and many more innovations were due not only to the genius of Mozart, but to his perseverance in forcing them upon the public taste against strenuous and organized opposition. Concerted music, also, with brilliant accompaniments, combining variety of character and sentiment, first began, through his means, to be understod.

There was another and a distinct merit in the compositions of this master, independent of the novelties they contained. His melodies were the most various and original, as well as the most beautiful, that had ever been heard at the time; perhaps we might add-allowing for a certain advance in taste since his day-that have ever been heard to that present hour. There are no national collections of songs which have not a greater general resemblance than Mozart's melodies have one to the other. In this variety he has never been surpassed by any composer his last opera was as fresh and novel as his first, and no doubt he could have poured forth strains to the end of a long life, as surprising and as new as the ever-changing figures of a kaleidoscope. There was no trick in this; and if we allow-what is capable of proof at any time-that in the strict science of harmony he solved difficulties which had puzzled grave contrapuntists, we shall find no difficulty in pronouncing absolutely on the injustice of the attacks made upon him by his rivals.

The scenic and musical reforms enumerated above, we may as well mention, are found earliest developed in the opera named "Die Entführung aus dem Serail ;" and we remark this, as it reveals the source from which the highest poetical transports ever flow. Mozart lived at the time he was composing it to use the words of his biographer"in a delirium of invention." He wrote it as a bridegroomthe heroine's voice was that of his mistress, and the singular loveliness of

the harmonies that flow from the lips of Belmont, as well as the general freedom of the style, attest the power which reality adds to the expression of passion.

But before that master-passion could be supposed to have entered the heart, or fired the imagination, the soul of Mozart had thrilled to novel ecstacies and original thoughts, and found its readiest expression in sympathetic sounds. To his sister "Nannell"-for such was his endearing diminutive for her name he writes on one occasion "I am in danger of writing you an entire air instead of a letter;" and at another time he says to his father"I am now so busy with the third act (of Idomeneo) that it would be no wonder if I were to turn into a third act myself!"-combined proofs of the ever-open communication kept up between the fountain-head of feeling and the channels of musical expression. All through his life, indeed, we find music the language which springs first to the surface as the interpreter of the heart. His eyes are described as wandering vacantly about till the utterance of harmony began, and then they were fixed as if in enchantment, while the whole face glowed with the lights of changeful intelligence so intensely as to seem almost the transparent lantern of some inner flame. What poetry must have been soaring in the higher regions of that mind!

What processions passing in gorgeous review across the imagination! What dramas enacted on what a theatre! As far transcending the tragedies of earth as the stage of the human heart stretches beyond the narrow circuit of material

natures.

To attempt a narrative of the life of Mozart is not our intention. He was born at Salzburg in the year 1756. The excessive impressibility of his feelings in later life was only the development of his infantine character. At five years old, he is thus described:

"His disposition was characterised by an extreme sensibility and tenderness, insomuch that he would ask those about him ten times a day whether they loved him, and if they jestingly answered in the negative, his eyes would fill with tears."

The progress of his career must be

followed in Mr. Holmes's book-a work richer perhaps in detached anecdote, than in the fruits of an instructed or reflective mind. We pass over the thirty years which ensued. At thirtyfive, the close of the earthly drama is approaching :

"Throughout this year of incessant occupation, discouragement was gaining ground upon him, and the thinness of his catalogue during 1789-90, when compositions appear only at the rate of one a month, or even at longer intervals, affords conclusive evidence of the fact. The music-shops, as a source of income, were almost closed to him, as he could not submit his genius to the dictates of fashion. Hofmeister, the publisher, having once advised him to write in a more popular style, or he could not continue to purchase his compositions, he answered with unusual bitterness, 'Then I can make no more by my pen, and I had better starve, and go to destruction at once.' The fits of dejection which he experienced were partly the effect of bodily ailments, but more of a weariness with the perplexity of his affairs, and of a prospect which afforded him but one object on which he could gaze with certainty of relief, and that was-death."

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Early in August, the composer was one day surprised by the entrance of a stranger, who brought him a letter without any signature, the purport of which was to inquire whether he would undertake the composition of a requiem, by what time he could be ready with it, and his price. The unknown expressed himself on this occasion in a manner as flattering as it was mysterious. Mozart, who was never accustomed to engage in any undertaking without consulting his wife, related to her the singular proposition made to him, adding that he