affection. And when we consider how any art tends to usurp the whole of a man’s existence, and music most of all to unfit for other modes of life, both from its stimulus to the senses and exaltation of the soul, we have rather reason to wonder that the other four great ones lived severe and manlike lives, than that this remained a voluptuary and a fair child. The virtues of a child he had,—sincerity, tenderness, generosity, and reverence. In the generosity with which he gave away the precious works of his genius, and the princely sweetness with which he conferred these favours, we are again reminded of Raphael. There are equally fine anecdotes of Haydn’s value for him, and his for Haydn. Haydn answered the critics of “Don Giovanni,” “I am not a judge of the dispute; all that I know is, that Mozart is the greatest composer now existing.” Mozart answered the critic on Haydn, “Sir, if you and I were both melted down together, we should not furnish materials for one Haydn.”
Richard Cœur de Lion and Saladin!
We never hear the music of Mozart to advantage, yet no one can be a stranger to the character of his melodies. The idea charms me of a symbolical correspondence, not only between the soul of man and the productions of nature, but of a like harmony, pervading every invention of his own. It seems he has not only “builded better than he knew,” when following out the impulse of his genius, but in every mechanical invention, so that all the furniture of man’s life is necessarily but an aftergrowth of nature. It seems clear that not only every hue, every gem, every flower, every tree, has its correspondent species in the race of man, but the same may be said of instruments, as obviously of the telescope, microscope, compass. It is clearly the case with the musical instruments. As a child I at once thought of Mozart as the Flute, and to this day, cannot think of one without the other. Nothing ever occurred to confirm this fancy, till a
