Melodious German

Paris in 1825. "Play me something," said the pale, sarcastic genius of twenty, the already famous Liszt. Von Lenz played Aufforderung zum Tanz* and then other music by Weber. The glitter of a dagger in the sun was in the eyes of Liszt, and he put down his long Turkish pipe, amazed. He had never heard of Weber's piano music, and he solemnly pledged eternal gratitude to Von Lenz from Riga for having introduced to him such beauty. He had known only Weber's universally popular opera Frieschuetz.š And young Weber had been dead nearly two years.

Paris in 1830. Berlioz had just won the Prix de Rome after repeated failures. He went to hear Liszt play Weber's Concertstueck, at the finish publicly embracing Liszt. That night the two musicians entered a drawing room together where musical prejudices were being aired, where Weber's name suffered scorn. A young French cock intimated that it was not enough for the court of Louis XVIII that Weber had been kapellmeister at every petty court of Germany. Halvey recalled the time in Prague when Weber, director of the opera, was a mine for a local operatic golddigger. Asked his opinion, Liszt silently laid his hands on the keyboard and, beginning with the unique tremolo in the bass, played his beloved Sonata in A flat. Victor Halvey, French poet, writes that until then he had never understood Weber's music, which now brought tears to his eyes and silence to his former sneers.

This summer, Carl Maria von Weber has been dead a hundred years, but his name is much remembered. "There never was a more German composer than thou . . . The Briton does thee justice, the Frenchmen admires thee, but only the German loves thee."* In Germany, they are talking, singing, playing, reading Weber. Even during his lifetime, he and Bethovenšwere Germany's most popular composers. Weber's melodious songs influenced Wagner and his polonaises inspired Chopin.

At the age of 36, the consumptive, nervous, hypersensitive Weber was told by a physician that he had but a few months to live, if he did not immediately take a rest and a sun cure in the South. He was considering a lucrative offer from London; Charles Kemble wished to produce Weber's opera, "Oberon," at Covent Garden. The emotional strain of such an event always left him weak for days afterward and he did not want to go to London. But going meant an inheritance for his wife and two baby sons, while living on aimlessly a few years more meant leaving his family in poor circumstances. Bravely he cast for London and separation from those he loved. "Oberon" was fitted out with an English libretto and Weber himself took up the study of English. According to his diary, he left his home with the secret foreboding that he would never see it again. His three months in London were a nightmare of homesickness for his family, physical suffering, fears for his tremendous venture. The popularity of his opera and concerts, personally conducted, was the record-breaking sensation of musical London. At last he was free to return to Dresden, to his "Lina." He spent all day receiving friends in farewell visits, and talked only of his journey, his homecoming. On the morning of his departure he did not wake.

It is a paradox that the sickly-looking, temperamental Weber should have created music so sparkling, so romantic that it has stood in the minds of musicians for over a century as "a knight in golden armour."

Again Farewell

London waved farewell to the concert career of Dame Nellie Melba last week, as it had previously done to her operatic career (TIME, June 21). Like a sudden summer storm, applause broke around her as she appeared upon a flower-laden stage. Finally came the breathless silence, and then the thrill of unspeakably sweet notes,--a song of Mozart.

Dozens of duchesses were there to see the great prima donna and cockneys stampeded to see the duchesses. Lady Somebody remarked that Nellie Melba had come into her career like a lamb, almost unnoticed, 38 years ago, and that if she was not going out of it like a lion, at least she was lionized. The last song ever to be sung to a London audience by the Australian star, favorite of favorites, was: "Coming through the Rye." She stepped forward and spoke:

"I am sorry to go, but you have made me so happy. Perhaps on another day another idol will come your way. If so, give a passing thought to me and say 'We loved Melba.'" Lustily the audience broke into "Auld Lang Syne." She said "good-night" and disappeared,-- officially forever.

* "Invitation to the dance." š"Free Archer," which was known in Paris as "Robin des Bois." *Richard Wagner's oration at Weber's grave. šBeethoven's centennial is next year.