As we have already seen in the life
stories of a number of musicians, the career they
were to follow was often decided by the father, who
determined to form them into wonder children, either
for monetary gain or for the honor and glory of the
family. The subject of this story is an example
of such a preconceived plan.
Franz Anton von Weber, who was a capable
musician himself, had always cherished the desire
to give a wonder child to the world. In his idea
wonder children need not be born such, they could be
made by the proper care and training. He had
been a wealthy man, but at the time of our story,
was in reduced circumstances, and was traveling about
Saxony at the head of a troupe of theatrical folk,
called “Weber’s Company of Comedians.”
Little Carl Maria Friedrich Ernst,
to give his full name, was born December 18, 1786,
at Eutin, a little town in Lower Saxony. He was
the first child of a second marriage, and before the
baby boy could speak, his career had been planned;
the father had made up his mind to develop his son
into an extraordinary musical genius. It is not
recorded what his young mother, a delicate girl of
seventeen, thought about it; probably her ideas for
her baby son did not enter into the father’s
plan. Mother and child were obliged to follow
in the train of the wandering comedians, so baby Carl
was brought up amid the properties of stage business.
Scenery, canvas, paints and stage lights were the
materials upon which Carl’s imagination was fed.
He learned stage language with his earliest breath;
it is no wonder he turned to writing for the stage
as to the manner born.
As a child he was neither robust nor
even healthy, which is not surprising, since he was
not allowed to run afield with other children, enjoying
the sweet air of nature, the flowers, the sunshine
and blue sky. No, he must stay indoors much of
the time and find his playmates among cardboard castles
and painted canvas streets. This treatment was
not conducive to rosy cheeks and strong, sturdy little
legs. Then, before the delicate child was six
years old, a violin was put into his hand, and if
his progress on it was thought to be too slow by his
impatient father, he was treated to raps and blows
by way of incentive to work yet harder. His teachers,
too, were continually changing, as the comedians had
to travel about from place to place. After awhile
he was taken in hand by Michael Haydn, a brother of
the great Josef. Michael was a famous musician
himself and seldom gave lessons to any one. But
he was interested in Carl and took charge of his musical
education for some time.
It was not long before Carl Maria’s
genius began definitely to show itself, for he started
to write for the lyric stage. Two comic operas
appeared, “The Dumb Girl of the Forest,”
and “Peter Schmoll and his Neighbors.”
They were both performed, but neither made a hit.
When Carl was seventeen, the father
decided he should go to Vienna, for there he would
meet all the great musicians of the time. The
boy was at the most impressionable age: he was
lively, witty, with pleasant manners and amiable disposition;
he soon became a favorite in the highest musical circles.
It was a gay life and the inexperienced youth yielded
to its allurements. In the meantime he did some
serious studying under the famous Abbe Vogler.
The following year the Abbe recommended him to the
conductorship of the Breslau Opera House. This
was a very difficult post for a boy of eighteen, and
he encountered much jealousy and opposition from the
older musicians, who did not relish finding themselves
under the leadership of such a youth. A year
served to disgust him with the work and he resigned.
During the year he had found time to compose most
of his opera “Rübezahl.”
For the next few years there were
many “ups and downs” in Carl’s life.
From Breslau he went to Carlsruhe, and entered the
service of Prince Eugene. For about a year he
was a brilliant figure at the Court. Then war
clouds gathered and the gay Court life came to an end.
Music under the present conditions could no longer
support him, as the whole social state of Germany
had altered. The young composer was forced to
earn his livelihood in some way, and now became private
secretary to Prince Ludwig of Wurtemburg, whose Court
was held at Stuttgart. The gay, dissolute life
at the Court was full of temptation for our young
composer, yet he found considerable time for composition;
his opera “Sylvana” was the result, besides
several smaller things. During the Stuttgart
period, his finances became so low, that on one occasion
he had to spend several days in prison for debt.
Determined to recruit his fortunes, he began traveling
to other towns to make known his art. In Mannheim,
Darmstadt and Baden, he gave concerts, bringing out
in each place some of his newer pieces, and earning
enough at each concert to last a few weeks, when another
concert would keep the wolf from the door a little
longer.
In 1810, when he was twenty-four,
he finished his pretty opera “Abu Hassan,”
which, on the suggestion of his venerable master, Vogler,
he dedicated to the Grand Duke. The Duke accepted
the dedication with evident pleasure, and sent Carl
a purse of gold, in value about two hundred dollars.
The opera was performed on February 6, 1811, and its
reception was very gratifying to the composer.
The Grand Duke took one hundred and twenty tickets
and the performance netted over two hundred florins
clear profit. It was after this that Carl Maria
went on a tour of the principal German cities and
gave concerts in Munich, Prague, Berlin, Dresden and
other places. He was everywhere welcomed, his
talents and charming manners winning friends everywhere.
Especially in Prague he found the highest and noblest
aristocracy ready to bid him welcome.
Weber paid a visit to Liebich, director
of the Prague theater, almost as soon as he arrived
in town. The invalid director greeted him warmly.
“So, you are the Weber!
I suppose you want me to buy your operas. One
fills an evening, the other doesn’t. Very
well, I will give fifteen hundred florins for
the two. Is it a bargain?” Weber accepted,
and promised to return the next spring to conduct the
operas. He kept his promise, and the result was
much better than he ever dreamed. For beyond
the performance of his operas, he was offered the post
of music director of the Prague theater, which post
was just then vacant. The salary was two thousand
florins, with a benefit concert at a guaranteed
sum of one thousand more, and three months leave of
absence every year. This assured sum gave young
Weber the chance of paying his debts and starting
afresh, which, he writes “was a delight to him.”
The composer now threw himself heart
and soul into improving the orchestra placed in his
charge. Before long he had drilled it to a high
state of excellence. Many new operas were put
on the stage in quick succession. Thus Weber
worked on with great industry for three years.
The success he achieved created enemies, and perhaps
because of intrigues, envy and ill feeling which had
arisen, he resigned his post in 1816. The three
years in Prague had been fruitful in new compositions.
Several fine piano sonatas, a set of “National
Songs,” and the Cantata, “Kampf und
Sieg,” (Struggle and Victory). This
last work soon became known all over Germany and made
the gifted young composer very popular. During
this period Weber became engaged to Caroline Brandt,
a charming singer, who created the title rôle in his
opera of “Sylvana.”
Weber had many kind, influential friends
in Prague, who admired his zeal and efficiency as
music director. One of them, Count Vitzhum, did
all he could to secure Weber for Dresden. On Christmas
morning, 1816, he received the appointment. He
wrote to Caroline: “Long did I look on
Count Vitzhum’s letter without daring to open
it. Did it contain joy or sorrow? At length
I took courage and broke the seal. It was joy!
I am Capellmeister to his Majesty the King of Saxony.
I must now rig myself out in true Court style.
Perhaps I ought to wear a pigtail to please the Dresdeners.
What do you say? I ought at least to have an
extra kiss from you for this good news.”
He went to Dresden, and at first looked
over the situation. On nearer view the prospect
was not as bright as it had appeared at first.
There was a rival faction, strongly opposed to his
plans for the promotion of German opera. There
had never been anything tolerated at Dresden but Italian
opera, and there were many talented Italian singers
to interpret them. Weber was encouraged by a
new national spirit, which he felt would favor German
opera, and was determined to conquer at all costs.
He finally succeeded, for, as he wrote to a friend,
“The Italians have moved heaven, earth and hell
also, to swallow up the whole German opera and its
promoter. But they have found in me a precious
tough morsel; I am not easily swallowed.”
It was the same kind of fight that Handel waged in
England, and that Gluck fought against the Piccinists.
“Joseph and his Brethren,”
by Mehul, was the first opera to be taken up by the
new conductor. He drilled the orchestra much more
carefully than they had been accustomed, and while,
in the beginning, some were sulky at the strictness
they were subjected to, yet they finally saw the justice
of it and at last took pride in doing their work well.
“Joseph” was brought out January 30, 1817.
The King and Court were present, and everything passed
off well, indeed remarkably well. His majesty
was greatly pleased and did not cough once during the
whole performance, as he used to do when things did
not go to suit him.
In spite of Italian opposition which
still continued, Weber’s efforts to establish
German opera kept right on, until at last it became
a State institution, and the composer was appointed
musical director for life. With this bright prospect
in view he was able to wed his beloved Caroline.
They were married on November 4. A quotation from
his diary shows the talented musician had become a
serious, earnest man. “May God bless our
union, and grant me strength and power to make my
beloved Lina as happy and contented as my inmost heart
would desire. May His mercy lead me in all things.”
Weber was now entering the most prolific
and brilliant period of his life. His music became
richer, more noble and beautiful. The happy union
with Caroline seemed to put new life and energy into
him, and as a result his works became quickly known
all over Europe. His mind was literally teeming
with original themes, which crowded each other, struggling
to be expressed. First there was the “Mass
in E flat,” a beautiful, original work; then
a festal Cantata, “Nature and Love,” written
to celebrate the Queen of Saxony’s birthday.
After this the “Jubilee Cantata,” composed
to celebrate the fiftieth anniversary of the reign
of Augustus, of Saxony. The Italian faction prevented
a performance of the whole work, and only the Overture
was given. When the entire work was heard it
made a great sensation. Now came a Jubilee Mass
and some piano pieces, among them the charming and
famous “Invitation to the Dance,” with
which every one is familiar. While writing all
these works, the composer was busy with one of his
greatest operas, “Der Freischuetz.”
On May 8, 1820, a hundred years ago, the score of
“Der Freischuetz,” was sent to the director
of the Berlin theater, and directly put in rehearsal.
The rehearsals had not proceeded very far before Weber,
the tireless ceaseless worker, had finished his important
opera, “Preciosa,” which was also despatched
to Berlin. “Preciosa” was brought
out before “Der Freischuetz,” which was
just as it should be, as the public needed to be educated
up to the “Freischuetz” music. “Preciosa”
was founded on a Spanish story, “The Gypsy of
Madrid,” and Weber has written for it some of
his most charming melodies, full of Spanish color,
life and vivacity. Nowadays the opera is neglected,
but we often hear the overture. It is to be noted
that the overtures to each of Weber’s operas
contain the leading themes and melodies of the operas
themselves, showing with what skill the artist wrought.
When Weber’s widow presented the original score
of “Der Freischuetz” to the Royal Library
in Berlin, it was found there was not a single erasure
or correction in the whole work.
On June 18, 1821, came the first performance
of Weber’s masterpiece, “Der Freischuetz.”
The theater was beseiged for hours by eager crowds,
and when the doors were at last opened, there was a
grand rush to enter. The whole house from pit
to galleries was soon filled, and when the composer
entered the orchestra, there was a roar of applause,
which it seemed would never end. As the performance
proceeded, the listeners became more charmed and carried
away, and at the close there was a wild scene of excitement.
The success had been tremendous, and the frequent
repetitions demanded soon filled the treasury of the
theater. Everybody was happy, the composer most
of all. The melodies were played on every piano
in Germany and whistled by every street urchin.
Its fame spread like lightning over Europe, and quickly
reached England. In London the whole atmosphere
seemed to vibrate with its melodies. In Paris,
however, it did not please on first hearing, perhaps
because it was so thoroughly German. But somewhat
later, when renamed “Robin des Bois,”-“Robin
of the Forest,”-it was performed
some three hundred and fifty times before being withdrawn.
Weber kept ever at work. Two
years after the production of “Der Freischuetz”
the opera of “Euryanthe” was completed.
The libretto was the work of a half demented woman,
Helmine von Chezy, but Weber set out to produce the
best opera he was capable of, and to this story he
has joined some wonderful music. It was his favorite
work; he wrote to his beloved wife two hours before
the first performance: “I rely on God and
my ‘Euryanthe.’” The opera was produced
at the Kaernthnertor Theater, in Vienna, on October
25, 1823. The composer, though weak and ill,
made the long journey to the great city, that he might
personally introduce his favorite to the Viennese.
He wrote his wife after the performance: “Thank
God, as I do, beloved wife, for the glorious success
of ‘Euryanthe.’ Weary as I am, I must
still say a sweet good night to my beloved Lina, and
cry Victory! All the company seemed in a state
of ecstasy; singers, chorus, orchestra;-all
were drunk, as it were, with joy.”
The title rôle was taken by Henrietta
Sontag, a young girl, still in her teens, though giving
high promise of the great things she achieved a few
years later. Strange to say, a short time after
its first appearance, “Euryanthe” failed
to draw. One reason might have been laid to the
poor libretto, another to the rumor, started, it is
said, by no less an authority than the great master
Beethoven, that the music of the opera was “only
a collection of diminished sevenths.”
The composer lost no time in laying
his score before Beethoven, who said he should have
visited him before, not after the performance.
He advised him to do what he himself had done to “Fidelio,”
cut out nearly a third of the score. Weber took
this advice, and remade parts of the opera, where
he deemed it necessary.
The strain of the production of “Euryanthe”
told severely on the composer’s delicate health,
and he returned to Dresden in an exhausted state.
There was no rest for him here, as official duties
were pressing. The malady afflicting his lungs
had made rapid progress and he began to fear he should
not be long spared to his wife and little ones.
He shook off the apathy and took up
his pen once more. His fame was known all over
Europe and many tempting offers came in from all directions.
One of these was from Covent Garden Theater, London,
in the summer of 1824, which resulted in a visit to
the English capital. Charles Kemble, the director
of Covent Garden, desired Weber to write a new opera
for production there. “Oberon” was
the subject at last decided upon; it was taken from
an old French romance. Weber at once set to work
on the music of this fairy opera, and with the exception
of the overture, had finished the work in time to bring
it to London in 1826. He was ill and suffering
at the time he left home, February 7, and it seemed
as though he were bidding a final good-by to his wife
and little ones.
Arrived in London, Sir George Smart
invited him to take up his residence in his house.
Here he had every comfort, a beautiful piano too was
placed at his disposal by one of the first makers in
London. “No King could be served with greater
love and affection in all things,” he wrote;
“I cannot be sufficiently grateful to heaven
for the blessings which surround me.” Here
he composed the beautiful Overture to “Oberon”
which was only completed a few days before the first
performance of the opera.
“Oberon” was given at
Covent Garden on April 12. The house was packed
from pit to dome, and the success was tremendous.
Next morning the composer was in a highly nervous
and exhausted state, but felt he must keep his promise
to Kemble and conduct the first twelve performances
of “Oberon.” He was to have a benefit
concert, and hoped through this to have a goodly sum
to take back to his little family. Sad to relate,
on the evening chosen, May 26, a heavy rain fell and
the hall was nearly empty. After the concert
he was so weak he had to be assisted from the room.
The physician ordered postponement of the journey home,
but he cried continually, “I must go to my own-I
must! Let me see them once more and then God’s
will be done.”
The next morning, when they came to
call him, all was still in his chamber; he had passed
away peacefully in sleep.
Weber was buried in London. His
last wish-to return home,-was
finally fulfilled. Eighteen years after, his remains
were brought to Dresden, and the composer was at last
at home.