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plete it, which he accordingly did. It appears from a letter written by her to M. André, in answer to some inquiries made by him, that the movements from the beginning down to the Dies ira were completed by Mozart; but that, of the subsequent movements, viz., the Dies ira, the Tuba mirum spargens sonum, the Rex tremenda majestatis, the Recordare, and the Confutatis, Mozart had made only a sketch or outline, consisting of the principal voice parts, with indications of the most prominent effects in the instrumental accompaniments; and that the voice parts had been filled up, and the instrumental score completed, by Sussmayer. In M. Andre's edition, he has distinguished as far as possible, by means of marks, the original work of Mozart from Sussmayer's additions.

It is deeply to be regretted, that Mozart was prevented from completing this most pathetic and impressive of all his productions. No unpleasant feeling of uncertainty, indeed, can subsist as to its entire authenticity; because, independently of all other proof, the music itself furnishes internal evidence that every idea it contains flowed from the mind of Mozart himself, and that what remained to be done consisted of remplissage, a task which a skilful musician could execute in precise conformity with the clearly indicated intentions of the author. But had he lived, he would have given the work a conclusion worthy of its greatness, the want of which has rendered it necessary to finish by a repetition of the opening movement with different words.

Mozart died on the 5th of December, 1791, before he had completed his thirty-sixth year. With many

weaknesses, his character appears to have been singularly interesting. He was "In wit a man, simplicity a child." He was a man, not only in the gifts which raised him to the summit of excellence in his art, but in some of the noblest qualities of human nature; while he was a child in relation to that worldly wisdom without which no man can safely tread the dangerous paths of human life. His health was always delicate; he was thin and pale, and appeared never to have reached his natural growth. In his face there was nothing remarkable but the variety of expression it assumed, according to the feelings which affected him at the moment; nor was there anything extraordinary in his habits, if we except his extreme fondness for the game of billiards. From his earliest years his whole mind was so engrossed with musical ideas, that he never acquired the knowledge of the world requisite for transacting the most ordinary business. His fixing his affections on the admirable woman whom he married, was the wisest act, as it was the happiest event, of his life. Constance Weber was his guide, his monitress, his guardian angel. She regulated his domestic establishment, managed his affairs, was the cheerful companion of his happier hours, and his never-failing consolation in sickness and despondency. He passionately loved her, and evinced his feelings by the most tender and delicate attentions. Her health, like his own, was precarious. During a long illness which she had, he used always to meet the friends who came to visit her with his finger on his lips, to caution them against noise; and so much did this gesture become a habit with him, that, long after her recovery, he used

to meet his friends with his finger on his lips, and address them in a whisper. It was his practice to ride out early in the morning; and, while her illness continued, he used to leave a note upon her pillow, folded like a physician's prescription, and containing some little affectionate message or advice.

Mozart was utterly incapable of meanness or duplicity of any sort. He was frank and candid in the expression of his sentiments, and as prompt and liberal in acknowledging merit as he was decided in exposing arrogant pretension, jealousy, or envy. He was, too, disinterested and benevolent in the highest degree, and the extreme kindness of his nature was grossly abused by artful performers, music-sellers, and managers of theatres. Whenever any poor artists, strangers in Vienna, applied to him for assistance, he offered them the use of his house and table, introduced them to the persons whom he thought could be of use to them, and frequently composed for their use concertos, of which he did not even keep a copy, in order that they might have the exclusive advantage of playing them. But, not content with this, they sold these pieces to musicpublishers; and thus repaid his kindness by robbing him. He seldom received any recompense for his piano-forte compositions, but generally wrote them for his friends, who were, of course, anxious to possess some work of his for their own use, and suited to their powers of playing. Artaria, a music-seller of Vienna, and other members of the trade, contrived to get possession of many of these pieces, and published them, without obtaining the author's consent, or making him any remuneration for them. A Polish count, who was

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invited to a concert at Mozart's house, heard a quintet performed for the first time, with which he was so greatly delighted that he asked Mozart to compose for him a trio for the flute. Mozart agreed, on condition that he should do it at his own time. The count next day sent a polite note, expressive of his thanks for pleasure he had enjoyed, and, along with it, one hundred gold demi-sovereigns (about 1007. sterling). Mozart immediately sent him the original score of the quintet that had pleased him so much. The count returned to Vienna a year afterwards, and, calling upon Mozart, inquired for the trio. Mozart said that he had never found himself in a disposition to write anything worthy of his acceptance. "Perhaps, then," said the count, you may find yourself in a disposition to return me the hundred demi-sovereigns I paid you beforehand." Mozart instantly handed him the money, but the count said not a word about the quintet; and the composer soon afterwards had the satisfaction of seeing it published by Artaria, arranged as a quartet, for the piano-forte, violin, tenor, and violoncello. Mozart's quintets for wind instruments, published also as piano-forte quartets, are among the most charming and popular of his instrumental compositions for the chamber; and this anecdote is a specimen of the manner in which he lost the benefit he ought to have derived, even from his finest works. The opera of the Zauberflöte was composed for the purpose of relieving the distresses of a manager, who had been ruined by unsuccessful speculations, and came to implore his assistance. Mozart gave him the score without price, with full permission to perform it in his own theatre, and for

his own benefit; only stipulating that he was not to give a copy to any one, in order that the author might afterwards be enabled to dispose of the copyright, The manager promised strict compliance with the condition. The opera was brought out, filled his theatre and his pockets, and, some short time afterwards, appeared at five or six different theatres, by means of copies received from the grateful manager.

Notwithstanding the indefatigable ardour with which Mozart used to write at those times when his mind was strongly engaged in his work, at other times he would give himself up to indolence, and often procrastinated the completion of a piece till the moment of performance was at hand. On such occasions he got out of the scrape, sometimes by working with surprising rapidity, and at other times by trusting to his powers of memory, and playing a piece without having written it down. The celebrated overture to Don Giovanni was entirely written during the night previous to the first performance of the opera, after he had spent the day in the fatiguing occupation of conducting the general rehearsal. He began his task about eleven o'clock at night, having got his wife to make him some punch, and to sit by him to keep him awake. He wrote while she ransacked her memory for the fairy tales of her youth, and all the humorous and amusing stories she could think of. As long as she kept him laughing till the tears ran down his cheeks, he got on rapidly, but if she was silent for a moment, he dropped asleep. Seeing, at last, that he could hold out no longer, she persuaded him to lie down for a couple of hours. At five in the morning

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